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. "And for what? A dream."
"The dream was real," Chane said, his voice level.
"Grallen called me to go and find his helm. Thorbardin is
at stake, and the power to protect the kingdom is in that
helm. But you heard Jilian. You're free to go wherever
you want to go. We don't need you."
"And where do you intend to go from here?"
"Where Grallen went. I have the Spellbinder. It shows
me the way."
Wingover took a deep breath, then released it in a
sigh. "That's how it is, then." He strode past them, recov-
ered Geekay's lead, and started on without looking back,
though he could hear them following.
After a time, the old trail wound to the right along a
shoulder of the ridge, then switched back, climbing. At
the turn, a faint trail parted from it, leading southward.
The goat-trail. Wingover turned south, leading a reluc-
tant Geekay, and walked a hundred yards before turning
to see the others going away, following the climbing trail
upward. At that distance, they looked very small. Two
dwarves, a robed mage, and a kender. Of them all, only
the kender turned to look back at Wingover; Chess gave
him a sad wave of the hand.
"Crazy," Wingover muttered. "They're all crazy."
He shrugged, put a toe in a stirrup, and swung into his
saddle. Ahead lay three days of wilderness, then the rela-
tive security of the dwarven realm and the road back to
Barter. And he was free now of the debt of service
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