by Jeff Grubb
Toede felt strengthened as he walked. His left shoulder was useless, but the pain had subsided to a dull ache. Same for his side, though the bruise might be permanent, and if he breathed deeply he could feel a loosened rib sliding against its neighbor. Still, he was ambulatory, so he stalked forward, sword in his one good hand, minotaur axe clutched in the other.
Up close, Groag Hall (at least, that's what the carving along the granite frieze announced) looked like three or four architectural styles that had not really merged, but collided in the dead of night at some unmarked crossroads. Parts of the old gray stone front remained, but this was bolstered by a white granite colonnade in the High Istar style. Some glasswork of the Hopsloth period survived, ornamented by a set of needlelike spires that rivaled Silvanesti. A dome hung over the center building like a crystalline turtle glued to the roof.
Ugly as sin, Toede thought, and definitely an improvement.
The broad steps, replaced after Jugger's ruinous charge, were some type of tinted concrete, but made of shoddy material and already flaking.
The original doors were still present, and Toede pulled them open, expecting Groag's honor guard to be waiting for him. Instead, nothing happened, and Toede wandered into the entry hall.
The hall was a suitable restoration of the original, complete with balcony and stairs winged to each side, framing the large iron doors of the central court. Groag must have had it rebuilt.
Still no one, not even a zombie.
Toede pulled open the last doors, the heavy iron ones (apparently pulled from wherever Hopsloth's priests had stashed them). The audience hall was similar to the one Toede had presided over. The furnishings were as rich, at least, and dominated by a great handwoven rug in the center, directly before the throne. The only major change was the dome above that cast a wide circular pool of light on the rug. For the first time the brightness made Toede aware that it was nearly midday.
On the far side of the light, a small figure was bunched up on the throne. "'Lo, Toede," said a familiar, small voice.
"'Lo, Groag," said the former highmaster. "How's tricks?"
A deep sigh came from the shadows. Lord Groag leaned forward. Toede saw that his former lackey's face was now lined and careworn, his form nearly skeletal, and his eyes bloodshot. Such an appearance cheered Toede tremendously.
"So it comes to this." Groag motioned weakly. "Come forward. We need to discuss what happens next."
Toede took two steps forward, to the edge of the hand-woven rug. Then he hefted the axe painfully in his left hand. "As a sign of goodwill, I leave my most dangerous weapon behind." And he threw it on the rug.
The axe and the rug both vanished as the trapdoor beneath flung open. Toede heard a splash.
He tilted an eyebrow and circled the pit. "A for effort," he said.
"F for phooey," responded Groag sulkily, and settled back into the shadows.
"Sharks?"
"Crocodiles," said Groag. "Give me credit for some imagination."
But not much, thought Toede. Instead he said, "We're alone?"
Groag nodded. "When word spread that the undead were attacking from the north, that our ally the necromancer had double-crossed us, the loyalest of the loyal headed to battle, while the bulk headed for the docks. But the captain goes down with his ship."
"That's a myth put out by those who are not captains," said Toede. "And the necromancer did not double-cross you so much as double-cross everyone. He's on nobody's side but his own. He hoped to turn Flotsam into a necropolis, a city of the dead."
Groag leaned forward. For a moment Toede thought the smaller hobgoblin was going to take a leap into the pit. Instead, the lord of the manor rocked back and forth, sobbing. "I tried so hard!"
"Sometimes effort isn't enough," said Toede coolly, circling around the pit, his sword poised. "Remember how hard I tried, the first time, only to be laughed at and goaded?" He was three steps away from a sword thrust good enough to end Groag's whining once and for all. Two steps. One step.
"Would it help if I said I was sorry?" asked Groag suddenly.
"Pardon?" said Toede, staying his hand for the moment. "About leaving you in the hole," sobbed Groag. "And exploiting your name to take over Flotsam. I'm sorry. I mean it. I was angry at you for deserting me, and wanted to hurt you. Badly. And then that vision, that angel in blue, appeared and told me of my destiny. I thought I finally had been recognized for my own ability. Of course after I made it to the top, that dratted book turned up, and I was afraid you'd come back early and were planning to have me killed. I cut all these deals and plotted with the necromancer and hired mercenaries and now everyone is going to die, and it's all my fault."
Pity touched Toede's heart, pity that Groag, a natural follower, had made the mistake of seizing leadership. Perhaps it would be better to let him live, to just let him leave. Still, that would make Groag a live enemy, as opposed to a dead martyr. "I…" He hesitated for a moment, then continued, "I don't think it's entirely your fault."
Groag was silent. "I suppose you want your chair back."
Toede heard the groaning of iron hinges and cast a glance back toward the door. "I think we'll have to put that off," he said, "at least for a little while."
The doors had swung backward to reveal a dozen shambling forms: gnoll, human, and kender. Rogate had been too late to spread the warning. The necromancer's spell had already spread through the city. The undead had multiplied, were everywhere.
Groag's eyes widened as he saw the necromancer's minions shuffle forward. "Know of any good miracles, Lord Toede?"
Toede hefted his sword. He wondered how long he could last in combat before his damaged rib slid into his lung. "I'm fresh out, Lord Groag," said Toede. "Wish I had one handy."
That was when the lightning struck, and she appeared, floating in a ball of brilliant light. Her flesh was mirrored silver, and she was carrying a blade so dark it hurt to gaze at its ebony blackness. Her hair was the color of flaming blood; her eyes gleamed. Toede, Groag, and even the zombies had to shield their eyes from her feral appearance.
The world held its breath. Judith had arrived in Ansa-lon.
"When will you learn," Toede heard Groag say, "to stop saying things like that?"
Chapter 26
A being of extradimensional power materializes. A star chamber is called, witnesses are brought forth, the matter of betting is discussed, and a judgment is made, all in a manner of speaking.
"I am Judith," said the silvery figure in a booming tone that caused the glass walls and dome to vibrate. "Lieutenant and servant to her Dark Ladyship, Takhisis. Let all who witness me quake in peril!"
The hell-maiden spun, regarding the two figures by the throne with an icy glare. Words dripped like acid from her lips. "Where is the one named Toede?"
Toede wanted to point to Groag, but his wounded arm stopped him. Groag in the meantime had pointed at Toede, and taken two polite steps back.
Toede sighed, meekly stepping forward. "I… am…" He cleared his voice and tried again. "I am Toede."
Judith regarded the hobgoblin crossly. "Are you not supposed to be dead?"
Toede nodded. "I tried, but it wouldn't take." He managed a weak smile that withered under the hell-maiden's glare like a fresh posie tossed into a maelstrom. She looked insulted at the very idea that anyone would dare to jest in her presence.
One of the zombies behind Judith tried to lunge at her, only to pass through the multicolored sphere surrounding her and disintegrate into myriad pieces.
Judith seemed to take notice of the undead for the first time at that point, and waved a hand dismissively. The zombies exploded. Not with a roar of fury and streaming of rotted intestines, but with large holes erupting from their chests and soft puffs of air that sounded like popcorn roasting over a fire. The zombies slumped silently to the floor.
'These are yours?" she asked crossly, apparently looking for more evidence of Toede's impertinence.
"Uh, no!" said Toede quickly
, passing a hand over his heart to ascertain that it was still beating. "They… er… belong to a rival of ours"-he indicated himself and Groag-"who is overrunning our city with his undead."
"Please, most powerful lady!" interrupted Groag, falling to his knees. "Please save our city! The necromancer's forces will kill everyone! I was a fool to have trusted him, but they'll all die unless you help."
The shining maiden of the Abyss did not deign to smile. "Why," she asked, "in the name of the Dark Lady herself would I want to stop the undead from slaying every living being here?"
"Because… ah… because…" Groag stammered to a halt.
"Because you are letting one small evil destroy a greater potential evil," put in Toede. "This city is the greatest repository of malice and mischief on the Blood Sea. No bloody-handed madmen, mind you, no great armies of foul-spawned warriors, no megalomanic world-conquerors, but petty evil, venal evil, and greedy evil. This town has been a haven for pirates, con men, thieves, and all manner of ne'er-do-wells and outcasts, along with crooked merchants, mercenaries, and yes, a few madmen, or mad-beings. It is a spawning ground for ill will and evil activity, for hatred and corruption, and unless action is taken and taken quickly, it will be replaced with the silence of the grave, and the shambling of the zombies' tread."
Toede was winded from his long exposition and had to bite the inside of his mouth to avoid saying more. Judith had closed her eyes halfway through his discourse. Now she opened them, and Toede saw they glowed with the crimson fire of the hearth. "Your argument has merit. Evil turns on itself all too often in this world. The appeal is granted."
She waved a hand. The two hobgoblins heard the sound of popping corn in the courtyards outside, growing in intensity as it swept outward, and reaching a crescendo with a loud bang that sounded like the detonation of a gnomish invention.
That would be the whale, thought Toede.
Judith's steely gaze returned to the former highmaster of Flotsam. "As I stated before, you are supposed to be dead."
Toede nodded. "Yes. I have died. Three times now, each time in painful fashion, and each time was restored to life again. Are you the agent of my recovery, the torturer whose task it is to send me here time and again?" he asked.
Then Judith did something very surprising. She laughed. It was not the merry laugh of the party-goer, or the demure chuckle of the debutante, but loud, rollicking laughter that seemed to start in the Abyss and work its way to the surface with the force of a mounting earthquake. Toede took two steps backward. Groag moved for the shelter of the throne.
"I am not such an agent," said Judith. "Witness those fools responsible for your reanimation."
There was another sphere of multicolored lightning, and two twisted and shackled figures materialized in the throne room. They were manacled together, the metal bands around their wrists and ankles still glowing from some recent die in the furnace.
The pair were in obvious pain, yet still capable of standing upright. They looked like some type of winged lizard men or draconians with long, horselike faces. They sweated and smelled like burned blood. Though of similar breed, they were different in that one was tall and rail-thin, the other short and portly. Their appearance tickled something deep within Toede's memory.
"Witness the agents of your reanimation," repeated Judith. "These are two petty bureaucrats of the Abyss. The Castellan of the Condemned, and the Abbot of Misrule. They are charged in this court with shirking their duties, abusing their positions, idleness, gambling, and unauthorized return of the dead to life. All are serious crimes."
Toede looked at the pair and remembered the two shadowy godlike forms-Mountain-tall and Sea-wide-from his dreams. "They told me to live nobly," he said.
"Live nobly," hissed Judith. "And they gambled on your success. So tell me, my petty fiends, who won your bet?"
Both abishai looked embarrassed. The Castellan ventured meekly, "I think I did."
The enraged hell-maiden regarded him harshly. "And your reasoning is…?"
"Ah, well," said the Castellan, sounding a little like Renders. "He has embarked on a noble mission, as you can clearly see."
The taller abishai chuckled, and Judith turned her attention to him. "And what are your reasons for saying this Toede has not learned nobility?"
The Abbot blanched and stammered. "Why, his very failure, repeatedly and continually, where he backstabs his allies and cheats his supposed friends. He would have turned on the very people that had helped him regain his throne had we given him another day. Indeed, he was at the point of killing his old comrade, here, one of his own species, when we interrupted."
"No, he wasn't," put in the Castellan.
"Was too!"
"Was not!"
"Silence!" bellowed Judith. "And to think that this foolishness would have continued, had not an elder juggernaut returned to our fold with stories of strange and unorthodox happenings in this land."
Jugger, thought Toede. She's talked to Jugger. He wondered what the fiendish siege engine had said about him.
Judith pressed on. "Answer me this question, then. What is nobility?"
Both of the abishai were quiet. Then the Castellan meekly ventured. "That's what we were hoping to find out."
"I see," said Judith, her eyes becoming slits. "So you began your experiment without the slightest idea of how to measure your results?"
"Well, we…" started the Castellan, then stopped when he looked into her angry face. "No, ma'am," he finished.
"Then I declare the bet over, the experiment finished," said Judith. She brandished her ebony blade and strode toward Toede. "Let this spirit return to its rest."
Toede felt his stomach drop out of his body entirely at these words. This time, he thought woozily, death would be for real and final.
"Hold!" shouted a voice from the iron doors.
Judith hesitated.
Rogate strode into the audience hall. He looked even bloodier and more tattered than his banner, which now read: TO NI. Behind him stood a small party of survivors from the battle. Renders was limping and leaning on Charka; Kronin and Taywin were bruised but otherwise unharmed; and even Bunniswot was with them, looking suspiciously untouched by the mayhem that had taken place.
"Dark envoy of the depths!" greeted Rogate. "If there is any question as to nobility, then let us have our say."
Judith regarded Rogate coolly. "Does your testimony have bearing?"
Rogate nodded. "We have fought alongside Lord Toede and can vouch for his noble deeds!"
Judith drew her sword back, and Toede felt his heart resume beating.
"Proceed," she said.
"Well, ah…" said Rogate. He was reduced to stammering, apparently having fired all his brain cells to get this far. Then he seemed to be thunderstruck by an idea. "I am of the Toedaic Knights!" he proclaimed. "And one cannot be knighted unless by a lord, so therefore Toede is noble!"
"Fallacious argument," said Judith. "If Toede is not noble, then you are not a knight. And I see more merit in arguing for his nobility than your knighthood. Appeal denied. Anyone else?"
"Wait!" puffed Rogate, reaching inside his vest. "I have this, as evidence." He pulled Groag's disk from its chain and approached the evil minion. He dropped to one knee, presenting it.
She took the disk from his hand, turning it over in her palm. "He died nobly," she read. "This is a trinket anyone can make." The disk warped and melted in her hands, dripping to the floor in thick globules. "Did you inscribe this?" she asked Rogate.
"No, sir! Uh, ma'am," said Rogate, bowing and moving backward.
"I… uh… did," said Groag meekly, from his position by the throne. "Toede lured Gildentongue off just as he was about to kill me. When it seemed Toede had perished, I had the medal inscribed in his memory."
"Did you believe him truly noble?" asked the Castellan nervously, for he had dared to interrupt his superior.
"I… I think I did," said Groag, emerging slightly from his shadow position.
<
br /> "And do you now?" pressed the Abbot, more assured in his voice than his comrade.
A moment's thought. "I… I don't know." said the hobgoblin. "I don't know what would have happened this time if you had not arrived."
"So your argument therefore states that Toede is only noble in repose," said Judith. "Dead, he was noble. Alive, he is a wild card."
"I… I guess," said Groag, not looking in Toede's direction. "We do have our falling outs now and again, you know."
Toede felt the room closing in on him.
Kronin, shaking off Taywin's hold, stepped forward. "Nobility is wisdom," he began, "and Toede's parables and sayings demonstrate his wisdom, even if his actions always do not."
Bunniswot stepped in. "You cannot rely on the words that may… uh… have deeper sources." He shot a wary look toward Judith, but when she neither interrupted nor corrected, he continued. "However, Toede showed kindness to me on a number of occasions, including directing the juggernaut elsewhere when I might have been killed.
"Last night I was supposed to kill him for Groag. Yet, Toede warned me of the necromancer's treachery. I was supposed to strike him with a poisoned needle, hidden within some false plans. And Toede realized this, for he knew Groag's true plans, and kept me from drawing my false ones and attacking him. Then he insisted on me remaining safely in camp, when he could have let me ride to my doom. Kindness and forgiveness in the face of adversity. That is nobility."
"Bravery!" bellowed Charka, getting into the swing of the discussion. "Toede is smart, but many cheats and fools are smart. Toede is brave, because he spurred battle-charge, leaped forward on his horse, and led by example."
"Ah, he had no choice," put in Renders softly, "for the necromancer contacted me and promised me great scholarly knowledge in exchange for Toede's death." Renders looked at his feet. "I'm afraid I missed and struck his horse instead."
Toede shook his head. The little spirit (who he now strongly suspected had been one of the abishai) had been correct about all the closet traitors. "It's all right," Toede muttered. "It hardly matters now."
