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Kolanda dropped the dark thing back into her breast-
plate and pointed at the second ogre. 'You heard my or-
der," she said. "You do it."
Growling deep in its massive chest, the monster
scrambled to its feet, glaring at the woman. It paused for
a moment over the smoking body of its partner, shot a
murderous glance back at Kolanda, then went to do her
bidding. After watching the ogre move off, the Com-
mander beckoned to some of the swamp goblins. "Bring
the slaves," she ordered. "Set my pavilion here."
When she was alone, she pulled the dark thing from
her breastplate again, where an angry heat had devel-
oped between her breasts. She held it up, gazing at it
with revulsion.
"Why did she wake me?" the thing asked, its voice a
dry, husky whisper in her ear. "Does she need me to deal
with ogres?"
"You didn't have to kill it," Kolanda said. "It might
have proven useful."
"She criticizes me," the thing whispered. "What does
she want?"
"I need you to tell me where my quarry is," she said.
"Ah? Needs me, does she? Hee-hee!" The ancient, wiz-
ened voice was a whispered cackle. "Needs Caliban, she
does. Very well, Caliban is awake. But she knows the
price."
With a shudder of revulsion, Kolanda dropped to her
knees and held the wrinkled thing before her face. Low-
ering her head the woman said, "Caliban lives forever.
Caliban's power goes beyond death. Caliban will never
die again. Caliban offered me his help
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