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.
"You're leaving in the morning?" Garon asked.
"Apparently so," the human said. "On a blamed fool's
errand."
"111 go part way with you," the elf offered. "There's
nothing more to learn here, and I've sold my goods."
"Glad to have you along," Wingover told him. "Any
special reason?"
"There might be more goblins," the elf said darkly.
Chapter 12
Jilian Firestoke's map - obtained under duress
from a ruffian in a Thorbardin tunnel - was not so much
a map as a sketch of landmarks with a wavy line mean-
dering among them. When she finally persuaded
Wingover to look at it, on their second day of travel
northeastward from Barter, he squinted at it, turned it
this way and that, then scratched his head.
"Is this all you have to go on?" He turned it again. "You
can't find anybody with this. It has no coordinates.
Nothing to trace from... what is it supposed to be a
map of?"
They had stopped to rest on a small meadow that was
little more than a wide shelf on the side of a mountain,
but a place where Wingover's horse could graze and the
travelers could drink from a tiny spring that flowed from
porous stone to trickle down the rocky slope where it fed
a shallow pool. As usual when they halted, the man and
the elf spread along the trail, Wingover going ahead to
where he could see for a distance, Garon falling back to
keep an eye on the trail behind them
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