Paran scanned the ranks. Not a sound from them, not even the rustle of armour. They stood like dusty statues. ‘And precisely how,’ he asked in a whisper, ‘am I to live up to this?’ ‘High Fist,’ Hurlochel murmured at his side, ‘you rode with one healer into G’danisban and then singlehandedly struck down a goddess. Drove her from this realm. You then forced the sister of that goddess to gift a dozen mortals with the power to heal—’ ‘That power will not last,’ Paran said. ‘Nonetheless. High Fist, you have killed the plague. Something even Dujek Onearm could not achieve. These soldiers are yours,
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