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. His hands were clasped behind him,
and the throbbing pain in his foot put him into a foul tem-
per. Perversely, he would not sit and rest that foot, even
though the dwarves would be on the march again as soon as
night fell.
"Where are they? Where's Grikk and his party?" he de-
manded, turning to look at a nearby derro, not expecting an
answer. "They should have reported back by now!"
The hunchback peered anxiously between the trunks.
"They've deserted - that's what they've done!" He sneered
at the imagined treachery. "I send them to find the Silver
Swords, and instead the miserable cowards have likely fled
back to Thorbardin! They'll pay for this! By all that's
mighty, I'll see Grikk flayed alive, slow-roasted! I'll see -"
"Excellency'" A sergeant approached him tentatively.
"Eh? What?"
"Grikk's coming, sir. Returned from the search."
"What?" Pitrick blinked, confused by his own tantrum.
"Very well - send him to me at once."
The scout, Grikk, a grizzled veteran with a patch over
one eye and a beardless cheek that had been permanently
scarred by a Hylar blade, clumped up to the adviser
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