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I had a partner once - a mountain dwarf. That was all
right, no chargeable heresy in those days to be seen with a
dwarf. Toukere Hammerfell, his name was. He'd been in
the bounty trade longer than I had, and I remember all the
advice he gave me.
"One thing you need to know in the trade, Doune, my
friend," he once said. "Don't let feelings become part of the
hunt. Now, some people think this means don't let softer
feelings get in the way. No pity, none of that sweet
nonsense. But the harder feelings are just as much a trap. If
you want to do well in this business, you'll empty out all
those places where your feelings are, the soft and the hard.
Mercy costs you money, Doune. So does taking time to
plague a man with kicking and beating when he's going to
be dead soon anyway."
Toukere would pause to take a long drink of ale and
wipe the thick foam from his black beard. We were taking
our meal in the Hart's Leap that day, a tavern known for the
goodness of its ale. He always liked his ale, Toukere did,
and he held that no one could talk well or wisely unless he
had some in his belly.
"A heretic's a heretic, Hunter-Doune, whether it's some
woman weeping over her babe or some ugly minotaur all
chained up and looking like an easy thing to kick
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