'Tonight the chief's entertaining a tribal delegation from the Vale of Vipers. They'll be staying just above you, on the top floor. You dare not make a move until everyone inside the keep is asleep. If you escape'-she corrected herself-'
'Are you certain…?' asked Raistlin tentatively.
Kirsig laughed lustily. 'Oh, don't worry. He's a capable one, more than capable.'
'How-how will we escape?' stammered Flint. He was reluctant to draw attention to himself, yet the question loomed in his mind. Kirsig turned to regard him solicitously. As Flint stared, she reached out a hand and touched his beard, stroking it.
'Escape, yes!' she said excitedly. 'That is the problem, and we shall solve it. We'll teach those dumb ogres a lesson.' She lowered her voice, motioning Raistlin and Tanis to draw closer. 'But there's only two ways out of Ogre-bond. One is if you're dead-that's the sure way-and the other-' She hesitated.
She blabbers more than Tasslehoff, thought Flint.
'Yes?' prompted Tanis.
'The other,' Kirsig whispered, 'is worse.'
They had to confer quickly, for time was wasting and Kirsig would be missed if she stayed away from her housekeeping chores too long.
Raistlin told Kirsig about their quest. The young mage explained about his brother, Sturm, and Tasslehoff being missing, and even the portal they had used to get here. Kirsig's eyes bulged at the mention of the minotaur isles. She had never been across the Blood Sea, which she knew all about from folk tales, and indeed had never been anywhere except the Ogrelands. But recently, she told Raistlin, some bull-men had visited Ogrebond and parleyed with the chief.
'What about?' Raistlin wanted to know, keenly interested.
'How should I know?' Kirsig said. 'I'm not custodian of the secrets around here. All I can tell you is that those minotaurs smell terrible and leave their quarters in disgusting condition. Filthy cows!' She spat. The spittle landed near Tanis's feet. The half-elf took a diplomatic step backward.
According to Kirsig, the only way out of Ogrebond, without fighting your way through the front gate, was through the sewage channel. If they were lucky, said Kirsig, their visit and escape would remain a secret. Nobody would even suspect that outsiders had been in the keep.
Tanis made a face at the thought of the sewage channel.
'Go on,' urged Raistlin, sensing that Kirsig had more to say.
'I pour all the slops and dregs down there, and worse-if you know what I mean. I know where the tunnel comes out, down near the bay, a place where the guards can't see you. The only thing is-' Again she hesitated.
'What?' demanded Tanis.
'The sewer is haunted with the spirits of the dead. Ghosts and ghoulies. Everybody says so. It will be dangerous to pass through. You could die.'
'We'll take that chance,' Raistlin said quickly.
'Then stay in this room and keep quiet,' Kirsig said, giving each of them, in turn, a stern look. 'I'll be back after the stroke of midnight. By then most of 'em inside the keep are drunk on grog or in dreamland. You'll be safe here, but don't stick your noses out of this room.'
She took a last, fond look at Flint, letting her fingers slip slowly and reluctantly away from his gray-flecked beard. His eyes remained frozen. 'Such a pretty dwarf,' Kirsig said before picking up her bucket and mop. She opened the door a crack, peered outside, then slipped through it without another word.
After the door closed behind her, Tanis waited several moments before whispering to Raistlin. 'Do you think we can trust her?'
The young mage slumped on a chair. He nodded.
Tanis seemed satisfied.
'But-' began Flint feebly.
His two companions cast him an amused glance. 'Surely she wouldn't betray her special new friend,' Tanis said.
Flint scowled, flushed beet red, and fell silent.
At dusk, the three companions heard loud noises from the lower floors, harsh voices raised in laughter and shouting, a volley of oaths building to a tumult, then joined in an ogre chorus:
'Steel peg, ice pick, fire thong, ho!
Sliver the heart of friend or foe!
Blood in the eye-yo!
Ogres one and all!'
Such carrying-ons continued until long after the moons rose, causing Tanis to worry that the revelry might last through the night.
Finally heavy-footed clomping echoed in the hallways, followed by the sounds of shoving and arguing, armor and heavy garb dropping to the floor; and then, at last, relative stillness, punctuated by guttural snoring. From the room's lone window, Tanis saw the battlement guards change shift.
At last the trio heard a quiet shuffling. The door slid open, and there stood Kirsig.
'Follow me!' the female half-ogre grunted, beckoning.
Keeping to the shadows, they followed her down the stairs, hearing the groans and breathing of sleeping ogres on all sides as they descended three flights. Through half-open doorways, they could see feet propped up on bedposts and an occasional glint of metal hanging from wall hooks. But no one challenged them. Just in case, Flint and Tanis held onto their weapons tightly.
On the main floor, the three companions had to pass through a huge, high-ceilinged room where the remains of the evening's banquet-goblets and animal bones and the like-lay where they had spilled on the huge oaken table and tiled floor. The walls were hung with vivid tapestries of gory battles. The fire had nearly sputtered out. Only embers remained.
A throne set on a dais reigned over one end of the table, and on the throne lay a gigantic, muscular, yellow- brown ogre, his feet stretched across one armrest, thoroughly drunk and asleep. His mottled skin was covered with bumps and bruises. He was snoring with his snout open. A thick band of silver, decorated with green jewels, stretched tightly around his forehead, the only conspicuous sign of his stature.
'Arrast, the chief,' whispered Kirsig, pointing. 'Don't worry. He drank so much grog, he'll be in a stupor till morning.'
As if he heard himself being discussed, Arrast stirred slightly and turned over on his side, his face set against the back of the throne. He lifted his head momentarily, gave a coarse bellow, then resumed his snoring.
Not entirely reassured, remembering what Kirsig had said earlier, Flint hurried past the sleeping chief of Ogre-bond.
At the far end of the huge room, a square grating covered a deep, dark pit sunk into the floor. Although Flint peered down it, he could see nothing. Slithering and scratching sounds drifted up from far below. The fetid stench that wafted upward was enough to make the dwarf momentarily lose his balance.
'Games pit,' said Kirsig, grabbing him by the elbow.
'Black willows,' said Raistlin grimly.
Tanis nodded.
'Yes,' agreed Flint, although he didn't have the slightest idea what 'black willows' were, and as he hurried past the dark pit, he told himself he had no desire to find out.
Through a small archway and down narrow stone stairs to a lower level they descended. This was the dungeon, a fact made plain by the damp, rotting odor, the debris of bones and broken weaponry, and the piles of
