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. It was up to Garrick alone.
With shaking fingers, he pulled out the medallion. It
was still warm to his touch and seemed to shine even in the
darkness. He caressed it for a moment and then sank to his
knees in prayer.
They came just before dawn.
He had just put out the last of the fires. Now he rested
against the side of a tree, sword drawn, shield ready. He had
released Auron and sent him away, not wishing so loyal a
beast to perish for little reason.
The fires had been easy to build. The forest was dying;
branches littered the ground. Most were dry and made good
kindling. The fires were strong, though not long in burning
themselves out. That they existed was more than sufficient
for Garrick's purposes.
By their slowed movements, he knew that scouts had
found the remains of more than one of the fires. He had
been careful to scatter a few fragments around each fire,
junk he had gathered on his way here. Just enough to lend
truth to the thoughts of the enemy - that the Queen's foes
awaited her army in this forest.
Garrick heard the hiss of an indrawn breath. A leathery,
misshapen foot moved into sight.
The knight's sword was a blur. It was into and out of the
draconian's neck before the creature had a chance to die
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