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. Suddenly its hinged joints came alive, and it
sprang away, running at an awkward, loose-legged gal-
lop that seemed slow -- except for the blur of landscape
flashing past. Hobby ran, and the ice image followed it.
Hills sped past, and wild steppes where raw wind flat-
tened scrub. The torn and savaged land was seen just in
glimpses by the mage.
The carved horse ran, then slowed and halted atop an-
other hill. "There," it said. "Hobby has found it."
The wooden horse looked away, and the ice image fol-
lowed its steady gaze. At the foot of the hill was a tumble
of rocks. Great boulders lay here and there in a field of
smaller, broken stones, which stretched across a quarter-
mile of barren waste. Only here and there among the
rocks was there indication that they had once been part
of a structure -- a squared corner, a wedge-cut face of flat
stone.
Hobby's gaze narrowed, and so did the scene in the ice
pool. Among the stones, a point jutted up, tilted at a
slight angle, its lower parts buried under sand and de-
bris. It was a piece of what must once have been a mighty
structure, now only wreckage among rubble.
A wide crack ran from the covered base part way to-
ward the upright point, and Hobby's painted eyes fo-
cused on that crack. In the shadows within the fissure,
something glowed for a moment.
"The helm is there," Hobby said. "Chislev knows
where everything is. Chislev is everywhere that there are
eyes to see
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