Raistlin doesn't protest as the incredibly large man hauls him over his shoulder in exactly the way Caramon would have. It's the absolute least of his indignities, and it gives him time to - not recover, how can he recover from this - find an equilibrium, a place still enough for him to fumble, panicking, toward some kind of analysis.

His magic is gone but the spells are not - think! If the magic were truly gone, the spells would be as well! But there they are, every syllable clear in his mind, a glittering more precious than jewels. Present, but dormant.

But if that were the case he should be unconscious and the spells should be spent, not - just there, waiting to be empowered. That was always the case - the power ran out with his strength. The mage channels and commands the magic; the magic itself is inexhaustible. It's only the mage who falters.

Unless this was part of - the way his magic had been changed by this place. Some new limitation.

Well, whatever it is, he hopes Guts has a plan, because for now, Raistlin's useless.