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. "A dragonmask," he said. "The
mask, the helm... the face of a dragon."
"There are no dragons," Wingover said. 'That's just
old legend."
"There were dragons on Krynn," Garon corrected.
"Not legends. They were real. And somewhere, I sup-
pose, they still are real."
"Well, that was no dragon down there." The man
headed for his horse, gathering pack and saddle as he
went. "But whoever it was knows we're up here, and
those were real goblins. So it's time to move out."
They made camp that night on a mountainside miles
away, north and a little east of where they had rested.
Wingover made good use of his maps and his skills to put
distance behind them, and they were exhausted when fi-
nally he called a stop. But it was a good place to rest - a
sheltered cove between broken ridges, where a small
cookfire would not be seen, but where a guard on the
ridgetop above could see for miles in any direction.
Wingover and the elf took turns standing guard.
Wingover was not ready yet to trust Jilian Firestoke with
such a responsibility.
Morning's sun found the travelers awake, packed, and
on their way, threading a narrow ledge-trail. When they
stood atop the next pass, Wingover halted them and
pointed. 'There's your second X, Button. Off there
where the peaks still shadow the land between
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