Lord Toede (16 page)

Toede awakened with a start to find that it was much later in the evening. The campfire
had been broken down to little more than embers, and the gnolls were scattered around the
ground, where they had drifted off to sleep among the remains of the burlap potato
wrappers. There was no sign of Groag, Renders, or any of the humans.

Someone had left a cloak draped halfway on Toede, so the hobgoblin drifted back off to
sleep. Now he slept more soundly, without dreams, for the shadow-gods had judged him, and
now he knew what the rewards for his noble actions truly were to be.

In which Our Protagonist follows his dreams, provides his own version of history, and even
though the feast with the gnolls is now over, discovers the concoction “Toede in the
Hole.” “I don't feel comfortable about this,” said Bunniswot, stopping and rubbing his
left shin again. He had injured said limb after the first rock slide, and had been
carrying on and limping ever since, seeking sympathy just because he was the one carrying
the pack and shovels. “Let's go back and get a few more people.”

Toede shook his head and turned to look at the human, amazed to find someone in worse
physical shape than himself. Sweat was running down Bunniswot's face, and from his higher
elevation, Toede for the first time noted that the human had a small bald patch on the
back of his head. “We could go back,” said the former highmaster, “and get some help from
Renders, and explain to him why following a hunch was more important than your ogrish
erotica.”

Bunniswot winced at the suggestion. “Or,” Toede added slyly, “we could count on Charka to
send a few of his boys into territory that is not only taboo, but under the control of a
known, dangerous necromancer. Risk two of his tribe to me and a man called now what did he
name you?” “Whacks-the-Rabbit,” said Bunniswot in a mild voice. His encounters with the
gnolls had not been as positive as those enjoyed by Renders.

Toede nodded, continuing, “If I'm right, and by the powers I believe in I think I am,
you'll have something really important to take back to Renders.” And with that he resumed
climbing, not bothering to add that, if Groag had been on speaking terms with Toede, he'd
much rather have taken the smaller hobgoblin as opposed to a hapless human.

“Seems like a lot to stake on a dream,” said the young scholar, scrambling after him.
“It's not very professional.” “Don't discount dreams, child,” said Toede. “Raistlin
dreamed of sunken Istar before setting sail on the Perechon.”

“Where did you hear that?” said Bunniswot sharply. Panting, but sharply nonetheless. “From
Raistlin himself,” lied Toede, turning halfway around to look down on the sweaty human.
“We talked that morning before he boarded the ship out of Flotsam. Last I ever saw of him,
but I still get the occasional letter, magical sending, and whatnot.” “So you knew him?”
Bunniswot's voice broke as he said it. “You knew Raistlin, and Caramon, and the Heroes of
the Lance?” “About as well as anyone,” said Toede, warming to the subject and wondering
how far he should go

with his dissembling. “You might even say I gave them their start, but that would be
bragging.” Toede turned his face to the upward slope, both to handle the difficulty of the
climb and make sure his face did not betray the truth in his statement. “Have you told
Renders?” asked Bunniswot, his voice suddenly less haughty, less nasal, and more human.
“Should I?” asked Toede, turning to shoot a practiced blank look at the scholar. “Should
you?” said Bunniswot, catching up with Toede, “You heard Renders tell the story of the War
of the Lance to the gnolls last night. Even cut down into language they could understand,
it is a moving and epic tale.” “Well, I guess it is,” said Toede, shrugging. “I mean, if
you like that sort of thing.” “Renders would sell his own grandmother to interview the old
Heroes, to talk to people who knew them,” chuckled Bunniswot. “When we were in Flotsam, he
talked to anyone who might have known them: bartenders, sailors, all sorts of riffraff.”
Toede thought idly of the innkeep at the Jetties. Yes, he could imagine that one spinning
out wild tales in exchange for a few coins. “And to think that someone who was therewho
knew Raistlinjust wandered into camp.” Bunniswot laughed. It was an easy laugh, a laugh of
comrades who had shared secrets. “So what were they like? Like they're portrayed in the
tales?” “Well, it would be immodest to speak as if I were a close confidante,” Toede said,
bowing his head in apparent modesty. Bunniswot took the bait like a trout rising to a
salmon egg. “What about Raistlin? He was my favorite of the groupbrooding, dominant, so
sure of himself.” “Raistlin, yes,” said Toede. “He was a friend, and you don't speak ill
of friends who go beyond.” The hobgoblin sighed. “I still remember that last night. We
both had gotten very, very drunk, and he tore into one of his long crying jags.” The
hobgoblin heard the footsteps following him stop. “Crying jag? Raistlin?” said the voice
behind him, astonished. “Afraid so.” Toede hunched his shoulders. “Caramon had been . ..
well, you know that Caramon had always been bad tempered, and sometimes took it out on
Raistlin. Simple jealousy, really. Raistlin was afraid of him, but couldn't abandon his
brother. I offered for him to stay at my place, but...” He let his voice trail off. “I
can't believe that!” said Bunniswot. “It goes against what the tales said. Caramon loved
his brother!” “Well, he did,” said Toede. “Thaf s why Raistlin stayed. Of course, he would
get into these moods, and Raistlin would try to help and .. . oh, my, it was awful. Simply
awful.” Toede stopped by a large boulder that looked like a falcon or some other bird of
prey, and stole a glance at Bunniswot. The look on the young scholar's face was priceless.
His eyes were the color, shape, and size of newly minted steel groats. His eyebrows had
nearly vanished beneath his ragged hairline. His jaw was hanging loose, as if on a single
thread. Toede continued, as if embarrassed. “You see why I don't mention it. Here these
people were heroes to you, and just people to me.” “I just find it hard to believe,” said
Bunniswot, obviously finding it incredibly easy to believe. “But what about the others?
What about Tanis?” “Tanis? Oh, he was the stalwart of the party. Brave, loyal, noble,
honest. Of course, sometimes . . .” Toede made the motion of tipping a flask to his lips.
Bunniswot's eyebrows shot into his hairline. “He drank?” “Like a fish,” sighed Toede. “But
he has had a lot of help and counseling since then, and I understand it's under control
nowadays. Still, I remember Riverwind and Goldmoon pouring him into the ship that morning.
Sad, just sad. Maybe it's better to not mention this to Renders. Rested? Let's get on.”
“One more: Tika,” said Bunniswot. Toede feigned an embarrassed blush. “I really don't feel
comfortable talking about Tika,” said

Toede. “I mean she was pleasant enough, but she never liked nonhumans, not even kender.
And me being a hobgoblin, well, that just sparked all kinds of fireworks. One reason I
never joined them.” sigh“The stories I could tell of their time in Flotsam ... No, no, the
world needs heroes, and once you start showing them to be ordinary men and women,
everything falls apart. They earned their status, and let's only recall the good times.”

Toede started up the hill past the falcon-shaped rock, remembering how easy the journey
had been in his dream. His knees were complaining. Despite the pain Toede smirked to
himself, sincerely hoping that his newfound nobility did not preclude him feeling so good
about lying to the officious little scrivener.

'Toede?“ the scrivener in question asked. Toede replied testily, ”Yes? I mean, what about
him?“ ”Highmaster Toede,“ said Bunniswot. ”You're a hobgoblin, and Toede was in charge of
Flotsam at the time. You had to have met him. Were you one of his bodyguards? Maybe a
servant?“ Toede huffed menacingly. ”The human assumption is that all nonhumans know each
other. Do I assume you knew Astinus of Palanthas, just because you are both scholarly
humans?“ Bunniswot looked hurt. ”Well, I knew of him.“ ”Exactly,“ said Toede. ”And I knew
of the highmaster. And I also knew what people said about him after he disappeared. In my
experience, limited though it might be, I thought of Highmaster Toede as a fair,
reasonable, rational being, thoroughly misunderstood by later human bards and scholars who
were engaged in a desperate scramble to create 'good guys' and l>ad guys' for their
epics.“ ”Sorry,“ said Bunniswot. ”Didn't mean to upset you.“ Toede huffed. ”I'm not upset
as much as disappointed. You're a bright young human, but you swallow all the lies and
half-truths your elders dig up, tainted by blatant pro-human rhetoric.“ ”Sorry,“ repeated
Bunniswot. ”If it is any consolation, in retrospect the highmaster didn't nearly seem the
bum-bler he was made out to be.“ ”How's that?“ said Toede. ”Well, his successor was a
draconian,“ said Bunniswot, ”who apparently murdered small children in their beds, as it
turns out. And his successor is Toede's old mount, this Hopsloth abomination, who's
dressed out in finery and has his own corrupt priesthood. So in comparison, Toede seems
almost enlightened.“ ”My point exactly,“ said Toede. ”You never know how good you have it
until it's gone.“ ”Groag knew him, I think,“ added the young scholar. ”He said that Toede
had died, but was sent back to fight Gildentongue, then both Toede and the draconian died
in battle. Groag was there, and said Toede was a hero. So you're right, he was sadly
misunderstood.“ Toede turned and smiled. ”Groag said that?“ Bunniswot nodded. ”For a
while, right after he recovered from his burns. Then he stopped talking about Toede. I
think ...“ Bunniswot paused, puffing for breath, ”I think that Hopsloth's cultists got to
him and convinced him to hush up.“ ”You're very observant,“ said Toede, and the pair
continued the climb in silence. The top of the low plateau they had been scaling was not
especially high, but just high enough to discourage Saturday-afternoon adventurers. As
they reached the summit, Toede turned to look out over the land below. Most of it was
covered in a low autumn haze that appeared most dense over the marshlands. The birches
were golden, and Toede could see the smoke rising from the scholars' camp-fire. Farther
off, hidden by several ridges, was another wisp of smoke. Toede fancied that one to be
kender in origin. To his left was a deep valley, and on the opposite side of the vale was
a citadel, dark and misty against the white haze. Its general shape was that of a skull,
and Toede sur- mised that was the intended effect of its construction. ”So there is a
necromancer," he said to the panting Bunniswot. Trees had grown up on the plateau, atop
the low hillocks that had been in Toede's dream buildings of amber and glowing jade. What
was once the main thoroughfare was now a bracken-filled mass of shrubbery. In the back,
vaguely definable through the dead, brown brush, the leafless and lifeless trees, and the

withered vines of wild grapes, was a hillock somewhat higher than the rest. “That's where
we're heading,” said Toede. “Come along.” He plunged into the brush, unaware of, and
totally ignoring the scholar's moans and complaints trailing behind him. The two explorers
did not have much to say as they pressed their way across the plateau's cluttered debris
and waste. Their conversation was limited to warning each other about branches or loose
rocks beneath their feet. Sometimes the original flagstone pavement would appear, taunting
them for feet, sometimes yards, before diving beneath another tangle of briars. In time
they reached the hill that, according to Toede's dream, would cradle the buried temple.
The hill in question was relatively free of brush, and nothing more healthy than a sickly,
yellowing moss grew on its flanks. Toede scaled the hill about halfway, pointed to an
otherwise unremarkable depression in the dirt, and ordered, “Dig here.” Bunniswot muttered
a few vague curses, but pitched in with the larger of the two shovels. The dirt was not
packed solid, however, and after breaking through the sod, the scholar quickly uncovered a
low carved stone, wider from side to side than bottom to top. “A step!” said Bunniswot,
delighted. Toede just shrugged as the scholar dropped to his knees to examine it. “No
writing on it, but the carving technique is identical to the forest of stones. But this
city is so far removed from the plinths. The question is why?” Toede frowned. “Far for
your legs or mine. Perhaps your proto-ogres had longer limbs, or more endurance. Also, the
neighborhood has changed a great deal since these areas were last used. What say we keep
looking, eh?” Bunniswot's enthusiasm lasted for a second step and most of the third. He
started to tire significantly by the fourth, and if there had been a fifth step, he would
have insisted that Toede take a turn at the shovel. Instead, metal hit metal. Bunniswot
beamed at the hobgoblin. “Pay dirt,” he said, and began clearing the area around the door,
until a two-foot-square area of rusted iron was revealed. Toede smiled, noting, “You're
going to have to clear a lot more. The door swings outward.” Bunniswot reversed his shovel
and pressed the handle firmly against the iron barrier. It fell away at his touch, and the
sound of it striking the flagstones rang through the darkness beyond. A strong breeze
smelling of wet rot and decay billowed out, and both human and hobgoblin stood there for a
moment, gagging on the fumes. “First time you're wrong,” smiled Bunniswot. Toede just
furrowed his brow and peered deeper into the hole. It yawned like the Abyss. No far wall
was visible from their entrance. “Awful dark in there,” said Bunniswot, then added, “We
didn't bring torches.” “I don't need them,” said the hobgoblin. “My people were hunting by
night while yours were still trying to invent socks. But here ...” Toede fished through
his pocket, pulled out Renders's gem, placed it in another pocket, and produced the small
box containing the magically lit stone. “My stone,” said Bunniswot. “You never returned
it,” he added sharply. “You never asked for it,” said Toede absentmindedly, looking into
the temple's new entrance. “But that's all rightyou've been busy.” While it was true that
hobgoblins such as Toede did not particularly need light to see, the presence of light did
help him discern colors, and now revealed to him a checkerboard of purple and bright
yellow stretching out into the darkness. “Guess we better go in,” said Toede. “After you,”
said Bunniswot. “You are smaller than I.” “The history should say that Sir Bunniswot was
the first to enter the greatest temple discovery since the War of the Lance,” said Toede.
“Please, I'm feeling noble about it,” he added for anyone or anything that might be
listening. The scholar could not dispute that last point, and so, taking the light-stone,
he poked his head through the small opening and slowly wormed his body through the
doorway. When there were no