said when they quietened. “So what?” a voice shouted—a voice and face that Corban recognized. Javed of the Freedmen. “I for one do not care. I never followed you because of a prophecy. I followed because you saved me, and because my enemies are here, and if I don’t face them, they will kill me, or worse, make me a slave again. I still want to kill them. The prophecy changes nothing.” “For once, Javed, I agree with you,” Corban shouted, and laughter rippled around the hill. “Death to our enemies,” Javed yelled, repeating it. “Death to our enemies,” Wulf joined him. “Death to our enemies,” the
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