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How many goblins had there been, there in the cut?
Wingover wondered silently. There was no way to
know. They were gone, drowned and carried away to-
ward the main watercourse.
On the bank, a shadow moved and another, darker
shadow sprang toward it. Chane's hammer went up, and
the dwarf rolled another goblin into the torrent. He
stood, staggering, and Jilian caught him as he started to
fall. The dwarven girl raised her glowing face, wide-
eyed, and beckoned to Wingover. He reached the two in
two steps and knelt.
Chane was down, his teeth gritted with pain, and by
their own light they saw the bronze bolt standing in his
shoulder. Jilian reached for it, but a glowing, red hand
stopped her.
"Let me," Glenshadow said. "I know what to do."
With Chane's own nickeliron dagger, the wizard cut
out the goblin-bolt, then peeled back the dwarf's fur tu-
nic to cut away the rag of linen beneath. He studied the
wound. Setting his thumbs at each side of the gash, he
squeezed it closed. "Get me a flame," he told Wingover.
The man fumbled in his pouch for his fire-maker, a
cunning device obtained from hill dwarves long ago. He
fumbled again, then peered into his pouch. "It isn't here,"
he said.
"Never mind," the wizard said. "Jilian, see how I'm
holding the puncture? Can you do that?"
Jilian took Glenshadow's place, and the wizard
reached into his own belt-pouch and brought out a
small, silver object with a lid
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