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. The others, almost one hun-
dred and sixty hill dwarves - the very old, very young, and
otherwise infirm - had retreated to caves in the hills, wait-
ing fearfully for the outcome of the battle.
"Ready the sludge bombs!" cried the king, turning back to
the charging Theiwar. The Aghar in the center reluctantly
ceased their rude noises and took up the small, glass and ce-
ramic vessels that contained their weapons.
"The torches, too," Flint added. "Light them now!" Sev-
eral dozen hill dwarves touched matches to the oil-soaked
torches they had prepared. "We'll give the little grubs a sur-
prise when they get close enough," he remarked to his
brother Ruberik as the farmer came up to him. Ruberik nod-
ded grimly as they stood silently for a moment, peering into
the darkness.
The thane's ranks swept closer. The charge, begun at sev-
eral hundred yards distance, swiftly closed the gap. Now, in
the glaring light of the bonfires, Flint could discern individ-
ual derro. He saw faces distorted by battlelust, eyes squint-
ing murderously, seeking victims. Most of the derro
advanced at an easy trot, their shields on their left arms
while their right hands held axes or short swords
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