railing of the walkway and down some fifty feet to the bottom of the pit. The slaves scurried out of his way as he hurtled downward, landing with a sickening crunch.
'Oops! Pardon me,' said Tas, looking up at Fesz sheepishly. 'I was just wondering what a minotaur would sound like, landing on his head after falling a long way down.'
The indulgent Fesz returned the kender's evil smile.
The arena of games was spectacular as architecture, even if the games were a mite boring, to Tasslehoff's taste, as a spectator sport. Thousands of slaves had toiled under the whip to build the huge stone structure with its high walls, imposing entryways, and comfortable viewing galleries. Many thousands more had died in the barbaric competition in the packed dirt arena, a twice-monthly event that drew the entire city's population, so rabid were the minotaurs about their national sport of watching one gladiator pitted against another in a fight to the death.
Tas and Fesz spent one sunny afternoon in a private box reserved for the king and his guests near the floor of the arena, directly opposite the ramp entrance, which ascended from the catacombs that served as a waiting room for the gladiators.
One human scum was fighting another human scum, both were dressed in skimpy clothing and carried fierce- looking weapons. Both were quick and muscular.
For the life of him, Tas couldn't tell them apart. He could barely keep his bleary eyes open as their ruthless combat went on for what seemed like hours.
Cheering, jeering, shouting minotaurs and human pirates packed the coliseum. The atmosphere was festive. Wives and children accompanied some of the bull-men, everyone applauded his champion wildly. Many had placed bets.
One of the human gladiators dodged the other's thrust, smashed him in the face with his shield, and stuck him trough the neck with his long sword. The audience roared, demanding that the loser be beheaded. The victorious human obliged, then pranced around the arena, pleasing the crowd by holding aloft the head dripping with blood.
'By the way,' said Tas, yawning, 'that reminds me. I sure would like to have my hoopak back. It's the only real weapon I carry, and besides, it's got sentimental value.'
'Where is your hoopak?' rumbled Fesz solicitously.
'It was with my rucksack,' explained Tas, 'until everything I owned got confiscated. I sure would like it back.'
'Would you like the whole rucksack back?' asked Fesz.
'You bet.'
Fesz said he didn't see any harm in that. Tas grinned.
They spent the whole next day at the shipyard. Tas found it very interesting. He could plainly see that the minotaurs were busy preparing for a big war or something. Piles of lumber littered the wharf. Hundreds of human slaves, overseen by grim-faced, weapon-flourishing minotaurs, streamed over the scene like ants, wielding tools such as adzes, saws, and drills.
'At night,' explained Fesz, 'the work continues. Torches illuminate the construction. We need to be ready for Sargonnas when he is brought into this world.'
Tas nodded. He already knew all about what Fesz and the Nightmaster and the kingdom of minotaurs were planning. Fesz had been telling him bit by bit, just as Tas had been telling Fesz about Raistlin Majere.
The jalopwort was part of an obscure spell that the leading shaman of the minotaurs intended to cast to open a portal and invite the evil god into the material world. Sargonnas would lead the minotaur kingdom in its obsessive goal to conquer and oppress the inferior races of Ansalon-that is, everyone who wasn't a minotaur.
From what Fesz had told Tas, the spell was scheduled to be cast when the sun, moon, and stars formed a special configuration in the skies.
'Very soon,' Fesz had hinted. 'Very, very soon.'
Naturally Tas, being evil himself, was excited about the coming of an evil god and was hoping to make the acquaintance of Sargonnas. That was one of the reasons why the kender was working so hard developing his friendship with Fesz.
'Are you sure the minotaurs can take over the whole world without any help?' asked Tas innocently, a concerned and thoughtful look on his face. He looked around the shipyard with all its war galleys nearing completion. They were pretty impressive, but there were a great many humans and dwarves and elves and kender and gnomes and sundry other races over on the mainland. Maybe the minotaurs had been stuck on these remote isles for so long they didn't have any idea of the enormous opposition they would face.
'Very sensible of you, Tas,' said Fesz, lowering his voice to a soft rumble and looking over his shoulder cautiously. 'No. Although we are a mighty race, we need and seek allies. We have made tentative pacts with the ogres and with their aquatic cousins, the orughi. We have made diplomatic approaches to the trolls, although they are such a disorganized race, and to certain tribes of barbarians. There are also certain other, uh, elements that you would not be familiar with-I am not at liberty to discuss them, but they will be very important to our combined force as the invasion plans unfold.'
'What about kender?' asked Tas, a trifle put out. 'Don't you think kender might be able to contribute something?'
'Why, of course,' said Fesz, somewhat disconcerted. 'I don't know why I left out kender. Kender might be very helpful, if they are all more or less like you. We know very little about kender, you see, and up until now, we hadn't considered them in our thinking.'
Tas puffed himself up. 'I may be able to intercede with the kender race,' he said, 'After all, I am a figure of some renown in Kendermore. Or at least I was a figure of some renown last time I was there, which was, oh, ten or twenty or thirty years ago, before my period of wanderlust. My Uncle Trapspringer is a figure of much, much greater renown, it goes without saying.' Tas frowned as something occurred to him. 'Although I'm not sure that Uncle Trapspringer will want to throw in with us, because he's rather crotchety about his friends. He's not too friendly with his enemies either.' The kender thought a moment, then brightened. 'But since I haven't been back there in quite some time, it's more than possible that Uncle Trapspringer isn't living in Kendermore anymore and won't pose the least problem!'
'Well,' rumbled Fesz considerately, 'I'll be sure to let the Nightmaster know all about the kender race and their, uh, potential.'
'Tell him it was my idea,' said Tas, beaming.
Fesz nodded and wrote it down.
When they got back from the shipyard, Dogz was waiting for them with a communication from the king. Dogz handed the message to Fesz, but he wouldn't even look at Tasslehoff. The minotaur averted his eyes, as if he were ashamed of his kender friend. Over Fesz's shoulder, Tas read the message:
Fesz looked questioningly at Tasslehoff.
'Well,' said the kender, 'I don't know. I don't think it could be Raistlin. The note says two humans. Raistlin's only one human, not to mention Flint's a dwarf and Tanis is an elf-well actually a half-elf, but he doesn't like to be reminded of his human heritage. So I don't think it could be Raistlin.'
Fesz knitted his bullish brow.
'Hey, wait a minute!' added Tas excitedly. 'Maybe it's Sturm and Caramon. They're two humans. They're supposed to be dead, and I don't think they know any magic, but maybe Raistlin taught Caramon some tricks when they were kids together or something. I bet that's who it is. Oh, boy! Sturm and Caramon are alive. I wonder which one escaped?'
'Sturm and Caramon,' rumbled Fesz. 'Those were the two humans who were thrown into the Blood Sea.'
'That's right.'
'Supposing they were still alive,' wondered the shaman minotaur. 'Why would Raistlin have taught Caramon magic when they both were children?'
