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. They're here
still. Yet, according to the old stories, Grallen did not die
in this place. The son of King Duncan died in this ancient
war, but not here. Somewhere else, sometime later. An-
other battlefield, somewhere. The place where Fistan-
dantilus cast his last and greatest spell, they said. Chane
tried to remember all he had heard of the old legends.
Where had that final battle been? He wasn't sure... ex-
cept that it was somewhere other than here. East of here,
he seemed to recall. A place called Skullcap.
Grallen, warrior prince of the Hylar, who had learned
a secret in his final hours, had learned of a secret way
into Thorbardin, too late to find and defend it.
Had Grallen been here, then?
The red spot on Chane's forehead tingled. Yes, he felt,
Grallen had been here... and gone on. But to where?
Again in his mind he saw the image, of a face not un-
like his own, the face that the dream - or the red moon -
had shown him. Grallen, son of Duncan. Chane's own
ancestor. Could that be true?
Everywhere, ice. Ice whose convoluted shapes con-
tained dwarves frozen in combat. In some of them, the
frozen shapes struggled amid dark swirls of smoke that
were kept as still as they were. What kind of mage had he
been, this Fistandantilus? What kind of sorcery had
availed him, that he could have done this? Yet, the leg-
ends said, what he had done later was far worse
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