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"Run!" the wizard snapped. "This is no time for
games!"
The logic of that statement was inescapable. Chane
ran. Beyond the glade was forest, and beyond the forest
the blackstone path. They arrived there with cats pound-
ing at their heels, and the dwarf strode back and forth
along the edge of safety, growling as ferociously as the
frustrated predators that strained toward him. Finally
Chane got his temper under control, slung his hammer at
his belt, and turned to the wizard. "How do you suppose
those cats got across the road? They were supposed to all
be on the other side."
The man shrugged disinterestedly. "An ancient ques-
tion, that. Why does a cat cross the road?"
"Rust and corruption!" Chane glared at him. "That's
chickens, not cats! And don't change the subject. What I
asked was how they got across."
"Oh, that. You left your log skid back there. Someone
simply moved the gravel again."
"But who would -" the dwarf's face went dark with
fury. "You! You did that! Why?"
"Would you have come along with me otherwise?"
Chane tried to say something, could think of nothing
appropriate, and merely sputtered.
"No need to apologize," the wizard said. "Any dwarf
worth his salt would rather cook iron than travel. It's
your nature. You might have dawdled there for weeks,
when you should be seeking the Irda
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