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. "But we all know of him,
if he's the grandson of Reghar Fireforge. The baron's fa-
ther, Krakold the First, knew Reghar Fireforge during the
Dwarfgate War. Of course, Krakold was just a young no-
ble then and he's quite aged now, but he's one of the few
who survived the blast of magic that ended the
Dwarfgate War. Oh, yes, he was there the day Reghar
Fireforge died. Fireforge is still revered among our peo-
ple. We don't forget our heroes."
"Wow," declared Tas, scrambling to keep up with the
marching dwarves. "If Krakold was at the final battle of
the Dwarfgate War, then he must be over four hundred
years old. Isn't that awfully old for a dwarf?"
"It is if you fought in the Dwarfgate War. I doubt there
are more than a dozen survivors left," replied the dwarf,
blowing his nose again. "My grandfather and granduncle
were both killed there, too," he added proudly, his chest
swelling with pride.
"Wow," Tas muttered. "It must be neat knowing where
your ancestors went and what they did. I usually know
where I am, but I usually have no idea where my family
is, unless I'm with them. Except my Uncle Trapspringer.
He's back in Kendermore, being held prisoner. That's
where we're headed, to Kendermore to free my uncle.
My name's Tasslehoff, by the way. Tasslehoff Burrfoot.
What's yours?"
"I'm called Mettew Ironsplitter, son of Rothew Iron-
splitter," answered the dwarf. "My father was the engi-
neer who designed Rosloviggen's main gate."
Mettew raised his head to shout over the rapidly mov-
ing troop
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