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. "That's
Chestal Thicketsway. We were on our way up the moun-
tain when you passed us. I want to talk to you."
"There were ogres and goblins behind us," the man
said, shading his eyes against the morning sun. "If you
came from there, how did you get past them?"
"We only saw one ogre," Chane called, "and no gob-
lins, though there may have been some higher up."
"How did you get past the ogre you saw?"
Chestal Thicketsway danced forward, past Chane.
"Chane Feldstone is a famous warrior," he shouted. "He
dumped rocks on your ogre and buried him."
"I'm not famous," Chane hissed at the beaming kender.
He turned his attention to the people ahead. Closer now,
he could see them clearly. Many of them had fresh,
bound wounds, and those huddling in the two camps be-
yond were in a sorry shape. "Who are you people?" he
called. "Where have you come from?"
The humans and dwarves - and women among them,
Chane noted, of both races - relaxed visibly as the two
strangers came near and they saw that they weren't gob-
lins. The burly man lowered his pike and tapped himself
on the chest with a grimy thumb. "I'm Camber Meld.
That's Fleece Ironhill over there." He pointed toward a
gray-bearded hill dwarf standing just ahead of a phalanx
of armed soldiers
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