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. Its dark
eyes, almost hidden in the deep recesses of its black sockets,
squinted into the darkness, searching for the source of the
tantalizing odor.
An odor, the troll knew, that could only emanate from
one of its favorite foods: dwarf.
* * * * *
Flint's destination, the mountain dwarves' kingdom, was
twenty or so miles southwest of Hillhome. The wagons'
shipments must have come from there, and Garth had also
said the derro he saw was a magic-user; it was common
knowledge that only one type of dwarf could muster more
than simple spells. That was the Theiwar clan of Thor-
bardin.
Flint suspected his older brother had discovered the secret
of the derro, and he was determined to make whoever was
responsible for his death pay with his life.
His burning vengeance, he had to admit, was colored by
the legacy of bitterness and hatred left by the Dwarfgate
Wars, when another Fireforge, the respected dwarven
leader Reghar Fireforge, had died at the hands of the moun-
tain dwarves. Those epic conflicts had opened schisms in
the dwarven races that seemed likely never to heal
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