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Could Laurana . . . ? No one but Ice Folk had ever been allowed to
use frostreavers. But these were extraordinary people I traveled
with. Faith overcame tradition.
Sliding the axelike weapon from my pack ever so quietly, I
crept forward. Time seemed to grind to a halt. The wizard was still
pawing the bed and laughing, his foul suggestions of what he
intended to do to the elven maid burning my heart.
Softly, I tip-toed up behind Laurana and slipped the glistening
frostreaver to the princess of the Qualinesti elves, praying to
Paladine to give her strength that I did not have.
Laurana's fingers curled around the haft of the icy 'reaver.
Raising it over her head, she sprang up like a wolf and lunged at
the unsuspecting elf wizard just as he turned around for his
answer. Candlelight glinted off the frigid edge of my painstakingly
crafted frostreaver as it bit into Feal-thas's throat. A scream, the
wizard's last on Krynn, pierced the air. The floor of the small
chamber ran red with the blood of the dead Highlord.
Dry, wracking sobs shook Laurana's body as she stumbled over to
kneel beside Sturm. Selfconsciously, I moved forward to wrench
the icy weapon from her shaky fingers. She laid her hands
awkwardly on the knight's bloody chest, not quite knowing what to
do. Biting her lip, she forced her right hand forward to close
around the hilt of the dagger in his throat. A heart-breaking moan
escaped her lips as, mustering all her strength and courage, she
pulled the dagger out
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