Lord Toede (13 page)

back to examining and writing, as if Toede had never interrupted him. One thing is
certain, thought Toede as he walked back to Groag, there is more here than meets the
eyehuman, ogre, or otherwise. Toede could smell the sweaty fear on the human when
Bunniswot suspected, briefly, that Toede could decipher the glyphs.

*****

It was two days' ride back to Flotsam, and Toede figured that gave him two days to
convince Groag to head somewhere else, with the money and horses. One day, actually, since
if Groag could not be convinced, Toede would sneak off in the dead of night without him.
If Flotsam was under the control of Hopsloth, it was among the last places he wanted to go
without a small army. Living nobly is one thing, but dying nobly is quite another.

The path was wide enough for the pair to ride two-abreast on their short, sturdy horses.
For most of the afternoon they rode in silence. The shadows grew long as they rode in the
shade of the western hills. Toede felt the farther the distance from the camp, the
likelier that Groag would throw in with him. It wasn't as though they were kender slaves,
after all.

It was Groag who broke the silence. “I suppose I should thank you.” Toede scowled,
thinking of Charka. 'Thank me?“ ”You kept the draconian from killing me,“ said Groag. ”I
heard that. You called to it.“ ”A moment of weakness," said Toede, speaking the truth as
far as it went.

“And you died in combat with it, in a burning pyre,” sighed the smaller hobgoblin.
“Sacrificed yourself so I might live.” “Ah,” said Toede, playing with the idea of letting
Groag think of him more heroically, but reluctantly abandoning it. It seemed more noble to
be honest, particularly if it would help him scare Groag into going along with him. 'To be
truthful, I didn't die fighting Gildentongue."

'Then you've been alive all this“ Groag started, but Toede interrupted. ”I died,“ said he,
”but not from Gildentongue. I was . . . digested, for lack of a better word.“ Groag looked
at him blankly. ”Hopsloth ate me,“ Toede added flatly. ”Oh, my,“ said Groag, his voice a
mixture of concern and amusement. ”It seems,“ continued Toede levelly, ”that the assassin
we fought at the Jetties had been sent by Hopsloth, not Gildentongue. My mount was ...
less than pleased with the idea of my glorious return, and when the devoted gate guards
reported that someone claiming to be me had reappeared in the city, he took what he
thought was appropriate action.“ ”Dumber than a bag of lampreys, you said?“ chided Groag.
”You learn new things each and every day,“ responded Toede. ”That might explain what
happened later,“ said Groag. Toede shot him a questioning look, and Groag continued.
”After my recovery, I told my story to the scholars, or what I thought had happened. About
your return from the dead, and our misadventures, and what we discovered in your manor.
But I didn't know that Hopsloth had ... ah ... eaten you.“ Again the mix of bemusement and
interest. ”I thought you died in combat with the aurak. “Anyway,” Groag said, “with
Hopsloth in charge, there have been more disappearances. Like with Gildentongue, but more
important people. The priests serving Hopsloth would denounce one person or another, and a
few days later, they'd be gone.” “That sounds stupid enough to be Hopsloth's doing,”
agreed Toede. “He might as well hang a sign out in front of the city saying: Tyrant
begging to be iced by adventurers Heroes of the Lance preferred.” By now the darkness was
almost complete, and while the hobgoblins were not totally inconvenienced by the gathering
gloom, the horses were becoming less sure in their steps. The pair stopped beneath a
particularly large oak with a modicum of clear terrain at its base. Neither one sought to
make a fire, since that was a human custom, and they had slept in worse conditions without
benefit of bedrolls. As the pair bedded down, Toede said, "Groag, do you think we're doing
the right thing? Going back

to Flotsam, I mean. It doesn't sound particularly healthy.“ Groag was already bunched up
in a small coil. ”As right as anything. I mean, if you don't go in announcing who you are,
we can likely get in and out without any problem.“ ”We could just take the horses and the
pouch of coins and head west,“ said Toede, as if the idea had just occurred to him. ”Have
you ever been in the Solace area? Nice land, and the humans are easy to control.“ There
was a silence, then, ”If we did that, then the scholars would probably starve.“ No great
loss to the world, thought Toede. He weighed his options, trying to berate Groag into
joining him versus just slipping away in the dead of night. At length he said, ”You're
probably right,“ and stretched out, lacing his fingers behind his head. ”Goodnight,
Groag.“ ”Goodnight, Toede,“ said his companion. No title. Not lord, not highmaster, but
just Toede. Toede scowled. Toede stared above his head at the dark tracery of the bare oak
branches against the night sky. He waited until Groag's breathing was regular and deep,
then quietly rolled out of his own bedding. He checked Groag and frowned, for the smaller
hobgoblin had the pouch of coins clutched in his hands and resting under his chin. He'd
have to abandon the money, unless he killed his companion. That was a tempting idea, but
probably unnecessary under the circumstances. Groag was snoring loudly, and was deeply
asleep. At length, Toede decided to take both horses and equipment, since he could sell or
eat one if need be. Besides, thought Toede, this way Groag could still get the supplies
for his precious scholars. It would just take a few more days. Not that they couldn't
stand to lose a few pounds. Toede quietly untied the horses and led them a short way from
the oak. One of them whickered softly but followed without further complaint. Toede was
about to saddle up and ride off when all the hellish Abyss seemed to rip open and dump its
contents into his life. The first thing he was aware of was the scream, or screams, that
came from all sides. Blood- curdling howls that would have frozen the blood of a
lycanthrope. Then they were all around him, huge creatures swarming over him. Had Toede
mounted up and tried to ride away, he would have gotten fifteen, maybe twenty feet before
a dozen spears pierced him. He didn't have the chance anyway; he was immediately swept up
by a huge set of furry arms, then thrown roughly on the ground. He heard the horses neigh
in panic as the wind was knocked out of him. Then three spear points pushed roughly on his
chest. Toede looked up into the faces of three large gnolls, their faces caked with
reddish mud in lines and swirls. A larger gnoll stood behind them, bellowing. ”King of
Little Dead Frogs!“ shouted Charka. ”Charka thought you starve by now!" Kill me now,
thought Toede, careful not to voice his desire.

In which Our Protagonist makes threats he cannot carry out and promises he does not intend
to keep, and also places his fate in the hands of greater powers, and is not surprised as
to their per- formance. The other gnolls looked at Charka, and the large gnoll barked
something at them in some swamp- tongue that Toede could not follow.

Charka, draped in a broad swath of quilted armor that could have been used to make
blankets for fifty kender, with a wide belt and sword hanging on the side, was more
impressive now than before.

A steel skullcap ornamented with a single blood-red gem was fitted between the gnoll's
hyenalike ears. Whatever Charka had said had its effect, for Toede was pulled up and
frog-marched back to the oak. Other gnolls were holding Groag under spear-point guard.
Toede noted the tatters of the bedrolls and decided that Charka's goons had cut his
companion out, probably after Groag wrapped them tightly around himself in hopes that
their attackers would ignore him.

There were about thirty gnolls, all told, dressed in quilted armor that was significantly
more faded and less flashy than that worn by Charka. Charka got the best and the newest
material, which indicated a stature not evident when they had first met. The gnolls tossed
Toede against the tree trunk next to Groag and leveled their spears on the pair of them.

“Friends of yours?” muttered Groag. “We've met,” said Toede quietly, then added, “I heard
a noise and went to investigate.” “So you took the horses with you so they wouldn't get
lonely,” suggested Groag. Without looking at him, Toede could imagine the arch of his
eyebrows. Charka squatted in front of the two hobgoblins. “Charka wonder one question,” he
said. “Where get horses?” Toede managed the broadest smile he could manage with a dozen
well-armed gnolls around him, and asked, “Charka kill Bartha?” Charka's smile widened in a
happy grin that made Toede think of a duck-sated hunting dog. “Charka kill Bartha!” The
gnoll's face immediately dropped back into a somber mode. “Where get horses?” Toede
hesitated as the gnoll spears lunged a few inches closer. Groag made a gurgling noise. The
spears drew back slightly. 'They belong to some humans,“ said Toede in as neutral a
fashion as possible. ”They're loaners.“ 'They're the property of Chief Scholar Renders,”
Groag interjected. “We are under the humans' protection, and you'll be in great trouble if
any harm falls to ... Aurk!” Charka started frowning the moment Groag started speaking,
the furrow in his forehead growing craggier by the instant. He gave a hand signal, as one
of the gnolls drove his spear into the wood by Groag's head, accounting for the “Aurk.” “I
think they want me to do the explaining,” said Toede quietly. “I think you're right,”
gasped Groag, trying to force the blood back into his face by sheer mental effort. “Carry
on.” “Human horses,” said Toede, motioning at the two mounts for effect. When none of the
gnolls proceeded to stab him for his actions, Toede tried rising to his feet. “Powerful
humans,” he added. A few of the gnolls growled, but Charka gave them a dismissive chop of
the hand. They silenced at once. Impressive. “Powerful humans?” asked Charka. “Muscles and
swords?” Groag made a rude snort despite himself, and Toede inwardly cursed for not having
left the area five minutes sooner. Apparently Charka did not notice the snort. He asked,
“Humans in forest of stone?” Toede tilted his head to one side. “Hur?” he said, trying not
to smile. “Forest of stone!” said Charka loudly, then motioned with sharp-taloned, furry
hands, vertically, to indicate trees. “Forest of tall rocks. Carvings. Forest of stone!”
“Ah,” said Toede. “Forest of stone. Yes, humans in forest of stone.” Charka snarled.
“Forest of stone taboo. All who see must die. Humans. Horses. You.” “I knew that was
coming,” muttered Groag. “Call it a premonition, but I just knew it.” “If you don't mind,
I'm bargaining for our lives,” Toede shot back. “Go right ahead. You're doing a good job
so far.” Toede moved his wish of departure up to ten minutes before the gnolls had arrived
and said to Charka, “Charka not want to kill humans. Humans powerful wizards.” “Hur?”
“Wizards,” said Toede, grasping for synonyms. “Magic-users. Magicians. Thaumaturges. Juju
priests. Charlatans. Shamani...”

Something sunk into the gnoll's skull. “Juju? Humans have great juju?” “Moby juju,” nodded
Toede. “Humans seek more juju in forest of stone. Angry if gnolls disturb them.” Charka
rocked back on his heels for a moment, deep in thought. Toede could almost see the steam
leaking out of his pointed ears from the stress the thought process was placing on his
brain. “Human in forest of stone... humans must die. Humans have great juju... humans kill
gnolls.” Toede saw the coin mentally flip. Charka smiled. “Charka think you lie, King of
Little Dry Frogs. If humans have big juju, humans attack gnolls first.” “Incredible
logic,” noted Toede for Groag's benefit. To Charka he said, “Humans not care about gnolls.
Humans care about forest of stone. Gnolls attack humans, humans care about gnolls. Humans
kill gnolls.” There was another pause as Charka digested this last bit of information,
pondering for a good two minutes. Toede imagined the two parts of that gnollish brain
swatting the concept between them: sacred tradition versus a palpable fear of possible
death. Then Charka leaned close to Toede and snarled. “Prove.” “Prove?” said Toede,
surprised. “Prove humans have great juju. Prove humans worthy to be in forest of stone.”
Charka shot a glance at the other gnolls. Toede saw they were nodding back, stern-faced.
Toede held his hands out, empty palms upward, “Well, gee, guys, I didn't pack anything
with me....” Several of the gnolls brought their spears around, but when Charka chopped
the air they lowered them. They kept the spears pegged on Groag, however, Toede noted.
Charka gave his “confused- dog” look, and Toede didn't wait for the “Hur.” Toede stepped
forward a half pace and thumped himself on the chest. “King of Little Dry Frogs get proof.
Get moby juju from human chief.” As an afterthought, he put in, “From human chief
Renders.” Charka was impressed by the name, at least. “Human chief name is Boils Flesh?”
“Great chief of juju, Boils Flesh.” Toede nodded. “King of Little Dry Frogs go to Great
Chief Boils Flesh, bring moby juju for Charka.” “When did we stop speaking a common
language in this conversation?” muttered Groag, earning himself another mild poke with a
spear. Charka thought for a moment. Toede sighed deeply and added, “Or ...” He paused for
effect. “Charka kill King of Little Dry Frogs, and Great Chief Boils Flesh turn Charka to
chutney.” Toede was unsure if “chutney” was part of gnoll cuisine, but Charka got the
point. “What if King of Little Dry Frogs go warn Great Chief Boils Flesh, so humans attack
Charka here, eh?” asked Charka. “What if, ”the gnoll added, “King of Little Dry Frogs just
fly away?” Toede smiled. “Charka keep friend of King of Little Dry Frogs as hostage. Kill
hostage if King of Little Dry Frogs not bring moby juju back.” “No, you don't, damn you!”
shouted Groag, rising to his feet in one motion and trying to charge Toede. “You're going
run off on me... oof!” One of the gnolls had grabbed Groag around the waist and flung him
full-force into the oak trunk. Groag hit the tree and slumped to the ground, silent.
Charka turned to Toede and said “Hur?” Toede smiled reassuringly. “King of Little Dry
Frogs' friend thinks he should go to Forest of Stone, talk to Great Chief Boils Flesh,
risk anger of Boils Flesh instead.” Charka was impressed. “King of Little Dry Frogs'
friend loyal.” 'That he is,“ said Toede, smiling. ”That he is.“ Then he added, ”And by the
way, my friend is carrying all my money. Could you fetch that pouch of coins for me?"

*****

In the end, the gnolls gave Toede the pouch and one of the horses. Charka told him (in his
unique, preposition-less way) to return by dawn or else Groag would be killed. Charka went
into some detail over the nature of gnoll ritual slayings, which impressed even Toede. It
was surprising what a

culture could come up with without the benefit of fire, cold steel, lead weights, or
kender poetry. Toede rode out from the gnoll encampment like a flying mammal escaping the
Abyss, though as soon as he knew the flying hooves of his mount to be out of earshot, he
slowed to a comfortable canter. Of course, dawn would come, he would be nowhere to be
found, and Groag would regrettably perish. Regrettably, after a great deal of suffering
and torture. Then the gnolls would move on to the human encampment in the gnolls' sacred
rock garden, and, regrettably, rampage through them with a minimum amount of mercy.

All of this was regrettable in that Toede couldn't hang about to watch. There was an off
chance that Groag could convince Charka of Toede's escape earlier than dawn, but it was an
off-off chance. Toede chuckled as he played out the possible conversation aloud. “But I
tell you he won't be coming back!” Toede imitated his subaltern's whiny voice. “Too bad,”
replied Toede-as-Charka. “Charka start skinning you now. Hold hostage down, boys. Charka
get rusty knife.” All in all, a win/win situation. Transportation, money, and elimination
of all witnesses, without so much as bloodying his own hands. Earlier, Toede had spotted a
western path that broke from the main route, not as well traveled, but still serviceable.
That western path promised relief from gnolls, scholars, kender, assassins, Hopsloth, and
Groag. All in all, a good day. Except for a grumbling in his stomach, but that was brought
on more by Groag's cooking than anything else. There was still some jerky in the
saddlebags. He could probably find some farmstead or army post long before he hit Balifor,
someplace where a few coins would wangle a hot meal and a decent bath. These assurances
did nothing for the present state of his stomach however. Toede leaned back and rummaged
through the left saddlebag, looking for the jerky. Instead, his fingers closed around a
disk hanging from a chain. He hauled it out to examine it, even though in the pit of his
stomach he knew what it was the moment he touched it, and a sympathetic pain shot up from
his belly, stabbing at his heart. The disk had an engraved picture of Hopsloth on one
side. On the other was a deep, crudely etched T, some lighter, spidery writing, and
numbers. It was the holy symbol he had pulled from the assassin in the Jetties back during
his first reincarnation. When, exactly, Toede had lost the device was unknown to the
highmaster. Probably when we were jumping around trying to avoid being toasted by
Gildentongue, he thought. But how would Groag have found it? Either in the heat of the
battle, or perhaps in the burned debris afterward. More likely one of the scholars had
found it near his smoking body. Then why did the device have the hand-drawn T? Toede held
it up to the russet moonlight, tilting it to catch the faint illumination. To the lower
left- hand side of the T was the date, about six months ago, give or take. And in the
right-hand corner, more faintly inscribed in Groag's spidery hand, were the words: DIED
NOBLY. Live nobly, the shadowy figures had said, the mountain-high being and sea-wide
creature. Well, if he needed proof when they came calling, perhaps this was it. Somebody
had certainly mourned his passing this time, unlike the previous occasion with its
festivals and general relief. He pictured Groag laid up in a cot with the scholars
bustling around him, turning the disk over and over in his hands, finally inscribing it as
a small memento to crystalize his feelings of regret and loss. Groag would probably be
telling the shadowy beings about these very feelings firsthand by the end of the day
tomorrow, tops, after the flesh had been scoured away from his quivering form (Charka had
been very explicit, and though gnollish vocabulary was limited, on the matter of death it
was quite expansive). Of course, between now and then Groag might quite possibly change
his opinion of Toede. The pain in Toede's stomach flared, and he dropped the disk back
into the saddlebag, finding a chunk of smoked beef in the process. He chewed it as he
rode. The meat was the best thing that had landed in Toede's stomach for six months, but
did little to abate the vast hunger there. “Only a fool,” Toede said aloud, presumably to
the horse, "would fail to take advantage of this

situation. To escape and start a new life, where one can 'live nobly' without danger of
one's past biting one on one's backside.“ The horse, respectful of its place in the scheme
of things, said nothing. ”And,“ said Toede, ”and . . . it's not as though Groag didn't
have a chance to join me. No, we could have both been gone, have taken the western fork,
and never have met the gnolls. He made his choice. I cannot deny the right of any creature
to determine its own destiny, and verily, he determined his."

The horse remained silent, but it seemed an accusing silence, pregnant in its damning
hush. “Not to discount the influence of the gods,” added Toede quickly. “Gods are
important.” That he said loudly enough so that, if any were resting in the trees among the
slumbering squirrels, they would hear his affirmation. “But gods are subtle and show their
works best in signs and portents. I mean, dropping a mountain on Istar was a definite
message, if you follow my meaning.” The horse continued to impugn Toede silently. “So
indeed, if the gods did want me to hang about here, they would have given me an obvious
sign, right?” Toede asked. The horse refused to be drawn into Toede's line of argument.
The branch to the western path appeared up ahead. “So if the gods are paying attention,”
said Toede, “then it wouldn't be out of line to ask them for guidance. Correct? I mean,
the words were ”live nobly“ not ”prove your faith in us, whoever we are.“ The fork was
upon them. To the west lay freedom, to the south more problems than Toede wanted to think
about. He pulled back on the reins, and the horse halted. ”So we have a decision to make,
and need guidance, and are willing to leave it up to the will of greater powers. Should
the mount turn west, we shall go west. Should it turn south, we will follow the trail to
wherever it leads us.“ Toede eased his grip on the reins. The horse did not move. Toede
dug his heels in its sides to spur it forward, but still the horse did not move. Toede
slapped its flanks with the ends of the reins, and even then horse did not move. Toede
pulled lightly on the right rein, the one that would lead the horse west, but the horse
remained immobile. He pulled again, harder, then gave a firm tug. Nothing. Toede gave the
slightest tug on the left rein, the one that would lead south to the scholars. The horse
swung, as if it had been fixed on a pivot, immediately in that direction. ”Stupid horse,“
said Toede, realizing at once that the animal would rather travel a well-worn route than
one never trod before. Not a fair test, all in all, he reasoned. Toede pulled the defaced
symbol of the Water Prophet out of his saddlebags again and held it up in the moonlight.
”Right then. Toede-side up, we go south. Hopsloth-side up, we go west.“ He flipped the
disk as best as he was able from horseback, the symbol spinning and dragging along its
chain in a loose elliptical orbit. The flip carried it out of Toede's reach, where it
landed among the debris of fallen leaves and dead ferns by the side of the path. Toede
squinted into the dark to see on which side the amulet had landed. Then, seeing the
result, he snarled, and thought for a moment of just riding on anyway, of defying the
coin-tossed decision influenced by the gods. ”Dark Lady in ribbons and bows,“ he muttered.
”Probably a rock slide would fall on top of me if I went west anyway," and with that, he
turned the horse south. In the forest debris, the abandoned holy symbol shone in the
crimson moonlight, the etching of the faceup T deep and visible from a surprising distance
away.