The sight of the fortress gates opening brought a cry of alarm from the sentries on the town wall. Someone hammered hard on a shield with a club, and the banging brought soldiers running past the window of the doctor’s office.

An old woman lay on the doctor’s table, her left arm cut open from elbow to wrist, as the doctor fished bone fragments out of her smashed arm. Heather shot the doctor a glance as the alarm sounded.

“I need you here,” he said immediately.

“They need me out there, Doctor.”

“Go, dear,” said the old woman, her skin gone as gray as her hair. “I’ll keep the bleeding down myself, then.”

Heather traded glances with the doctor, and he grimaced. “Find me someone, then, who has some skill, and send them right away. I’m going to lose three more to shock tonight if I don’t get help.”

She ducked her head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Heather promised, and sprinted for the door, snatching up her shield and mace along the way.

They’re not wasting any time. So much for detente, Heather thought, as she pelted for the wall. “I need a healer replacing me at the doctor’s, now!” she roared into a knot of soldiers. “Find an officer, get them to find someone, and get them sent to the doctor. Out of my way!”

Heather had to shoulder her way through another knot of noble house troops all busy lacing up armor and donning helmets. In their haste to respond to the alarm, the house forces hadn’t put much thought into separation. Soldiers from both sides slung armor and checked each other’s straps and quivers.

“They’re marching!” bellowed a sentry. “Fifteen minutes until they reach the walls. Get your wards ready!”

“Aye!” came a chorus of voices. Heather’s skin tingled and crawled as soldiers reached out to fellow soldiers to prepare their runes. Spells and chants and motes of anger and excitement warred in the air around her.

For the moment, all house rivalries were forgotten between the common troops. They pushed their worries and tensions into each other’s runes on armor and weapons. Some men and women laid hands on their equipment, while others stared, or spat, or sang, or simply whispered their prayers into weapons and armor.

Heather caught a flash of Ramdas’ striped flank from the corner of her eye. He marched up a line of soldiers, leading them in loud, stern prayer, frustration writ large in his eyes and motions.

He can’t get up on the wall, Heather thought. Not safely. He can’t watch the army approach, or respond to their attack. Damn it.

Heather raised her hand Ramdas’ way as she ran up the steps of the wall, and he nodded back without missing a beat in his prayers for the soldiers:

Saints, let us live, Saints, be our salvation,

for our hearts, our souls, our minds, our nation.

Hear our prayer, guide us true, raise our shields for the faithful.

May we rest long hence in fruitful fields

Alektos, preserve them, Saints, guard them,

faithful, protect them, soldiers, avenge them.

Saints, let us live.

Saints, be our salvation.

For our hearts, our souls, our minds, and our nation.

She climbed the stairs up the wall as quick as she dared. Corbin called out to her from the parapet.

“Detective Blackthorne! Quite a day we’re having, isn’t it?” he asked cheerfully. “And to think, I used to think it was boring living here.”

Heather shook her head. “I could do with a lot more boredom in my life these days, m’lord,” she replied. “How’s the hip?”

Corbin touched the cane he’d leaned against the wall. “Worse than it’s ever been. Do you suppose I could trade for one of theirs?” he asked, pointing out towards the fortress.

The crowd of skeletons continued steadily streaming out of the open fortress gates. From the town walls, they were little more than a flock of white on the rocks, but it was a large flock.

Heather grunted. “Aren’t you a little too old to be wanting your hips to go wandering on their own, m’lord?”

Corbin fixed her with a stunned look for a heartbeat, and then burst into laughter. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Detective. Oh, you’d have fit right in his Imperial Majesty’s army.”

She frowned, and stared at the steadily advancing group of white. That’s at least three hundred skeletons, still. Damn. She turned the conversation back to the menace at hand. “Are your men set with stones, m’lord? Arrows won’t be of much use.”

“Yes, but there’s much less loose stone about the inside of the town than you’d expect. I’ve had to resort to men breaking and quarrying rock, and there’s still not enough. I don’t see any siege tools on their part. I think they’ll crack the wall with the cannons, and then stream in.”

Heather grimaced. “Yeah. How’s Oiselle’s men doing there?”

Corbin shook his head. “They don’t care much for the clubs instead of swords, but they’re getting by. Small mercy of losing those houses, for once there’s a surplus of timber around the town to make clubs with. Most are still carrying their swords as well, though. I think they’d rather trust to skill than strength.”

“That’ll get them killed,” Heather said. “But it’s too late to dye those spots out. Three hundred skeletons left, easy. We’ve got how many, combat-ready today?”

“One hundred and seventy-four, Detective. If they’ve got artillery support and magic on their side, the town will fall. If they’re only infantry, and have to scale the walls, we’ll probably only lose half of the town.”

War. I didn’t train for war, not for these kinds of easy-going analysis of how many dead, how many wounded. Damn it. Heather thumped her gauntlet on top of the wall, and glared at the advancing army.

“They’ve got crossbows,” announced Ambrose, from further down the top of the wall. The parapets were filling fast with noble house guards and soldiers.

A line of red and gold livery atop the walls, and a pond of blue livery on the ground waiting for the walls to be breached. Against a small sea of undead bone, Heather thought. She looked towards Ambrose. “How are they carrying the crossbows? Like a trained soldier, or just holding onto them?”

“Like a trained soldier,” Ambrose replied.

“Damn it,” hissed Heather. “M’lord? Pretend they’re the Imperial army. How far from the walls will they stop to set up?”

“Eight hundred meters, I expect,” said Corbin. “They’d string bows there and form up their ranks once more, and then advance for the assault.”

“And if they do, what ammunition can we expect?”

“Per man, twenty seeker bolts, two explosive, five incendiary, two poison-cloud, and five ordinary dumbfire bolts. That’s standard loadout.”


“Assuming they’re trained and armed to Imperial doctrine and standard? They’ll start firing with explosives and seekers at three hundred yards. Explosives first for the wall, seekers for the forces atop.”

Heather blew out a breath, thinking quickly. “These aren’t going to be the usual skeletons. Not if they’re carrying crossbows like professionals. They’ll be skilled and trained. If they remember their past lives, they might be thinking of themselves as still mortal too, m’lord. That’s about the only advantage I can think, here.”

“M’lord Goldbrace? Detective?” called Ambrose. “Come to the lens. You’ll both want to see this.”

They stepped briskly over to Ambrose, the air-lens he’d conjured as wide across as a dinner plate, zeroed in on the advancing horde. Seen through the lens, the mass of bone resolved into skeletons, pristine and white. They carried their swords in scabbards, and marched with crossbows slung tight to the body. Every one of them moved with competence and focus.

In the middle of the mass, however, there was a milling, bodies piling into a mound in the center. Hand-bones interlocking, skeletons climbing on their fellows, bony limbs bending and hooking together.

“What are they doing?” said Ambrose, squinting in incredulity.

As the mass of animate bone surged forward, a rotten corpse was lifted up in their midsts. It took its place standing upon a carpet of skulls, the bones of his fellows in each of his hands like a king steering a chariot. Behind him, two skeletons rose, each bearing a blood-red flag that caught in the evening breeze.

“It’s a palanquin,” whispered Heather.

“I don’t suppose that’s our necromancer,” said Corbin. “It might be nice to put a shot through his skull.”

“No,” said Heather. “That man is dead. He’s a puppet. And if they’re bearing him forward like that, it’s to get our full attention.”

“You think they want to parley, Detective?” asked Corbin.

“Well, they’re using each other’s interlocked bones for building. M’lord, if they can do that, they could probably be up and over our walls much faster than we thought. So yes, they want to parley. They’ve got the advantage, and I think they know it,” Heather said, her lips twisting bitterly. “Who’s it bearing, can you tell?”

“No. The face is very rotted, and its stained the uniform badly. Certainly an officer’s uniform,” said Ambrose, squinting. “Probably the General Montvenue, if they’re choosing an officer to parley by.”

Their huddling had attracted attention. Heather stiffened as she heard a loud “Yoo-hoo!” from below.

The Lady Laurette Oiselle held out her arm to Faruza, and the werewolf dutifully walked her up the stairs. In her wake walked Consul Sienna, both women bearing flinty smiles of the sort that suggested they would not be excluded from the discussion. Ramdas had finished with the prayers, and he stood as close to the wall and Heather as he could, looking up at them with stern eyes.

Heather tried not to visibly shrink in on herself as she found herself surrounded by a Lord, a Lady, a Consul, and their attendant bodyguards. I would sooner be down on the ground facing off the undead by my lonesome, she thought. I don’t want to be in this crossfire.

Ramdas tried to rescue her: “Caballero, come away from there. I’d like a report.”

“She’s busy,” snapped Sienna.

Heather looked between both women’s hard stares, and frowned. They’re both angry at me? Why? Lord Goldbrace is looking annoyed and abashed, and Ambrose is edging away.

“Consul?” asked Heather.

“It’s my understanding you aren’t used to working much with the higher offices of the land, Detective,” said the Consul. She gestured towards Lady Oiselle. “It’s customary for the Church, is it not, to show no favor to any House. Questions of impartiality arise when one is seen too often in the company of but one noble Lord.”

Is she being jealous, suddenly? Heather wondered. She can’t think I’m horning in on him. “Now hold on a -“

The Consul’s hand was swift, and the press of her thumb into Heather’s wrist was surprisingly painful, disguised as a grasp of her hand. The Consul shot Heather a glare even she wasn’t too dense to read: Shut up, I’m doing you a favor.

“When questions like that arise,” continued the Consul, “Fragile peace and accords wear thin. While the Lady Oiselle is gracious, and the Lord Corbin a fine patron for the defense of this town, when information flows favorably to one House and not the other, delicate political balances may be upset in times of crisis. A time when we most need unity and accord. Do you follow, Detective?”

“Yes, I do,” said Heather, putting on her best contrite tone. Even if I’m inclined, right about now, to push you both off the wall. But I can’t play favorites, I can’t even let the question come up. That’s why Lieutenant Pramath always called them both together at the same time for meetings. So there’s never any question of favor for one House or another.

Heather cleared her throat. “I’ll make sure that my commanding officer clears my reports and analysis, and sends them to you all.”

“Very good,” said Laurette. Her smile made Heather like she was being sized up to be skinned for a rug.

“Now would you care, kindly, to supply for us what you’ve gleaned from the situation?” prompted the Consul.

Heather gestured towards the mass of skeletons. They’d closed half the distance between the town’s walls and the fortress, and by now their swarming had organized itself into an orderly march.

“Well, Consul, they’re coming, possibly to parley, or to kill us all. If they’ve come to kill us all, they’re probably going to win. They don’t appear to be mindless undead. They’re carrying their weapons like Imperial soldiers, and they’re marching like it.”

“They’re coming to parley,” said Corbin, with conviction. “If they meant to just attack, they’d use the arms at the fortress.”

“Which means they want something,” said Laurette. “And believe we can deliver it to them.”

“Our own corpses, probably,” muttered Heather.

“Probably,” allowed Sienna. “But they can take those without needing to negotiate. So it’s something else.”

“I say we answer before the question is asked,” said Laurette. “Attack now with everything we’ve got. Smash their number, and leave them ruing the day they ever sought to bring such unholy abomination to our country’s soil.”

“Well said, m’Lady Oiselle,” said Corbin. “Only first we’d need the means. Surely by now you can see the glow of their shields from here, and the runes upon them and their weapons.”

“If they’re charged,” said Heather quietly, “then they’re wielding magic, too. Like Friar Tomlin. So they’ll be at least an even match, man-to-man, for every soldier we’ve got. And they’ve still got artillery support from the fortress.”

Corbin turned to Ambrose, and gripped his arm. “Get every fighting man and woman we’ve got on the walls. Every mage, everyone who can so much as spit a fireball or shout a rock through a skull up here, and behind cover. If they mean to attack, we’ll make them pay for every drop of–“

His tongue skipped on the words. Not even Sienna could entirely suppress her shudder, and the Lord Goldbrace barely tried, as he changed tack: “– for every life.”

Heather frowned and leaned in: “Tell me you two have been seen to by Jiraat.”

“Haven’t had the time,” said Corbin. “Been a little busy with the defense of the town and all. I’m sure Consul Sienna has better things to do than entertain that dour old bat of a man.”

“More important things on my mind,” said Sienna, turning her eyes back to the approaching army.

“See him immediately after this is over, you two,” said Heather.

The Consul raised a cool eyebrow at her tone, and the Lord Corbin flashed an un-amused smile. “That sounded perilously close to an order, Detective. Do mind the order of things, hm?”

“Well of course, m’Lord,” said Heather drily. “I wouldn’t presume. How bloody the Lord enjoys his dreams being, or what crawls underneath his skin at the thought of blood, well. That’s your own business, and of course yours, Consul.”

“What in the Saints name are you three talking about?” asked Laurette.

Both the Lord and Consul stared back at Heather.

“A spiritual matter,” growled Heather. “By your leave, m’lord, m’lady, and Consul. I have duties to attend to.”

“Of course,” said the Lady Laurette, making an idle shooing gesture. “Go… watch something.”

There aren’t enough crates of pottery in the world for what I’d do to wipe that smile from your face, Lady Oiselle, thought Heather. She stiffly turned and walked away, the fiery motes of her anger swarming around her like a cloud of blackflies as she followed the curve of the wall.  

Caballero,” said Ramdas, from below. Sparks spat from his lips as he spoke, and Heather raised a hand.

“Aye, sir. There’s at least three hundred. Like Friar Tomlin. Looks like they’re coming to negotiate.”

“Negotiate? What is there to negotiate with such abomination!”

“I don’t know, sir, but it seems the Consul and Lord and Lady intend to hear them out. I doubt we’ll like it.”

The centaur gave a short, hot snort, flecks of sparks and motes of his own impatience showing as he frisked on his hooves. “How long until they hit the wall, if they attack?”

“Minutes, sir, at most,” Heather replied. She turned to stare at the advancing mass.

The interlocked bones of the palanquin was a study in horror. The corpses bound within it walked with backs bent, their limbs interlocked. As a child, Heather had once watched a ball of ants form a raft to cross a creek on her mother’s ranch.

Like bone-white ants, she thought, shuddering. Even from the distance, she could hear their skittering pace. Each bony foot met on stone at a different tempo, as if some cacophony of bony applause approached. They bore the bloated, rotted body in rot-stained uniform forward as they marched. The skeletons began to wave their flags in perfect unison, swaying left and right, the plain red fabric snapping in the stiff seabreeze.

“They’re signalling, sir. Attack or not, they seem ready to parley,” said Heather. “I don’t like this, not any of it.”

“Could Ooluk not strike them from within the town?” asked Ramdas. “We ought to ask him.”

Heather shook her head. “Not if they’ve got magic on their side, sir. He’s a talent, that boy, but he’s only one person, one caster. Anything he could do against them would be countered, overwhelmingly. And it would give away his location and make him a target for reprisal.”

“So we must place our trust in the Consul and Nobles.”

“Bet that tastes as bad in your mouth as it does mine, sir.”

Ramdas snorted, and shot a glare up at the knot of nobility. The Consul stood atop the parapet of the wall, hands on her hips, making herself as prominent and visible as possible to the advancing horde.

“Who better than a Consul to negotiate for our lives?” muttered Ramdas. “Si, I will trust in them, I’ve no other choice now.”

“Well, I’ve saved two of their lives,” pointed out Heather. “That’s must count for something.”

Then again, thought Heather as she watched the Consul. If she left a lover to die once before, I don’t know how far she’ll go in this parley. Lives aren’t something I like being pragmatic about. Least of all if we’re negotiating with grave-robbing bastards.

The skeletons closed the distance at a steady march. The rotted, eyeless corpse aboard the palanquin stood tall, and raised a hand in greeting. At the gesture, the front line of the skeletons stopped moving. The palanquin continued forward, trampling some of their own like an undead juggernaut. Heather heard distant bone snap on rock.

“Hold your fire,” growled Corbin. “Not a shot off this wall without my order.”

Laurette Oiselle narrowed her eyes at that proclamation, and cupped a handkerchief to her nose and mouth as the wind shifted. Her eyes glared pure murder at the palanquin and its rider.

About the only thing I’ve got in common with the Lady, Heather thought. Destroy them all. That’s the only way to deal with them.

Bones snapped and ground to fragments underfoot as the palanquin clattered forward. At forty yards distance from the wall, they came to a sharp halt, countless bone feet all stamping once on the rock with military precision. A ripple of unease rolled through Heather at the sound.

They’re moving with military discipline, she thought. Oh saints.

“General Montvenue,” called Corbin. “That ride’s a little ostentatious, don’t you think?”

“My Lord Goldbrace,” replied the eyeless corpse with a twist of its rotting lips, “How good to hear your voice. You’ll have to forgive me. The ride wasn’t my idea.”

“Keep him talking,” murmured Heather, ducking low along the parapet. No sense in making myself an easy target.

“Well, I’d like to know whose idea it was, General. With respect to the men and women slaving so hard to make an impression beneath you, I don’t think I care for the effect. Too sterile, really. Something more vivacious, more vigorous, would be appreciated.”

“Well, you’re quite welcome to come down here and join them,” replied Montvenue, with a nasty smile. “Show them how it’s done.”

“Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I’ve a very stout wall between myself and them. A nasty inconvenience, with this old soldier’s hip and all,” said Corbin, patting his leg.

“Indeed, but only an inconvenience. I must sincerely apologize, Lord Goldbrace. While I never liked you well in life, I’m in no position to argue my rank in this new order now that I’m dead. So I’ve some business to get on with, if you don’t mind?”

“I do so hope it’s some civil business, General. I did rather like you, for a stuffed shirt gone soft behind a desk. I know you fought hard to rise to your station, and I’m sorry to see you laid so low.”

“The tides of men and fate, Lord Goldbrace. And yes, today I’m happy to say, is civil business. My lord and his entourage desire not your lives or bones. As you can see,” he said, sweeping a rotting hand to the bent spines and ribs underfoot. “Of those we have plenty enough. But we have business to attend to in the fortress. So I bring a proclamation: Stay put, behind your walls, and you will be safe. Interference in our business in the fortress will bring reprisal. Do not leave the walls. The land beyond it is ours now. Behave yourselves, wait out the long winter, and we will be gone by spring.”

“Civil business indeed,” replied Corbin. “And what of our traders and trappers, hunters, natives, who wish to come and go in lawful trade and commerce in the Emperor’s lands?”

“If they are beyond the walls, their lives are forfeit,” replied Montvenue. “But that is a small price to pay for the lives of so many. Too small a price, really. There’s one more price yet.”

“And that is?”

“Tell the church mice it’s time to stop hiding after the trouble they’ve caused us. Banish them, and I will not descend upon your town and rend every soul within to take their bones for our own.”

There was a long silence, as his words echoed over the wall. An uncomfortable number of eyes turned to Heather and Ramdas. Heather stood, glaring at the rotten General.

“Ah, there’s one now! How splendid,” called Montvenue.

Heather’s eyes scanned the scene. No eyes, but he can see. Doesn’t mean much if he couldn’t, there’s enough skeletons here with the basic vision runes to function. But he’s never met me before. So he doesn’t know who I am. But someone there does. My armor’s under my cloak, and I’m not wearing anything else to distinguish me from a common townsperson that he could see. Someone’s seeing me. Someone knows my face. And it isn’t the General.

Corbin spoke up: “I’m not sure if it’s death that has seized your conscience, General, or just the good senses of your master. But asking us to send our best defenders against your forces out of the city, their lives forfeit, seems to me to be asking a great deal. I won’t send them to their deaths, General, only to have you overrun us the next day. Nor will I sanction sending out our gentle healers of the soul and heart undefended to your tender mercies.”

“Just the knights, Corbin. The rest had nothing to do with the mischief we’ve been visited.”

They don’t know it was just me, Heather realized. They don’t know it was Corbin and the Consul there with me. For that matter, they don’t even know that it was me, just that the knights had something to do with it. Their surveillance isn’t as good as we feared.

Corbin frowned at the General. “Nevertheless, I’m not sure we’re ready to ask them to make such a sacrifice.”

“You have until sunset to decide,” replied the General sternly. “We will withdraw to the fortress. If they have left the walls in exile by sunset, then we will go on about our business and leave you untroubled. Provided there is no more interference, of course.”

“And if we say no?”

“If they are not gone by sunset, we’ll come back in force in the night, after we’ve shelled your walls to pieces. And then you will all die, Lord Goldbrace, and find yourselves pressed into service. Good day.”

The general sat back down, and gestured with his hand. The bones underneath him began to move once more, bearing the column around.

Wind whistled over the silent parapets. Too many eyes lingered on Heather.


The Lady Laurette Oiselle’s screeching cut through the thin wooden walls of the church:

“How dare you both? How dare any of you? We’re not going to give in to their wretched filth. Lord Goldbrace, I expected a man of military service would have some grasp of strategy beyond ‘I surrender!’. How can you stand here and look Father Keza in the eye and say you’re sending his faithful fellows to die?”

“Lady Oiselle, we are most definitely not surrendering. They want a detente, and to go about their business stealing adamant from the Emperor. Now while the Emperor might value his adamant over the value of our blood, I do not. This is a town full of civilians, and guardsman good for naught much else but fighting each other, not the undead. Father Keza, surely you understand the mathematics of the situation.”

“I understand them, but I don’t have to agree with them. I think the faithful thing to do is stand together, resist together, and trust in the Saints and Divine to guide us to safety,” said the priest.

Heather hung her head as she stirred lunch’s cauldron. Her duffel bag, scarcely unpacked since arriving in Frostmoor, lay at her feet in the kitchen. While the powers of the town were still arguing their fate, one glance at Ramdas as they’d marched back to the church told her he’d already decided.

Ramdas and Sienna both spoke up at once, stumbling over each other’s words:

“Pardon, but-“

“It isn’t-“

Si, I-“

“Lieutenant Pramath, I stand with the Lord Goldbrace on this one. I’m truly sorry. Your Detective saved our lives, but-“

Laurette’s screech rose: “All the more reason! You treacherous filth! How dare you call yourself a nobleman or a gentleman, Lord Goldbrace! I’d expect naught better from a cold-blooded Consul, but you? Even a raw soldier knows what loyalty is!”

“And an officer knows what strategy is, Lady Oiselle. I was once an officer, and the General is one with decades more experience than I in the service. The only reason we still live, right now, is that it’s more convenient for them to have us sit here, instead of kill us.”

Nobody, it seemed, was getting a word in edgewise between the Lord Goldbrace and Lady Oiselle, as Laurette once again cut off Keza to respond.

“I won’t sanction it, Lord Goldbrace! I will not. Perhaps your house has lost all sense of piety and faith, but House Oiselle has not. What good is a life spared on the wages of sin? Who would rest easy knowing they lived because they sent others to their deaths?”

“Not I,” said Keza. “Nor any good and fai-“

The sound of Ramdas’ hoof striking the wood floor was loud enough to make the jars in the cupboard rattle over Heather’s head.

Pardon,” said the centaur. “But with all due respect, Lady Oiselle, Lord Goldbrace, Consul Sienna? The decision is not yours.”

“You’ve got a few hundred people in this town ready to make it a very ugly decision,” pointed out Corbin. “And just as many ready to fight them over it.”

“All the more reason,” said Ramdas. “I choose to depart, and take with me los caballeros. We do not leave in exile, but to hold true to our oaths: We protect the lives of the faithful with our own.”

Heather clenched her eyes shut, dribbling motes and sparks of anger joining her tears as she stirred the cauldron. Damn right, sir. But the look in their eyes as we walked back? Some of them looked ready to pitch us over the wall and be done with it. Nevermind the lives we’ve saved, or this town when the Sending Gate went up.

Setting the spoon aside, she trudged to the window, leaning against the frame as she turned her eyes to the practice yard. I’ve never once asked for anything from them when I could do it myself.  Never once thought of putting down my shield just because it was too hard. I’ve given up so much for people like these, and everything else got taken away.  And this is the wages of my faith? Kicked out of this nowhere village in this frozen hell, to get torn apart by the things I’d swore to spend my last breath battling?

The Lady Oiselle tried a few more times to argue, but Heather tuned their voices out. By the gentle diminishing of volume that came as the minutes wore on, she knew their fate.

They’d send us out to our deaths, she thought. At least the Lieutenant’s sending us to die for the right reasons.

She absently thumbed at her father’s mace-handle. It was awful to see you go, Papa, but you never complained. Not when the doctors told you the cancer had gotten hold of your blood.  Not when you had to put down your shield just a couple months after. You were a Blackthorne, and if you couldn’t die on your feet, you’d work until you fell over.

You never complained, and you never asked for anything more than what you had. And when all those people showed up at your Guiding, we knew it’s how you wanted it to be. It was enough that they lived, because of you. It was more than enough that they came to see your soul go home.

I didn’t mind that I’d die fighting, but it would have been nice to have a grave for someone to say ‘thank you’ over.

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Click here to read Chapter 7.2 – Ad Hominem