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"Where are the rest of your people?" demanded Barsh.
"You promised you would have an army of dwarves,"
echoed Quinby. "There are barely a hundred of you here.
What's going on?"
Vigre took a deep breath and told them the bad news.
"Dragonarmy soldiers are coming this way," he reported.
"We saw them from the top of the ravine. There must be at
least two thousand of them marching through the city. We'd
all be trapped in the prison if they got here before Spinner
was freed. So I ordered most of our people to meet the
dragonarmy soldiers in the street and fight them there. It
was the only way to stall for time."
Barsh and Quinby turned pale. A ragtag group of
dwarves didn't have a chance against two thousand crack
dragonarmy troops. Vigre's people were going to be
slaughtered. They must have known their fate, yet they
were willing to sacrifice their lives for stories they would
never hear. Truly, thought Quinby, this was the stuff of
legend. He put his hand on Vigre's shoulder and said, "If I
were a dwarf, I'd be proud on this day. Then again," he
added, considering, "I'm not a dwarf."
Vigre looked at the kender trying to decide what Quinby
meant.
"No matter what happens," Quinby went on, oblivious to
Vigre's questioning stare, "your people belong in Spinner's
stories
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