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I was sitting where I had sat for two weeks: tied to a chair beside the hearth, sticky in my own sweat and filth. The light red hearth-fire had bathed me into a fever, but now the fire was turned to black ashes. As I stared at the blackened pot hanging above the ashes, a ray of light touched the lip of the pot so that the liquid inside turned suddenly to fire, reflecting the morning sun back to me. My stomach churned, and the images of four people returned to me: Harkay, nervously feeding me the liquid that burned my stomach and turned my limbs to clay; Seith, standing silently in a corner as though he too were bound by ropes; a child, staring at me with blank face and dark eyes; and behind the child, Darak, wearing a small smile as he destroyed my mind. . . .
The cottage door opened; I twitched with nervousness, then clenched my bound hands and waited for what was to come.
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