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... stop walking. I had come back to Ashber, the small town where I was born, for the first time in more than ten years.
“Mica is ready for a nice cold mug of ale,” the general whispered, licking her dry, cracked lips.
I nodded wordlessly, keeping my pace brisk to match the speed of the carriage we were behind.
“Just out of curiosity, Sir. How many slaves do you own?” the younger man asked eagerly, his narrow eyes shifting between Olfred and me.
“I nev ...
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