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. He clung, and his hand was
never far from the bow and the single arrow.
* * * * *
Wingover was long since out of sight by the time
Chane and the others had crossed the arched bridge, and
they settled in to wait between a pair of pillars that might
once have been guard towers, flanking the east end of the
bridge. Guard towers or, Chane thought, possibly
counting towers for inspection of wares in transit. Idly,
the dwarf found himself thinking: this might once have
been a trade road. Wingover had spoken of trade roads.
Probably there had been such a road, going out from
Thorbardin to points north by way of Pax Tharkas. Ob-
viously there had once been a lot of trade between the
undermountain kingdom and other realms - far more
than the modest efforts of Rogar Goldbuckle and other
traders produced now.
Thorbardin itself was full of things not dwarven.
Elvenwares of great beauty were treasured under the
mountains, as were tapestries and feather arrangements,
cunning table services of carved wood made by humans
somewhere, toys and folding screens, vine-laced frames
for paintings, small bits of treasured ivory. Chane had
seen such things all his life in Thorbardin, but had never
thought much about them. Now he realized that they
were relics of some long-ago time when the gates had
been open and roads had been in use for caravans to
come and go upon them
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