Indeed, throughout Groag's tirade, the hobgoblin high-master had been smiling beatifically, a canary- digesting feline sort of look. After Groag shouted at him, he paused a beat, then stuck out his tongue.
Resting on that pale pink expanse was an iron key, until recently worn around the neck of Taywin Kroninsdau.
Toede held the key up to the sun and laughed wearily. 'I hope you don't feel like resting,' he said. 'I want to be in Flotsam by nightfall.'
Chapter 4
In actuality, it took three days to reach Flotsam, caused first by a miscalculation on Groag's part as to direction, and second by a necessary evasion of a kender hunting party. The latter was seen at a distance, armed with spears and accompanied by their golden and black hunting hounds. Toede recognized neither kender nor dogs, but thought it the better part of valor to evade them.
The fact of the matter was, had the hobgoblins headed in the right direction at the outset, the kender, who set out for Flotsam immediately, would have caught up with their quarry. But since Toede and Groag got slightly mislaid, the kender patrols made it to Flotsam and back before Toede and Groag even neared the vicinity.
The second night was spent in an abandoned cottage that had not seen human habitation since before the War of the Lance. There was no food other than the lizards that Groag rousted from beneath the collapsed bed. There were a few long human-sized cloaks, easily altered by the rusted but serviceable knives abandoned in a stuck drawer. Toede had seen, lived through, and dealt out worse during the war.
But Toede could not sleep, for Groag snored a saw-touched rhapsody across from him. He considered smothering him with a pillow, but Groag's likely uses in the future stayed his hand.
Also, there were no pillows in the cottage.
The long hike had given him a chance to think about what Groag had said. For six months Toede had been gone. His armor and clothing, while beaten and singed, neither wore nor smelled like he had been wearing them for six months. Perhaps he had been dead. Or put into cold storage for six months, which was one and the same for all intents and purposes. But how-and to what end?
To return and live like a noble. Clouds passed over the wafer-thin sliver of Lunitari, and Toede thought of the shadowy giants and the promise they had made to him in his dreams. He would be treated like a noble. Well, obviously not at the moment, in the tumbledown cottage, but once they reached civilization. Once they reached Flotsam.
After they reached Flotsam, then what? Obviously, when confronted with a highmaster in the flesh, Gilden- tongue would have to step down. Although since Toede wasn't truly a high lord, officially recognized as such, there might be question of his right to rule. The perils that a lack of nobility caused were obvious to the hobgoblin.
Perhaps he would have to call in his favors with the true highlords, and the dragonarmy itself, still billeted in the northern half of the city.
Ah, but Gildentongue always had a way with the great reptiles, being draconian himself. There might have to be a few bloody discussions in the barracks, but in the end, Toede had a dragon (of sorts) in Hopsloth, and Gildentongue would be vanquished.
Perhaps after all this, the highlords would grant him a real, permanent title, and award him Flotsam as his enfiefment. His own duchy. Perhaps that's what the dream meant.
Duchy of Flotsam. Duke of Flotsam. Had a nice ring to it, he thought, leaning against the windowsill.
He was still writing his acceptance speech and ordering his first series of retributive executions when Groag shook him awake. Dawn had broken, and far in the distance, there were dogs baying.
Now was the time to move on, Toede thought, to claim his rightful throne.
The land broadened quickly into the low rolling hills that surrounded Flotsam, ending finally in the bay upon which the city was built. It was, at last, territory familiar to Toede. They approached from the southeast, trundling over the low hills that flanked the city on that side. The hills had mostly been denuded, noted Toede, and rich fields of barley and wheat and plots of vegetables had replaced the wildlife and underbrush. The fields were brown earth sprinkled with the first tufts of green from the spring. When he had last ridden through the land, the grain had been a rich harvest gold, and the trees were heavy with fruit. It seemed a lifetime ago. As they topped the last low rise overlooking the city, Toede wondered what else had changed.
The pair of footsore travelers stopped and regarded Flotsam, sprawled out before them like a drunkard curled on the pavement. A low miasma hung over the city-the sum of collected exhalations, smokes, fumes, and fires of the inhabitants that even the steady breeze off Blood Bay could do nothing to diminish. The subtle stench of pirates, merchants, craftsmen, middlemen, travelers, adventurers, soldiers, entertainers, barbarians, and priests tickled his nostrils even at this distance.
Toede let out a contented sigh. Nothing had changed after all. Except…
'Groag,' said the highmaster with a frown, 'who decided to repair the wall?'
Indeed, the city wall, more of a ten-foot-high apology to advancing armies than any real impediment to a concentrated attack, had been restored. The wall ran along on its original foundation, forming a long, looping enclosure that cradled the harbor from southern edge to northern tip. The Southwest Gate was before them, framed by thirty-foot towers. A small trickle of wagons lined up as they passed by the guards. Toede squinted and could see similar traffic snags at the Southeast Gate on his right and the North Gate across the way.
'Uh, Gildentongue,' mewled his companion, figuring (correctly) that this was a proper answer for any mischief committed in Toede's absence.
'Hmpf,' snorted the highmaster. 'If Gildentongue is really in charge, it shows what he knows. Why bother with walls when you have a wing of dragons camped out within your city? Typical Draconian overkill. No sense of subtlety in the least.'
'Well, now that you mention it…' ventured Groag in his meekest voice.
Toede flexed an eyebrow, his time-honored method of recognizing a flunky about to deliver bad news. Groag kept his eyes focused on a spot two inches in front of Toede's boots.
'I had heard from Miss Taywin-Kronin's daughter- that the dragonarmy had… uh… relocated. Up the Rugged Coast and closer to the ogre territories. Better recruits and all was what they said, but the kender laughed and elbowed each other in the ribs, and I guessed it was too difficult to maintain the army inside the city walls. Rebels and sabotage and desertion and… all that.'
The highmaster grumbled deeply, and Groag fell back two spaces.
The growl broke into discernible words. 'Then what you're saying is that there is no dragonarmy in Flotsam?'
Groag nodded, then he gave a most irritating, almost kenderish shrug of his shoulders, and added, 'That's what I heard, at least.'
'So much for Plan A,' muttered Toede. Louder, to Groag, he said, 'Is there anything else that you should tell me about my domain that I don't already know?'
Again the shrug. 'I have been held by the kender for some time now, Highmaster,' said Groag. 'I only heard about the dragonarmy changing its base because the kender themselves threw a great party when it happened. Seems they felt responsible for the move. I remember the feast-there were twelve geese to be stuffed, and two full stags…'
Toede waved the rendition of the menu aside. 'The barracks are empty, then?'
'Well, they're probably used for warehouses and things like that.'
'But the rest of the city is still as it was. No temples to Habbakuk or Mishakal? No gods or kindly-but-powerful wizards taking up residence within earshot of the gates?'
Groag looked up, hurt. 'Other than some new cult-thingie the kender mentioned Gildentongue is wrapped up in, no. I mean, I don't think so,' he said, stressing the word 'think' as if it implied true cogitation and analysis.
'And my own luxurious manor house still stands?'
