Fury and pain and bitter frustration made him shriek, but it was a sound no one heard—not even himself. The hands tightened their grasp, the pain stabbed him, and he sank—not into darkness—but into remembrance.
There were no windows in the Learning Room where the seven apprentice magic—users worked that morning. No sunlight was admitted, nor was the light of the two moons—silver and red. As for the third moon, the black moon, its presence could be felt here as elsewhere on Krynn without being seen.
The room was lit by thick beeswax candles that stood in silver candleholders on the tables. The candles could thus be easily picked up and carried about to suit the convenience of the apprentices as they went about their studies.
This was the only room in the great castle of Fistandantilus lit by candles. In all others, glass globes with continual light spells cast upon them hovered in the air, shedding magical radiance to lighten the gloom that was perpetual in this dark fortress. The globes were not used in the Learning Room, however, for one very good reason—if brought into this room, their light would instantly fail—a Dispel Magic spell was in constant effect here. Thus the need for candles and the need to keep out any influence that might be gleaned from the sun or the two light shedding moons.
Six of the apprentices sat near each other at one table, some talking together, a few studying in silence. The seventh sat apart, at a table far across the room. Occasionally one of the six would raise his head and cast an uneasy glance at the one who sat apart, then lower his head quickly, for, no matter who looked or at what time, the seventh always seemed to be staring back at them.
The seventh found this amusing, and he indulged in a bitter smile. Raistlin had not found much to smile about during these months he had been living in the castle of Fistandantilus. It had not been an easy time for him. Oh, it had been simple enough to maintain the deception, keeping Fistandantilus from guessing his true identity, concealing his true powers, making it seem as if he were simply one of this group of fools working to gain the favor of the great wizard and thus become his apprentice.
Deception was life’s blood to Raistlin. He even enjoyed his little games of oneupsmanship with the apprentices, always doing things just a little bit better, always keeping them nervous, off guard. He enjoyed his game with Fistandantilus, too. He could sense the archmage watching him.
He knew what the great wizard was thinking—who is this apprentice? Where does he get the power that the archmage could feel burn within the young man but could not define.
Sometimes Raistlin thought he could detect Fistandantilus studying his face, as though thinking it looked familiar...
No, Raistlin enjoyed the game. But it was totally unexpected that he come upon something he had not enjoyed. And that was to be forcibly reminded of the most unhappy time of his life—his old school days.
The Sly One—that had been his nickname among the apprentices at his old Master’s school.
Never liked, never trusted, feared even by his own Master, Raistlin spent a lonely, embittered youth. The only person who ever cared for him had been his twin brother, Caramon, and his love was so patronizing and smothering that Raistlin often found the hatred of his classmates easier to accept.
And now, even though he despised these idiots seeking to please a Master who would—in the end—only murder the one chosen, even though he enjoyed fooling them and taunting them, Raistlin still felt a pang sometimes, in the loneliness of the night, when he heard them together, laughing...
Angrily, he reminded himself that this was all beneath his concern. He had a greater goal to achieve. He had to concentrate, conserve his strength. For today was the day, the day Fistandantilus would choose his apprentice.
You six will leave; Raistlin thought to himself. You will leave hating and despising me, and none of you will ever know that one of you owes me his life!
The door to the Learning Room opened with a creak, sending a jolt of alarm through the six black-robed figures sitting at the table. Raistlin, watching them with a twisted smile, saw the same sneering smile reflected on the wizened, gray face of the man who stood in the doorway.
The wizard’s glittering gaze went to each of the six in turn, causing each to pale and lower his hooded head while hands toyed with spell components or clenched in nervousness.
Finally, Fistandantilus turned his black eyes to the seventh apprentice, who sat apart. Raistlin met his gaze without flinching, his twisted smile twisted further—into mockery. Fistandantilus’s brows contracted. In swift anger, he slammed the door shut. The six apprentices started at the booming sound that shattered the silence.
The wizard walked to the front of the Learning Room, his steps slow and faltering. He leaned upon a staff and his old bones creaked as he lowered himself into a chair. The wizard’s gaze went once more to the six apprentices seated before him and, as he looked at them—at their youthful, healthy bodies one of Fistandantilus’s withered hands raised to caress a pendant he wore on a long, heavy chain around his neck. It was an odd-looking pendant—a single, oval bloodstone set in plain silver.
Often the apprentices discussed this pendant among themselves, wondering what it did. It was the only ornamentation Fistandantilus ever wore, and all knew it must be highly valuable. Even the lowest level apprentice could sense the powerful spells of protection and warding laid upon it, guarding it from every form of magic. What did it do? they whispered, and their speculations ranged from drawing beings from the celestial planes to communicating with Her Dark Majesty herself.
One of their number, of course, could have told them. Raistlin knew what it did. But he kept his knowledge to himself.
Fistandantilus’s gnarled and trembling hand closed over the bloodstone eagerly, as his hungry gaze went from one apprentice to the other. Raistlin could have sworn the wizard licked his lips, and the young mage felt a moment of sudden fear. What if I fail? he asked himself, shuddering.
He is powerful! The most powerful wizard who ever lived! Am I strong enough? What if—
“Begin the test,” Fistandantilus said in a cracked voice, his gaze going to the first of the six.
Firmly, Raistlin banished his fears. This was what he had worked a lifetime to attain. If he failed, he would die. He had faced death before. In fact, it would be like meeting an old friend...
One by one, the young mages rose from their places, opened their spellbooks, and recited their spells. If the Dispel Magic had not been laid upon the Learning Room, it would have been filled with wonderful sights. Fireballs would have exploded within its walls, incinerating all who were within range; phantom dragons would have breathed illusory fire; dread beings would have been dragged shrieking from other planes of existence. But, as it was, the room remained in candlelit calm, silent except for the chantings of the spellcasters and the rustling of the leaves of the spellbooks.
One by one, each mage completed his test, then resumed his seat. All performed remarkably well. This was not unexpected. Fistandantilus permitted only seven of the most skilled of the young male magic-users who had already passed the grueling Test at the Tower of High Sorcery to study further with him. Out of that number, he would choose one to be his assistant.
So they supposed.
The archmage’s hand touched the bloodstone. His gaze went to Raistlin. “Your turn, mage,” he said. There was a flicker in the old eyes. The wrinkles on the wizard’s forehead deepened slightly, as though trying to recall the young man’s face.
Slowly, Raistlin rose to his feet, still smiling the bitter, cynical smile, as if this were all beneath him. Then, with a nonchalant shrug, he slammed shut his spellbook. The other six apprentices exchanged grim glances at this. Fistandantilus frowned, but there was a spark in his dark eyes.
Glibly, sneeringly Raistlin began to recite the complicated spell from memory. The other apprentices stirred at this show of skill, glaring at him with hatred and undisguised envy.