Shoba. Death world. World of night and fire, set far into the deep void, hard to discover at the best of times, now impossibly out of reach. Niir Khazad was not a sentimental woman. None of her people were, especially those trained in the formal killing arts, but there were still times when her mind returned to the old place – its ruined cities, forever shrouded in darkness; the cold nights that shimmered with half-heard voices; the silver face of the moon riding high, its lone eye silently watchful. It had been a ghost world, a world of privation and purity, half-cordoned off from the teeming
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