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"But one and all, dusty from the road and tired from
travel, told me about Krinneor, and the more I heard, the
more I wanted to see it." Graym's eyes shone. "Golden
towers! Marble doors! And excellent drains." He looked at
them all earnestly. "I hear that's very important for a city."
They nodded. Graym went on. "After the Claychasm - "
"Cataclysm," Darll snapped.
"Cataclysm, thank you, sir. I keep forgetting. After that
night, when the ground shook and the western sky was all
fire, people were frightened. They quit buying barrels,
saying that trade was too risky. That's when I realized that
no one was coming down the road from Krinneor, and no
one was going there."
He tapped the bowl of Skull-Splitter, which he had
emptied again. "And that's when I realized there was no
more good Sarem ale going from Sarem to Krinneor. The
poor beggars there would be as dry as a sand pit in no time.
"So I made these." He thumped the broken barrel,
refilled the bowl from it. "Extra thick staves, double-
caulked, double-banded. Bungs four fingers deep. Heads of
the last vallenwoods in stock this far west. Harder than any
man has seen. I spent everything I had making them, then
borrowed from you all to finish them. And when the bailey
heard we were going, he asked me to take you, sir, to the
Bailey of Krinneor for safekeeping." He nodded
respectfully to Darll.
"For prison, you fat fool," Darll said. "I can't believe I
let a man like that capture me, especially after I beat the
town soldiery
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