Kendermore

by Mary Kirchoff

  “What’s so important about that map? I’ve got plenty of others.”

  “I might as well tell you,” Denzil said, “since you’re about to die anyway. I stumbled upon half of that same map in the office of some quack doctor in Kendermore. Your half of that map showed the location of a treasure. I want that treasure, and provided someone else doesn’t already have it, I’m going to get it!” With that, he pushed the kender to the floor against the wall and prepared his crossbow.

  “Well, then, if you’re going to the tower, you’re going to need to know how to get through the grove,” Tas said quickly, squirming away from the crossbow’s sight.

  “You’re trying to stall me,” Denzil said in a distracted, low voice, his fingers nocking the crossbow bolt.

  Tas kicked and flailed, trying to keep moving. “That may be true, but it’s also true that you have to know the secret of the grove to get through! Ask anyone! Every Tower of High Sorcery is surrounded by a magical grove.”

  Denzil let the crossbow slip from his shoulder as he considered the kender’s words. “What can a bunch of trees do?” he snarled at last, raising the bow again.

  “Plenty!” Tas said hoarsely. “This particular grove tends to make people go crazy! I’m sure you’ve heard how, uh, resourceful kender are when it comes to getting into difficult places. Well, even most kender haven’t been able to get through this grove. Only those who know its terrible secrets have ever made it into the tower!”

  Denzil lowered the bow again and squinted at Tasslehoff. “And I suppose you’re one of those kender?”

  “I might be,” Tas said coyly. “Remember, I saw the map.”

  Denzil thought about that for a moment. “If you know the secret—if there is one—tell me now.”

  Tasslehoff looked offended. “How stupid do you think I am? I’d tell you the secret, and you’d kill me! I’d rather die without having told you, thank you!”

  Denzil wiped his face wearily; he couldn’t take the chance that the kender was telling the truth. Snatching at Tas’s bound wrists, he jerked him to his feet. “I’m going to kill you no matter what, you know. This way you’ll get a nice, comfortable ride on my nightmare.” His small eyes narrowed to little slits. “And if you’re lying, the quick death I would have given you here will seem luxurious compared to what you’ll get later on.”

  Tasslehoff swallowed hard as Denzil dragged him out of the warehouse and to an alley where his black mount pranced anxiously. This Denzil and his fierce, fire-breathing creature were enough to make even the stout-hearted kender wish he really did know the secret to the grove.

  * * * * *

  They rode on the cold-as-ice nightmare from Port Balifor, around Kendermore to the north, and to the Ruins. At least that’s what Tas assumed, since he couldn’t see more than the ground as it flew by the nightmare’s right flank. Denzil had tossed the kender before him on his stomach and lashed him to the saddle.

  “Wouldn’t want you to fall and get hurt,” he chortled.

  When they reached the outskirts of the Ruins, Denzil dismounted. He issued an order to the nightmare in an ugly, guttural language that Tas had never heard before. Then, with Tas still tied across Scul’s back, ahead of the saddle, Denzil strode down the main, rundown road that ran through the Ruins. Tas thought it strange that they encountered none of the usual vermin that inhabited the area, but then he realized that the nightmare probably scared most of them away.

  Satisfied at last, Denzil approached the grove, leading his monstrous mount.

  With a wicked-looking, curved knife, he cut the rope securing the kender to the nightmare. Tas fell to the ground like a sack of grain. His back seemed permanently rounded and his leg muscles cramped painfully. Denzil jerked him upright by the wrists.

  “It’s time to reveal the big secret, ken-dirt,” Denzil said nastily. “Put up or shut up, as they say.”

  I can’t tell him something I don’t know, Tas thought grimly. If I did know, he’d kill me the minute I told him. But if I only tell him a little bit at a time, he’ll have to keep me alive for the rest of the information. Once we get into the grove, maybe I can get away. Once it starts to take effect …

  “Don’t you mean ‘put up and shut up’?” Tas retorted. “Oh, no. You’re just going to have to follow my lead.” Tas took one step into the trees.

  “I’m getting real tired of you, Burrfoot,” Denzil growled. He held fast to the kender’s bonds, but strode in next to him. “So what do we have to do?”

  “Well, there’s a whole series of things that must be done in the proper order,” Tas ad-libbed. “The first is coming up just inside the grove’s edge. We have to crawl on our hands and knees to avoid springing a trap.”

  Denzil looked skeptical. “I thought this grove was magic, that it inspired craziness.”

  “It does!” Tas said. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t traps, too.”

  “You go first,” Denzil said, slinging his crossbow across his back. “I’m going to have a hand on your ankle the whole time.”

  So much for losing him in the grove, thought Tas. Still, there was hope. The kender dropped to his knees and began crawling awkwardly because of his bound wrists, Denzil right on his heels as promised. Tasslehoff’s knees got sore and he stopped. The kender could feel the grove’s magic encouraging him to suggest crazy things.

  “Now, we have to walk backward,” Tas announced. He assumed that the human would still insist on watching him, which meant Denzil would have to go first and he’d probably trip.

  “If you’re playing me for a fool, Burrfoot …” Denzil growled. The grove was making him even more suspicious than usual.

  Tas managed an unconcerned shrug. “Go ahead. Don’t listen to me, the one person who’s seen the map of this grove, and see how far you get!” Secretly, Tas was more than a little surprised that they’d gotten as far as they had. The grove’s effect had seemed much stronger the last time he had been there. How long ago had that been, he wondered—ten years?

  “I’m going first this time so I can keep my eyes on you,” Denzil said predictably. He wound his hand through Tas’s topknot and began dragging him backward, bringing tears to the kender’s eyes. Worse still, Denzil was surprisingly sure-footed. He didn’t trip. He didn’t fall. He didn’t even stumble. When Tasslehoff could stand no more, he told the human to stop. Tas clumsily pulled his hair back into place with his tied hands, massaging his tender scalp with the heel of one hand.

  “I must be doing something right,” Denzil said. “We’re more than halfway in.”

  “You’re welcome,” Tas said sourly. The human’s smugness brought the next idea into the kender’s mind. He could not see how it would help him get away, but he could not resist the opportunity to make Denzil look silly. “Next we have to hop like bunnies.”

  “Huh.” It was no question.

  Tas pulled his bound hands up before him, letting his wrists hang limp to look like rabbit paws. “Hop. Like bunnies.” He lifted Denzil’s hands to the proper position. “Come on!”

  Looking at the human’s face, Tas wondered if he had gone too far.

  Denzil raised his arms together, fingers locked, and slammed both fists into Tasslehoff’s stomach. The diminutive kender flew through the air like a ball, landing in a heap ten feet away. He could not even break his fall, with his hands still tied in front of him. Eyes glowing as red as Scul’s nostrils, Denzil stalked toward the dazed kender.

  The grove was obviously still working very well.

  Denzil launched himself. Reacting with true kender speed, Tas rolled out of the way and tried to scramble to his feet. But with his hands tied, the kender could get no leverage. Denzil was on him in a second.

  “I warned you not to lie to me,” the wild-eyed human snarled. “Now I’m going to snap your limbs off, one by one. This is going to take such a long time, little fellow, that you can’t even imagine how much it’s going to hurt! All I ask is that you don’t die before I finish.”

>   “I didn’t lie!” Tas shot back, suddenly enraged. “I said you couldn’t reach the tower unless you knew how to get through the grove, and that’s the truth. I never said I knew how to do it. Your six-foot-tall greed made you assume that!”

  Tasslehoff stuck his nose into Denzil’s face. “And another thing: I’m sick of everyone calling me a liar and a thief, and putting me down, just because I’m a kender! Being tall doesn’t make you right, and it sure doesn’t make you smart! It doesn’t even make you tough! Why, if my hands were untied, I’d pound you until you were lumpier and more miserable than a toad! You’d—”

  Denzil’s right hand closed around Tas’s throat, cutting off his tirade. His other hand tightened around Tas’s upper right arm, and he began twisting, a sadistic smile on his face. “I’m tired of your voice, kender. But I’ll enjoy hearing your joints pop!”

  The pain was intense and growing more acute every second, but Tasslehoff would not allow himself to cry out. His eyes were squeezed shut, but the pain and tears forced him to blink.

  It was then that he saw the face appear behind Denzil. It belonged to a huge, ugly, hairy creature, as ugly as anything Tas had ever seen. With a sloping forehead, bulging teeth, pockmarked nose—an ogre! As if in a dream, Tas watched the creature’s enormous, knob-knuckled hand close around Denzil’s right shoulder. The huge hand twisted and there was a loud “pop!”

  Denzil flopped to the ground in pain and surprise, releasing Tas’s arm at the same time. Before he even saw his attacker, the human let out a loud, shrill whistle.

  The large, powerful human spun around, but his fury died when he stared up into the face of the even larger ogre.

  And then Scul was there, slicing with his sharp hooves through the web of brush and vines behind the ogre. Denzil maneuvered quickly so he was behind the nightmare. Tasslehoff, still caught up in kender militancy, rushed forward and kicked Denzil behind the knee. The surprised human toppled sideways. Tas landed another kick to his lower back, yelling, “That one’s for Gisella!” then scurried away from the human’s reach.

  The ogre ducked and dodged away from the windmilling hooves. The nightmare, its eyes even wider than usual—probably the influence of the grove, thought Tas—lunged after its prey, but became momentarily tangled in the thick undergrowth.

  One moment of hesitation was all Vinsint needed. The ogre swung his massive fist in a roundhouse punch that caught Scul fully between the eyes. The stunned animal staggered, almost recovered, and then its legs buckled and it thudded to the ground at Denzil’s feet. Its blood-red eyes rolled back in their sockets.

  Without breaking stride, the ogre plucked Denzil’s crossbow from his back, snapped it in half, and flung it into the depths of the woods. Then he grabbed Denzil himself and stuffed him under one arm. Before Tas could scramble more than a step, he was scooped up and slung under the ogre’s other arm. The creature lumbered off into the grove with his two prisoners.

  * * * * *

  “What shall we have for dinner?” Vinsint asked pleasantly.

  The usual introductions after an abduction had been made. Vinsint showed them around the small, circular room that contained a table, a bunch of crates, and a stairway. The ogre explained his presence in the Ruins and told the two newcomers what was expected of them.

  “I’ve been awfully busy here lately,” the ogre continued, “so I’m a little short and there is not a lot of variety, but I’ve been told I’m a very good cook.” He placed a tin plate of little sandwiches before Tasslehoff and Denzil. Tas was reaching for one of the tasty-looking morsels when Denzil furiously swept the plate from the table.

  “I don’t need any of your stinking food!” He stood up and paced furiously.

  Vinsint was mildly offended. “Perhaps you don’t, but your friend might have liked some. That was good, aged skunk!” He picked up several of the morsels, brushed them off, reassembled them as small sandwiches, and placed them back on the table. “Though I should have expected this sort of behavior from a half-orc!”

  Denzil froze. His gloved hands clenched and unclenched. “You are mistaken. I am a human.”

  The ogre was unswayed. “Yes, but you’re also an orc.” He wagged his finger. “I know my species.”

  “Yeah!” Tas chimed in, studying Denzil’s face. “That nose, those eyes: I always thought there was something strange-looking about you, but I just figured it was because you were so mean all the time.”

  Denzil’s face was as dark as a thundercloud, and he said nothing for a moment, just clenched and unclenched his fists. Tasslehoff found that gesture more frightening than any words he might have uttered. But when he spoke, his tone was clipped, measured, and a threat. “I do not resemble that part of my, uh, parentage.”

  “Speaking of animals, where did you get that nightmare?” Vinsint continued conversationally while he went on preparing the main course.

  “You’re such a smart ogre,” Denzil said sarcastically. “You tell me.”

  Vinsint chose to ignore the sarcasm. “I am rather smart, aren’t I?” He tapped a wooden spoon against his chin as he thought. “Let’s see, nightmares are usually owned by demons and their kind, but however bad you may be, you’re no demon. So my guess is that you stole it.”

  Denzil looked impressed despite himself. “I won it when I bested the demon, Cthiguw-lixix,” he said proudly, continuing to pace.

  “Wow! You fought a demon?” Tas breathed. Denzil ignored him.

  The half-orc studied the walls of the circular chamber while Tas and the ogre ate a companionable dinner of fried onions and pony.

  “That was delicious!” Tas exclaimed in satisfaction, pushing himself away from the feast. “I’m quite a good cook myself, so I should know.”

  “Have more, have more!” the ogre invited, ladling more onto the kender’s plate, despite his feeble protests. “I do so love it when my guests appreciate my cooking. I had some very nice kender here several days ago, a pretty, blonde girl and her beau. He was an older, flashy guy—” Vinsint squinted in the lantern light at Tas. “Come to think of it, you remind me of him.”

  Tas waved his hand merrily. “Oh, we all look alike.”

  “I suppose,” the ogre said, unconvinced as he looked closely at Tas. Finally he shrugged and began cleaning up.

  “They had a nasty human with them,” Vinsint continued. He shrugged his broad, bare shoulders. “It must run in the breed or something. Kender are usually rude and nosy, but they’re seldom nasty. I hate nasty!”

  “There are some who think being nasty runs among ogres,” Tas pointed out, not meaning to be insulting. He found himself liking the unlikely ogre.

  Vinsint nodded. “That’s why I left the Ogrelands.”

  They finished cleaning up and spent the rest of the evening drinking herbal tea, playing pick-up sticks, and talking by the fire. Denzil crawled into his own corner and pretended to fall asleep, actually planning his escape from the much larger ogre.

  When Vinsint asked Tas what such a pleasant kender was doing with such a nasty half-orc, Tasslehoff told the ogre about Gisella; he had to stop momentarily to wipe his eyes. He finished by telling him about Denzil striking down Woodrow in Port Balifor, and ended with their trek for the treasure.

  “You know, this is the Tower of High Sorcery,” Vinsint whispered to the kender. “We’re in the basement. But I’ve never seen any treasure here.”

  “Have you explored all of it?” Tas whispered excitedly, leaning forward. He cast an anxious glance toward the sullen half-orc. Denzil lay on his side in the distant shadows, his breathing shallow and regular.

  “I went about half-way up those steps once,” he said, nodding toward the circular stairway. “But the passage got tighter and tighter, until it was a real struggle to squeeze through. And, I don’t mind telling you, I don’t like heights! Even though there weren’t any windows along the stairs, just knowing I was climbing gave me the woozies. But I never even came to one landing, so whatever is up there must be way u
p, or ruined like everything else here.”

  Tas thought about that long after Vinsint fell asleep.

  When Tasslehoff himself awoke, it felt like morning, but he couldn’t be sure; there was no natural light in the chamber, only a single, lit candle. He felt rested and refreshed. He stood up, brushed off his leggings, and looked around. Denzil was still sleeping in the shadows, but Vinsint was nowhere to be seen. On the table the kender found a folded piece of parchment with his name awkwardly penned on the front. He supposed the ogre’s big hands were awfully clumsy to write with.

  Tasslehoff unfolded the note. It stated, simply, “Gone for food. Back soon. Vinsint.” He pocketed the note and picked up the candle.

  Everything in the room looked just as it had the night before. Tas examined the locked doorway. He counted eleven chains and sixteen locks of all different sizes and styles. That would take hours to unravel, he decided. And anyway, why escape when there is an unexplored Tower of High Sorcery upstairs?

  Tas took stock of his gear. His hoopak was gone, marking Gisella’s grave. Denzil had confiscated all of his knives and daggers, and Vinsint had taken them all from Denzil. His maps were back in his pouch: something of a gift from Denzil before they set out from Port Balifor. Sorting through the silverware, carefully so as not to wake Denzil, Tas borrowed a small fork and a butter knife that looked like useful tools for opening the sorts of locks one might encounter in a Tower of High Sorcery. Vinsint had said there were no windows in the stairwell, so a candle was also a necessary item.

  Thus equipped, and tingling with the anticipation of impending adventure, Tasslehoff Burrfoot tiptoed up the stairs.

  Beyond the lowest steps, the stairwell was blanketed in dust. Dipping the candle, Tas saw clearly the prints of three people ascending the stairs. There were dozens of others, but these three were fairly fresh. With curiosity devouring him, Tas bounded up the stairs so quickly he almost extinguished the candle.

  It seemed to Tas that he had climbed far beyond the tower’s apparent height when he finally spotted a door blocking the stairs. He crept up to it and listened, but heard nothing. He tried the latch and the door swung quietly inward, astounding the kender with its smooth operation after so many years. Without a pause, Tasslehoff stepped through the doorway.