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The left wing dipped sharply, the nose went up, and
Bobbin's contrivance came around in a hard turn, climb-
ing. Righting itself, the soarwagon pointed its nose at the
sky and shot straight up, then completed a perfect roll
and reversed itself in a blistering dive, directly at the gob-
lins below. They stared, shouted, and began to run in all
directions. Bobbin cursed as he fought his lines and eased
the dive. But the craft had a mind of its own and re-
sponded with a neat half-roll.
Upside down and frantic, Bobbin shot over the heads
of the goblin troops, raining raisins down upon them. By
the time he managed to turn the soarwagon right side up,
he was four miles south and climbing, again coming
about in a wide right-hand turn.
Bobbin clung to his lines, pounded his wicker rail with
a frustrated fist. "Gearslip!" he cursed. "Threadbind and
metal fatigue! You misassembled piece of junk, can't you
behave yourself just once? Stress analysis and critical
path i If I ever get my feet on solid ground again, I'm go-
ing to take you apart and make camel davits out of you!"
At a half-mile relative altitude, the soarwagon soared
serenly over the scattered force of goblins, over the inter-
vening forests, over the ice field where humans and
dwarves worked to gather old weapons. Finally, it
passed over the huddled encampment beyond, where
refugees tended their children and wounded compan-
ions, then raised its nose and climbed
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