by Tina Daniel
Now it was my turn to be silent, to consider. As an initiate magic-user, Raistlin believed in the gods of Good, the gods of Neutrality, and the gods of Evil, of whom Takhisis was supreme. While I had seen both good and evil in my life, about the gods I was not as certain as the young mage. Sargonnas was a god of whom I knew little.
Perhaps sensing my reserve, Raistlin turned away with a sigh. “That is not the end of it,” he said. “This spell can only be triggered during certain conjunctions of the moon and stars. The effort required to arrange it is extraordinary. It can only mean that the bull-men have a goal important enough to require the aid of Sargonnas. Morath thinks—and I concur—that this must be a plan to conquer all of Ansalon.”
“But the minotaurs could never do it alone no matter how many they are or how well organized,” I objected.
“True,” said Raistlin, “but what if they forged alliances with unlikely allies—the evil races of the sea or the ogres, for example?”
“They are an arrogant race,” I protested, “one that would never forge alliances.”
“That may not be true,” said Kirsig, stepping out from the shadows. The half-ogre had a way of creeping up on people, but Raistlin held an odd liking for her and did not seem perturbed by her presence, nor by the obvious fact that she had been listening to us from the shadows.
“That may explain something odd that has been happening at Ogrebond for the last several months,” Kirsig went on.
“What?” asked Raistlin with interest.
“Delegations—galleys—of minotaurs have been visiting in order to parley with the different ogre tribes. It is most unusual. Before then, I never heard of any friendship between the ogres and minotaurs. Usually, in fact, it was quite the opposite: deadly enmity.”
“Do you see what I mean?” Raistlin said to me, turning and clasping his hands over a rail, staring at the dark water and even blacker sky. “Caramon’s fate is the least of my worries!”
NINTH DAY
In the early morning, one of the sailors thought he spotted something moving under the water alongside the ship. Everybody sharpened his guard, knowing that in these strange waters, it could be anything.
At noon, the creature was spotted again—a huge, gray, slithery shape that seemed to be following the Castor. Our progress lagged in the hot, hazy weather, and the creature mimicked our speed, seeming almost lazy in its sinuous movements. The creature remained so far below the surface that we could distinguish very little about it except that it was every bit as large and long as the ship itself.
By late afternoon, the curious creature had been pursuing us for a dozen miles without surfacing. This lack of action lulled us into complacency. Some of the Castor’s sailors were belowdecks while others dozed at their posts when suddenly the thing reared its head and attacked.
I was amidships when I looked up to see a long, bulging, serpentine body bearing down on us.
Instantly I knew what it was: a nudibranch, or giant aquatic slug, rare in these parts. I fell back behind a storage box just in time, for the slug crashed its gaping maw into the stern and simultaneously spewed out a thick stream of corrosive saliva.
The Castor jolted backward. Everybody standing was flung to the deck, everybody sleeping stunned awake. One of the sailors had had no time to dodge the acidic spittle. She screamed and rolled on the deck, burning in pain. Another failed to see the nudibranch fast enough and was swallowed whole.
Those who witnessed the attack yelled for help, and their comrades came running, bearing weapons that seemed puny in comparison to the nudibranch’s immense bulk. Captain Nugetre raced up from below, shouting orders. Yuril had been at the tiller. Now she crouched next to me, gazing in horror at the rampaging thing.
As we watched, the giant slug lifted its ugly, tentacled head so high that we could see its dead white underbelly, then smashed downward into the deck, using its body like a battering ram. Wood and splinters flew in every direction. The nudibranch was half on the deck, half in the sea. The ship listed dangerously.
For several minutes, the giant slug’s head disappeared out of sight below the deck. Gruesome slurping noises and the screams of sailors caught in their quarters signified the creature’s bloody feeding frenzy.
“Flint!” I cried suddenly.
“Hush!” said the dwarf. “I’m right behind you.”
So he was, and Raistlin and Kirsig, too. All watched with amazement as the giant slug reared its head again and smashed back into the ship. The deck sloped steeply. With each battering from the nudibranch, the Castor listed more dangerously.
“It’s eating its way through the ship,” said Raistlin.
“They will eat anything,” said Yuril, “Plants, carrion, garbage—anything.”
As we watched, one of the sailors, a black-skinned woman with short-cropped hair, whooped and leaped on the back of the giant slug, stabbing downward with a sharp sword.
But the nudibranch had a thick, rubbery hide, and the formidable blade barely caused a wound. The nudibranch paused in its attack on the Castor and, with surprising agility, managed to twist its head around, grab the brave sailor in its mouth, mangle her, then toss her body into the ocean several hundred yards away.
Without working out a plan, Flint, Kirsig, Yuril, and I rushed the creature and stabbed at it, landing some ineffectual blows. Other sailors joined us. The giant slug twisted and thrashed, knocking down several sailors, covering one of them with burning spittle. All we could do was harry it and do our best to stay out of the creature’s reach.
I saw Raistlin at the far end of the boat, working at something. He turned and called out to Flint.
The dwarf hastened to him. Together they bent over and began to drag an object toward us and the giant slug. When two other seamen hurried to help them, Raistlin left Flint and ran over to the tiller, where Captain Nugetre was busy trying to keep control of the listing ship. Raistlin conferred briefly with Nugetre, who nodded at what the young mage was saying.
I could see now that Flint and the sailors were dragging the anchor toward us. Kirsig, Yuril, and I raced over to help them lift it up. Then, at a signal from Flint, we thrust it at the head of the giant slug.
As Raistlin had hoped, the nudibranch—not known for its intelligence—opened its mouth wide for what we were shoving in its direction. We released the anchor at the last moment and scurried to safety.
An almost surprised expression crossed the slug’s rudimentary face as Captain Nugetre turned the wheel hard away from the creature. The sudden movement caused it to slide backward off the deck into the sea. Flint’s anchor took it swiftly down into the murky depths until we could no longer glimpse any evidence of it other than the explosion of bubbles that rose to the surface.
The attack had left the Castor sorely in need of repair. Three sailors were dead, as we were reminded by the blood staining the deck, and Flint had to take up the task of creating another anchor from scrap metal.
TENTH DAY
Captain Nugetre says we are no more than half a day from the coast of Karthay, even at the slow pace we must now maintain. The Castor is a crippled ship. Only round-the-clock bailing shifts keep us afloat, a strain on the crew, which has been halved by our experiences. Flint, Raistlin, Kirsig, and I pitch in.
Although the journey across the Blood Sea has been as fast as anyone could have hoped, the captain says that he isn’t sure that the fee makes up for the damage to his ship and crew.
“I will not take the chance of making the landing at Karthay,” Captain Nugetre announced. “I won’t incur any further risks. I will give you a small boat to row to shore. Consider yourselves fortunate at that.”
Despite Kirsig’s best entreaties, Captain Nugetre has refused to budge from his position.
Raistlin paid him his double fee and didn’t press him about the landing. The captain has more than kept his part of the bargain, Raistlin said, thanking him.
Kirsig announced her intention to come with us. Flint tried to
talk her out of it—unsuccessfully. She insisted that she wouldn’t abandon her “pretty dwarf.”
More of a surprise was that Yuril announced her desire to join us. Captain Nugetre raged at her, but to no effect. The first mate said that she owed us her life—at least twice over—and that she intended to help us fulfill our quest. The captain seemed saddened as well as angry at her decision. Not for the first time did I get the idea that these two at some time had been more than captain and ship’s mate to each other.
Three of the sailors, all female and more loyal to Yuril than to Captain Nugetre, said they would come along as well.
That made eight, and the furious Nugetre had to promise us two small boats in order to land us ashore.
CHAPTER 10
THE EVIL KENDER
———
THE POTION WORKED WONDERFULLY. MOST ASSUREDLY, TASSLEHOFF Burrfoot had been changed into an evil kender. There could be no question about that. From his former topknot to his toes, Tas was thoroughly evil.
The minotaur guards weren’t so sure they didn’t like Tas better the way he was before, before Fesz, the shaman minotaur and the high emissary of the Nightmaster, had fed him the potion that perverted his true kender nature.
Of course, they couldn’t be called Tasslehoff’s guards anymore, not strictly speaking. Glorying in his new evilness, Tas had been upgraded from prisoner to honored guest of the minotaur king. He occupied privileged quarters on an upper floor of the palace, a spacious room of plush and velvet with a balcony overlooking the sprawling, seedy city of Lacynos.
Across the hall was another privileged guest room, even more privileged and roomier, that had been set aside for Fesz, who needed to be close to Tas on account of their growing friendship and frequent consultations.
A small number of minotaur guards still stood outside Tas’s room in the hallway. They were ordered to keep Tas from leaving the premises without escort or authorization, but they were also ordered not to act like guards. Instead, they were to act friendly and do the kender’s bidding, and they dared not disobey.
The evil kender was ten times the nuisance that the good kender had been—that is, if anyone would have called Tas “good” in the first place. Worse than a nuisance, in the unanimous opinion of the minotaur guards, Tas was downright … well, evil.
Since the guards were his to order around, Tas made sure they were kept busy attending to his every whim. And Tas had plenty of whims, one for every minute of the day, it seemed.
In his evilness, Tas had decided that he would like to take three hot baths each day at strictly appointed intervals. It was hard work, even for the minotaur guards, to organize the baths and heft the hot water buckets up the several flights of stairs leading to the privileged guest quarters three times a day.
And woe betide them if the water wasn’t hot enough. If it wasn’t, Tas would throw a terrible tantrum, hitting them over the head with the empty bucket or poking them in the eyes with a curtain rod, the best poking weapon he had at his disposal. Or he would curse them with an amazing litany of taunts. Some of the guards could barely restrain themselves, having to take insults and orders from a kender. But take it they did, and after the hitting and poking and taunting, they usually had to slink out and start all over again, praying to get the bathwater hot enough next time.
Because he was a bit bored being cooped up all day, every day in his privileged quarters, Tasslehoff also decided that he wanted the room redone and painted in more pleasing colors. He didn’t like its present off-white, but it was very difficult for Tas to decide precisely which color, or colors, the room ought to be.
First he ordered two of the guards to repaint his room a deep indigo blue—by sundown. Afterward, staring at the deep indigo blue that covered the floor, walls, and ceiling, Tas almost fell asleep. So he decided that deep indigo blue was a tad too lulling.
He ordered the same two guards to repaint the room a bright crimson—by sundown of the next day. The guards grumbled and swore, especially because Tas poked at them, swatted their heads, and berated them as they slaved to meet the deadline.
Bright crimson kept the kender wide awake at night. So Tas decided that the floor could stay crimson, if it was covered with some rugs—he wouldn’t be noticing the floor much at night anyway—but the walls ought to be some substantial color, like orange, while the ceiling ought to be some profoundly evil color, like midnight black.
The same two minotaur guards, because they had done such a good job the first two times and also because they had done such a bad job the first two times, were selected to repaint Tasslehoff’s room again.
All the minotaur guards complained bitterly among themselves about Tasslehoff. No matter why or when they entered the kender’s quarters, they were likely to be struck by some flying object or tackled from behind or tripped by wire strung across their path. Insults—the worst insults Tas could think of, comparisons to dumb cows and dull-horned bulls—poured out nonstop. Food was rejected and tossed in their faces.
Dogz, the only minotaur who managed to avoid being poked or insulted, sadly remembered the good old Tasslehoff, before he had turned evil.
“Tasslehoff Burrfoot is a valued minion of the Nightmaster,” Fesz had declared. And the minotaur guards dared not disagree.
To Fesz, Tas’s hostile and agressive behavior was proof positive that the kender had turned evil. And if his obnoxious behavior wasn’t evidence enough, Tasslehoff also had proved extremely cooperative in telling Fesz a great deal about the thin, intelligent mage from Solace who had sent him to Southern Ergoth to obtain the rare jalopwort from a minotaur herbalist.
Tas also told Fesz all about his good friends, Flint and Tanis Half-Elven, and his Uncle Trapspringer, and the time he, Tas, had almost captured a woolly mammoth single-handedly. He told him about poor Sturm and Caramon, probably carcasses picked over by spiny fish at the bottom of the Blood Sea by now. It was good riddance to bad rubbish, because they were honorable and pure and wouldn’t fit in with the kender’s new way of looking at the world as something to be stomped on and mashed and conquered.
Indeed, the kender loved to talk about his friends—“ex-friends,” he sometimes corrected himself. He especially loved to talk about the dwarf, Flint Fireforge. So much did he love to talk about Flint that occassionally Fesz had to put his arm around the kender and gently steer him back to the subject of Raistlin Majere, the enemy of the minotaur race and therefore, Fesz reminded him, an enemy of Tas’s.
Raistlin Majere was the one who interested Fesz the most. This human who was studying to be a mage, and who had wanted the jalopwort because of a spell he had stumbled across in some ancient text.
“Oh, Raistlin is very smart, you bet,” Tas told Fesz. “A pretty good mage, considering that he hasn’t taken the Test yet, but don’t ask me what the Test is, because it’s something very secret, and although I know more about it than practically anybody else, it ties my tongue just to try to explain it. If Raistlin’s figured out where the jalopwort went—meaning, where I am, here in Minotaurville—then he’s probably on his way here right now. He’ll want the jalopwort back, and probably he’ll want to rescue me, too—hah! Probably Tanis and Flint will be coming with him. Boy, Flint will get a big kick out of how evil I am before I kill him!
“But you’re right, Fesz. Raistlin is the real threat. I think you and I better start to figure out how to trap him and choke him and stab him and then maybe do something really evil to his dead body, like—I don’t know. You’ve got more experience than I do in this sort of thing. What do you suggest?”
Whenever the kender got really excited, as he was now, he paced the room, bouncing up and down with an unmistakably wide, wicked leer. It made Fesz feel pleased. Furthermore, it was usually an appropriate time to give the kender another dose of the potion that would keep him evil as long as Tas kept drinking it.
Tas had been extremely cooperative and very evil for about a week now. Fesz had written down everything the kender said that
related to Raistlin and the jalopwort, and dispatched the essence of what he learned across the channel to the Nightmaster on the island of Karthay. Even though the kender was evil, he was still insatiably curious about everything. He begged Fesz to reveal how he managed to communicate with the Nightmaster.
One afternoon, feeling rather fatherly toward Tas, the shaman minotaur escorted the kender into his quarters to show him where he lived.
“Hey, how come you have a bigger room than I do?” asked Tasslehoff, looking around indignantly. “You’ve got nicer paintings and bigger windows, too—and two windows! I love the color combination you’ve chosen—a simple brown and dark green combination, like trees and leaves. It reminds me of a forest, in fact. Those stupid minotaur guards have had me all confused with crimson and blue and orange. When I get back, I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.”
Fesz put his arm around the irrepressibly wicked kender with whom he was feeling more and more of a kinship and led him to the windowsill. On the sill sat a large round jar of unusually corpulent bees with unusually long stingers. They swarmed inside the jar, buzzing noisily.
“These superintelligent bees bear my messages to the Nightmaster,” said Fesz intently, watching Tas’s reaction. “They can fly great distances, and they relay messages through telepathic means. Of course”—he gave Tas a sly wink—“they have other nasty uses, but they are most useful for quick and reliable communication.”
For once in his life, Tas was caught speechless. His jaw sagged. He had never heard of such creatures in all his travels.
With a flourish, the shaman minotaur unscrewed the top of the jar and let the bees rise into the air. They hovered momentarily a few inches above the jar before collecting into a swarm and buzzing up and off in an easterly direction.
“Wow!” exclaimed Tas, “When I was coming back from Southern Ergoth, I sent a magic message to Raistlin—that’s probably how he knows where we are—but all I had was this dumb old bottle that I had to throw into the ocean, and who knows whether it sank to the bottom of sea? If I had bees like that, I could … except where would I put them? I don’t think it would be a good idea to carry them in my rucksack in case the jar broke, and—”