42

Qirum walked into the camp of the Spider, alone this time, unarmed.

The warlord sat alone in the dark, in his shack of pointless treasures. Outside, the din of the camp continued, the animal noises of rutting and fighting. The Spider considered the Trojan. The new wounds he bore, from the hard journey he’d made to get back here. The obvious rage inside.

‘We need to talk,’ said Qirum.

‘What about?’

‘Northland. And the Tawananna. And…’

‘Yes?’

‘Revenge.’

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