by Jeff Grubb
A smaller, human figure, dressed in the quilted leathers of gnollish garb, stepped out from behind the gnoll, bowed slightly, and waved.
"Ah," said Renders. "Hello, everyone." Bunniswot groaned and almost passed out again. Pity, thought Toede, the old boy was doing so well. "Greetings, Chief Boils Flesh," said Toede.
"Renders. Ah. Just Renders," said the scholar. "Charka and I worked on homonyms and multiple definitions early on."
"Charka speak good now," bellowed the gnoll. "Well," put in Renders.
"A hole in the ground that provides water," defined Charka. "Sort of a little bitty swamp."
Renders gave Toede a shrug. "Ah. There are still some rough spots."
Toede still had his sword pointed at the gnolls and the human. He lowered it but did not sheathe the weapon.
"Forgive my confusion," he said, "but the last time I saw your people, Charka, they were being rolled over by a large, heavy object."
"Yes." Charka nodded. "Night of the Flat Brothers, Charka remember it well. We had returned to our swamp to discuss your trick. Many said you fooled us, cheated us into believing scholars were powerful wizards. Some said we should attack scholars. Charka angry, too. Agreed with them. Then Renders arrived."
"Ah," put in Renders, "I'm afraid I was very disappointed in Charka's behavior, and was going to give the gnoll a piece of my mind."
"You're fortunate that Charka didn't leave pieces of your mind scattered throughout the swamp," muttered Toede.
Charka frowned. "Renders talk. Charka agree with Renders," he said. "Think that Toede told truth, that scholars were powerful. Not great in juju, but great in knowledge."
"Ah," added Renders, "after all, Charka did like my stories."
"Charka argue that scholars should stay," said the gnoll. "Brother gnolls disagreed, said Charka not fit for chiefdom. Throw-over Charka."
"Overthrow," corrected Renders.
"Over… throw," said Charka carefully. "Brother gnolls attacked and were crushed to putty by great machine. Taboo-area pillars destroyed, magic broken, no longer taboo. Other gnolls apologize to Charka, make Charka chief, Renders shaman."
"Ah," said Renders. 'They thought we summoned the Abyss-spawned creature that flattened the gnolls' attack. After a while, of course, we let it be known it was likely, ah, your doing, Toede." The old scholar paused and added, "It is Toede, isn't it?"
"The 'real Toede/ as people keep saying," said Toede.
"I've been meaning to read your book," said Renders.
"Perhaps another day," said Toede. "But Bunniswot didn't even know you two were alive, and you aren't the mysterious allies he was talking about. So why are you here?"
"Ah," said Renders. "Ah, well, we were also told to meet here."
"By whom?" said Toede.
"By me," said a sepulchral voice at the perimeter of the camp. A lone figure limped into the encampment.
It was humanoid and might once have been a man, for it had the required number of arms and legs and what would pass in most societies as a torso. However, the torso was lopsided, as if a large chunk of it had been removed under the left arm and then everything had been resewn back together. The skin of its hands was tightly pulled over a skeletal form, and its tightly drawn face was the color of water-stained parchment. The shadow of a skull could be glimpsed under the skin. As for its manner of dress, it was decked in once-resplendent robes and finery, now reduced to gray tatters dotted with fragmented gems. And it smelted like new earth disturbed by an open grave.
"Now that we are all here," said the far-off necromancer, regarding the others through the zombie's empty eyes and forcing the words through the zombie's weak throat, "we can begin this council of war."
Contrary to what the necromancer stated, they were not "all there," even discounting the several participants in general (and Rogate in particular) who would never be "all there." The figure that appeared before members of the rebellion was a dead form, animated by the spells of the dark wizard. The necromancer moved its limbs like a puppeteer, drew only sufficient breath to strum the vocal cords, and saw the surrounding world through the zombie's now-rotted eyes. The necromancer himself was present only "in spirit," as it were. His body, mind, and soul were safely locked away in his distant tower, and only his "mouthpiece" was seated among them in the garden of ruined ogre plinths.
Charka's gnoll followers were spooked by the living dead and removed themselves to the perimeter of the camp. This left Renders, Charka, the necromancer's zombie, Rogate, Taywin, Toede, and Bunniswot seated in a loose circle on overturned and partially crushed plinths. Bunniswot had recovered nicely and was now engaged in pleasant small talk with Renders.
"I must apologize for the mysterious nature of my manifestation," wheezed the zombie, "for I feared there would be…" The necromancer paused to choose his words carefully. "Repercussions… if I had used one of my more obvious agents."
"I must admit," said Bunniswot, "the individual who contacted me seemed more… lively."
"Newly dead, he was," said the necromancer, "and the… victim… of a twisted neck. He would not have been necessary had I located the anomaly through my own efforts."
"Animally?" asked Charka.
"Strangeness," defined Renders. "Something, ah, out of step with the rest of the universe."
"Gee," grumbled Toede to the assembled gnoll, kender, scholars, fanatic assassin, and zombie, "what could be considered strange and out of step in this universe?"
Six sets of eyes (including the zombie's unfocused orbs) turned toward Toede.
"Thrice you have been slain, Highmaster," said the zombie to Toede, "each time in a drastic and irreconcilable way. Yet thrice you have been restored, unmarked and unscarred, and returned to life-through no earthly agency, nor, so far as I may divine, the will of the True Gods themselves. Do you have any explanation for your return each time?"
"Unfinished business," said Toede.
"That is a matter that usually concerns ghosts," said the necromancer.
"Then blame clean living." Toede threw up his hands and ticked off options. "Or the gods lied to you. Or other forces are at work. Or there's a hole in the natural order. Or overdue library books. Sheer perversity of the keepers of the universe. All of the above. Frankly, I don't care."
"I know you do not," said the zombie, controlled by the far-off mage. "But I do. If you have a secret, and you must, I would like to learn it." The zombie coughed, sounding to Toede like a flurry of scalpels.
"And if you had found me before the kender…" began Toede.
"I would not have to be here now," finished the necromancer, "and your Allied Rebellion would have had to carry on with you only as a figurehead and a memory."
Toede decided to change the subject, before the necromancer's honeyed words seeped into his compatriots' brains. "So you called us to meet you here, and Charka's gnolls as well. You could just as easily have ambushed us, killed the others, and captured or killed me."
"A possibility," said the zombie, "but one that might be explored later on. However, I believe in omens, signs, and warnings. Last fall, I found this item on the border of my lands."
The zombie reached inside its chest (not just inside its tattered jacket, Toede noticed, but into the cavity where a beating heart would normally reside), and pulled out a medallion. He held it aloft, and it spun and glittered at the end of its chain.
The others craned to read the medallion's faces. Toede did not have to.
"One side has a picture of Hopsloth the late Water Prophet," said the zombie. "The other a crudely inscribed T, a dedication, and a date, all in the same hand. The dedication goes back to a year ago."
Toede kept his voice level. "And?" he said.
"Within a day of finding it, two of my zombies were crushed flat, and Hopsloth was found dead, and the people of Flotsam ascribed the occurrence to the actions of an individual whose name begins with a T," said the zombie. "I believe in omens and signs, Highmaster. I believe that it is better
to deal with you here and now. Those who encounter you as an enemy seem to end up in a bad way."
"Instead of a charmed life," said Toede, dryly, "I lead a charmed death."
"If you say so," responded the zombie. "I am willing to facilitate the achievement of your ends."
"Which are?" said Toede, looking innocent of any ends.
The zombie's face crinkled in what Toede assumed was an attempt at a smile. "Why, taking Flotsam back as your own domain, what else?"
What else indeed, thought Toede. Five people attempting to conquer a city was foolhardy, even if-especially if-backed up by an army of kender. He had been scanning for an escape for the past two days, with little luck. But that same assault, aided by gnolls and a powerful sorcerer skilled in the nature of undeath, and perhaps, just perhaps…
"You assume I still desire Flotsam," Toede said. "I've heard if s gotten a bit run-down in the past six months."
"You want Flotsam," said the zombie flatly. "Otherwise you never would have joined this foolish rebellion. And the other members are willing to give it back to you, since they believe they can get what they want better from you than from Groag."
"And what do they want?"
"Have you asked them?" said the zombie, with the same face-crinkling smile. "They probably talk of rights and grievances and vengeances, but they all want something. What do you think it is?"
Toede looked at the others, who seemed lost in somber thought. Then Taywin said, "Permission." "Excuse me?" said Toede.
"Permission," repeated Taywin, her brow furrowed. "The kender are hunted as poachers and thieves, not only by Groag but by his predecessors. Including you. The kender want to hunt and fish in the lands claimed by Flotsam, should we win."
Toede was silent for a moment. "Done," he said at length, "provided that merchants and agents of the local lord are not harassed." Taywin nodded, and Toede thought immediately of five ways to frame the kender and be done with them in the long run.
Charka put in his two coins' worth next. "Charka want to go to Flotsam. Not just Charka, but Charka's people. Not just Charka's people, but other people who are not Charka's."
"You mean lift the ban on humanoids?" said Toede.
"Yes," Charka replied. "Books are in Flotsam, and Charka cannot get to them. Lift ban, and Charka's people fight for Toede."
Toede nodded. "Done." Renders patted Charka on the arm.
"Who's next?" asked the zombie.
Rogate spoke up. "I live only to serve Lord Toede, and accept whatever role he chooses for me."
The necromancer made a wheezing (if rude) noise. "No one honestly believes such."
Toede stepped in. "Rogate does. That's enough for me. He has already been knighted for his efforts and loyalty.
Bunniswot?"
"I live only to serve," said the young scholar, spreading his hands.
"I'd buy that from Rogate," said Toede, "but not you. You already have a position of some minor importance in Groag's court. Why risk helping us?"
Bunniswot was silent. "Maybe I want to be a part of history. A part of change," he said at last.
"Maybe you want to play at being the lord's advisor, moving the pieces around the board at your own whims?" suggested Toede.
"I'm insulted," said Bunniswot (bingo, thought Toede). "At most I want your input into the history I will write about your life and career."
"Done," said Toede. Having gone through the list, the hobgoblin returned the conversation to its starting place. "And you, Necromancer, what do you want?"
"There are casualties in every conflict," said the zombie. "Their deaths will swell my ranks. I will not dissemble to inferiors, so I tell you that I foresee many deaths in this conflict. I demand all the bodies of the dead after the battle is over."
Toede shot a look at the other members of the rebellion. Charka was scowling, but both Rogate and Taywin were nodding-the hard, cold-faced agreement of soldiers to whom death was no stranger. Renders looked as though he had swallowed part of his ear, and Bunniswot was going pale once again.
The zombie ignored all this. "Also, I want your body."
"You're not my idea of a suitable mate," said Toede.
"You jest," said the necromancer, not jesting. "If you perish in the assault, I want your physical remains. Among other things, I am curious whether you are able to return with or without your body, or to the same location in your next life. Purely scientific interest."
"Purely," said Toede, thinking that the necromancer could build an army of hobgoblin bodies should Toede kick off every six months. Then another image crossed his brain, of an undead Toede sitting on the throne of Flotsam, controlled by the necromancer.
"Only if I perish in battle," Toede qualified. Even through the mask of undead flesh Toede could detect the flicker of greed.
"Done," said the necromancer. "How soon before the kender can mass at the edge of Flotsam's fields?"
Taywin looked at the zombie. "Three days, maybe four."
"Make it three," said the necromancer. The auguries are right for three days hence. In the morning, south of the city, where the walls are still ruined. Will the gnolls be ready for a fight?"
"Charka always ready!"
"Meet the kender there the night before," said the zombie. "My forces will be ready the next morning. Are there any questions?" There was only silence from the other members of the rebellion.
"Good." The zombie pitched forward, dissolving into dust as it fell. Its bones landed and shook apart where it struck the ground.
Rogate fished the amulet from the now-truly-dead creature's stiff fingers.
"What an odd and unpleasant individual," sniffed Renders.
"Aye," said Toede. "But at least he is one I can understand."
Chapter 24
In which Our Protagonist receives much advice from many visitors on the night before the battle, and we witness the Last Temptation of Toede.
The next two days passed quickly, what with the preparations for war. In the case of the kender this consisted of a number of parties and rallies, and several long explanations as to why they could not take everything that might be useful into battle. There were a surprising number of cast-iron frying pans that had been pressed into temporary service as maces and cudgels that now needed to be returned to their original owners. Sometimes Toede felt he was leading a grade-school outing as opposed to a military operation.
The others were little help. Bunniswot returned to Flotsam (over Toede's objections, but with the approval of the others) to keep an eye on Groag and report any major troop movements. With her father, Taywin handled the daily routine of drilling the kender troops (making sure they all charged in the same direction). Rogate was good for pep talks but still lousy for tactics. Charka and Renders were gathering their forces, while the necromancer remained decidedly aloof.
Toede threw himself into the preparations with halfhearted zeal, spending his evenings studying "his" text on the philosophy of government. Bunniswot had given him the magically lighted stone, but even with that advantage, he made slow progress. The margins were filled with Bunniswot-inspired gloss, explaining, for example, what Toede truly meant by the story of the shepherdess and the three priests of Hiddukel. His explanations were almost as dense and detailed as the text itself, though not nearly as amusing.
Throughout it all, the back of Toede's mind struggled with the nagging question: What happens when it goes wrong this time? Not if. When. Even with a dragon high-lord's army under his command, there was always a chance that something would go wrong. That the third enemy warrior on the left wasn't just some peasant, but the grandson of a wizard, and in the middle of the battle would start flinging fireballs. Or that the enemy standard was really a gold dragon. Or that one's own troops would have a sudden case of the chills, the gout, the mange, or dropsy.
And that was with trained troops, such as the professionals Groag would have at his beck and hire. With this lot-well, Toede planned on using gnolls as shock troops, the k
ender as skirmishers and streetfighters, and the necromancer's unnamed and unnumbered forces as the cavalry, if the others got repulsed, to cover their retreat.
Toede supposed it could be worse. They could be gnomes.
The highmaster explained the general outline of the attack to Rogate, Taywin, Kronin, Charka, and Renders. They nodded and agreed, since it met with their own racial tendencies. The gnolls would have smashed themselves against the walls if they thought it would work, and the kender liked the idea of fighting from a lot of cover. Rogate liked the idea of anything smacking of holy vengeance, and left with Kronin to inspect the troops (again). Renders just nodded and pretended as if he understood.
None of the five other leaders noted what Toede considered to be the hallmark of his plan-namely, that it put the
bulk of his army between him and Groag's forces in Flotsam. If Groag's mercenaries and guards folded as precipitously as Bunniswot seemed to think they would, then the city would be seized without his presence on the front line.
If, as Toede suspected, Groag gave a last-minute pep-talk in the form of emptying the treasury's coffers for the troops, and the attack failed, then he wanted to be as far away from the scene as possible.
The assault would take place along the south, at the ruined sections of the wall that Jugger had created and Groag had insufficiently repaired. The western half of the city would be ignored; the idea was to charge the Rock and taken out the existing government (meaning Groag and his flunkies) with minimum losses.
And minimum meant Toede intended to stay alive. He flirted with the idea of just sneaking out of camp now, heading for the dwarven cabin in the hills, and finding out later from some passing skald who won. After all, a live coward is better than a dead hero.
No, he decided, if he did that, then probably they would win, and it would be Kronin who would rule Flotsam and Toede who would be caught for poaching. That was the way his life (or lives) was working out of late.
As it turned out, Toede was not the only one concerned about the survival of a rebellion member. He was talking with Taywin over the remains of the evening meal when Charka dropped to their eye-level with a squatting thud, interrupting their discourse.
