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. All his hatred and fury,
all of his overpowering grief came together, focused by the
driving power of his weapon. Pitrick tried to twist away, to
turn or parry the punishing blow, but in his last instant he
knew he would not succeed. Finally, for a brief second, Flint
saw those mad eyes grow still madder, this time from stark
terror.
It was a sight he would savor for a long time.
The Tharkan Axe cut a silver streak through the air, meet-
ing the savant's neck below his helmet and above his breast-
plate. The blade made a clean cut, severing the heads of his
amulet, then his skin and muscle.
The blade finally came to rest near Pitrick's heart,
jammed tightly into his collarbone and breastplate. The
Theiwar commander staggered backward, tugging the
weapon out of Flint's hand. Pitrick's blood soaked the once
shiny blade of the Tharkan Axe, sizzling and scorching from
the fiery heat of the metal. As he watched in disbelief, Flint
saw the blade grow cherry red.
Pitrick's body twisted, then sagged to the ground. He
dropped to his knees with a groan, looking in disbelief at the
blood that spread in a growing circle around him
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