chair rose into the air so their noses nearly touched. 'I'll never forgive you or let you forget your cruelty toward me!' she shouted. Then, as she looked into his eyes, she calmed down and even smiled slightly. 'But I do love you, darling,' she said thoughtfully. 'And I'll cook, and clean, and care for you for the rest of your life. You'll see. We'll have such a happy time together.'
Leaving Gorath in midair, Zoma turned back to the kettle. The black-robed magic-user caused the fire to rise underneath just by raising her finger. She then leaned over the kettle to stir the stew, putting her hand directly into the boiling water without feeling any discomfort. The folds at the back of her black robe separated slightly.
Gorath's frightened eyes bulged from their sockets. Even if he still had the ability to talk, he couldn't have uttered a sound. He stared in disbelief at what was sticking out from Zoma's black robe.
It was a shaggy red tail with a snow-white tip.
The Pilgrim's Rest was a pretty old tavern, having been started by the great grandfather of its owner, a gnarly old dwarf by the name of Pug. But the place looked even older than it was because it was built into the hollow of a huge and truly ancient oak tree near the Darken Wood.
Following the shape of the trunk, the room was basically round and soared up into the dark heights of the tree's interior. Up there, unseen, were woodpeckers, bats, a few squirrels, and various other critters. Occasionally one of them would fly or creep down along the wall to steal food from the round, rough-hewn tables, and old Pug was constantly chasing them back up again with a broom. 'Don't feed the animals!' he kept telling his patrons. 'It only encourages them!'
Business at the Pilgrim's Rest was usually good, thanks to the forest paths that crisscrossed all around it. On any given day, there was likely to be an assortment of many peoples — elves, dwarves, humans, and such — all traveling to and from the four comers of Krynn.
On one particular evening, this crowd was joined by a kender. Old Pug kept an eye on the little, slight-boned fellow, for he knew a kender was likely to slip away without paying his tab. True to form, the kender, dressed in red leggings and tunic, sat at a table near the door.
But this kender, apparently a bit inebriated, was talking loudly, and this reassured Pug, who could at least turn his back and hear him.
'… I tell you,' the kender was saying, 'Kronin and I DID kill him!'
'You expect us to believe,' said a squat, black-bearded dwarf sitting at the kender's table, 'that two puny kender killed Toede, a Dragon Highlord?'
'Why, Kronin isn't just ANY kender! He's our leader!'
'Even so,' said another patron, a lanky human who was walking over with his beer stein, 'kender are no match for a hobgoblin lord.'
The kender's pointy ears turned red. 'Do you think I'm lying?' he shouted.
'Yes!' came back all the patrons as they gathered around the boaster's table.
'And how did you two kill Toede?' asked a tall, willowy elf, a fair eyebrow arched incredulously. 'With that silly what-do-you-call-it you kender carry?'
'The hoopak,' said the dwarf, picking up the pronged stick from under the table for everyone to see.
'Leave that alone!' shouted the kender, snatching the weapon back.
'What's this?' said the human. 'A kender getting angry? Where's your usual sense of humor?'
'He's had too much ale,' suggested the dwarf with a smirk.
'Yes, that explains his ridiculous claims,' agreed the elf, waving the story away with his long, slender hand.
'Phooey on you all!' shouted the kender. 'Kronin and I are heroes whether you believe it or not!'
'Tell me,' called old Pug from behind the counter, 'did anyone actually see you do this deed?'
There was a brief silence.
'That's right,' said the lanky human, resting his stein on the table. 'Can anyone back you on this?'
The kender started to sputter in frustration, when, from across the room, someone shouted:
'I can!'
Everyone turned in surprise to see who had spoken. Sitting at a table near the wooden wall was a hooded figure slouched over a stein. It was unclear what sort of being he was, but his robes were all in tatters. 'And who, pray tell, are you that you should know?' asked Pug, his thick eyebrows rising inquisitively.
'I was there,' said the hooded stranger. 'I saw it all. This kender's name must be Talorin.'
The kender beamed, proud that news of his deed had reached another's ears and that this stranger actually knew his name. He crossed his slender arms. 'Thank you, sir,' he called to the stranger. 'Perhaps you can tell these Doubting Trapspringers what you saw.'
Everyone, still gathered around the kender's table, waited for the stranger to speak. But he didn't seem to care to continue, and he sipped from his brew mysteriously.
'Yes, why don't you tell us?' asked the dwarf, taking his stein and waddling over to the stranger's table.
'What difference does it make?' growled the stranger from beneath his cowl. 'Toede was a sniveling, cowardly idiot. He had no business being a Dragon Highlord.'
At this, Talorin's pointy ears grew red again.
'Maybe so,' said the elf, also walking over. 'But he caused much harm. If he's dead, then I for one would like to know how it came about.'
From deep within his hood, the stranger seemed to be staring at the nearly empty stein sitting before him.
'Perhaps if someone were to buy me another ale — '
'Pug! Bring the gentleman another brew!' called the dwarf, settling himself on a chair at the stranger's table, his broad, leather-clad feet dangling. Soon everyone who had been around Talorin drew closer to the stranger. But the kender, not to be left out, squeezed himself back into their midst. Pug brought the stranger another stein of ale and clunked it before him, the foamy head spilling over and onto the table.
The stranger took a sip and cleared his throat. 'I once served that wretch-of-a-hobgoblin,' he said. 'And, yes, I was there that day…'
And so the stranger told a tale that, since then, has been retold many times throughout Krynn.
For many weeks Toede had been stewing in his somber manor in the decrepit port city of Flotsam, grumbling about how his subjects were not paying him the respect due to a Dragon Highlord. 'They don't pay their taxes, they desert my army, they laugh behind my back!' he growled. Then he would just sit slumped on his throne, his two pink eyes squinting out of his flat, fleshy face as if he were hatching some plot that would make everyone realize he was not to be taken so lightly.
But all he did was put himself in a worse and worse mood. If anyone crossed him during those weeks — if an attendant so much as spilled something at the table — Toede fell into a rage. More than one such fellow was tossed off the docks to be eaten by sharks.
Naturally, his attendants were getting increasingly nervous. Finally one of them, Groag — a fat hobgoblin like Toede but who liked to dress in elegant, stylish robes and wear large, bejeweled rings — tried to divert his master from his self-pity. 'Perhaps Lord Toede would like to disport himself,' he said, standing by the squat, round-backed throne.
Toede glanced up and sideways at the dandified attendant. 'Do you have anything in particular in mind?' he snarled. He always felt that Groag, like everyone else, showed him little genuine respect and always sounded snooty.
'There are many things,' said Groag. He counted them off on each bejeweled finger. 'You could take your ship out and harpoon dolphins, you could attend a dogfight, you could go hunting — '
'Hunting,' snarled Toede, slumping even deeper into his throne. 'How can I be expected to catch anything when my forest is full of poachers?' He began to stew again.
'Well,' Groag shrugged, 'perhaps you can catch a poacher.'
