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But he paid no attention to his weapon as the wooden lid
fell away. Instead he stared at a pair of steel longswords -
weapons of exceptional quality, he could tell at a glance;
these were not like the pitted plows above. He snapped an-
other box open, finding a dozen steel spearheads, razor
sharp and wickedly barbed. He did not have time to check
any more boxes, but he knew that there was no need.
Weapons! And not just any weapons, but blades of supe-
rior craftsmanship, excellent quality. The steel gleamed with
purity, proving it to be expensive and rare.
But they were without craftsman's marks, no artist's sig-
nature. Wherever the arms were headed, the mountain
dwarves wanted their origin to remain a secret. Nearly
every day for at least a year, a wagon full of weapons had
left Thorbardin for some unknown shore. What nation on
Krynn needed so many weapons?
Only war required such numbers.
The answers Flint had sought left only more questions.
Had Aylmar learned of this before he died? Flint swallowed
a lump in his throat as he remembered Garth's mutterings of
a "humped one and magical blue smoke
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