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." He looked
around, his eyes falling upon the kender, then on Jilian,
and again on Wingover. Finally the wizard raised his
eyes and gazed into the high distances. Far off, against
the face of a mountain peak, Bobbin the gnome's soar-
wagon glided in great circles.
"An odd assortment," the wizard muttered. "Very odd,
indeed."
* * * * *
Through waning day and into evening, there were
councils. News was exchanged, stories told and plans
discussed. Camber Meld and Fleece Ironhill recounted
again what had happened in the Vale of Respite, beyond
the Eastwall peaks. An army of goblins, they said. And
ogres among them. Camber Meld's eyes were moist as he
described the sudden, all-out attack on the human vil-
lage of Harvest - the slaughter, the rout of survivors un-
prepared for battle, the blood and the burning. Old
Fleece Ironhill's voice was a cold growl as he told of the
similar struggle at the hill dwarf village of Herdlinger.
The dwarves had been slightly better prepared. They
had seen the smoke above Harvest. But except for the
fighting lasting a bit longer, the story of Herdlinger's fall
was the same.
Chane Feldstone recounted the pursuit of the refugees
by ogres, as he had seen it, and Chestal Thicketsway told
with glee of the mountain dwarf's defeat of the ogre be-
neath
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