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. A hundred individual combats waned, forgotten in the
periphery of this fight to the death.
Flint and Pitrick raged back and forth, axes clashing, fine
steel meeting steel, backed by muscle and fury. The thane's
adviser attacked with bestial savagery. Suddenly he flew
forward, unleashing a storm of lighting-quick blows. Flint
fell back, desperately deflecting the mountain dwarf's cuts.
The Tharkan Axe blocked every assault, the haft growing
hotter and hotter under his palms, until even his gloves
could not protect him. Ignoring the searing pain, Flint held
his axe tighter - he would cling to it until death or victory
freed his grip.
Suddenly Pitrick lurched away. The quick retreat caught
Flint off guard, and he instantly crouched, watching his op-
ponent warily.
Again the savant seized the iron amulet that hung at his
neck and raised his fist toward Flint. With a sharp hiss, like
hot rocks dropped into water, a line of blue sparks erupted
from the Theiwar's hand. The embers seemed to hunger for
Flint's flesh as they rushed toward him. Swirling like living
things, the sparks formed a ring around him
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