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309 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1990
Sun Wolf's capture, as Sun Wolf himself reflected at his execution, was sheer, stupid ill luck, which Dogbreath of Mallinsore would have told him was only to be expected under the circumstances.
The arrow that brought him down took him high in the back from the shelter of a pile of stone he'd have bet his last silver bit—which happened to be in his pocket at the time—couldn't have hidden an emaciated corpse. He hit the sand of the dry arroyo bed in a second's whirling disorientation and sickening pain and the next instant got a gritty faceful of gravel, kicked up as his horse bolted. His first thought was, So much for the King of Wenshar's guarding our backs.
His second thought, through a descending curtain of gray weakness, was that, if he blacked out, he was a dead man.