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. . . ALL sorts.
"I think it's sweet, you coming all this way to rescue
us," purred one of the women, leaning against Sturm and
running her hand over his shoulder. Long blonde hair fell
down her bare arm. She wore it tucked behind one ear, held
back by a flower. Her gown, made of something gray and
filmy, left very little to the imagination.
"All in a day's work," said Sturm, smiling. "We're going
to be made Knights of Solamnia, you know," he added
conversationally. "Probably for doing this very deed."
"Really? Tell me more."
But the blonde wasn't the least bit interested in the
Knights. She wasn't even listening to Sturm, Palin realized,
watching his brother with growing irritation. The big
warrior was rambling on somewhat incoherently about the
Oath and the Measure, all the while fondling the silky
blonde hair and gazing into blue eyes.
Palin was ill-at-ease. The young mage felt a burning in his
blood, his head buzzed - not an unusual sensation around
such lovely, seductive females. He felt no desire for these
women, however. They were strangely repulsive to him. It
was the magic he sensed, bum-ing within him. He wanted
to concentrate on it, on his feeling of growing power.
Thrusting aside a doe-eyed beauty who was trying to feed
him grapes, Palin inched his way among the cushions to get
nearer Sturm
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