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. And this was
as it should be, for the bands and tribes of humanity had
been scattered far and wide, and many were wanderers,
while of all the other races the dwarves had the most to
trade, the most need to trade, and the greatest under-
standing of how essential trade was. Being in the dwar-
ven realms also gave some measure of protection to the
place, as neither mountain nor hill dwarves was amena-
ble to having their lands entered by those who sought
trouble.
As they neared the settlement Wingover recalled the
simple rules of the place. "Don't kill anybody," he chuck-
led. "It isn't allowed."
The faint trail they followed wound down into a val-
ley, toward Barter, and within a mile of the village they
were among cleared fields on a gentle slope, with the
village visible ahead. Wingover pointed toward a large
pavilion draped with red and yellow awnings. "The
mountain dwarves are here," he said. "That's Gold-
buckle's stall."
Just ahead, on the trail, an odd object was moving to-
ward the village - a triangular white thing more than a
dozen feet from end to end and half that in width, it had
the appearance of a giant spearhead, creeping along on
spindly-looking narrow wheels that glinted in the sun-
light. Garon Wendesthalas studied the thing ahead, then
shook his head and pointed, questioning
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