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A few more paces would take her to his side. She strug-
gled to speak, to cry out, but her mouth remained slack, her
arms frozen at her sides. Only her feet moved in that slow,
doomful cadence.
"Come, spiteful wench. Come, and feel the touch of your
master! Come, and meet your death!" Pitrick threw back his
head and laughed into the night.
Perian took a final step and then stood before him. Waves
of despair tormented her soul. Pitrick reached forward with
a clenched, clawlike hand, raising his fingers toward her
face.
He touched her cheek.
Pain flashed through her skin as he made contact. His ca-
ress was like a shot of vile sickness, far worse than the clean
wound of a steel blade. Sheets of agony wracked her body,
bringing hot tears to her eyes.
And, finally, the pain broke the thrall of his magic. With a
groan, Perian crumpled to her knees, clasping a hand to the
cheek he had touched. She twisted away from Pitrick. She
was free.
"You disgust me!" she spat, leaping back to her feet.
Pitrick stepped backward in momentary surprise. At the
same time, blue magic erupted from his amulet, but the light
diffused through the night, out of its master's control
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