Lord Toede (15 page)

*****

It was a few hours before dawn. Groag was still seated beneath the oak, watching his
fingers. He flexed them, wiggled them, and in the likely event that Toede would not
reappear, bid them a fond farewell. Such pleasant hands, he thought, pity they're going to
be gone soon, and all because of that rat- bastard Toede. At least he (Groag) had thought
better than to tell his captors outright that Toede was likely going to head for the high
country as soon as inhumanly possible. There could still be a chance for a miracle rescue,
up to the point of the first hatchet-fall on his digits.

He was being watched over by a pair of Charka's guards. Charka didn't seem as interested
in him as the gnoll chieftain had been in Toede. Groag idly wondered what the link between
the two was. When he wasn't saying mental good-byes to his extremities, that is. If their
positions had been reversed, would he have fled? Probably not, but then he (Groag) thought
that he (Toede) had sacrificed his (Toede's) life for his (Groag's) own. If that was true,
then why was the former highmaster acting untrustworthy this time around?

Groag's gloomy reverie was broken by the sound of approaching hooves. His heart leaped for
a moment, but his brain turned surly and sour. Whatever it was, he thought, it couldn't be
good. The horse carrying Toede stopped at the edge of the clearing. At first thought Groag
thought it wasn't the highmaster at all, that it was one of the scholars disguised as
Toede. Then he realized that it was Toede, and that Toede was wearing Bunniswot's
ridiculous dressing gown, the one his mother made for him. The gown hung long and loose on
the sides, with the sleeves rolled back and tied off at his elbows. The patches of
alchemic symbols were dark blotches in the red moonlight.

Toede did not dismount, such that he remained only a little shorter than the surrounding
gnolls. The former highmaster intoned in his deepest, darkest pronouncement-style voice:
“I bring greetings to Charka from Chief Boils Flesh. Boils Flesh is most displeased with
Charka for doubting power of Boils Flesh. Most displeased.”

By this time most of the gnolls were staring at the mounted hobgoblin. Toede raised a
hand, revealing a small, dark wooden box. “Boils Flesh gives challenge to Charka,”
continued Toede. “Box hold weakest juju of Boils Flesh. If Charka can defeat juju, Boils
Flesh and other wizards become dinner. If Charka cannot”and here Toede smiled his most
evil smile“Boils Flesh will curse Charka and Charka's people.”

Toede tossed the box at the gnoll chief's feet. Charka picked it up with all the care
usually reserved for a live skunk. The gnoll turned it over in his hands a few times, then
carefully lifted the lid. The bright rays of the light-stone struck the chieftain full in
the face. Charka squinted, snarled, and dropped the box. The box hit the ground and flew
fully open, bathing the entire region beneath the oak in near daylight.

Gnolls, though unharmed by something as simple as light (unlike vampires, goblins, or
other mythological creatures) were by nature nocturnal, so the entire company took two
steps backward from the unusual radiance. Weakest juju indeed, thought Groag bitterly.
That was Bunniswof s piece of magical light, purchasable from any hedge wizard passing
through Flotsam. Was Toede so stupid as to imagine that Charka had never met a wizard, and
had never witnessed a light spell?

Actually Toede was hoping exactly that, but additionally hoped that the wizards Charka and
his people had encountered were all of the necromancer class: powerful figures best seen
at a distance, and not meddled with unless one was tired of living. Toede certainly looked
pleased by the result so far; he was fighting to keep the smile from his sallow face.
“Defeat juju and live,” said Toede. “Fail and be cursed. You have until dawn.” Charka
blinked the sparks out of his eyes and picked up the small ball, apparently curious that
something so bright could be so heavy. He closed his fist around it. The light seeped
between his taloned fingers and gave his fur a soft glow. He tightened his grip, and the
light was extinguished.

Charka smiled and relaxed. As soon as he opened his fist, the light resumed, leaking out
through the gaps between his fingers. Charka growled and gripped the stone harder. Again,
the light was extinguished, only to return as bright as before. A third time Charka tried
to crush the stone, but to no effect.

Charka barked something in swamp-talk to the other gnolls. Two of them bustled away. He
tried to squeeze the stone into submission with both hands, but with the same result.
Toede was obviously enjoying himself. “King of Little Dry Frogs explain curse to Charka.”
Toede did so, as Charka strained with the magically lit stone and the other gnolls
watched. Toede's description was detailed, graphic, and delivered entirely in the pidgin
language Charka could understand.

As could a few of the other gnolls, for Groag could see their faces blanch in the cursed
light. As for Groag, he had no problem with the flesh melted off the bones part, but the
threat of live boring beetles being shoved under the fingernails was a bit much even for
him. The two gnolls who left earlier returned with a bucket made of lashed leather, filled
with swamp water. Charka plunged the lighted stone into the water and was rewarded for his
trouble with wet fur along both arms and a pleasant light-show across the bare trees as
the light shone through the ripples of the water's surface.

Charka cursed, or at least Groag thought it a curse, for it was long and bitter in nature.
One of the other gnolls strode up to Charka, babbling something else in swamp-talk. Charka
snarled back. An argument ensued that was ended only by Charka backhanding the babbling
gnoll. The other gnoll retreated, his ears flat and head slunk low. Charka snarled, an
apparent challenge. None of the other gnolls responded. Charka set the magically lit stone
on the ground and began pounding it with a rock.

At first all Charka did was pound the sphere into the ground. Then the chieftain placed it
on another rock and tried crushing it between two stones. Then another attempt, hammering
at it with his morning star, bringing the heavy iron head down on the rock. As Charka
hammered, light danced beneath the denuded oak, highlighting the surrounding trees; the
gnolls, looking more uncomfortable by the moment; Toede, as motionless as a carved figure
on his horse; and an increasingly beaten and dejected Charka. Long ropes of saliva were
dripping from the gnoll's wolflike mouth, and the muscles of his face and neck were tight
with strain.

Groag stood up then. Neither of his guardian gnolls were paying attention. He began edging
around the tree, ready to bolt any moment. He was ignored. The sky was already beginning
to lighten, turning that slate-gray shade that preceded the dawn. Charka pounded until he
dropped his morning star in disgust, panting heavily. The sphere was now more of an
ellipsoid, but all the gnoll's activity had not diminished the radiance of it in the
least. Toede shifted atop his horse. "I see Charka has failed.

Nice knowing you, Charka. Good-bye!“ With that, Toede began to swing his mount around.
Groag thought Toede was bluffing, but faded deeper into the brushy shadows anyway, just in
case. Charka turned to Toede. ”Wait!“ panted the large gnoll. Toede stopped, turned
halfway on his horse. ”Yes?“ Toede smiled. Charka fumed for a moment. ”Charka kill Boils
Flesh anyway. Kill many wizards.“ Toede leaned back and laughed, as Groag pulled himself
deeper into the brush. ”Charka cannot defeat wizard's toy? What chance has Charka to
defeat wizard?“ Charka bit on the air for a moment, and Toede turned back to leave.
”Wait!“ Toede smiled again. ”Yes?“ Charka said, ”Charka still has hostage.“ Toede said
pleasantly, ”Charka has no hostage.“ At that moment Groag's heart skipped a beat, as the
collected gnolls suddenly realized there was an empty spot where Groag had been. There was
consternation among the gnolls, as none had noticed his disappearance. Several of them
moved toward the brush, looking for Groag. Toede held up a pudgy hand. ”Don't

bother,“ he said. ”Powerful juju chief.“ ”Wait!“ said Charka, even though Toede had not
turned to go again. The gnoll chief shook as though he were about to explode into pieces.
Then quietly he reminded Toede, ”Charka save King of Little Dry Frogs. Save life. King of
Little Dry Frogs owes Charka.“ ”Ah,“ said Toede. ”Gratitude.“ He paused a beat and smiled.
”Thank you, Charka. Good-bye now.“ He turned to leave. Charka strode around to the front
of the horse, about four gnoll-strides. The gnoll chieftain stepped forward, hands spread
wide. ”Charka take people back to swamp.“ Toede shrugged. ”Charka still cursed.“ Charka
fumed. Finally he said, ”How Charka appease Great Juju Chief Boils Flesh?“ ”Charka sorry?“
said Toede. There was a mutter from the massive gnoll. Groag thought the creature
responded, ”Charka sorry." The two talked for a moment. Then Charka ran to retrieve the
magically lit stone and the box and handed them back to the hobgoblin. Then the two talked
for another moment. Charka began bellowing orders. The gnolls, all thirty of them, faded
into the trees on all sides. Toede then rode southward, Groag's horse tied to his, Charka
at his side. Groag was abandoned. Not an abnormal situation, all in all, he thought,
pulling himself from the briars. Toede regularly abandoned people, though usually through
the means of one or the other dying. Groag thought of heading north, back to Flotsam, but
two things stood in his way. First, he wanted to make sure the scholars were safe, and
that Toede had not betrayed them. And second, he had not expected Toede to return at all.
Honoring any obligation was most unToedelike. It should have made Groag feel relieved,
that his faith in the former highmaster was somehow justified. Instead, it just increased
the feeling of dread in his stomach, that when the end came, it would be all the worse.
Sighing, Groag set out southward toward the camp as the first rays of dawn set the
surviving autumn leaves on fire.

In which Our Protagonist reaps the fruits of his labor, considers his lot in life, and
receives a vision of greater things to come. By midmorning the scholars' camp was a flurry
of activity, none of which was directly connected to imminent escape. Various librarians
were leaping around the fallen pillars, making last-minute notes. A few of “the boys” were
digging trenches, into which Bunniswot would dump badly wrapped satchels of notes (and in
one case, an overloaded leather trunk in one grave-deep trench) for “later recovery.” (Of
course, Bunniswot made a nasty giggle when he said this). Renders scurried around, trying
to make a map of where everything was buried. No one had taken down any of the tents, nor
packed any personal effects. And of course, breakfast had been skipped by mutual agreement
considering the cook had already been presumably eaten by the gnolls.

So it was a surprise when, about three hours after dawn, the gnolls finally appeared. A
surprise not in that their arrival came later than expected, but in that they did not
arrive screaming and seeking to use their spears for impromptu exploratory surgery.
Instead, only one gnoll appeared, accompanying Toede, who was still mounted on one of the
horses and dressed in Bunniswot's dressing gown. The gnoll was large even by gnoll
standards, and dressed in a manner that Renders could immediately trace to preCataclysm
humanoid war cults.

The two stood there, hobgoblin and gnoll, immobile, until one by one the scholars became
aware of their presence. Those involved in arguments left in midword, those making stone
rubbings in midrub, and those making maps in midcartographical flourish. Bunniswot was
patting down the last of his buried treasure and notes with a shovel. When he looked up,
saw everyone else gazing elsewhere, he joined the silent tableaux of scholars staring at
the strange pair of humanoids. Renders set his bone pen aside and walked toward the pair.
The old scholar was dressed in white and cream, as was his personal preference, and the
sun bounced beams off his shining form. He stopped all of five paces away from the gnoll
and hobgoblin, noting that the gnoll chieftain looked even taller close up.

The gnoll chieftain gestured imperiously. Two large gnolls strode out of the brush, each
carrying the carcass of a freshly slain boar. Then two more, carrying baskets of tubers,
currants, and wild grapes. Then another pair, carrying wooden platters made of sassafras
bark, and heavily laden with chestnuts, walnuts, and hickory nuts. Then another pair, one
with a clutch of catfish strung through the gills on a leather thong, the other with a
similar string of mountain trout. Then a gnoll with a basket of freshwater eels, and
lastly one with a hemp basket of live crawfish, still skittering slowly over each other.

The tall gnoll slapped his chest and cried, “Charka!” Toede translated. “Charka begs
forgiveness of the mighty wizards and offers these gifts in apology.” Renders made to hold
out his hand, but Toede shot him a quick, nasty look. Instead, the scholar placed it over
his heart and proclaimed solemnly, “Renders.” The gnolls bowed. “Great Chief Boils Flesh.”
Renders arched an eyebrow at Toede. “Ah. Ah. Boils flesh?” “He believes you and yours to
excel in culinary abilities,” Toede put in. Renders looked cross for the first time.
“Whatever gave him that accursed idea?” “Hur?” said Charka. “Great Chief pleased for now.
Accepts gifts. Warns Charka's people to behave or curse returns.” To Renders, Toede added
quickly, “Fine language is not their forte. Just leave out anything that sounds as if it
would stump a gully dwarf, and you'll be fine.” “But I think we should inform him that I
am not such a great cook.” Renders shook his head, then smiled pleasantly at the curious
look he received from the gnoll. “Some things get misunderstood in translation.” Toede
shrugged. “And note that this one can break you up into small pieces if he ever believes
you not to be a great wizard and chef.” “Ah,” said Renders. “Ah. Well then.” To the gnoll
Renders spread his hands out, imitating Toede. “Great Chief Boils Flesh thanks Charka for
gifts. Build fire, have mighty feast!” Then he turned to the collected scholars, who were
observing the entire business. “Let's get with the program, gentlemen,” Renders hissed,
clapping his hands. Fortunately for all, by the time the fire had been sufficiently banked
to a good bed of coals, and the pots (still dirty from the previous day) sufficiently
graveled and washed, Groag made his return, footsore and cranky. He found Charka, Toede,
and Renders engaged in lively debate with a few of the gnolls in the main pavilion,
Bunniswot cursing and excavating a trench furiously, and the remaining gnolls seated at
the southern perimeter of the camp. A couple of Renders's “boys” were arguing about how to
best boil a boar. Groag waded in to save the “boys” from culinary disaster. In short
order, the boars were properly skinned, the nuts shucked, the fish deboned, and the grapes
and currants properly rinsed. A pot bubbled as the crawfish boiled, turning a brilliant
shade of blue. After about an hour, Toede broke away from the pavilion group and padded
down to the cooking fire, where Groag was still puffing and shouting. From what Toede had
learned of swamp-gnoll rituals, as long as dinner wasn't burned too badly, the visitors
would be happy. Cooked food was still a novelty, apparently, in the swamp. “Nice of you to
show up at last,” said Toede. Groag wheeled and shot a nasty look at the former
highmaster. “I've nothing to say to you,” he said, turning back to tending the impromptu
boar-spit that had been rigged up for the occasion.

Toede rocked back on his heels slightly. “That's no attitude to take,” he sputtered,
“after all I've done for you!' ”All you've done?“ Groag hissed. The ”boys“ looked up from
their tasks, but none of the gnolls seemed to notice, or care. ”Every time ...“ Groag
continued, ”every time I hook up with you, something horribly unpleasant happens. Dragons.
Assassins. Exploding draconians. And this time, you left me hostage and ran off."

“I came back,” Toede hissed, “and saved Bunniswot and Renders and all the rest of the
mentally impaired.” “And that worries me even more,” said Groag. “Why? You always have a
scheme, some angle on things. What is it? Are you after Renders for money, or what?”

Toede shoved a hand in his pocket, stroking the large gem that Renders had given him in
payment. He flinched from its warmth, as if the stone had been recently pulled from the
fire. “I told you,” he said firmly, “I'm trying to live in a noble manner. I'm surprised
that you of all people have trouble believing that.”

“I have trouble believing it because I know you,” grumbled Groag. “I'll be watching you,
just keep that in mind. Now sod off, I'm cooking dinner.” With that, Groag turned his back
on Toede. Toede fumed, briefly considering hobgoblicide. However, they did need Groag to
cook. And the fact was that Groag was probably right. He did know Toede too well, and he
probably ought to be worried.

So instead of braining his companion, Toede stomped back to the white fabric pavilion,
where Renders was translating the War of the Lance into short, pidgin common. “Then Great
Flower- Warrior Heavy-Rain Shining-Sword swung Dragonlance, and kill dragon! But dragon
kill Heavy- Rain, too!” said Renders. Charka and the gnolls present nodded.

Toede had discovered that the common ground between scholar and gnoll was extremely
limited, primarily to war stories and alcohol, and not having much of the latter, he had
steered the socializing toward the chronicles. As long as Renders was holding their
attention, there seemed little danger of flare-ups between the two groups.

Toede himself had been mentioned in passing, early on, though not by name (thank the Dark
Lady) as an “Evil Slave-keeper, Master of Few.” “Master of Few caught the Companions and
did not know who they were,” Renders had explained, “so Master of Few put them in a
cage-wagon. Master of Few was to take them to his master, Worm- Guts”or at least that was
how Verminaard was translated, to Toede's amusement“but the great wizard Doesn't-Bubble
and the elves helped them escape. The cage-wagon was burned, and Master of Few fled into
the night.”

He had met these “Heroes of the Lance” early on, before anyone knew anything about them.
And they had proceeded to escape from under his very nosenot once, but repeatedly. Not the
brightest spot on his resume, Toede thought, reflecting on how far he had advanced since
those days. If he had advanced at all, he fumed. Groag didn't seem to think so, but then
that was the problem with longtime acquaintances. They seemed to only see the part of you
that they knew from before, and ignored the fact that you might have developed into a
better being over time.

In the old days, back when Toede ruled Flotsam, he could have had Groag killed. It seemed
that Groag was developing a spine. He, too, was changing. Adapting. Well, Toede could
change just as much. He was quite proud of his newfound nobility. True, he had been
doubtful, even challenging the fates, but once he made up his mind, he had stuck to his
choices. He saved Groag, saved the scholars, and saved himself. And had got a ready supply
of good food in the process.

So why did he feel displeased with the entire turn of events? Not just Groag, but the fact
that both Renders and Charka failed to recognize his heroic efforts. The gem Renders had
given him was a nice touch, but instead of making him feel as though he had been rewarded,
he felt as though he had been cheapened, almost insulted.

Apparently there was more to this nobility thing than just acting in a self-destructive
manner.

Was all nobility just a scam, then, an excuse to advance one's own case and position, and
then have people thank you for it? That didn't seem right, from what he knew of the noble
heroes Renders was babbling on about. If anything, the Dragonlance heroes seemed to settle
for far less than their actions had earned them, but perhaps that was only to gain some
greater advantage later on. His reward for doing the “right and noble” thing was more
tangible: the feast.

It was finally ready by midafternoon, and turned out to rival the best of the halls of the
Silvanesti, though served on cruder dishware than elves would ever tolerate. Groag proved
to be an expert chef once given proper ingredients, and the boar had been roasted to the
point where the meat fell off at a touch and melted on the tongue. It had been seasoned in
a gravy with herbs and nuts. Scholar, gnoll, and hobgoblin ate until they could eat no
more, and afterward Groag threw spiced potatoes wrapped in wet burlap onto the coals to
cook for dessert, while Renders continued the tales from the War of Lance for the entire
assemblage.

“And so our heroes passed through this very land, on the way to the town of Floating Junk.
And there the Master of Few reigned, but he was so afraid of the heroes that he hid from
them, and let the Dragon Highlord Small-Cat-Crown seek them out....” “I wasn't hiding,”
muttered Toede, “I was busy.” He wandered a little way off from the main group, sated but
far from satisfied. The boar was the first good meal in how many months? Over a year,
really, unless he counted the goose sandwiches the kender girl had packed. And that had
been six months ago.

The former Evil Slaver, former Master of Few, former Highmaster of Flotsam, perhaps future
Lord of some place unknown and unrevealed, sat at the base of a tilted pillar and tried to
sort out the various conflicting feelings that jousted in his head and heart. Or at least
tried to, for the combination of a full belly and over a day without sleep finally caught
up with him, and within moments he was snoring softly.

*****

Toede dreamed, and it was more than a standard dream of hobgoblins. His dreams (at least
the ones he remembered) were usually monochromatic nightmares, the color blood red or
deathly gray. Old fears rising, old enemies returned, old battles fought or fled. But this
dream was different. It had the soft texture of a well-rendered oil painting, a glow that
seemed to diffuse in all directions. The color of ghosts walking in the evening light.

He awoke in the dream and knew in a moment that it was a dream, for reality did not
possess this fairyland beauty. He was still in the forest of stone, but things had
changed. The inscribed plinths were there, but the birch trees around them were gone, and
the tilted and overturned pillars had been righted. Now they glowed with an eldritch power
all their own. There was laughter in the air, from voices unseen in the darkness, and
lithe ghosts moving and dancing at the edges of his vision. Toede could not look directly
at them, for they reveled just beyond his conscious grasp and melted into darkness as soon
as he focused on them. Yet what little he saw of them, from the corners of his eyes, told
him they were fair of form. Toede knew he was dreaming, for this beauty did not
immediately turn his well-fed stomach.

Where earlier the cooking fire had been, there was now a tall, glowing woman, who did not
fade when Toede stared at her. She was clad in shades of blue and white, and her hair was
the color of yellow stained glass. She lit the pillars around her with the power of her
aura. She smiled at Toede, and when she did Toede felt the bottom fall out of his world.
She motioned; he followed her.

The blue woman and Toede traveled through the forest of stone as dreamers travel, ignoring
the briars, brambles, and bumps in the path, but instead gliding smoothly over the
surface, ignoring everything in their way. Occasionally the blue woman would point at a
particular landform such as cleaved rock, or a boulder that looked particularly like a
hawkas they ascended to the west into hillier country that was (would be?) the
necromancer's territory.

At length the travelers reached a low hillock that was not a hillock at all, but a great
stone temple.

The ghost-ogres were burying the temple in a great mound of dirt, and Toede saw that the
lower reaches were already covered in grass and small trees. The blue woman led Toede to
the entrance of the temple. The ghost-ogres ignored the pair entirely. Then she motioned,
and the great iron doors parted at the top of the temple stairs, and both she and Toede
were bathed in a great golden radiance.