by Jeff Grubb
"Retirement gives an opportunity for reflection," smiled Toede.
"Exactly my conclusion!" said Kronin. "I would no more think of you saying such things, or even sitting down here with us, than I could imagine a badger singing sopera. This only confirms a personal theory I have about your tyrannical rule."
"Oh?" said Toede.
"Your heart wasn't in it," concluded the kender elder, slapping the table. "You could not reconcile your own conscionable beliefs with the dragon highlords who created your position and supported your regime. So as a result, you sought to appear as the bumbling, hedonistic, groveling petty tyrant that everyone thought you were. Whereas, in reality, you were the very opposite."
There was another call for a toast. Kronin rose to address the crowd.
That does it, Toede thought. I'm going to kill him. This time for sure. The only question is when. A true smile blossomed on his sallow face.
Kronin made another suggestive toast involving blossom petals and honey, and sat back down. Toede took a pull from his cup and enjoyed the pleasant cranberry wine, very potent.
"You're going to quote me all night?" chided Toede.
"Your words are honest and brave," said Kronin, "unlike the public facade you presented to the world. My daughter has always been sympathetic to you, but I fear I could not see behind the mean-spirited boot-spittle lackey image you showed to the outside world. I mean, is it true you once went drinking with Raistlin, and that he was almost left behind by the Companions as a result?"
As the evening continued in a similar vein, Kronin's tongue became looser, his prose more direct and explicit, particularly as to how the new Toede was far superior to that gutless, inbred, despotic little excuse for a sliver-of-worm-larva that he had been when he was in charge of Flotsam. All of these insults were delivered with a glib smile, and an assurance that the kender leader knew that Toede was much better now.
Kronin's opinion of Groag was even worse, but only in the matter of degree. At one point the kender was saying how Groag was more Toedelike than Toede had ever been, when the elderly kender's conversation took a turn, and he mentioned the loss of his daughter's lovely locks. It was an off-hand reference to Groag's senseless cruelty, but it halted Kronin in his conversational tracks. The old kender grew quiet, and Toede could almost hear his old kender heart breaking.
Then the moment passed, and Kronin resumed his detailed comparison of Toede and Groag. Toede felt his blood pressure climbing. The worst thing that could happen, thought the hobgoblin as the kender nattered on, would be for him to die again. At the hands of kender it would take a while, because they wouldn't know how to proceed properly and would probably talk him to death.
Five more toasts and an hour of comparative comments later, Toede's head was aching, both from the conversation and the wine. Kronin interrupted his fourth analysis of Toede's first death to stagger to his feet and gesture to the increasingly rambunctious crowd. "You have heard many toasts this evening," he slurred, "all from the mind of this incredible individual known as Toede." There was drunken and thunderous applause at this point, with the by-now-woozy Toede convinced they had forgotten who they were cheering for. The inner rage at pompous Kronin, foolish Taywin, the kender rabble, their stupid songs and their excessive eating habits, had pushed him to the boiling point. It wouldn't take much more to push him over the edge.
"But I do not want to be the only one speaking," Kronin continued, "so I grant the floor to my daughter, Taywin."
Oh, no, thought Toede.
Kronin went on, oblivious. "Taywin will be reading a litany of her best poems…"
"That does it," muttered Toede, as he leaned down to grab the knife out his boot, and then jam it between Kro-* run's ribs. Then a quick escape into the darkness and freedom.
There was a prickly feeling that passed over Toede's neck when he bent forward, and then, when he looked up, dagger in hand, he saw to his astonishment that there was already a dagger sticking in Kronin's side. The kender elder looked in confusion at the blood fountaining out of his right side, mouthed something incomprehensible, and collapsed onto his daughter.
Toede looked at the unused dagger in his own hand, at the implement jutting out of the kender, and back to the dagger again, as if unable to believe that there were multiple poetry-haters at the moot.
Then Miles gave a shout. "The hobgoblin's stabbed Kronin! Get him!"
Toede felt the entire weight of two-hundred-plus eyes fix on him simultaneously, backed up by two-hundred-plus hands, all armed with knives, forks, and other instruments of potential personal damage.
Toede rose halfway, looked out at the angry faces, and seemed about to speak. Then he wheeled, cut a long,
savage rip in the screen behind the main table, and bolted, leaving the charging kender behind, and Taywin screaming for order.
Kronin's assassin moved as silently as possible toward the river bank. He had to make a large loop to avoid the mass of confusion, for an impromptu posse of impassioned and drunken kender had charged in various directions after the incident-to the village and Toede's hut, to the river, to the old campsite. Bands of kender in fours and fives went tumbling in all directions in the dark, intent on fetching the hounds and catching the traitorous criminal.
Twice now, packs of dazed kender had boiled past him, completely unaware that the true murderer was in their sights and providing erroneous information to them.
The assassin smiled as he slipped quietly between the large boles, down to the embankment and toward the lone maple bridge across the stream. The water glowed white in the moonlight.
He was at the near end of the bridge when a small shadow detached itself from a tree about fifteen feet away. The hobgoblin-shaped shadow strode forward into the moonlight, as the assassin stopped dead in his tracks.
"Hello, Miles," said Toede, tapping his dagger against his nails.
"Toede," lisped the kender guard. "Thought I'd find you here."
"No, you didn't," smiled Toede. "You thought nothing of the kind. You thought this was the easiest way to escape. I know because I had the same route planned."
"I don't know what you're talking about," sputtered the kender.
"You threw the dagger that hit Kronin."
"You don't know that!" said the kender. "You were looking elsewhere, leaning under the table."
"You would notice that," said Toede. "Then you must know that I could not have done the deed. Yet you were the first to shout for my head. It was you, Rogate, Bunni-swot, Kronin, and I on that side of table. If it had been Rogate, you would have seen it clearly, and maybe even have stopped him. Bunniswot is a scholar who can't even handle a butter knife without causing himself grievous injury. I was leaning forward, you said so yourself. So the only one who could have done it was…"
"I didn't mean to hit him," spat the kender.
"No, you meant to hit me," finished the hobgoblin. "But I leaned forward, so you missed and struck Taywin's father."
There was a silence. Finally the kender guard said, "You can't take me back, you know." ' "I can't?" said Toede.
"Look. You take me back, and as soon as I get within shouting range, I shout that I've spotted you." Miles chose his words carefully. "There are a hundred crazed kender out there, all of them after your hide. You may know the truth, but by the time anyone listens, you will be garot-ted."
"I've been dead before," shrugged Toede.
"And you really want to be dead again?" said Miles. When the hobgoblin didn't respond, the kender said, "I'm going now. Best of luck on your own escape." He started across the slippery pole, his footing sure and even.
"Miles?" came Toede's shout behind him. Halfway across the pole, the kender turned, looking over his shoulder at the hobgoblin.
"Yes, Toede?" he said.
"Why?"
Miles turned on the narrow bridge. He spread his hands out to explain that if Toede was supposed to be a martyr, he should be a dead martyr, for he knew about all the lies and half-tr
uths that Bunniswot and Rogate and even Taywin told. He wanted to prove Toede an unworthy being to follow, and the best thing for the hobgoblin was to die under the kender swords.
Miles intended to say all that, really. But as he spread his hands, he felt a harsh, sharp thump in his chest, and looked down to see the hilt of Toede's dagger protruding from his shirt, just to the left of his sternum.
Then he felt the cold rush of the waters hit, and then nothing more at all.
"Dance upon the water lilies, Miles," said Toede. "Dance upon the lilies."
It was about a half hour later when Bunniswot found Toede, still at the bridge, listening to the thunder of the rapids.
Toede started for a moment, then nodded as Bunniswot sat down next to him.
"How bad is it?" said the hobgoblin.
"Not as bad as it seemed," said the scholar. "It became apparent soon after the attack that you were not responsible, and would have been realized sooner if Rogate had not gotten into a wrestling match with a dozen kender, defending your good name."
"Kronin alive?"
"They have a few good healers," Bunniswot said, nodding, "and they anticipate injuries at a moot, so he's fine. He thinks you're out finding the assassin."
"Already found him," said Toede. "Miles."
Another nod from the scholar. "They figured that, too. He alive?"
"No," said Toede, not adding anything else.
"Well," said the scholar, "after they sorted out that you didn't try to kill Kronin, but Miles probably did, the entire party shifted into a celebration in your honor-you know, the brave little humanoid, unfairly accused, who seeks out the guilty party."
'That's a new one," grunted Toede.
"And it's now more than ever likely that the kender clans will join the rebellion," added Bunniswot. "You want to head back?"
"In a moment." Toede sighed, then added, "Ever kill anyone, scholar?"
"Me?" A nervous laugh. "Oh, no. Uh… and you?"
"More than I care to count," said Toede. "Even more that I have been indirectly responsible for. And yet, this one, felt so…"
'Troubling?" suggested Bunniswot. "Painful? Thought-provoking?"
"Satisfying," finished Toede, ignoring Bunniswot's sudden start. "This one was worth it, as though I had accomplished something. You know?"
"Uh," said Bunniswot, "I don't, I'm afraid."
Toede sighed again. "Must be a deficiency in your species. I guess we should go back. What's on tap now?"
Bunniswot brightened. "You missed several more toasts to your glory, and now Taywin is reading her poetry."
Toede made a face. "Perhaps we ought not to hurry back," he said. "Maybe we should get our story straight about my epic battle with the assassin. It would help if I had a scholarly witness to the culmination."
Toede looked at the scholar for a moment, then added with a smile, "And while we're at it, you can remind me of some of 'my' quotes."
Chapter 23
In which Our Protagonist is swept along by events, and the oft-mentioned necromancer finally makes an appearance, after his own fashion. Also, a council of war is held, havoc is cried, and the gnolls of war are unleashed.
"When are these mysterious allies going to show?" snarled Toede, sitting on the crushed remains of an ogre plinth. They were back at the scholars' old campsite that, except for the rot, looked just as Toede had left it six months earlier. The remains of the birches and stone monuments lay like broken toys around the site.
Bunniswot shrugged, squinting at the sun. "He said about midday. Does it look middayish to you?"
"Remind me to not let you draw up the battle plan," muttered Toede. He looked over to Taywin and Rogate. Rogate had sketched out a map of Flotsam and was drawing arrows from outside the walls to inside the walls. With Miles's death, Rogate had become the "honor guard" for Highmaster-in-Exile Toede.
Toede watched Rogate draw a long, sweeping arrow that started in the west, looped entirely around the city, and attacked the Rock from a seaborne invasion. "Or him, either," added Toede.
Bunniswot sniffed "Taywin says the best mode of attack would be from the south, where the walls are still in disrepair. I tend to agree."
Toede nodded. "The problem is not the condition of those walls. The problem is the wall between the Lower City and the Rock. In case of invasion, the public plan was always to mobilize the populace and meet the enemy at the outer walls. The secret plan was for the upper classes to pull back into the Rock and leave the rest to fight and die in the streets."
"Do you think Groag would continue that policy?" said Bunniswot.
"If it works, don't mess with it," responded Toede. "Besides, you said that Groag's first order of business was rebuilding the Rock Wall, then the manor, and is only now starting to rebuild the outer wall."
"And quickly," added Bunniswot. "There are a lot of cheap materials and cut corners in that particular project. I wish we could find another siege machine like your friend Jugger."
"Jugger is… was… unique." Toede shuddered, thinking of that long, lazy arc over the Blood Sea. "At least I hope so. I never want to meet another denizen of the Abyss…" Toede stopped for a moment, then asked, "Do you hear that?"
"What?" said Bunniswot.
"Sounded like someone laughing in the distance," said Toede. Another pause. "It's gone now."
Bunniswot shrugged, shaking his head. "Groag has hired a number of mercenaries, including ogres from the Balifor area and some minotaurs from across the Blood Sea, all for personal protection. Most of the rest of the armed forces have survived two of your 'visits' to Flotsam already. As a result, they are battle-hardened, but they have no desire to face an army with you at the helm."
Toede grunted. Nor did he have any desire to lead an army with himself at the helm or any other position, but he had not been able to come up with an easy way out for the past two days.
"Most of Groag's courtiers are loyal," continued Bunni-swot. "But it is a loyalty built more out of fear than trust. Groag is even more mercurial than… you were, and if the going gets tough, they will probably fold and surrender."
"You seem to know a lot about how Groag's court works," noted Toede.
"I should," said Bunniswot, "since I am the official court historian."
Toede stared at the scholar. "You're the what?" Bunniswot shrugged. "I returned to Flotsam with my notes, without a sponsor and needing a job. Groag was just setting himself up, and knew that I was not part of the 'old mob' that followed Hopsloth or the priests. So I got the posting." He paused a moment, then added, "How do you think I got your book copied?"
"You mean…"
"Groag's scribes," said Bunniswot, "who were also Hopsloth's scribes, and Gildentongue's scribes, and now that I think of it, your scribes. The bureaucracy remains intact, I've discovered, regardless of changes in the leadership."
"I remember the scribes," said Toede. "I wouldn't trust them with a lead groat."
"Nor I," said Bunniswot, "which is why the initial manuscript came to them on official order from Groag. They leapt on the chance to prove their worth and loyalty to the new master. That was the first print run. Then Groag found out about the book (though not the copying), and screamed bloody murder about Toede traitors lurking in Flotsam. After which, the scribes, afraid for their jobs as well as their lives, produced another hundred copies in exchange for my silence in the matter." "And the third printing?" said Toede. "We're working on a profit-sharing plan," said Bunniswot. Both hobgoblin and human heads spun around as Tay-win cursed at Rogate, "We can't use an airborne assault.
We don't have anything that flies!"
"A minor point," countered Rogate, "easily surmounted by a brilliant commander and tactician such as our high-master!"
"Children," admonished Toede.
"Even a brilliant commander can't build ships out of nothing!" said Taywin, looking more worn and tired than usual.
Rogate nodded intensely, then looked at the kender, his eyes not quite focusing
. "Moles!" he shouted. "What if we get some really large moles, and tunnel under the walls?"
Taywin buried her head in her hands and screamed, also in a ladylike fashion.
"Badgers would do as well," said Rogate in a compromising tone.
"Scholar," sighed Toede, "do you want to separate them until they cool down?" Bunniswot did not respond. "Scholar?"
Toede looked up to see Bunniswot staring at the borders of the clearing, his face a white mask of fear. Toede followed his terror-stricken gaze to the edge, where a great gnoll stood. As Toede watched, more gnolls stepped from the underbrush, in a ring that spread around the entire campsite.
Toede, reaching for the sword slung across his back, rose slowly from his position. He said out of the corner of his mouth, "Friends of yours?"
Bunniswot shook his head slowly.
"Thought not," muttered Toede as he pulled his sword from its back-scabbard. Rogate and Taywin were also on their feet, weapons drawn.
The gnolls regarded them in silence, seeming as tense as the rebellion members. Two of the largest gnolls approached Bunniswot and Toede. The two gnolls parted, to reveal an equally massive gnoll behind them, dressed in the armor and metal skullcap of a chieftain.
"Charka!" cried Toede. Bunniswot let out a groan, and Toede heard a dull thump behind him and to his right. He did not need to look back to know the young scholar was sprawled out in a dead faint.
At least he'll be quiet, thought the hobgoblin. "Charka offers greetings to Toede, King of Little Dry Frogs!" Charka saluted.
"Is this a social call," snarled Toede, puffing himself up as much as he could, "or are you here to finish the job you attempted six months ago?"
Toede expected Charka to respond with a typical "Hur?" but instead the gnoll said, "Neither. We come to offer what aid we can."
Toede's eyebrows shot up. "That was almost a complete sentence, Charka."
Behind him, Taywin was bringing Bunniswot out of his swoon, and convinced him that they were not all going to die. At least not just yet.
"Charka has been practicing," the gnoll chief said, smiling. "Charka has had help!"