Rob Hendricks

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“What’s that?” He pointed. The Human’s head instinctively turned. Too late, it snapped back. This time his shield was too low. Pyrite buried the axe in the Human’s shoulder, grabbed the screaming Human’s mace, and buried it in his head. He stepped back, breathing hard as the line of warriors broke without the adventurer to hold it. “Idiot.”
The General of Izril (The Wandering Inn, #6)
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