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. The stone walls of the brewery crum-
bled and split, collapsing into heaps of gravel.
Screams of panic shrilled through the air. Mad stampedes
erupted, as hill and gully dwarves scrambled through the
ruins, seeking an escape from the convulsions that wracked
the world around them.
Flint shook off his numbness.
But before Flint could gather his family and escape, the
trembling of the earth stopped. The black and white smoky
forms cast one more stony glance at each other and then dis-
sipated into thin wisps in the morning air. The hissing fire
between the two artifacts slowly faded. There was no sign
of Pitrick's body, nor of his amulet.
Flint's attention fell upon what remained of the Tharkan-
Axe. It was now a thin sheet of fragile foil in the shape of the
axe. Of the weapon's original form, only the runes remained.
"The Tharkan Axe," said a soft voice beside him.
He turned to look at Hildy's blood- and dirt-streaked face
in surprise. "How did you know it's name?"
"My father taught me the Old Script," she explained,
pointing to the runes. Flint nodded dumbly, watching as the
runes themselves started to fade
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