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. "Excuse me, Your Grace," bellowed Mettew. "I
was just speaking with this kender fellow, and I've
learned something astounding. This one -- calls himself
Burrfoot -- is a personal friend of Flint Fireforge, grand-
son of Reghar Fireforge."
The rest of the dwarves in the party stopped abruptly
and fell completely silent, then looked toward the baron.
He stomped back along the length of the line to stand be-
fore Tasslehoff.
"Is this true, what Mettew says?" asked the baron.
"Sure," Tas responded. "We're good friends. I was with
Flint just a few days ago. He's a bit gruff, but I sort of
miss him already."
"Well, lad, why didn't you mention you were a friend
of the Fireforges right off?" boomed the baron. "That's
not the sort of thing you should keep to yourself! You're
doubly welcome now. You'll be guests in my home. And
you've come at a good time. Our Oktoberfest begins to-
morrow!" Turning back to his escort, the baron added,
"It's going to be some fest this year, eh?" He was an-
swered with a round of laughter and assent.
"Oktoberfest!" giggled Gisella, clapping her hands to-
gether. "I'd completely forgotten about that autumn
dwarven tradition. This is too good to be true!"
Woodrow leaned close to Tasslehoff and whispered in
his ear, "What's Oktoberfest?"
"I don't know," whispered Tas, "but judging from all of
their reactions, it's bound to be exciting."
As they approached the ridge, Woodrow became more
puzzled. "Does it seem to you," he whispered again to
Tasslehoff, "that we're headed into a dead end? Mettew
said we have to cross this ridge, but we're walking right
up to the steepest part of it
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