Lord Toede

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.

Chapter 2

In which Our Protagonist and his faithful servant have a chance to get reacquainted, and are reminded 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.'