Toede took a torch and entered, stepping as gingerly as possible over the fresher-looking corpses. There were a large number of humans, but also kender, elves, and not a few hobgoblins. Toede could guess the fate of his loyal supporters and now understood why the populace seemed so supportive of Gildentongue. Just the rumor of such a place would inspire either fearful praise or revolution.

"It looks like a battlefield," said Groag.

"Battlefields are seldom this bountiful," replied Toede. "Hi-ho. This is different."

He stood over a wide, square hole punched into the flagstone floor. It was about fifteen feet square and opened into darkness. There was the slosh of water below.

"It's the chute to Hopsloth's lair," said Toede, who then canted his head and let his voice go chirpy. "Hoppppp-sloth! You there, boy?" He clicked his tongue a few times.

Something dark and malodorous broke the water like a dead kraken bobbing in an ebony sea. Twin orbs opened, throwing back the torchlight like accesses to the very Abyss.

"Miss me, Hopsloth?" asked Toede.

The response was a deep, enthusiastic belch.

"We'll be ri-ight back after we deal with that na-asty old Gildentongue, okay, Hopsey?"

There was another slosh of water, and the twin fires closed.

Groag looked at his lord and said, "Hopsey?"

Toede cleared his throat. "Well, it's obvious the aurak's been treating him poorly. Probably just takes him out for show. And smell this place."

Groag nodded at the hole. "Gildentongue… he bored the chute in the floor to dispose of…"-he waved at the carnage in the abattoir around them-"… all this?"

Toede shook his head. "Does 'all this' look disposed of to you? Auraks like to kill things. You saw it this afternoon. It's one of those personal habits that endears them to the dragon highlords. They just aren't all that hot on cleaning up after they're done playing with their food. Poor Hopsloth. Trapped down there, a religious icon, with all this food up here." He sighed and tossed what may have been a leg down into the water. There was a splash of impact and the larger splash of something submerging beneath the surface.

"See that. Starving," noted Toede. "But Gildentongue didn't bore the hole as much as remove the trapdoors that I had already installed. It was a great trick for retainers who met my disfavor." He did not notice Groag's pained reaction. "You call them into a private audience, throw the lever, and catch the look on their faces as the floor drops out beneath them."

Groag, the favor-currying retainer, looked around. "I guess if s too late to recommend we go someplace else for the rest of our lives."

Toede grabbed his companion by the shoulders. "You have nothing to fear, Groag," he lied calmly. "Gildentongue will be after me first, and that's the way we both want it. All you have to do is hide up on the balcony. When I shout 'now' you throw the first satchel. When I shout 'again' you throw the one with glass in it. Got that?"

Groag nodded his head.

'Then you run," said Toede. If his plan didn't work, it would be better to have two hobgoblins running around the city as opposed to one. Not that Groag would live that long, but his dead body might throw off the search for Toede's live one.

Groag nodded again. "Right. Now what?"

"We get a mirror from the upstairs hall. Then we throw the dead bolt on the front door. And we wait."

Gildentongue returned from the Lower City alone, as he could make better time on his own than with a retinue of mewling humans. The captain would make a sufficiently tasty meal, he decided, for dragging him out at ten bells for the wild goose chase to the Jetties. Now it was nearly midnight. The messenger, the soldier from the north, he would die first, then the captain. No, the toadying innkeep of the Jetties, the messenger, and then the captain.

Or all three at once, he thought, smiling, as he waved his way past the guards at the Rock Gate. The guards saluted and stepped aside, as it was obvious even to them that Lord Gildentongue was not in the best of moods. Indeed, steam seemed to puff from the creature's dragon-like muzzle, and energies already were radiating from his balled fists.

It had to be Toede, Gildentongue realized. No one else would care to imitate the old highmaster. And since most of his old court was now part of Gildentongue's "collection" there were few left who knew the city well enough to get around. The old wart probably had a secret passage burrowed into the Rock for just this purpose. The Jetties was just a diversion.

Only Toede would have the stones to commandeer his own manor house and send for Gildentongue to meet him there. "Old friend," indeed.

If Toede was in the manor house, the outside chance existed that the hobgoblin would enlist Hopsloth as an ally. Gildentongue had never liked the amphidragon much, though it had obvious uses. Perhaps it was time to add a few poisonous spices to the beast's next meal. It wasn't as if anyone needed to see the smelly frog-dragon anymore in order to venerate "the Water Prophet." Probably be better for the faith if the faithful had to use their imaginations a little more.

There were a pair of guards at the front door of the manor, who quickly and quietly melted away on his approach. The shutters were closed, but he could see that someone had lit torches or lamps within. He pulled on the double doors, one handle tightly gripped in each hand.

The doors pulled a half inch forward, then stopped. Gildentongue could see the dead bolt in place.

Someone. Toede. He had been assured the little beast was dead, but somehow, like an unlucky coin, he had resurfaced.

Gildentongue considered ripping open the doors with raw strength, but held himself in check. Such rages were typical, and there was no point in destroying his own lair. There were subtler ways.

Gildentongue wrapped himself in his cloak and muttered a few words, moving quickly from here on one side of the door to there on the other side. He did it within the course of a single breath and poised ready for attack in the main hallway.

He looked around. Torches had been lit in the hall, casting scarlet shadows on the bloodstained floor. He nosed the air for a moment-no, no alien magics were present- nothing illusionary or invisible at work here, either.

The iron doors to his private room were ajar. Fewer lights there, a pair of braziers set before the chute down to Hopsloth's muck-pit. On the far side of the pit the old throne still stood on a low dais, and standing on the seat of that throne…

… Toede, looking quite contented with himself.

"Come on in," shouted the squat little creature. "Mind the chute. And thanks for keeping my place warm."

Gildentongue snarled as Toede's words echoed through the hall. The idea of gripping Toede's face like an overripe melon, driving his thumb-claws into the tatters of the hobgoblin's eye sockets, appealed to him. But all things have their time and place, and first he would have to trick and trap his prey.

Gildentongue wrapped himself in his cloak and muttered a few more words, moving quickly from here by the doorway to there on the other side of the pit, directly in front of the dais. He did it within the course of a single breath, and upon emerging on the other side, immediately lashed out, driving his clawed talon into Toede's heart.