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. I've
got some news for you, Dunce-el. Gisella Hornslager
doesn't bow, scrape, or take orders, especially from
somebody whose eyebrows meet in the middle. Now
you can either change your tone with me or turn around
and trot back to town."
Denzil swung the crossbow to point directly at Gisel-
la's chest. His face betrayed no emotion. "I'm here for the
kender. As long as I leave with him, what happens to ev-
eryone else is unimportant. Whether you live or die is the
same to me. Now toss the little dagger I know you keep
strapped to your thigh on the ground, be quiet, and keep
out of sight, or I will silence you."
Gisella sucked in her lip for a long moment. Was this
real? She had spent a terrific night with this man and a
moment ago she was looking forward to quite a few
more. Now he was pointing a crossbow at her and telling
her he would pull the trigger with no remorse. He was
also talking about Tasslehoff as if the kender was a valu-
able commodity. Was Denzil some kind of bounty
hunter? Gisella decided that defiance might be inappro-
priate, for now. Cursing herself for getting involved with
someone she knew so little about, she obediently
dropped her weapon and guided her horse into the nook
behind Denzil's.
Ignoring her, Denzil pulled a strip of cloth from his
pocket and tied it around the leather protecter on his left
forearm. Fishing a handful of crossbow bolts from his
saddle pouch, he deftly slid them, one by one, under the
cloth band. With growing horror, Gisella realized that
Woodrow and Burrfoot were riding into an ambush
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