Naturally Tas couldn't answer those questions because it was bound to get Raistlin into a lot of trouble. Poor Raistlin . . . although perhaps he wasn't someone you'd want to invite to a party, Tas liked him and knew that the mage wouldn't fare well in this type of situation.
Then suddenly the torture stopped.
For several days, Tasslehoff was left alone. His only visitor was Dogz. The first day after the minotaurs stopped torturing him, Dogz had come down the steps, bringing the kender the first bowl of gruel he had been offered for quite some time. The minotaur put it down gently outside Tas's cell and slid it under the bars with his foot.
Because Tas's right eye was swollen shut and the other one was matted with blood and dirt, and because he didn't feel much like eating anyway, he didn't rush up and grab the gruel and gratefully start to eat. He didn't even look up or say anything to Dogz. So he didn't see how Dogz looked.
His eyes downcast, Dogz slipped away. It was only after the minotaur was gone, hours later, after the kender had decided to check it out, that Tas realized the bowl didn't contain the usual gruel. It was bran meal, cold by now but not all that bad, considering it was cooked by minotaurs. That Dogz!
After that, for several days, Dogz brought hot bran meal, and Tasslehoff slowly got better. His cuts and bruises would heal in time, and some fuzz sprouted where his topknot had been.
He and Dogz got to talking again. "Why did they stop the torturing, Dogz?" the kender asked.
Dogz looked over his shoulder at the steps leading upward. "I don't know if I should be telling you," rumbled the minotaur.
"Why not?" asked Tasslehoff innocently. "You tell me everything else. I already know about your brother, who got killed in a barroom brawl; and your uncle, who was one of the Supreme Council before he was killed in the gladiatorial arena; and your cousin's wife, who got into an argument with a metalsmith, who pulled a knife and . . . Hey, did it ever occur to you that your family might be cursed? Everybody seems to get killed." Tas paused, happily licking bran meal off the wooden spoon. He knew by now that he had to stop talking in order to coax a reply from Dogz.
"So why did they stop torturing me?"
"It is because the Nightmaster is sending a high emissary to interrogate you," rumbled Dogz.
"A what?"
"One of the chief disciples of his cult."
"Oh. Is that good or bad?"
Dogz's face creased in thought. "I do not know," he said honestly, "but it is a great honor for Lacynos to host him. It is rare that the Nightmaster sends one of the High Three all the way from Karthay. I cannot remember the last time."
"Why doesn't he come himself?" asked Tasslehoff.
Dogz emitted a long, low chuckle, showing yellowed teeth. "The Nightmaster rarely leaves Karthay," answered Dogz. "Karthay is his domain."
"Have you ever seen him?"
"Of course not," snorted Dogz.
'Then how do you know he exists?"
Dogz scowled. "That is not funny at all, friend Tas. He is the highest priest of our religion. He is a direct link to Sargonnas, the god we worship."
"Hmm," said Tas. "Sargonnas, consort of Takhisis . . ." Tas finished licking the spoon and pushed it and the bowl back under the barred cell.
"Yes," said Dogz enthusiastically. "Faithful servant of the Queen of Darkness. I did not know you were so knowledgeable about the gods of Krynn."
"Oh, I dabble in lots of things. I pick up a little information wherever I go—speaking of which, if this Nightmaster lives on the island of Karthay and never leaves, what is he so busy doing there?"
Dogz hesitated, then shook his head.
A shout came from above. Tas recognized the voice of Sarkis, who was never far away, especially when he had a chance to order Dogz around.
Looking flustered, Dogz grabbed the spoon and empty bowl, then hurried back up the stairs.
* * * * *
One day not long afterward, Dogz brought ordinary, disgusting gruel again. Tas guessed it was a sign that the Nightmaster's high emissary had arrived.
Later that day, a group of minotaurs thundered down the steps to look at Tasslehoff. Apart from a couple of familiar torture masters, they included Sarkis, looking humble and outranked by Cleef-Eth, and a newcomer who was distinct from the others.
Tas studied the newcomer closely. He appeared to be a kind of shaman, young and bulging with muscles, dressed in fur and feathered headgear. His horns were massive, almost brushing the high ceiling.
The others seemed to defer to the shaman, who paced back and forth, cocking his head this way and that at Tasslehoff.
"Look lively, kender," growled Sarkis. "You have an important visitor."
The shaman minotaur looked up, frowning. Cleef-Eth threw Sarkis an annoyed glance.
Always happy for company, Tas did his best to look bright and attractive for the important visitor, which was quite a challenge, considering that he was covered with healing wounds, his clothes were in tatters, and his feet were bare and blistered. He gazed up into the face of the important visitor, who gazed intently back at him.
"We've tried everything on the little nuisance, Fesz," complained Cleef-Eth to the shaman. "He just won't cooperate. I think it best to kill him and be done with it."
"You are not paid to think," rumbled Fesz, almost gently, Tas thought. "If you were, your pay would be very low indeed."
Cleef-Eth snorted but didn't say anything. Fesz turned back to the barred cell. As the kender didn't quite come up to the huge minotaur's chest, Fesz squatted down on his knees and peered directly into the face of the kender.
Tas smelled the minotaur's fetid breath, his foul armpits, his rank strips of furred clothing, but he was too well-mannered to mention any of this just now.
"You are such a handsome sprite of a fellow," purred Fesz, reaching out with his big, sinewy
