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."
Graym frowned. "This Protector wasn't much of an
optimist."
"He was terrified," Rhael said. "He said that Skorm
would drink the blood of one victim, only to spit it in the
face of another. He said Skorm once bit through the arm of
a warrior and stood chewing on it in front of him. He said -
"
"Never mind," Graym said hastily. His stomach had
been wobbly all day. "Where is this scourge?" He looked
around fearfully. "Not with you, I take it."
"He and his troops are camped in the bone yard - "
"Picturesque," Graym murmured, approving.
"In the Valley of Death, beyond Graveside. There are
more than a hundred of them now. Every dawn," Rhael said
with a voice like death, "we see more warriors standing by
Skorm's tents. Every day his troops increase."
Graym turned to his companions. "And you all told me
no one was hiring. It was nothing but a necessary market
downturn, and you call it a Catechism."
"Cataclysm," Darll hissed.
"Right you are, sir." Graym turned to Rhael. "And, now,
young elder ... I can't get used to that, by the way. Why are
you an elder, Miss?"
"Elders aren't chosen because they are old," a man next
to her, quite old himself, explained. "We are chosen because
each of us represents one of the elder virtues."
"And what," Graym asked, feeling his ears turning red,
"is Miss Rhael's virtue?"
"Elder Rhael embodies fearlessness."
"No wonder she's so young," Darll said dryly. "Fearlessness
never reaches old age. What about you?" He pointed
with both chained hands at the elder who had spoken
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