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. The glint of weapons showed
amongst them.
The shadows came on, moving quietly, their only
sound an occasional muted clank of metal on metal.
Wingover dismounted and raised his shield an inch,
peering over the top of it, his sword ready. The goblins
were so close that the man could hear their guttural
voices:
"... not much farther. Don't get too close. Want to
ring them, not run into them." A few steps more and they
stopped. Wingover saw a tiny flare of light made by a
hooded lamp, its top lifted an inch to light a straw.
They had torches! Suddenly Wingover realized what
they were doing. They were part of an encirclement, pre-
paring to flare torches.
Somewhere a hoopak whistled, and one of the goblin
shadows stiffened, gurgled, and fell. The human didn't
hesitate. Still crouching, he launched himself at the re-
maining two, clenching his teeth to stifle the battle cry
that built in his throat. Like a darker shadow, Wingover
was on them, and his sword sang softly as it clove be-
tween the helm and collar of the nearest one.
Without stopping, Wingover thrust at the remaining
goblin, and his blade rang on metal. In the fitful light he
saw its glittering eyes, wide with surprise, saw its mouth
open to shout alarm. He clubbed the goblin with the edge
of his shield. It crumpled at his feet. Before the hooded
lantern could strike the ground, Wingover caught and
covered it. Then he took a quick look around, raised
himself slightly, and signaled
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