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... a hair line that became an inch,
then another inch... then a cleft a foot across, that wid-
ened abruptly and crashed away into the walled path-
way below, carrying the ogre with it. Chane crept to the
newly sheared edge of the outcrop and looked down.
The pathway beneath was a jumble of fallen stone, its
walled opening filled halfway to the top. A cloud of
stone dust hung above it, veiling the moons' light.
Slinging his hammer, Chane took his sword in hand
and bounded down to the rockfall, searching for open-
ings. He found a wide slit, thrust his sword into it, and
prodded as far as the blade would go. Somewhere under-
foot, distant-sounding and muffled, the ogre howled in
outrage. Chane went looking for wider fissures.
He was still darting back and forth across the tumble
of slab-stone when the kender reappeared, just above,
crouched on the sheared ledge. "What did you do with
your ogre?" the smaller one asked. "I hear him, but I
don't see him."
"He's under these rocks," the dwarf snapped. "I can't
reach him."
"Well, that's not so bad," Chess shrugged. "That means
he can't reach you, either. Of course, if you'd killed him
first, then buried him, you wouldn't have this sort of
problem. Don't you know anything about ogres?"
"This is the first one I ever saw," Chane growled, prod-
ding into another crack with his sword
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