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. "I don't
have all day."
"I'm wrestling with my instincts," Bobbin assured it. "I
suppose you've come quite a long way."
"Nearly five hundred miles," the dragon snapped.
"Not that it's any of your business."
"Aerodynamics," Bobbin muttered. "Mass and energy
coefficients."
"Stop babbling and come back here!"
"You certainly are big," the gnome remarked, his mind
racing. "I'll bet you weigh a ton."
"Closer to three," the dragon voice sneered.
"Five hundred miles, you said?" He dug out a carbon
marker and did rapid calculations on the trailing edge of
his wing. "At say... twenty knots? That means you've
been in the air for more than twenty-four hours. That's a
long time. Do you have far to go?"
"Not much farther. Now let's get this over with. Turn
around?"
"I'm still having problems with my autonomic re-
sponses," the gnome apologized. Glancing around one
more time, he readjusted his lines, dropping the craft's
nose in a sudden forty-five degree dive. He wondered
how much longer he could stay out of the dragon's reach.
Chapter 25
Camber Meld and Fleece Ironhill stood at the
center of a ragged, determined line of refugees, watching
goblins advance across the ice. Twenty-eight fighters
formed the motley line, dwarves and humans, most of
them male but with a few females among them. A few
held weapons of recent make, but most were armed with
ancient blades, hammers, axes, and shields broken from
the smoking ice -- weapons that had been dropped or cast
aside by those still under the ice
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