Lord Toede (25 page)

highmaster of Flotsam at all costs.“ Besides, Toede finished to himself, Groag was there
when I set up the bloody plan over two years ago. Bunniswot's look changed to one of
amazement. Shakily, he nodded. ”That's right. It's all right.“ He started for the
entrance. ”If you want me, I think I'll bunk by the fire.“ Toede walked to the entrance,
watching the young scholar walk haltingly over to the campfire. Renders was telling yet
one more Tale of the Lance to Charka and Taywin. Charka had apparently heard this one
before, because he (no, she) was interjecting appropriate sound effects. Bunniswot reached
into his vest pocket and pulled out the papers detailing Groag's not-so-secret battle
plans. He looked at them a moment, then tossed the plans on the fires. The flames glowed a
brilliant green as they consumed the parchment, then dimmed. Toede shook his head. He
hadn't been all that hard on Bunniswot, but sometimes even scholars had to be taught that
others knew things that they themselves did not. Still, Bunniswot was quite the nervous
nelly, always swooning right and left. Better to get him out of the line of fire, before
something bad happened to him, or more importantly, to those around him. ”He's a traitor,
you know,“ said a small, delicate voice behind him. He turned to a small, elfin figure
hovering gently over the pages of Bunniswot's tome of Toede- advice. It was dressed in
shades of blue and silver and white, with features so sharp they could cut glass. Toede
raised his eyebrows. ”Doesn't anyone knock anymore?“ He pulled his chair up to the open
book so he was almost nose to torso with the small apparition. ”You said Bunniswot was
a...“ ”Traitor,“ repeated the apparition in a high, melodic, singsong voice. ”He works for
Highmaster Groag. He means you harm.“ ”Uh-huh,“ said Toede. The small figure hovered
there, its small feet barely grazing the pages of Toede's book. ”He seeks to catch you
unaware and slay you, or failing that, to plant unsound ideas in your mind, hoping you
will cause your own death,“ said the apparition, which looked like a cute pixie, a
redundant statement most of the time, but applicable here. ”Uh-huh,“ said Toede, putting
his hands on his knees. ”And you would be?“ ”A spirit of wisdom,“ said the pixie. ”A
warning from the future. A voice of reason. The animated urge of learning.“ 'This is a
multiple-choice test, I assume,” said Toede. “Mock not,” said the spirit in blue and
silver and white, “for he does mean you harm.” “So you say,” said Toede. “Perhaps I should
have Rogate take care of him.” “Trust not Rogate, either,” said the spirit, “for he means
you ill as well.” “He is a traitor too?” asked Toede. “Only to himself,” said the pixie.
“For you scrambled his mind in your first meeting, in the tavern in Flotsam. With every
moment he spends with you, his mind clears, and soon he will realize that he was given the
holy task to kill you.” “Hmmmm,” murmured Toede, “then perhaps Charka and Renders can take
care of them, but I suppose they are also...” “Traitors,” piped up the small creature.
“They have been compromised by the necromancer, who also means you harm.” “That I never
would have guessed,” said Toede sarcastically. The spirit pixie overlooked his attitude.
“They have been promised dominion over Flotsam if they arrange for you to die in battle.
Renders is to remain at your side, and slip a dagger between your ribs during the heat of
combat.” Toede rubbed his chin again. “Then perhaps we should get the loyal kender rabble
to throw these dastards into a makeshift brig, then execute the lot of them at dawn.”
“Alas!” said the pixie.

“Let me guess ...” said Toede. 'The kender mean me harm, too.“ 'The girl is loyal only to
her father, who reserves a deep and abiding hatred for you.” The pixie bowed its head
remorsefully. “You are surrounded by treacherous servants.” “And to think that they don't
realize they are all traitors,” said Toede. “If only they were organized, they could have
killed me days ago.” If the pixie was aware of sarcasm, it did not show on the being's
delicate elfin features. “There is but one hope,” it said, and Toede could almost hear
inspirational music rising up around it. “You must leave this place,” the pixie said
sternly. “Take the horse that Bunniswot brought, and ride to the south and east. You will
find a small inn, with a single light in the window. Knock on the door and ask for
shelter. They will take you in. With you absent, the attack will succeed, but the alliance
will fall in upon itself, and the city will be wracked by civil war.” “You're saying I
should flee like a coward,” said Toede, leaning forward. “It is the only way.” The pixie
nodded. “To save my own hide,” said Toede, reaching up and curling his fingers around the
edges of the book. “At the cost of my good name.” “You must leave now if you are to
avoimmmmphl” The pixie's voice was stifled as Toede slammed the massive volume closed. He
counted to ten, then opened the book. Only a small singed spot on the pages reassured him
that it had not all been a dream. “Surprisingly,” he said aloud to the smoking scorch
mark, “I've been thinking the same things myself. Why would these good and, yes, noble
people throw in with one such as I? I have been assigning them all sorts of evil
motivations and reasons, and my guts have been twisted trying to figure it out. ”But your
appearance, dear little singe,“ said the smiling hobgoblin, ”confirmed my hypothesis.
Twice now I thought I had things locked up to retake my throne, and twice now something
materialized to swat me away. This time, my common sense says flee, and it is bolstered by
a supernatural apparition. I have reached a decision.“ Toede closed the book again, softly
now, and took it with him as he left the tent. He padded back to the fire. Renders was
finishing some saga involving gnomes and boats and gold dragons. Charka and Taywin were
listening intently, while Kronin and Rogate were sketching lines in the dirt to hone
battle plans. Bunniswot, one of the many accused assassins present, was curled up on his
side, snoring softly. Toede kneeled by Taywin, and asked quietly if she had a perfume
bottle. She looked at him oddly, then nodded. He sent her to fetch it, along with whatever
passed for a priest of the True Gods among the kender. Then the former highmaster handed
the massive tome to Renders. Toede returned to the fire and built it up with a few logs,
”raising a shower of sparks. “If s going to be a long night,” said Toede. “For a lot of
people here, it will be their last one. If we're not going to sleep, we might as well know
what we're fighting for.” Renders nodded and picked up the tome, starting to read where
Toede himself had recently left off. The old scholar's voice started shakily, but soon he
caught the cadence of the writing, the words falling from his tongue like petals.
Bunniswot awoke with a snort and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Rogate and Kronin stopped
their dirt-scribbling, and gnolls and kender, themselves unable to sleep, began to filter
back into the glow of the campfire. Taywin returned with the holy kender and a spray
bottle of perfume, and Toede spoke with the priest briefly and softly, then sent him to
carry out his appointed duties. Toede spent the remainder of the evening looking into the
flames of the rebuilt fire, throwing on another branch or log whenever Renders reached the
end of a parable. It seemed that the former highmaster was only half listening, but rather
searching for something that could only be read in the dancing tongues of the flame.

In which the battle is joined, and the diverse elements of the rebellion demonstrate their
weaknesses and strengths, both physical and ethical, and Our Protagonist confronts his
former ally. Then the Abyssal Plane breaks loose. By the time dawn crested the overcast
bay to the east, Toede had his unified Allied Rebellion entrenched in the last hedgerow,
about a hundred yards from the broken-toothed south wall. Toede had no doubt that the
Flotsam defenders had seen his men (really, gnolls and kender), for there was a massing
movement along the walls and in the gaps, both southern gates had been hastily closed and
shuttered, and no wains or other traffic were visible on either road.

Beyond the walls, the Rock rose on the far side of the city, and from the Rock a new
architectural monstrosity. It looked like something out of an elven tale of old, for it
glittered like a ruby in the ruddy dawn. On the site of Toede's old manor there was now a
castle of classic proportions, with tall, needle-thin spires that seemed to bob and weave
in the wind like woozy drunkards. Toede won- dered if the swaying spires had been erected
as watch-towers, and chuckled at the thought of the constitutions of the poor fools who
were obliged to man them.

The clouds broke for a moment. A single ray of light crossed the skies, glancing against
the topmost spire and refracting it like a beacon across the surrounding farmland. Toede
covered his eyes for a moment from the intensity of the red-hued beam, and when he
refocused them, saw that there was a growing consternation across the field. Some soldiers
were moving away, others digging into more defensible positions. Then the first shouts
reached his ears, and he saw columns of smoke rising from his left, on the north and west
sides of the city.

The necromancer's troops had made their assault against the most heavily protected section
of the city, the part lined with solid walls. Toede had to admit he was impressed by the
undead horde engaged in what was fated to be a suicidal charge. Toede would have to pick
up some of the unusual warriors for himself for his next war.

And thinking of suicidal charges, he had his own to direct. He spurred Bunniswof s mount,
a coal- black gelding named Smoker, to the front of the hedgerow, and spun the horse
around, facing the troops. He had half a hundred good speeches stored up, invigorating
words he'd heard proclaimed by dragon high-lords in order to goad their terrified troops
into battle. Glory, loot, the advancement of their way of life, threats, the entire gamut.
But as he spun about to face the troops the gnolls in their war paint and the suddenly
somber kenderthe lines of communication between his mind and mouth were suddenly cut, the
conversational bridges vanished, and the mental cues seemed to scatter on the cold dawn
breeze.

Toede's mind went blank. He sat on his horse, regarding the troops, and could have heard
the proverbial pin drop along the entire line. He could feel the strain of the gnolls, as
if they were swimmers preparing for a diving start, and he could sense the pent-up
eagerness of the kender. “For...” said Toede, his thin voice cracking. “For glory! And for
good government!” He was welcomed with a resounding “Huzzah!” as the gnoll troops boiled
out from the hedgerow, and the kender, bent forward, their hoopaks slung over their backs,
began a scurrying flanking maneuver to the right. The gnolls' charge broke in front of
Toede and reformed beyond him. Rogate was in the vanguard, waving a sword in one hand, a
crudely painted green banner in the other, a bow and quiver of green- feathered arrows on
his back. The banner read “TOEDAIC KNIGHTS” and sported a picture of a frog. Renders
clopped up on one of his small horses. “Ah, good speech,” he said dryly. “One for the
ages.” Toede ignored the review. “Did Bunniswot slip away?” Renders shrugged and said, "I
assume so.

Shall we join the battle?“ Toede scowled and wheeled Smoker around. ”Right. Stay a
comfortable distance behind the main body, and keep up. I don't want to have to explain to
an irate Charka how I let you die.“ The hobgoblin dug his heels into Smoker's flanks, and
the gelding broke into a brisk, uneven trot behind the screaming gnolls. They were halfway
across the field before the enemy responded with a hail of missiles. Toede had instructed
Charka to have the gnolls raise their heavy shields over their heads, since the arrows
would have to take high arcs at this range. Those that survived the first volley were the
ones that remembered to do so, but one of every ten gnolls fell to the ground and did not
rise. The charge continued to within forty yards. Toede could make out the colored
uniforms of the foe colors not found among Toede's livery or those of his successors.
Mercenaries then, as he had guessed. A front line of spearmen, grim-faced and at the
ready, with a row of bowmen behind. The walls were sprinkled with city guards and the odd
crossbowman. Most seem to have been pulled away by the diversion. The kender, moving
faster and wider than the gnolls, were in flanking position on Toede's right, and already
were laying down a fire of small stones against the archers. Although the militia were
driven from the walls, the meres were well trained and did not break under the rain of
pellets. Instead, the enemy troops repositioned their aim at the kender, while the
remaining archers fired straight ahead at the advancing gnolls. The kender scattered under
the returned volleys. They would reassemble quickly, but time would be lost. The effect on
the gnolls was pronounced, as many of the swamp gnolls forgot to hold their shields aloft.
Another one out of ten collapsed, wounded or dying. More importantly, the charge ground to
a stop thirty yards from the walls, and the surviving gnolls had to take cover behind
their shields, their fallen comrades, and whatever low brush they could find. Toede
bellowed Èorders, but they could not hear him, and the mercenary bowmen returned to their
primary targets, hammering the grounded gnoll offensive. Toede felt a presence close to
his right, and heard Renders say, ”Ah...“ Toede cut him off, interrupting. ”We're being
cut to ribbons, be prepared to...“ The next word was going to be ”run,“ or perhaps ”flee,“
or even ”surrender." However, at that moment, the gelding whinnied and rose on its hind
legs, almost tossing Toede from his saddle, then bolted. Forward, toward the withering
arrow fire. Toede pulled his sword with one hand, clinging to the horse's neck for as much
protection as possible. He was over the front line now, Smoker clearing it in a single
bound. Directly behind him, Toede heard the roar of the gnolls as they regained their
courage and rose to follow their leader in his impromptu charge. There was another cheer,
this one of childlike voices, as the kender also joined in. Toede turned in his saddle,
motioning for the kender to hold their ground. Without decent cover- fire, they would all
be cut to shreds. He realized that Smoker was wounded, a long red smear of blood dripping
from the animal's flank. What the kender thought they saw, however, was the general of the
Allied Rebellion waving them on, his sword glistening in the dawn. Those who survived the
day would speak of the valiant spirit of the hobgoblin. He was right on top of the enemy
line, the gnolls behind him, the spearmen in front of him, when Smoker hit a chuckhole at
high velocity. The horse cartwheeled forward, pitching Toede over its head. And over the
heads of the spearmen in the front line. The archers loosed one more volley at the gnolls
(and at Toede's mount that screamed as the arrows riddled its broken, twitching body).
Those closest to Toede dropped their bows and drew their swords, short wide blades that
could gut a hog with one swipe. Then the stones struck among them, and two out of ten
archers fell to hoopak accuracy. The remainder moved back a few paces, and Toede scrambled
among retreaters and the bodies. Pain

gripped his shoulderthe same one Rogate had shot over a year agobut he was otherwise
unharmed. He touched his breast pocket, and found his secret weapon still intact. The
mercenaries wavered but did not panic as the gnolls slammed into their lines. Toede had to
scramble again to avoid being trampled by the human troops falling back. The archers had
mostly abandoned their missile weapons and were slashing at those gnolls who had pierced
the line of mercenaries.

Still, Groag's mercenaries did not break, and Toede had to wonder exactly what the smaller
hobgoblin had promised in exchange for their services. A particularly burly mercenary
swaggered toward him and was rewarded with death as Toede cut the man off at the ankles.
The hobgoblin then spun and sunk his blade into another mere. Apparently the missile
troops were better with bow than with sword, and lightly armored to boot. A cry went up,
this time from human throats, and Toede could see fresh enemy troops pour into the fray.
At least fresh in that they had not yet fought Toede's kender/gnoll army. Many of them
were bloodied and had the look of men who had fought the undead, and were now glad to
battle flesh- and-blood opponents who have the sense to lie down and die. Slowly, the
mercenary line stiffened, then began to drive the combined gnolls and kender backward,
away from the wall. Toede was still trapped on the wrong side of the lines. And then the
dead whale appeared, and everything changed. It was even larger than in Toede's memory.
Most of the skin had peeled away, and the rotting blubber had turned a sickly
yellow-green. The ribs poked out one of its sides, and its massive eye was a runny pustule
of white ichor. It had erupted from the beach, where Toede's men had buried it long ago,
leaping about two hundred feet in a high arc toward the battlefield. Alas, it would not
clear the entire distance, but the airborne necro-whale did cause three things to happen:
Some (not all, but enough) gnolls gawked at the great mass of animated cetacean flesh in
midleap. Some (not all, but enough) humans turned to see what the gnolls were looking at
with such fascination and awe. And some (not all, but enough) kender took advantage of
those humans with their backs turned. The spearmen's line crumbled in a dozen places as
the humans toppled, either from daggers set squarely in their backs or calf tendons
severed, bringing their unprotected necks closer to the ground (and nearer to kender
swords). Toede was pressed to the ground by a toppling human. He rolled with the body,
struggled, and pushed it off him at last. He rose to find himself alone in the gap of the
wall. Alone in the sense that he was the only one present who wasn't dead or close enough
to death to deceive the casual observer. He did not recognize any of the dead except
Smoker, who had sprouted a double

It was a minotaur, but this one's skin was the color of paper left in the sun too long,
its eyes as sightless as Smoker's or, for that matter, the dead whale's. Toede sighed and
stepped forward. “Hi, Bob,” he said. “Greetings, Toede,” said the undead mix of human and
bovine traits. “You seem to have expected me.”

“Sooner or later,” said Toede in a conversational voice, slowly closing the distance
between them. He reached back and slid his bloodied sword back into its scabbard. “How
long have you planned this, working for both sides?” The minotaur zombie managed a shrug.
“Since before your return. And while it would have been easier had I captured you before
the kender did, fortune allowed me to turn that happenstance to my advantage.”

Toede smiled. “So you appeared to Groag and offered to protect him in exchange for...”
“For the dead,” said the minotaur zombie, “same as you. And of course, everyone will be
the dead soon.” “So you wanted Flotsam for yourself, eh?” said Toede, now standing all of
five feet away from his opponent. “As a start,” said the zombie. “Even now the first of
your battlefield dead are twitching as the bones reknit and the flesh empties. They will
be my new army, to slay the survivors of the city and further swell my legions. Then, when
I have sufficient ships, I will launch raids along the entire coast, until I have a small
nation of undead humans, kender, ogres, hobgoblins, and even dragons under my control!”
Toede sighed again, reaching into his short jacket as if trying to physically slow his
beating heart. “Dream no small dreams,” he said. “Well I have news for you, Necromancer.
Murrurrurume!” His voice had dropped to an unintelligible mumble. The minotaur zombie
cocked its head for a moment, then said, “You said something?” “I said ...” Toede again
dropped his voice. “Murrurrurume!” The minotaur zombie managed a smile and dropped to one
knee to hear better. It kept its axe in one hand, to gut the hobgoblin should he try to
pull anything. “Once more,” it chided. “I said have some perfume!” said Toede, and pulled
Tay-win's atomizer from his jacket. Before the minotaur zombie could react, he sprayed the
contents full-force into the undead creature's face. The minotaur zombie screamed as the
holy water, prepared by the kender priest, boiled away what remained of its face,
revealing the skull beneath the flesh. Toede's sword flew from his scabbard as he brought
it in a neat line across the minotaur's shoulders, separating its head from its body.
Toede smiled, but the smile was short-lived, as the now-headless creature tottered to its
feet and hefted its axe. “Oh, come now,” gurgled the remains of the minotaur-zombie skull,
“you of all people should know that death is not a career-ending injury around here.” The
zombie brought its axe down, hard, and splintered the pavement as Toede jumped to one
side. The minotaur was still mighty dangerous, albeit blind. Blind? No, Toede corrected
himself. Rather the minotaur's skull was still relaying orders, although at a disadvantage
due to its lowered vantage point. Toede lunged out and kicked the skull, hard. It went
flipping end-over-end to one side of the gate. Maybe that will slow down its reaction
time, he hoped. Or not, as Toede's left side exploded in a flash of pain. Not the axe, but
a kick from the minotaur zombie had caught him fully in the side. He dropped the spray
bottle and heard it smash. Toede flew five feet and hit the wall, not far from the
decapitated head. “Gotcha,” gurgled the zombie. Small stars novaed in front of Toede, but
he could make out the shadow of the headless necromantic puppet towering over him. He
heard the necromancer's laugh as the minotaur zombie lifted its axe above his head. Then
the minotaur stiffened, jerked three times, and fell at Toede's feet. There were four
green-feathered arrows jutting from the minotaur's back. Rogate ran into Toede's view.
“Milord!” he shouted. “Are you all right?”