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. The
refugees who had crossed the ridge into the next valley to
the west were still at large, and she wanted them. Only a
small force would be necessary for that.
When the troops were assembled, Kolanda Darkmoor
sent a group to find the fugitives from Harvest and
Herdlinger, and bring back all those fit to be put to work.
The unfit would simply be killed.
"Go south a few miles," she told them, "then cross over
into Waykeep and turn northward. Trap them, subdue
them, and bring back slaves."
* * * * *
Bobbin was growing more and more irritated as the
days passed. He was irritated with himself, irritated with
his soarwagon, and irritated with the world in general.
And much of his irritation came of being bored. Except
for sightseeing, there was hardly anything to do when
one was stuck aloft in a contrivance powered by the very
air currents on which it floated. And the soarwagon was
far more responsive to the wind's vagaries than to the
feeble controls the gnome had managed to build into its
structure.
For the past day or so, there hadn't even been anyone
to talk to. Since leaving the pass between Waykeep and
Respite, Bobbin had tried any number of times to return,
but the soarwagon wouldn't go. He kept winding up in
other places, or over familiar places but too high in the
sky to make contact with anyone. And he was running
low on raisins.
In a way, that could be a blessing, he realized, because
it was the half-bushel of raisins that had caused his
present set of problems
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