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Light arose behind him. Tasslehoff turned and saw that the
firepots of the conjuring circle were burning. A dark figure with
arms stood before the circle, chanting in a low voice.
Tasslehoff felt in his pockets for some last trick, something to
pull him out of danger. He found six feet of string, a silver piece
with a hole in it, a sugar bun, a crystal button, someone else's
tinderbox, a bluejay feather, and a river pebble two inches across.
No miracles . . .
He beat and kicked the door until he ached. Thunder rattled his
teeth; waves of cold and heat washed over him.
When he heard the Magus call the name of the thing, he gave
up. Setting his back to the door, he turned to face the spectacle. If
he couldn't escape, he could at least go out like an explorer. He
would have lived longer as a scribe, but this was better in a way.
Scribes lived such boring lives. That thought comforted him as the
scaled shape of the thing arose from the pit of violet lightning and
darkness.
The thing's eyes glowed, one head fixed on Tassle hoff and the
other on the Magus. "Twice in one day, Magus?" questioned the
thing, hissing. "You have company as well. Am I now a circus
exhibit?"
"Hear me!" the sorcerer shouted. "There stands an offering to
you, a soul you may eat at your leisure! I bind you with words and
enchantments of power, under threat of eternal torture and
debasement, to take this kender to the Abyss with you until time is
no more! Take him away!"
Tasslehoff's mind went blank
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