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.
Little enough to show, when they arrived at the main
camp. Still, the gully dwarves were better than nothing.
The line topped a ridge, and they looked out on yet
another scene of chaos. A forest of tall conifers once had
lined the narrow valley. Now, hardly a tree was standing.
The valley was a patchwork maze of fallen timbers,
scattered this way and that as though some giant thing had
trod there and paused to scuff its feet.
The men stared at the scene in wonder, then movement
caught their eyes. "Ah," Daco breathed. "There. Look."
Among the fallen timbers were people, a ragged line of
them making their way northward. Even from the ridge top,
it was obvious that they were refugees . . . from something.
There were at least a dozen of them, maybe more, and
among them were women and children. No more than two
or three carried weapons of any sort. "Well, well." Daco
grinned. "It seems our luck has just improved. That lot will
bring a fine price at the pens."
*****
This Place was a mess. Whatever had happened was
through happening, but the entire cavern was a litter of
fallen stone, gravel dumps, and dust. Holding candles high,
the Lady Drule and the others with her poked about, seeing
what could be salvaged. There wasn't much: a few iron stew
bowls, Hunch's mop-handle staff, about half of the
Highbulp's prized elk antler, a few bits of fabric, a reaver's
maul, a battered stew pot, a stick used for stirring . . . odds
and ends. Most of what the clans had owned was either
destroyed or lost
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