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The heavy pace of the march served to keep the Aghar
warm, however, and the hardy gully dwarves showed a re-
markable resilience to the cold.
They had crested a low rise, Flint again in the lead, when
he heard sounds before him and hastened his steps to reach
the summit. In moments he stood atop the low hill and saw
a wide, snow-filled valley stretching before him. The brown
strip running through the valley was unmistakably the
Passroad. On the far side of the road the valley floor
dropped steeply away, a long, descending slope that finally
reached Stonehammer Lake, below and perhaps another
mile distant. But what Flint saw on the Passroad made him
groan audibly.
"We're too late," he mumbled, dazed, then turned to Per-
ian. "I thought you said they'd stay camped until dark."
The mountain dwarf was standing next to him. She col-
ored, and her voice was taut with bitterness. "Pitrick must
have decided to take advantage of the cover the storm pro-
vided."
"I'm afraid so." Flint could only look helplessly at the
scene in the valley below.
Three colors of plumes - red, black, and gray - waved in
martial precision, as the thane's guards moved past them far
below, perhaps two miles ahead
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