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. The world itself
knows what passes upon it. It speaks of it to itself, and
the Irda listens. How else could she do what she does...
observe the purposes of the gods' things, the ones that
the gods themselves no longer observe? Who else could
inform the Irda, except the world itself'"
Wingover shook his head, wondering if the mage was
in fact deranged. What he said almost made sense...
sometimes, but not in any way that Wingover could see.
He turned away and went to start unpacking his horse.
"Don't do that," Chane Feldstone shouted, getting to
his feet. 'We have to go on."
"We aren't going anywhere for a while," Wingover told
him. "We are going to rest here until we're fit to travel."
"But I see the path now," the dwarf said, his face going
pale again. "I see where Grallen went, and I have to go
there. Spellbinder --
Jilian Firestoke was at Chane's side then, bracing him
with strong little hands. "The man is right, Chane," she
said gently. "You must rest. Then we can go on. Please,
sit down."
A sheen of sweat had erupted on Chane's forehead,
and his eyes seemed glazed. Still, he tried to struggle free.
"Can't you see the path? Can't any of you see it? It goes
down this mountain and out onto the plain, then it dou-
bles back... just out there. It turns back and stops. See?
Why can't any of you see?" The dwarf slumped and let
himself be eased down to a sitting position.
"Jilian?" Chane murmured
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