Lord Toede (3 page)

Normally Toede would have continued around the encampment, looking for a clear trail out,
ignoring his stomach's rumblings. He would have, but at that moment the larger creature
dropped the pile of wood he was carrying, and Toede saw his face. A very hobgoblin face.
Groag! Toede was stunned, but only for a moment. Groag's face was thinner, leaner, and not
as well tended as Toede remembered, but nonetheless it was his former courtier and chief
bootlicker. Same lumpish head, chinless face, and beady eyes that were common to Toede and
all hob-goblinsj?ut in addition a nose that looked like it had been flattened by a rock,
and a black mop of hair cut bowl- fashion at ear level. Groag's finery had been stripped
of him, and the hobgoblin was dressed in worn, tattered buckskins that looked like they
had been patched together from several kender's throwaways. The hobgoblin was shorter than
Toede and (in better times) wider, but his presence next to the child- sized kender made
him look like an ogre-sized creature next to a human. Groag was nodding dumbly as the
kender cook lectured him on some matter of wood hauling. It was then that Toede noticed
the manacles on his former lackey's ankles and wrists, and the thick chains that linked
them together. A white fury exploded in Toede's heart. If anyone had the right to toss his
servants in irons, it was him, not some ragtag collection of poaching kender. The insult
was incredible, he fumed. He should come back after dark and free his companion. This made
proper sense, since Groag would probably know the best route out of these marshlands. At
least he should warn Groag to expect something, thought Toede, to prepare for an escape.
Careful not to reveal himself too much, Toede attempted to signal his former courtier.
Fortunately, the kender cook had her back to him, and no other natives were in sight.
Toede waved, trying to catch Groag's attention. Groag looked directly at him as Toede
waved, and his piggy hobgoblin eyes widened. Toede placed a finger to his lips and quickly
pantomimed the sun going down, then pointed at himself, then at Groag, then made
walking-finger motions to show the pair of them escaping. Repeating the motions a few
times, Toede expected Groag to nod in agreement, or at least to look puzzled. What Toede
did not expect was for Groag's eyes to roll up in his pointed little head, and the smaller
hobgoblin to pitch backward in a dead faint, sending kindling scattering in all
directions. Yet, this was exactly what happened. As he ducked back into the brush, Toede
did not remember if he'd cursed aloud at Groag's reaction. Of all the foolish, stupid
things to do! Fainting at the first sign of rescue. There was nothing to do for it but to
get out quietly and come back later, hopefully with a detachmenrof guards and Hopsloth.
Toede began backing slowly away, careful to keep as much vegetation between himself and
the fire (and the cook calling for aid with a fainted hobgoblin) as possible. He thought
he had cleared the area when he felt the sharp point of a dagger placed expertly between
the links of his chain shirt. “Sure and now,” said a high-pitched, definitely kender-ish
voice, “you wouldn't be leaving us without joining your friend.” The pressure from the
dagger point grew, and Toede cursed again. Then Toede raised his hands in surrender and
began walking, slowly, back into camp.

In which Our Protagonist and his faithful servant have a chance to get reacquainted, and
are re- minded why they did not miss each other too terribly much. However, an opportunity
arises before

their reunion results in a homicide. Groag awoke with a head full of bees, his face and
hands still tingling from the shock. Had to have been heatstroke, he thought, grasping for
consciousness. All the work, all the labor, all the pain that was the only rational
explanation. The real world swam back into view, and he found he had been carried back to
his own hut. His chains had been threaded through the iron bolt driven into a large rock
positioned at the hut's center. He could move about the hut in relative ease, but any
further escape was impossible. As usual. It was still morning, evident from the slant of
the light through the doorway bars, light that illuminated the other occupant in his
hovel, similarly chained and shackled and securely moored to the anchoring stone. Toede
scowled at him and said, “Well, thank you so very much.” Groag's eyes rolled up in his
head again, and the darkness reclaimed him. He pitched backward. Toede sighed and grabbed
the water bucket and ladle placed by the door. He waddled over to his prostrate companion,
pulling a ladle full of the cool swamp water. He stood there for half a moment, as if
considering the consequences of his intended action. Then he drank from the ladle, set it
aside, and poured the water from the bucket over his companion. Groag awoke with a start,
spitting and cursing. “That was your wake-up call,” said Toede smoothly. “Do try to stay
conscious for a while.” “You're alive!” sputtered Groag. “Ah, observant as ever,” said
Toede. “I can see why the poachers kept you to gather their wood. You've been out a full
hour, you know. And unconscious, you're neither entertaining nor enlightening.” “I mean,
you're dead,” said Groag. “I mean, you're supposed to be dead.” Toede scowled deeply.
“Dead! Do I look dead?” “Well, not now,” said Groag, looking hurt and ashamed. “But you
were, I mean, are. You're not one of those zombies the necromancer keeps, are you?” “My
dear Groag,” said Toede in his best axe-is-about-to-fall voice. “We are in sufficiently
serious trouble as it is. Now is not the time to go delirious on me.” “I'm not delirious.”
Groag shook his oversized head. “I mean, I think I am delirious, but because you're here.
I mean, I saw you die!” “Do I look dead?” said Toede again, a little taken aback by
Groag's vehemence on the subject. “Well, not at the moment,” said Groag. “But...” He let
the word drift off. A silence fell between the two hobgoblins. Then Toede sighed and said,
“Let's entertain the fantasy for a moment. How did I die?” “There were these kender...”
started Groag. “I remember the kender,” interrupted Toede. “And there was this dragon...”
continued Groag. “And I remember the dragon,” added Toede. “And the dragon breathed on you
and boiled the fat from your bones!” finished Groag. “Ah,” said Toede, standing. He began
to pace the small hut, the leg shackles causing him to clank in the process. By the
entrance, he turned and pointed at Groag like an accuser in court. “Ah. Here's where our
remembrances diverge. You saw what?” “The fat being boiled off your bones,” repeated
Groag, more timidly. “The fat,” said Toede. “Yes.” Groag nodded. “Being boiled,” Toede
continued. “Uh,” said Groag, “huh.” “From my bones?” finished Toede. Groag shrugged. The
way Toede put it, it did sound a little foolish. “You're sure it was my fat being boiled?”
said Toede sharply. /“Well, it was wearing your armor,” said Groag defensively. “The fat,
I mean.” “And from that you assumed I was dead,” snarled Toede.

“Well,” said Groag, pursing his forehead and lips, “I think it was a fairly, uh, logical
assumption.” Toede stared at his fellow prisoner in stony silence. “Did I mention you left
your armor behind, too?” added Groag. Toede dismissed the argument with a wave of his
hand. “Here's what must have happened. I must have been knocked aside by one of our
guards. Loyal, brave hobgoblins they were. At least, one of them was.”

'They had all fled by that time,“ said Groag quietly. ”And it was that lone courageous
guard that suffered the brunt of the blast, giving his life to save me,“ continued the
highmaster. ”There was only you left,“ said Groag. ”Then you fled the scene without
confirming it was I with the fatless bones, eh? Until I came to and found you here,“ Toede
finished with a clanking flourish and smile. He did not expect applause, but it would have
been appreciated. ”Then, milord, where have you been for the past six months?“ asked Groag
sheepishly. The smile on Toede's face cracked and dissolved. ”Six ... months?“ ”It has
been six months since the hunt when you d when someone or something that I and everyone
else thought was you died,“ said Groag, eyes wide. ”It was autumn's twilight, then, and
now it is spring dawning.“ Toede sat down with a clank of chains. ”One mystery resolved,“
he muttered, ”and another rises to take its place. Amnesia? Some kind of magical effect? I
don't think that we're going to find the answers here. Six months, indeed. Well, then,
what have you been doing for six months?“ He stressed the 'you' to accent that everything
Groag said was probably preposterous. Groag looked miserable as he was brought back to the
here and now. ”Well, after you, er, somebody died, I ran like the rest, and carried the
news of, er, your death back to Flotsam.“ ”Except I'm not dead,“ muttered Toede, though
more quietly than before. He hastened to add, ”I assume there was a massive outpouring of
grief.“ ”The festiv ... ah, mourning ceremonies lasted several days,“ said Groag. Toede
nodded, while his companion took a deep breath and continued. 'Then the kender started
putting stories out about how they tricked you into getting yourself killed. They were
mostly true.” At this Toede shot him an icy glare, so Groag quickly added, “As truthful as
kender ever are, of course, with their half-statements and innuendo and rumor and
everything.” Toede motioned Groag to continue. “I had had my fill of these tales, and at
one point went after the kender spreading the lies, Talorin, Kronin's friend. Chased him
into the forest, and, ah, got lost for my trouble. Couldn't find my way back and nearly
starved before Talorin and another kender, Taywin, Kronin's daughter, rescued ... er,
captured me.” “Groag,” said Toede, shaking his head, “you were ever the most hapless of my
retainers. You could get lost in a water closet.” Groag ignored his fellow prisoner and
continued. “I pleaded to be released, but they hauled me here to their camp, and I have
been their most abysmal prisoner ever since.” Groag held up his chains and shook them for
emphasis. Toede had an image of Groag begging for mercy, pulling every stunt, promising
every devotion, and plucking every heartstring to save his hide. Yes, Groag would gladly
grovelhe had done it before. “Have they . . . tortured you?” asked the highmaster
hesitantly, thinking of his own favorite amusements and wondering if the kender matched
up. “Worse,” sighed Groag. “Were they merely to torture me, I would respond with good
hobgoblin stoicism.” At least for the first five seconds, thought Toede, but said nothing.
Groag continued. “No, they were far, far worse. They tried to... tried to...” His face
twisted as he attempted to spit out the words. “Rehabilitate me!” “No!” Toede tried to
look shocked. “Yes!” Tears began to pool at the corners of Groag's eyes. "They keep
talking to me about how it's not my fault that I was born into a misshapened shell with
the manners of a bloodthirsty wolf and

things like that. And that I should aspire to be better than I am.“ ”Meaning 'more like
them' I suppose,“ sniffed Toede. Groag went on. ”And they don't really yell at me, but
they do explain things real loud when I'm wrong. And they say how disappointed they are
when I do something bad.“ ”You mean, like twisting the heads off one of their young?“
suggested Toede, with a smile at the thought. ”Er, more like forgetting to turn the goose
and letting it burn,“ said Groag quietly. ”I feel horrible to disappoint them. Sorry.“
Toede just shook his head. ”And every now and then Kronin's daughter comes by and we go
...“ His voice sank below audible levels. ”Yes?“ prompted Toede. ”We go ...“ ”Yes?“ ”Berry
picking!“ sobbed Groag, clutching his misshapened head in his hand. ”And .. . and .. . she
reads poetry!“ Toede mouthed the words ”berry picking,“ and walked softly over to his
sobbing companion. He placed a firm foot on Groag's shoulder and shoved him, hard,
backward. Groag went flailing in a flurry of chains. ”Berry picking! Poetry! Burning
geese!“ shouted Toede. ”You're a sad excuse for an evil humanoid, Groag! Think about it!
Any other member of your tribe would have opened his veins by now in embarrassment, or
tried to tunnel out of this predicament with his teeth if need be. 1^ anything, you're
even softer now than you were when you were in my court! Well, I'm not going to follow
your example. I'm going to get out of here one way or another.“ Muttering, Toede stalked
back to the opposite side of the hut, which he already thought of, in the first day of
incarceration, as ”his“ side. Trapped in a small hovel with a spineless fool who thinks
I'm dead, he thought angrily. Was dead. Yet if I was dead, why am I now alive? The icy
block of blackened memory remained. The heat of the dragon's breath blistered his skin,
Toede remembered that. And the shadows of the ghostly god-figures surfaced briefly,
promising great things. Toede shuddered. He glared at Groag, pulled himself back up to his
seat, focused all his anger on the other hobgoblin. When it became clear that Groag was
not going to burst into flame or otherwise disappear, Toede reopened the conversation,
saying, ”And ... ?“ ”And what?“ said Groag softly. ”And did they commission a monument to
me after I ... after it seemed like I died? In Flotsam, I mean.“ The corners of Toede's
mind tried the idea of death on for size, even if it was an uncomfortable fit. ”Ah, not
exactly,“ said Groag. ”A statue perhaps? Something modest and dignified?“ ”No, not a
statue....“ said Groag. ”A plaque, perhaps, commemorating my long and just rule?“ ”I'm
afraid not.“ Groag shrugged. Toede felt the anger building again. ”Anything at all to mark
my ... passing?“ ”Well, a proclamation ...“ began Groag. ”Ah, well, that's something,“
said Toede, softening a moment. ”A memorial holiday in my honor, then.“ ”Not exactly,“
sighed Groag. He concentrated on a point beyond Toede's left shoulder. ”The proclamation
said that all hobgoblins were banned from Flotsam now that you were dead,“ he said, very
quickly. Groag closed his eyes tight, waiting for another explosion. After half a moment,
he opened them to see Toede sitting there, calmly, in deep thought. ”Highmaster Toede?"
said Groag softly.

“Who?” said Toede, his voice stone-level. “Who what?” prompted Groag quietly. “Who made
that proclamation?” snarled Toede. “Who is going to die for his temerity and stupidity!”
Groag rocked backward just far enough to be out of arm's reach. “That would have been
Gildentongue, your draconian advisor. I understand that he is involved with some cult or
another nowadays, but at the time ...” Toede missed most of the words after “Gildentongue”
and was already on his feet, ranting. “Gildentongue!” he shouted. “That cheap gold-plated
draconian has my job? My throne? That lizard hasn't got the political savvy to tie his own
bootlaces without checking with the dragon high-lords! No doubt about it, we're getting
out of here, and going to set that little piece of scalework straight!” “Please,
Highmaster Toede,” said Groag, “your voice carries.” “That's Lord Toede, as in Lord of
Flotsam,” shouted Toede, ignoring Groag's plea for quiet. “When I get hold of that
Gildentongue, I'm going to take a long pole with barbed hooks and shove it down his
throat, pulling it outward so he can see his own intestines before I pop his eyes out and
use them as billiard balls! And then, while he's twisting in his own blood, I'm going to
call in the manor guard for some spear practice, then I'll call in a team of hobgoblin tap
dancers, and then... and then...” It was about this time that Toede realized that he and
Groag were no longer alone. Halfway through his ranting someone had pulled the bolt free
on the hut door, and now a young female kender stood there, framed in the morning sun. She
was frail and beautiful in the childlike way that al^ kender seemedchildren who had run
off and stayed young by hunting and fishing and living in the wilderness. She was nearly
as tall as Toede and half his weight, and was poured into a stylish set of buckskin pants
and a loose cotton shirt worn open to the third button. Her boots were custom-made and
mud-spattered. A beaming smile dimpled her cheeks, and her fine-boned face was framed in a
halo of auburn-red hair. She carried a large wicker basket at her side. Toede hated her at
once. “Mister Groag, I see you're feeling better,” she said, her voice a chirping warble,
which to Toede sounded like a sliding cat trying to get purchase on a slate roof. “And
your friend is in good voice, too, though he sounds a tad grumpy. Does he want to come
berry picking with us?” Toede's face flushed to the color of overripe tomatoes. “His ...
friend would rather have himself stripped naked and fed to wild tigers than spend one
moment in kender slavery! If my hands were free I'd stretch your poaching little neck far
enough to hang draperies on it! How dare you imprison me like this!” Toede expected the
kender to back up, like a tentative courtier daunted by a superior's anger. Instead, the
kender held her ground, such that Toede was straining at the end of his leash, his chains
taut from his outstretched arms. The kender did not seem daunted in the least. In fact,
she wore a small smile. “Now, that attitude is not going to help,” chided the kender
merrily. “Your companion has come a long way in the time he has been with us, haven't you,
Mr. Groag?” Toede heard a mumbled agreement behind him. Toede spat and cursed, “I am not
like Mr. Groag. I am a great and powerful lord, bound for ever greater greatness! Do you
have any idea, any idea whatsoever of whom you are ... you are ...” Toede hesitated. He
was close enough to examine her jewelry in detail, and part of his mind was already
involved in estimating its net worth and use. One item caught his attention and began
sending messages, marked 'urgent' to the section of his mind that controlled his ranting.
Finally, the rant-section of Toede's brain took a look at the message, and then at the
item hanging around her neck on a small silver chain. “Pardon me for a moment,” said Toede
with sudden calmness, turning back to his companion. He hissed at the other hobgoblin.
“Mister Groag, this wouldn't be by any chance Kronin's daughter that I am now addressing?
The one that took you captive?” Groag nodded. Toede continued in a low mutter. “And is
that a key she is wearing right here?” He motioned to his