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    landless druzhina, sworn from all backgrounds for personal service—in his early thirties with a long scar across his face and much more scattered about. Yet, for his scars, he was still handsome. Enough so Laczlo felt a cold sliver of jealousy, feeling weak and feminine in contrast. “Voivode,” he said, bowing. “I am Commander Voiakh’s champion, Ygon of Kymisa. The commander is expecting you.”