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Flint had no clear explanation for these arms shipments of
the derro, but he knew the reasons must be sinister indeed.
Why else would a race that was known for its pride of
craftsmanship not sign its work?
Flint was following the Passroad west. Traveling in day-
light, he felt fairly secure that he would not encounter any
derro. The road hugged the northern shore of Stonehammer
Lake, whose cold water looked dull gray-green on this over-
cast late-autumn day. Most of the leaves in this distant arm
of the Kharolis Mountains, in the corridor between Thor-
bardin and the Plains of Dergoth, had already turned brown
and scattered across the flat lands, leaving only the olive-
colored firs to cover the spiny mountain ridges.
The terrain grew considerably rougher as the slopes and
crests of the southern hillcountry tumbled around Flint. The
elevations soared steeply from the valley bottoms, climbing
to narrow ridges and fringed with levels of sheer cliffs, bare
rock faces, and dark forests of pine. In places, looming
knobs of granite overlooked grass-filled valleys, often giv-
ing Flint the impression of huge, serene faces looking across
the hillcountry
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