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. The feeder's body struck against a neck
ornament on a thong, a silver copy of its own head.
The draconian jerked forward in a poison-induced
spasm, and the feeder's fangs sank deeper. Even in the
frenzy of feeding, it thought calmly; there was plenty of
time to withdraw its fangs and pull back before the
draconian turned to stone . . .
. . . Jabbing upward with the hilt, Riverwind broke its
neck.
The Plainsman grunted with the effort as the draconian
gasped and died. The feeder, trapped by its own bite,
spasmed in Riverwind's hand. Startled, the Plainsman
dropped it. The stone draconian fell forward heavily,
shattering the blade of the feeder. Tiny replicant daggers
the size and softness of earwigs flopped on the ground,
dying before birth.
The Queen's voice sighed across the broken feeder, all
but freezing it.
YOU HAVE FAILED, she said indifferently, BUT I
SHALL NOT, AND IF I NEED THESE LIVES, I CAN
TAKE THEM ELSEWHERE. DIE, THEN. The voice was
still, and the feeder knew it would hear no more from her.
Even so, the light in the pommel's eyes lasted some time.
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