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’It’s my task to keep them alive, not kill them, Warchief’

Huht in the style of you foreigners He did not fight as kin to us Twenty-three duels, my unnamed son Without loss, without so reat warrior’

’Trotts lives still,’ Paran said

’He should be dead Crush a man’s throat and the convulsions take hi his sword My son sacrificed a hand to kill him’

’A valiant effort, Warchief’

’In vain, it seems Do you claim that Trotts will survive his wounds?’

’I don’t know I need to confer with my healer’

’The spirits are silent, Malazan,’ Humbrall Taur said after a moment ’They wait As ht not agree with you,’ Paran observed

Taur scowled ’That is a hast Return to your company, Malazan Keep them alive … if you can’

’Does our fate rest on Trotts’s surviving, Warchief?’

The huge warrior bared his teeth ’Not entirely I am done with you, now’ He turned his back on the captain The other chiefs closed in once again

Paran pulled away, fighting a resurgence of pain in his stohast warrior, he crouched down beside the healer, Mulch There was a hole between Trotts’s collar bones, home to a hollow bone tube that whistled softly as he breathed The rest of his throat was cruhast’s eyes were open, aware and filled with pain