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The hand slapped hiled to co numbness that he was content to ride back into unconsciousness He was slapped a second time

Gruntle pried open his eyes ’Go away,’ he ain

’You’re drunk,’ Stonny Menackis snarled ’And you stink Gods, the blanket’s soaked with vomit That’s it, he can rot for all I care He’s all yours, Buke I’ back to the barracks’

Gruntle listened to boots sta, uneven floorboards of his squalid roohed, o back to sleep

Cold, wet cloth slapped down on his face ’Wipe yourself,’ Buke said ’I need you sober, friend’

’No-one needsthe cloth away ’Leave me be, Buke You, of all people-’

’Aye, ripped his shoulders, pulled hirab Buke’s wrists, but there was no strength in his ars Pain rocked through his head, swarmed behind his closed eyes He leaned forward and was sick, ferh mouth and nostrils onto the floor between his scuffed boots

The heaves subsided His head was suddenly clearer Spitting out the last dregs of voot no right-’

’Shut up’

Gru, he sank his head into his hands ’How many days?’

’Six You’ve missed your chance, Gruntle’

’Chance? What are you talking about?’

’It’s too late The Septarch and his Pannion arun Ru fields beyond the walls will be attacked before the day’s done They won’t hold That’s one big are -- and every one successful-’

’Enough You’re telling me too much I can’t think’

’You won’t, you rieve’

’You should talk, Buke’

’I’ve done o’

’Like Hood you have’

’You rieved, and that’s faded away Gone Noell, now there’s nothing A vast, unlit cavern Ashes But you’re not like me -- maybe you think you are, but you’re not’

Gruntle reached out, groped for the wet cloth he’d let fall to the floor Buke collected it and pushed it into his hand Pressing it against his pounding brow, Gruntle groaned ’A pointless, senseless death’

’They’re all pointless and senseless, friend Until the living carveto carve, Gruntle, out of Harllo’s death? Take my advice, an empty cave offers no co for cooal is hile, and I should know Harllo was my friend as well From the way those Grey Swords who found us described it, you were down, and he did what a friend’s supposed to do -- he defended you Stood over you and took the blows And was killed But he did what he wanted -- he saved your hide And is this his reward, Gruntle? You want to look his ghost in the eye and tell him it wasn’t worth it?’