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With both hands, Mukhari clasped a long, wickedly curved
dagger. Sturm's heart missed a beat. His jaw tightened, and
he said the briefest prayer of his life:
"Paladine, help me."
The dagger wavered in the frail alchemist's grasp.
Artavash opened Sturm's vest and shirt. Mukhari Ras
smiled down at him. "Here, then, is your destiny," he
whispered. "I give you to my Queen!" He closed his eyes
and raised the dagger high to strike.
Down came the blade. Sturm held out the wind cord
taut between his fists. The keen edge of the dagger scraped
the briefest instant against the rawhide. Mukhari felt it and
opened his eyes. "What - ?" was all he could say before the
cord parted.
A mighty wall of wind, invisible, irresistible, blast ed
across the palace roof. The emaciated alchemist, his robes
filling with air like black bat's wings, was lifted off his feet.
Screeching with terror, Mukhari Ras flew backward to the
edge of the roof. An upward gust filled his skirt, lofting
him. The Lord of the Sea soared into the sky, borne by the
ensorceled wind. On and on he flew, his brittle body spread
flat by the torrent of air, until he was lost in the billowing
clouds and dust.
Mukhari was gone, but the danger was not yet passed
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