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. Moldoon stared them down, until at last they
dropped their hands and left. Shaking his head, the inn-
keeper slammed the door behind them and then strolled to-
ward Flint at the bar.
Flint sank his face into his ale and gulped half the mug
down. "I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me," he
grumbled angrily into the foam.
"And I don't need anyone breaking up my inn!" coun-
tered Moldoon. He laughed unexpectedly, the lines in his
face drawing up. "Gods, you're just like Aylmar was! No
wonder Garth went crazy when he saw you about to take a
swing at those derro. Probably thought it was Aylmar back
from the dead for one more fight."
Flint looked up intently from his ale. "What are you talk-
ing about? Aylmar had a set-to with some derro?"
Moldoon nodded. "At least one that I know of." Moldoon
looked puzzled. "Why are you surprised? You, of all people,
must have guessed that he detested their presence in
Hillhome."
"Do you remember when the fight was? And what it was
about?"
"Oh I remember all right! It was the day he died, sadly
enough. Aylmar didn't frequent here much himself, but he
came looking for Basalt
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