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. The elf almost grabbed him, but the blade
came up. The elf dodged and jumped back, almost a
moment too late.
"Please!" pleaded the elf. "You're crazy! You don't
have any idea of what you're holding!"
The goblin stared for a moment, then laughed - a wild,
mad, painful laugh that rang in the night across the hilltop.
His eyes were glistening balls of blackness in his burned,
filthy face, his mouth open to the black sky. His chest
shook as if each breath was killing him.
"Give me the sword!" the elf shouted. "Give it to me!"
The goblin still laughed and shook his head. He felt
giddy, as if his soul were leaving his body. He seemed to
hurt all over. "It my sword," he managed to say, though the
pain in his lungs stabbed him with every word. "It my
sword! My sword!"
"You'll ruin everything, you fool!" the elf yelled. "It's a
wish sword! We can fight Istar with it! We can save
ourselves and our people from Istar if we use it right! We
have the chance now! Give me the sword!"
The goblin shook his head slowly. He kept the sword
point facing the elf, ready to thrust in case the elf did
something stupid like charge. But the goblin was feeling
very tired now. It seemed like a year since he'd slept last
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