Four heavy quarrels had pierced it. The creature was lying on its side, its bestial face twisted with pain. Trull crouched near the demon’s mud-smeared head. ‘Can you understand me?’ Small blue eyes flickered behind the lids, fixed on his own eyes. ‘Arbiter of life. Denier of mercy. I shall die here.’ The voice was thin, strangely childlike. ‘I shall call a healer—’ ‘Why? To fight again? To relive terror and grief?’ ‘You were not a warrior in your world?’ ‘A caster of nets. Warm shoals, a yellow sky. We cast nets.’ ‘All of you?’ ‘What war is this? Why have I been killed? Why will I never see
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