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. "He didn't seem
any too glad to see me... when he finally got home."
Moldoon sighed as he filled two mugs with ale. "Aylmar's
death really hit him hard, Flint. I don't think it's got any-
thing to do with you. He blames himself - he was his father's
apprentice. But he was here, not at home, when Aylmar
went off to the wagon camp."
"I know how he feels," grumbled Flint into the last of his
milk.
"Barkeep, do we have to wait all day?" A scruffy-looking
derro at the table behind Flint waved two empty mugs over
his greasy yellow head, smacking his lips and glaring at
Moldoon.
Moldoon held up the overflowing mugs in his hands,
splitting an apologetic look between the derro and Flint.
"Right away," he called sheepishly, muttering, "Be back in a
moment," to Flint before hurrying to the table.
"Wagondrivers," he breathed as he returned to the bar.
The dwarf stared as his old friend absently popped two steel
pieces into his cash box.
"For two mugs?" Flint asked in amazement.
Moldoon nodded, looking both incredulous and a bit
ashamed. "That's the price to them anyway
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