Lord Toede (23 page)

“But I do not want to be the only one speaking,” Kronin continued, “so I grant the floor
to my daughter, Taywin.” Oh, no, thought Toede. Kronin went on, oblivious. “Taywin will be
reading a litany of her best poems....”

“That does it,” muttered Toede, as he leaned down to grab the knife out his boot, and then
jam it between Kro-* run's ribs. Then a quick escape into the darkness and freedom. There
was a prickly feeling that passed over Toede's neck when he bent forward, and then, when
he looked up, dagger in hand, he saw to his astonishment that there was already a dagger
sticking in Kronin's side. The kender elder looked in confusion at the blood fountaining
out of his right side, mouthed something incomprehensible, and collapsed onto his daughter.

Toede looked at the unused dagger in his own hand, at the implement jutting out of the
kender, and back to the dagger again, as if unable to believe that there were multiple
poetry-haters at the moot. Then Miles gave a shout. “The hobgoblin's stabbed Kronin! Get
him!” Toede felt the entire weight of two-hundred-plus eyes fix on him simultaneously,
backed up by two- hundred-plus hands, all armed with knives, forks, and other instruments
of potential personal damage.

Toede rose halfway, looked out at the angry faces, and seemed about to speak. Then he
wheeled, cut a long, savage rip in the screen behind the main table, and bolted, leaving
the charging kender behind, and Taywin screaming for order.

Kronin's assassin moved as silently as possible toward the river bank. He had to make a
large loop to avoid the mass of confusion, for an impromptu posse of impassioned and
drunken kender had charged in various directions after the incidentto the village and
Toede's hut, to the river, to the old campsite. Bands of kender in fours and fives went
tumbling in all directions in the dark, intent on fetching the hounds and catching the
traitorous criminal.

Twice now, packs of dazed kender had boiled past him, completely unaware that the true
murderer was in their sights and providing erroneous information to them. The assassin
smiled as he slipped quietly between the large boles, down to the embankment and toward
the lone maple bridge across the stream. The water glowed white in the moonlight.

He was at the near end of the bridge when a small shadow detached itself from a tree about
fifteen feet away. The hobgoblin-shaped shadow strode forward into the moonlight, as the
assassin stopped dead in his tracks.

“Hello, Miles,” said Toede, tapping his dagger against his nails. “Toede,” lisped the
kender guard. “Thought I'd find you here.” “No, you didn't,” smiled Toede. “You thought
nothing of the kind. You thought this was the easiest way to escape. I know because I had
the same route planned.” “I don't know what you're talking about,” sputtered the kender.
“You threw the dagger that hit Kronin.” “You don't know that!” said the kender. “You were
looking elsewhere, leaning under the table.” “You would notice that,” said Toede. “Then
you must know that I could not have done the deed. Yet you were the first to shout for my
head. It was you, Rogate, Bunni-swot, Kronin, and I on that side of table. If it had been
Rogate, you would have seen it clearly, and maybe even have stopped him. Bunniswot is a
scholar who can't even handle a butter knife without causing himself grievous injury. I
was leaning forward, you said so yourself. So the only one who could have done it was...”
“I didn't mean to hit him,” spat the kender. “No, you meant to hit me,” finished the
hobgoblin. “But I leaned forward, so you missed and struck Taywin's father.” There was a
silence. Finally the kender guard said, “You can't take me back, you know.” ' “I can't?”
said Toede. “Look. You take me back, and as soon as I get within shouting range, I shout
that I've spotted you.” Miles chose his words carefully. “There are a hundred crazed
kender out there, all of them after your hide. You may know the truth, but by the time
anyone listens, you will be garot-ted.” “I've been dead before,” shrugged Toede. “And you
really want to be dead again?” said Miles. When the hobgoblin didn't respond, the kender
said, “I'm going now. Best of luck on your own escape.” He started across the slippery
pole, his footing sure and even. “Miles?” came Toede's shout behind him. Halfway across
the pole, the kender turned, looking over his shoulder at the hobgoblin. “Yes, Toede?” he
said. “Why?” Miles turned on the narrow bridge. He spread his hands out to explain that if
Toede was supposed to be a martyr, he should be a dead martyr, for he knew about all the
lies and half-truths that Bunniswot and Rogate and even Taywin told. He wanted to prove
Toede an unworthy being to follow, and the best thing for the hobgoblin was to die under
the kender swords. Miles intended to say all that, really. But as he spread his hands, he
felt a harsh, sharp thump in his chest, and looked down to see the hilt of Toede's dagger
protruding from his shirt, just to the left of his sternum. Then he felt the cold rush of
the waters hit, and then nothing more at all. “Dance upon the water lilies, Miles,” said
Toede. “Dance upon the lilies.” It was about a half hour later when Bunniswot found Toede,
still at the bridge, listening to the thunder of the rapids. Toede started for a moment,
then nodded as Bunniswot sat down next to him. “How bad is it?” said the hobgoblin. “Not
as bad as it seemed,” said the scholar. “It became apparent soon after the attack that you
were not responsible, and would have been realized sooner if Rogate had not gotten into a
wrestling match with a dozen kender, defending your good name.” “Kronin alive?” “They have
a few good healers,” Bunniswot said, nodding, “and they anticipate injuries at a moot, so
he's fine. He thinks you're out finding the assassin.” “Already found him,” said Toede.
“Miles.” Another nod from the scholar. “They figured that, too. He alive?” “No,” said
Toede, not adding anything else. “Well,” said the scholar, "after they sorted out that you
didn't try to kill Kronin, but Miles probably did, the entire party shifted into a
celebration in your honoryou know, the brave little humanoid,

unfairly accused, who seeks out the guilty party.“ 'That's a new one,” grunted Toede. “And
it's now more than ever likely that the kender clans will join the rebellion,” added
Bunniswot. “You want to head back?” “In a moment.” Toede sighed, then added, “Ever kill
anyone, scholar?” “Me?” A nervous laugh. “Oh, no. Uh ... and you?” “More than I care to
count,” said Toede. “Even more that I have been indirectly responsible for. And yet, this
one, felt so...” 'Troubling?“ suggested Bunniswot. ”Painful? Thought-provoking?“
”Satisfying,“ finished Toede, ignoring Bunniswot's sudden start. ”This one was worth it,
as though I had accomplished something. You know?“ ”Uh,“ said Bunniswot, ”I don't, I'm
afraid.“ Toede sighed again. ”Must be a deficiency in your species. I guess we should go
back. What's on tap now?“ Bunniswot brightened. ”You missed several more toasts to your
glory, and now Taywin is reading her poetry.“ Toede made a face. ”Perhaps we ought not to
hurry back,“ he said. ”Maybe we should get our story straight about my epic battle with
the assassin. It would help if I had a scholarly witness to the culmination.“ Toede looked
at the scholar for a moment, then added with a smile, ”And while we're at it, you can
remind me of some of 'my' quotes."

In which Our Protagonist is swept along by events, and the oft-mentioned necromancer
finally makes an appearance, after his own fashion. Also, a council of war is held, havoc
is cried, and the gnolls of war are unleashed. “When are these mysterious allies going to
show?” snarled Toede, sitting on the crushed remains of an ogre plinth. They were back at
the scholars' old campsite that, except for the rot, looked just as Toede had left it six
months earlier. The remains of the birches and stone monuments lay like broken toys around
the site.

Bunniswot shrugged, squinting at the sun. “He said about midday. Does it look middayish to
you?” “Remind me to not let you draw up the battle plan,” muttered Toede. He looked over
to Taywin and Rogate. Rogate had sketched out a map of Flotsam and was drawing arrows from
outside the walls to inside the walls. With Miles's death, Rogate had become the “honor
guard” for Highmaster-in- Exile Toede.

Toede watched Rogate draw a long, sweeping arrow that started in the west, looped entirely
around the city, and attacked the Rock from a seaborne invasion. “Or him, either,” added
Toede. Bunniswot sniffed “Taywin says the best mode of attack would be from the south,
where the walls are still in disrepair. I tend to agree.”

Toede nodded. “The problem is not the condition of those walls. The problem is the wall
between the Lower City and the Rock. In case of invasion, the public plan was always to
mobilize the populace and meet the enemy at the outer walls. The secret plan was for the
upper classes to pull back into the Rock and leave the rest to fight and die in the
streets.”

“Do you think Groag would continue that policy?” said Bunniswot. “If it works, don't mess
with it,” responded Toede. "Besides, you said that Groag's first order of

business was rebuilding the Rock Wall, then the manor, and is only now starting to rebuild
the outer wall.“ ”And quickly,“ added Bunniswot. ”There are a lot of cheap materials and
cut corners in that particular project. I wish we could find another siege machine like
your friend Jugger."

“Jugger is ... was ... unique.” Toede shuddered, thinking of that long, lazy arc over the
Blood Sea. “At least I hope so. I never want to meet another denizen of the Abyss....”
Toede stopped for a moment, then asked, “Do you hear that?” “What?” said Bunniswot.

“Sounded like someone laughing in the distance,” said Toede. Another pause. “It's gone
now.” Bunniswot shrugged, shaking his head. “Groag has hired a number of mercenaries,
including ogres from the Balifor area and some minotaurs from across the Blood Sea, all
for personal protection. Most of the rest of the armed forces have survived two of your
'visits' to Flotsam already. As a result, they are battle-hardened, but they have no
desire to face an army with you at the helm.” Toede grunted. Nor did he have any desire to
lead an army with himself at the helm or any other position, but he had not been able to
come up with an easy way out for the past two days.

“Most of Groag's courtiers are loyal,” continued Bunni-swot. “But it is a loyalty built
more out of fear than trust. Groag is even more mercurial than ... you were, and if the
going gets tough, they will probably fold and surrender.” “You seem to know a lot about
how Groag's court works,” noted Toede. “I should,” said Bunniswot, “since I am the
official court historian.” Toede stared at the scholar. “You're the what?” Bunniswot
shrugged. “I returned to Flotsam with my notes, without a sponsor and needing a job. Groag
was just setting himself up, and knew that I was not part of the 'old mob' that followed
Hopsloth or the priests. So I got the posting.” He paused a moment, then added, “How do
you think I got your book copied?” “You mean ...” “Groag's scribes,” said Bunniswot, “who
were also Hopsloth's scribes, and Gildentongue's scribes, and now that I think of it, your
scribes. The bureaucracy remains intact, I've discovered, regardless of changes in the
leadership.” “I remember the scribes,” said Toede. “I wouldn't trust them with a lead
groat.” “Nor I,” said Bunniswot, “which is why the initial manuscript came to them on
official order from Groag. They leapt on the chance to prove their worth and loyalty to
the new master. That was the first print run. Then Groag found out about the book (though
not the copying), and screamed bloody murder about Toede traitors lurking in Flotsam.
After which, the scribes, afraid for their jobs as well as their lives, produced another
hundred copies in exchange for my silence in the matter.” “And the third printing?” said
Toede. “We're working on a profit-sharing plan,” said Bunniswot. Both hobgoblin and human
heads spun around as Tay-win cursed at Rogate, “We can't use an airborne assault. We don't
have anything that flies!” “A minor point,” countered Rogate, “easily surmounted by a
brilliant commander and tactician such as our high-master!” “Children,” admonished Toede.
“Even a brilliant commander can't build ships out of nothing!” said Taywin, looking more
worn and tired than usual. Rogate nodded intensely, then looked at the kender, his eyes
not quite focusing. “Moles!” he shouted. “What if we get some really large moles, and
tunnel under the walls?” Taywin buried her head in her hands and screamed, also in a
ladylike fashion. “Badgers would do as well,” said Rogate in a compromising tone.
“Scholar,” sighed Toede, “do you want to separate them until they cool down?” Bunniswot
did not respond. “Scholar?” Toede looked up to see Bunniswot staring at the borders of the
clearing, his face a white mask of fear. Toede followed his terror-stricken gaze to the
edge, where a great gnoll stood. As Toede watched, more gnolls stepped from the
underbrush, in a ring that spread around the entire campsite.

Toede, reaching for the sword slung across his back, rose slowly from his position. He
said out of the corner of his mouth, “Friends of yours?” Bunniswot shook his head slowly.
“Thought not,” muttered Toede as he pulled his sword from its back-scabbard. Rogate and
Taywin were also on their feet, weapons drawn.

The gnolls regarded them in silence, seeming as tense as the rebellion members. Two of the
largest gnolls approached Bunniswot and Toede. The two gnolls parted, to reveal an equally
massive gnoll behind them, dressed in the armor and metal skullcap of a chieftain.
“Charka!” cried Toede. Bunniswot let out a groan, and Toede heard a dull thump behind him
and to his right. He did not need to look back to know the young scholar was sprawled out
in a dead faint. At least he'll be quiet, thought the hobgoblin. “Charka offers greetings
to Toede, King of Little Dry Frogs!” Charka saluted.

“Is this a social call,” snarled Toede, puffing himself up as much as he could, “or are
you here to finish the job you attempted six months ago?” Toede expected Charka to respond
with a typical “Hur?” but instead the gnoll said, “Neither. We come to offer what aid we
can.”

Toede's eyebrows shot up. “That was almost a complete sentence, Charka.” Behind him,
Taywin was bringing Bunniswot out of his swoon, and convinced him that they were not all
going to die. At least not just yet. “Charka has been practicing,” the gnoll chief said,
smiling. “Charka has had help!” A smaller, human figure, dressed in the quilted leathers
of gnollish garb, stepped out from behind the gnoll, bowed slightly, and waved. “Ah,” said
Renders. “Hello, everyone.” Bunniswot groaned and almost passed out again. Pity, thought
Toede, the old boy was doing so well. “Greetings, Chief Boils Flesh,” said Toede.
“Renders. Ah. Just Renders,” said the scholar. “Charka and I worked on homonyms and
multiple definitions early on.” “Charka speak good now,” bellowed the gnoll. “Well,” put
in Renders. “A hole in the ground that provides water,” defined Charka. “Sort of a little
bitty swamp.” Renders gave Toede a shrug. “Ah. There are still some rough spots.” Toede
still had his sword pointed at the gnolls and the human. He lowered it but did not sheathe
the weapon. “Forgive my confusion,” he said, “but the last time I saw your people, Charka,
they were being rolled over by a large, heavy object.” “Yes.” Charka nodded. “Night of the
Flat Brothers, Charka remember it well. We had returned to our swamp to discuss your
trick. Many said you fooled us, cheated us into believing scholars were powerful wizards.
Some said we should attack scholars. Charka angry, too. Agreed with them. Then Renders
arrived.” “Ah,” put in Renders, “I'm afraid I was very disappointed in Charka's behavior,
and was going to give the gnoll a piece of my mind.” “You're fortunate that Charka didn't
leave pieces of your mind scattered throughout the swamp,” muttered Toede. Charka frowned.
“Renders talk. Charka agree with Renders,” he said. “Think that Toede told truth, that
scholars were powerful. Not great in juju, but great in knowledge.” “Ah,” added Renders,
“after all, Charka did like my stories.” “Charka argue that scholars should stay,” said
the gnoll. “Brother gnolls disagreed, said Charka not fit for chiefdom. Throw-over
Charka.” “Overthrow,” corrected Renders. “Over... throw,” said Charka carefully. “Brother
gnolls attacked and were crushed to putty by great machine. Taboo-area pillars destroyed,
magic broken, no longer taboo. Other gnolls apologize to Charka, make Charka chief,
Renders shaman.” “Ah,” said Renders. 'They thought we summoned the Abyss-spawned creature
that flattened the gnolls' attack. After a while, of course, we let it be known it was
likely, ah, your doing, Toede." The

old scholar paused and added, “It is Toede, isn't it?” “The 'real Toede/ as people keep
saying,” said Toede. “I've been meaning to read your book,” said Renders. “Perhaps another
day,” said Toede. “But Bunniswot didn't even know you two were alive, and you aren't the
mysterious allies he was talking about. So why are you here?”

“Ah,” said Renders. “Ah, well, we were also told to meet here.” “By whom?” said Toede. “By
me,” said a sepulchral voice at the perimeter of the camp. A lone figure limped into the
encampment. It was humanoid and might once have been a man, for it had the required number
of arms and legs and what would pass in most societies as a torso. However, the torso was
lopsided, as if a large chunk of it had been removed under the left arm and then
everything had been resewn back together. The skin of its hands was tightly pulled over a
skeletal form, and its tightly drawn face was the color of water-stained parchment. The
shadow of a skull could be glimpsed under the skin. As for its manner of dress, it was
decked in once-resplendent robes and finery, now reduced to gray tatters dotted with
fragmented gems. And it smelted like new earth disturbed by an open grave. “Now that we
are all here,” said the far-off necromancer, regarding the others through the zombie's
empty eyes and forcing the words through the zombie's weak throat, “we can begin this
council of war.” Contrary to what the necromancer stated, they were not “all there,” even
discounting the several participants in general (and Rogate in particular) who would never
be “all there.” The figure that appeared before members of the rebellion was a dead form,
animated by the spells of the dark wizard. The necromancer moved its limbs like a
puppeteer, drew only sufficient breath to strum the vocal cords, and saw the surrounding
world through the zombie's now-rotted eyes. The necromancer himself was present only “in
spirit,” as it were. His body, mind, and soul were safely locked away in his distant
tower, and only his “mouthpiece” was seated among them in the garden of ruined ogre
plinths. Charka's gnoll followers were spooked by the living dead and removed themselves
to the perimeter of the camp. This left Renders, Charka, the necromancer's zombie, Rogate,
Taywin, Toede, and Bunniswot seated in a loose circle on overturned and partially crushed
plinths. Bunniswot had recovered nicely and was now engaged in pleasant small talk with
Renders. “I must apologize for the mysterious nature of my manifestation,” wheezed the
zombie, “for I feared there would be...” The necromancer paused to choose his words
carefully. “Repercussions ... if I had used one of my more obvious agents.” “I must
admit,” said Bunniswot, “the individual who contacted me seemed more... lively.” “Newly
dead, he was,” said the necromancer, “and the ... victim ... of a twisted neck. He would
not have been necessary had I located the anomaly through my own efforts.” “Animally?”
asked Charka. “Strangeness,” defined Renders. “Something, ah, out of step with the rest of
the universe.” “Gee,” grumbled Toede to the assembled gnoll, kender, scholars, fanatic
assassin, and zombie, “what could be considered strange and out of step in this universe?”
Six sets of eyes (including the zombie's unfocused orbs) turned toward Toede. “Thrice you
have been slain, Highmaster,” said the zombie to Toede, “each time in a drastic and
irreconcilable way. Yet thrice you have been restored, unmarked and unscarred, and
returned to life through no earthly agency, nor, so far as I may divine, the will of the
True Gods themselves. Do you have any explanation for your return each time?” “Unfinished
business,” said Toede. “That is a matter that usually concerns ghosts,” said the
necromancer. “Then blame clean living.” Toede threw up his hands and ticked off options.
“Or the gods lied to you. Or other forces are at work. Or there's a hole in the natural
order. Or overdue library books. Sheer perversity of the keepers of the universe. All of
the above. Frankly, I don't care.” “I know you do not,” said the zombie, controlled by the
far-off mage. "But I do. If you have a

secret, and you must, I would like to learn it.“ The zombie coughed, sounding to Toede
like a flurry of scalpels. ”And if you had found me before the kender...“ began Toede. ”I
would not have to be here now,“ finished the necromancer, ”and your Allied Rebellion would
have had to carry on with you only as a figurehead and a memory."

Toede decided to change the subject, before the necromancer's honeyed words seeped into
his compatriots' brains. “So you called us to meet you here, and Charka's gnolls as well.
You could just as easily have ambushed us, killed the others, and captured or killed me.”
“A possibility,” said the zombie, “but one that might be explored later on. However, I
believe in omens, signs, and warnings. Last fall, I found this item on the border of my
lands.” The zombie reached inside its chest (not just inside its tattered jacket, Toede
noticed, but into the cavity where a beating heart would normally reside), and pulled out
a medallion. He held it aloft, and it spun and glittered at the end of its chain. The
others craned to read the medallion's faces. Toede did not have to. “One side has a
picture of Hopsloth the late Water Prophet,” said the zombie. “The other a crudely
inscribed T, a dedication, and a date, all in the same hand. The dedication goes back to a
year ago.” Toede kept his voice level. “And?” he said. “Within a day of finding it, two of
my zombies were crushed flat, and Hopsloth was found dead, and the people of Flotsam
ascribed the occurrence to the actions of an individual whose name begins with a T,” said
the zombie. “I believe in omens and signs, Highmaster. I believe that it is better to deal
with you here and now. Those who encounter you as an enemy seem to end up in a bad way.”
“Instead of a charmed life,” said Toede, dryly, “I lead a charmed death.” “If you say so,”
responded the zombie. “I am willing to facilitate the achievement of your ends.” “Which
are?” said Toede, looking innocent of any ends. The zombie's face crinkled in what Toede
assumed was an attempt at a smile. “Why, taking Flotsam back as your own domain, what
else?” What else indeed, thought Toede. Five people attempting to conquer a city was
foolhardy, even if especially ifbacked up by an army of kender. He had been scanning for
an escape for the past two days, with little luck. But that same assault, aided by gnolls
and a powerful sorcerer skilled in the nature of undeath, and perhaps, just perhaps...
“You assume I still desire Flotsam,” Toede said. “I've heard if s gotten a bit run-down in
the past six months.” “You want Flotsam,” said the zombie flatly. “Otherwise you never
would have joined this foolish rebellion. And the other members are willing to give it
back to you, since they believe they can get what they want better from you than from
Groag.” “And what do they want?” “Have you asked them?” said the zombie, with the same
face-crinkling smile. “They probably talk of rights and grievances and vengeances, but
they all want something. What do you think it is?” Toede looked at the others, who seemed
lost in somber thought. Then Taywin said, “Permission.” “Excuse me?” said Toede.
“Permission,” repeated Taywin, her brow furrowed. “The kender are hunted as poachers and
thieves, not only by Groag but by his predecessors. Including you. The kender want to hunt
and fish in the lands claimed by Flotsam, should we win.” Toede was silent for a moment.
“Done,” he said at length, “provided that merchants and agents of the local lord are not
harassed.” Taywin nodded, and Toede thought immediately of five ways to frame the kender
and be done with them in the long run. Charka put in his two coins' worth next. “Charka
want to go to Flotsam. Not just Charka, but Charka's people. Not just Charka's people, but
other people who are not Charka's.” “You mean lift the ban on humanoids?” said Toede.
“Yes,” Charka replied. “Books are in Flotsam, and Charka cannot get to them. Lift ban, and
Charka's people fight for Toede.”