The last of the Stewards had made their stand here, in the long dark of the great hall, with its ghostly white columns. And behind them, the novitiates and janissaries who they had tried to protect. Carver lying two steps in front of Emery, who would have seen him fall seconds before he fell himself. Beatrix near the front, having pushed her way forward to fight alongside Stewards ten years her senior. He had seen them all this morning, preparing for the attack on Ruthern.
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