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. "You lied to us, my lord. The
gods did not curse you unjustly, as you would have had us
believe. All the evil passions that led you to disgrace and
downfall are still alive within you."
"You dare speak so to me? You dare defy me?
Wretched mortal! I could slay you with a word!" Soth's
finger hovered near Michael's heart. One touch of that
death-chilled hand, and the heart would burst.
"You could," Michael answered, "but you won't. You
won't kill me for speaking the truth. I hear your regret, my
lord. I hear your sorrow. Better feelings within you war
with the dark passions. If you were wholly given over to
evil, my lord, you would not care. You would not suffer."
"Bitter comfort you offer me. Cleric." Soth sneered. "It
could be your redemption," Michael said softly.
Soth stood long moments in silence. Slowly, his hand
lowered. It went to the book, lying on the table. The fingers
followed the words, as though the death knight were
reading them again. Michael clasped the medallion in one
hand, Nikol's hand in the other. Neither spoke. Not that it
would have mattered. The death knight seemed unaware of
their presence. When he spoke, it was not to them.
"No!" he cried suddenly, lifting his head, his voice to
the heavens. "You tempted me, then treated me unjustly
when I fell! I will NOT ask your forgiveness. It is you who
should ask mine!"
Flames sprang up, engulfing the page, the book,
seemed likely to set fire to the room. Michael fell back with
a cry, shielding Nikol with his body, his hand raised to ward
off the searing heat
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