‘You’re back,’ the healer whispered, ‘you shark-toothed bastard.’ ‘Who?’ Trotts croaked, the skin around his eyes tightening at the effort. ‘Who paid?’ Mallet shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Not me.’ The Barghast’s eyes flicked down to the split and bleeding flesh of the healer’s arms. Mallet shook his head again. ‘Not me, Trotts.’
