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. Now the formidable derro sa-
vant was ready.
Taking the scroll from under his arm, he untied the strings
and gently unfurled the parchment. This was a momentous
occasion, and Pitrick stood as straight as his hunched back
would allow. Holding the scroll open before him, he closed
his eyes and mouthed the phrase he had practiced in his
mind.
"I wish Perian Cyprium to be raised from the dead, re-
stored to her former beauty, here before me, powerless to
leave my apartments, and unable to kill herself or me. That
is my wish." Pitrick opened his eyes.
A howling wind arose from nowhere and swept through
the flawlessly polished rooms, dashing papers from the
desk, dousing flames, sucking the parchment from his
hands. Pitrick clung to a nearby support column and waited
for the spell's effects to subside.
Slowly, very slowly, the wail of the wind dropped to a
gentle breeze. And then the air became as still and as cold as
death. Then, nothing.
The savant did not need to look for Perian in the other
rooms of his apartment. He could sense - knew with chill-
ing certainty - that Perian was not there
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