Let Ingtar have the Horn. You cannot run from saidar. Fain drew a deep breath and fingered the ruby-hilted dagger at his belt. For that matter, Byar looked uncomfortable, as well.
Ba'alzamon's voice rode over his thoughts. Herd cattle for the Trollocs, perhaps? If you want to live, cattle, you must be useful. Light, what's happening to all of us? His hands tightened into fists, large and square. Voices and music coming from elsewhere said these were not the only guests, or the only entertainments.
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