"Past that hill you'll see two more a mile or so away -little hills that look alike, with a gap between and the sundered plains beyond. The right-hand hill is where Grallen's helm is, with Pathfinder. The hillside faces Skullcap, and the helm's near the foot of the hill. There's rubble there, so I guess you'll just have to search through it."

"What if it's buried or something?"

"It isn't buried. But it's in a dark place with a tall, tilted opening

– like a crack. Jagged, kind of. And where it is, it can't see

Thorbardin."

"How do you know that?" Wingover asked. Chane shrugged. "Because it wants to, and it can't. I don't know. The Irda said the two gems are god-things, left over from something a god did. Maybe they are interested in whatever that god is concerned about."

"And what god is that?" Wingover said with a frown.

"Assuming, of course, that there really are gods. I'm not sure I believe any of that."

"I don't know if I do, either," the dwarf admitted. "But the Irda did.

And Reorx is the highest of the gods… if there are any."

"Reorx? Wingover scoffed. What about Gilean? And Paladine, and

Kiri-Jolith? Reorx isn't any higher than them!"

"Who?"

"Gilean."

The dwarf nodded. "He's all right, I suppose. I meant Reorx was greater than those other two you named. I've never even heard of them."

"You never heard of Paladine? He's the highestranking of -"

"He means Thak and Kijo," Chess butted in, grinning.

"A lot of people call them Paladine and Kiri-Jolith." They both looked at the kender. Chane frowned and snapped, "What are you grinning about?"

"Oh, I was just thinking, for two people who don't believe there are gods, you both certainly have your favorites."

"And how do you know so much about it?"

"I listen a lot."

"Pure superstition, anyway," Wingover snorted, straightening in his saddle. He looked at the rising stone bridge ahead and lifted his reins.

"I'll be back," he said. "Just hold the bridge for me if trouble comes."

He touched heels to the horse and trotted it to the foot of the stone bridge. The horse abruptly turned tail and tried to throw him off. He clung, cursing, and finally got the animal under control.

"Maybe he's afraid of the bridge," Chane suggested.

"Geekay has never been afraid of a bridge in his life!" Wingover shouted. "Or a goblin, either! He's just full of vinegar from not being exercised."

"Geekay? Is that his name? What does it mean?"

"He named himself. It's Goblin Killer." Wingover hauled the reins. The horse spun, dug in haunchesdown, and hit the bridge at a full gallop.

Wingover's diminishing voice came back to them: "Blast it, horse! Not so fast!"

In seconds the thundering horse had topped out at the crown of the high-curved span and was out of sight. A moment later the ring of hooves on stone faded to a distant clatter, beyond the gorge.

"Well, the bridge is still there," Chestal Thicketsway decided. "I guess it's safe to cross."

"Of course it's safe," Chane growled. "It's dwarven work." Picking up his pack, he started up the bridge, the others following after him.

"If a gnome can fly," the kender muttered, "then I guess a dwarf might miscalculate rocks and things from time to time."

By the time Wingover got the bridge-spooked horse under tight rein, they were through the breaks and into rolling, open country. Holding Geekay to a steady trot, the wilderness man scanned the lands ahead. A few low hills lay ahead, about a half-mile away, just as Chane had said. Wingover eased the reins and headed for them, looking for signs of a trail.

At first there was none, then in a low place that might once have been a mudflat he saw tracks. They were old tracks, but still clear – at least three horses, and the short, wide.prints of dwarven boots. The trail disappeared short of the hill, but Wingover made left and circled around it, his eyes roving the landscape. Sometimes he raised his shield to eye-level and peered over the top edge of it. An old trick, it was a way to see distinct movement that might otherwise lose itself in mirage. So far he had seen nothing, but vagrant breezes carried the stink of goblins.

Wingover knew they were out there somewhere.

As much as he watched the land around him, he watched the ears of his horse. The animal smelled goblins, too, and was wary. Its ears swiveled this way and that, pausing sometimes. When they did, Wingover scanned in their direction.

The hill was a smooth mound, and as Wingover passed it he saw two more, just as the dwarf had described. They lay about a mile ahead, with some draws and gullys lacing the lower ground between.

Geekay's ears turned, fixed on a direction ahead and to the left, and a tremor ran along his mane. Wingover lifted his shield, peering over its edge. Atop a narrow draw, barely a hundred yards away, something moved. It looked like a twig twitching in the wind… except that twigs twitch rhythmically, and this one didn't. It moved, disappeared below the rim of the draw, and reappeared a few yards away. Its direction was toward the point where his own path would cross the draw.

So they're waiting for me there, he decided. But how many?

Wingover reined a little to the left, holding hard against the bit, then let Geekay have his head. The horse had never been trained as a warhorse – not as some he had seen, great steeds in armor, ridden by men in armor, silent men who had come down from Solamnia once many years before in search of a fugitive – but Wingover and Geekay had traveled far together and had been in some scrapes.

With the bit eased and the scent of goblins in his nostrils, and with the tug to the left from his rider, Geekay took the lead. As the horse gathered himself, Wingover jumped to the ground and headed for the draw at a crouching run, angling to the right. Behind him, Geekay whinnied shrilly and galloped away to the left. Fifty yards… one hundred… then he turned and headed for the draw.

In the ravine, four goblin scouts paused, puzzled at the sudden change in approaching sounds. One started to raise his head and another swatted him down. "Don' look," he growled. "Get us seen. Listen!"

"Runnin' away," another said, pointing back the way they had come. "That way."

The goblins turned to follow the hoofbeats, but a blood-freezing howl erupted just behind them. The rearmost goblin didn't even have time to turn. Wingover's sword flashed across his back from shoulder to waist, and dark blood spurted. The second turned, tried to raise his dart-bow, and had it knocked from his hand. With his sword, the goblin barely countered the human's following thrust with a low, chopping swing at his legs. Metal rang on metal.

The third goblin had his blade out, but the fourth caught his arm. "Back up," he hissed. "Get room. Use darts."

They scrambled back, setting darts to their crossbows. The first dart ricocheted off Wingover's flinthide shield. The second buried itself in the back of a goblin flung from the point of a sword. The last two set darts again, then their eyes widened as the sound of thunder bore down on them from behind. One turned, screamed, and bounced off the other as the flashing hooves of a horse named Goblin Killer descended upon him. The remaining goblin was still scrambling to his feet when Geekay swapped ends and kicked. Crushed like a turtle in its shell, the goblin flew over

Wingover's head and rebounded off a wall of the gully.

"Not bad," Wingover breathed, catching up the reins of the excited, wild-eyed horse. "Now let's move. It stinks here."

He scrambled into his saddle. Geekay cleared the rim at a bound and headed for the right-hand hill ahead, Wingover wondered where the rest of the goblins were. He knew there were at least a hundred more, and among them possibly ogres – as well as a woman in a hideous armor mask that hid a face that should have been beautiful.