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Another clatter told the dwarf - and the troll, too, no
doubt - that the chaser had climbed higher still. Perhaps
whomever it was had already come into sight of the troll,
for Flint watched the beast grow taut in its rocky niche, pre-
paring to spring. Indeed, he saw movement in the ravine fi-
nally and determined that it was a short human or dwarf
who was climbing so steadily.
A brown hood covered the fellow's head, so Flint could
not see his face. He could, in fact, tell little about him. Flint's
pursuer stopped to catch his breath; he peered upward
along the ravine that stretched to the top of the ridge, mea-
suring the distance. At last, even in the gathering darkness,
Flint got a good look at his young, red-bearded face.
Flint's pursuer was not a derro spy, or a human. The
dwarf below him, in imminent danger of being attacked by
a hungry troll, was none other that Flint's nephew Basalt.
"Reorx thump you!" hissed Flint, astonished. He didn't
know what the silly pup was doing here, but the dwarf
probed his mind desperately for a way to warn his nephew
about the deadly ambush
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