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. The sandy soil was riddled with hundreds of
footprints, tracks of boots with low heels, the kind
commonly worn by elves. He also noted pawprints of large
dogs, possibly bloodhounds used to track criminals.
Satisfied that none of Lodston's visitors were still in the
vicinity of the mine, Martin crossed warily to the gaping
doorway. Then he called in a low, halting voice, as though
he dreaded either an answer or no answer at all.
"Nugold! Nugold Lodston! It's Milo Martin, with your
goods!"
Somehow the silence seemed more ominous than a reply
might have to the cautious shopkeeper. He entered the
murky chamber, stepping over the debris from what had
been the door. The chamber had been ransacked, and the
stench of rotten flesh nearly sickened him. Packages of
food from his own store were broken and scattered
everywhere. A fine layer of flour had settled throughout the
antechamber, lending an eerie white cast to everything in
the room.
Martin lit a lamp he found on a small table. Its light
shone through the haze of flour which he had disturbed
when he entered. At the rear of the room, he saw another
shattered door leading into a pitch-black tunnel. Whatever
force had blasted the heavy timbers of those doors was
more than a mere battering ram
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