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. "Then we are both servants of the
Queen of Darkness."
The old woman stopped in her tracks upon hearing
Gorath's remarks. "You are mistaken, my darling," she
replied humbly, her teeth chattering annoyingly. "I am just
Zorna, a poor and forgotten old woman. This robe was
discarded in the forest by a sorceress who was passing
through. I took it because I had nothing to wear."
"You don't know how to perform magic?" asked Gorath
skeptically.
"I swear I am no sorceress. But I have other talents,
darling. I can cook the finest slug stew you've tasted in your
life. Won't you be my guest?"
Gorath didn't know what to make of this weird woman. He
wanted to laugh at her invitation, run her through with his
sword, and ransack her shack for anything of value. But he
kept his distance, not fully convinced she wasn't a black-
robed magic-user. "I have no time to waste with you," he
told her coldly. "Now I must find the woman who betrayed
me and slay the scoundrel who stole her from me."
"Forget your woman!" Zorna shrieked. "She doesn't
love you. I love you. And I'll cook, and clean, and care for
you for the rest of your life . . . IF you will let me ...
darling."
"Enough, you batty crone," snapped Gorath,
remembering how he had tried without success to force
Meadow to say such words to him
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