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The goblin grinned, wiped off his blade, and moved on
through the wood. He felt no weakness at all now, not with
the spell of magical strength the elf had cast upon him. He
thought he could lift a horse now if he wanted to, maybe
ten horses. And he wore a ring that altered the sounds
around him, so a man would think he had heard an owl
hoot if the goblin spoke, or heard the wind blow if he
walked up. It was too good to be true. In his excitement, he
barely noticed the cold.
The main encampment of Istarians was on the hilltop,
packed tightly around the bonfire in the chill air. Down the
slope, in a clearing, half hidden from the hilltop by trees,
was a cluster of several wagons and all the Istarians' horses.
The elf had scouted ahead with his spells and reported
finding slaves in one wagon: an elven woman, an old
dwarf, and three children - human or elven, he couldn't tell.
The other three wagons were empty. The kender's estimate
of twenty men was close; the goblin guessed twenty-four -
twenty-one now that he had killed three men in the last few
minutes of circling the camp.
The elf and minotaur were down by the wagons,
attacking the guards there. The elf cast a spell that silenced
the minotaur's rattling chains
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