In which the battle is joined between Our Protagonist and his hated foe, a final resolution of sorts is reached, a final revelation of sorts is made, and a final meal, of sorts, is served.

Or rather, Gildentongue drove his taloned claw into the space where Toede should have been, had the hobgoblin truly been standing on the throne. Instead, Gildentongue drove his hand into the hallway mirror Toede and Groag had positioned on the seat.

The glass surface of the mirror spider-webbed and shattered, raining shards of glass in all directions. The mirror's metal backing ruptured under his claws, and three of his talons pierced the steel entirely. Gildentongue cursed and tried to shake the metal from his hand. Small wounds laced across his scaled skin, but they were minor scratches that welled with blood and would swiftly heal.

There was a low, mocking whistle behind him. Toede stepped out of his hiding place among the dead bodies, crossbow tucked under his arm. Toede looked as if he were one of the landed gentry out shooting coneys. Tilting the mirror on the throne, to create the illusion of his presence there, was an old trick, more suitable for a traveling show than anything else, but it had proved effective.

Toede laughed as Gildentongue attempted to disengage himself from the shards of the mirror. This infuriated the

draconian further, such that steam was leaking upward from each nostril. Toede raised the crossbow and…

Gildentongue disappeared with the soft popping of a soap bubble.

Toede hesitated for a second. Had Gildentongue magically moved, or…

The frame of the mirror, still on the throne, moved slightly, as if an unseen hand was trying to extricate itself. Which was exactly what was happening.

Toede aimed at the wobbling frame and shot.

Gildentongue reappeared as the arrow struck him and bounced off his scaly hide.

It was Gildentongue's turn to laugh. "Arrows, little goblin? You'll need better to pierce my skin."

He reached down to pick up the arrow, noticing that it ended in a broad-headed, inverted cone, with the wide end striking first. A fowling arrow, used by hunters to knock down birds relatively unharmed. The head was smeared with some gummy substance that had left a mark the size of a steelpiece on his chest. Without thinking, Gildentongue touched it. It felt like resin.

"Not arrows alone," came the shout from beyond the iron doors, where Toede had now retreated. "I took the liberty to coat them with a very potent contact poison. Should work even through your hide. Especially if you have any cuts…" The voice broke up in mocking laughter.

Gildentongue looked at his clawed hand, radiating with a fine tracery of blood from the broken mirror. He felt the room close in on him, then shook off the effect. Suggestion was as deadly as reality when it came to combat. Tell a warrior he is poisoned, and he acts as such. Mentally Gildentongue cataloged the poisons in the house and figured there would be more than enough time to seek the proper healing magics.

More than enough time, once he had twisted Toede's head from his shoulders and given it to the city's lamp-urchins to use as a kick-ball.

Still, Gildentongue felt woozy and resolved to take no more chances. He wrapped himself in his cloak and muttered a few words, moving from there, near the throne, back to here on the near side of the pit, by the doorway. He hesitated and stepped slowly into view.

And stepped back quickly as a bolt winged through the opening, clattering behind him in the darkness. Gildentongue stepped forward again, but by the time he had entered the main hall, Toede already had another bolt drawn. The broad head of the fowling arrow dripped with some ichorous, spongy substance.

The draconian held up his hands. 'Talk?" he suggested, smiling, his sharp teeth glowing scarlet in the flickering torchlight.

Toede kept the bolt leveled on Gildentongue's chest, about fifteen feet away. "So talk."

'To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Gildentongue asked smoothly. The back of his mind was curling like a snake, ready to strike.

"This is my house, and you have taken my position," said Toede. "What else needs to be said?"

"Is that all this is," queried the draconian, "a question of hierarchy? Why, my friend, I was just holding the seat for you. A regency, as it were. Check the records, you'll see. I never thought you truly dead." The back of the dra-conian's brain reached out to the hobgoblin, whispering hypnotically. "I'm a friend. Put down the weapon and let me come closer."

"I was dead," said Toede, looking the draconian full in the face. "But I'm back to… to…" His voice seemed to lose some of its coherence as the effects of Gildentongue's mental abilities began to infiltrate his brain. 'To be made a nobleman," he said, shaking off the sudden drowsiness.

"Then let me help," said the draconian, taking one step ahead, then another, into the center of the room, closer to the little highmaster. Gildentongue could feel the energies tingling through his palms. He would blast the flesh from this creature's body and make a chair of the bones. "I can put a good word in, set things up with the highlords. We can finalize that brevet promotion. First thing in the morning."

The crossbow began to dip, and Gildentongue took another half-step forward. Toede shook his head like a drunkard, trying to shake off the bees that seemed to have lodged in the back of his head. "Not in the morning," he slurred. "Now."

Whether the command was intentional, accidental, or some part of Toede's subconscious straining to escape Gildentongue's mental control, it worked. Groag had been watching the entire proceedings from above with the interest of a youth watching a snake hypnotize a bird, but when Toede said 'now' his companion reacted immediately, as he had been ordered.

Groag shoved the first parcel, the dusty one, off the balcony, onto the draconian below.

It fell like a gray comet, a tail of black dust streaming behind it. The draconian was not hit by it, for it landed at his feet and erupted in a huge ball of small granules that danced in the air and stuck to living flesh.

It was a burning, acrid cloud of strong spice, pepper to be exact.

Gildentongue was trapped in a huge cloud of the harsh, abrasive grindings. The draconian sneezed, if the act of trying to expel one's own lungs out one's nostrils could be considered mere sneezing. He waved at the pepper cloud and doubled over in pain as the dust caught in his eyes and nostrils.

Toede was far enough away to avoid the bulk of the explosion, but his eyes began watering as well, bringing him briskly back to the real world. Cursing himself for letting his guard down, Toede fired a shot at the weaving lizard-man form. At this range hitting anything was easy, and Toede caught the draconian in the face with the fowling arrow. There were two arrows left in the case, and Toede retreated to the right, edging up the grand staircase. As the cloud began to subside, Toede could see that Gildentongue was already gathering his wits about him. Lights pulsed and danced on the creature's fingertips, and Abyss-born eyes now regarded him. "You die now," Gildentongue gagged.

Toede looked directly above Gildentongue's head and shouted, "Again!"

Groag threw the second package, the one with the vials, off the balcony.

Gildentongue spun and shouted, "Not again!" He probably meant to say, "You'll not catch me by the same trick twice," but there was only so much time between when a satchel is tossed and when it strikes the ground. In that brief time Gildentongue managed to lash out with balls of greenish energy from each palm, an attack originally intended for Lord Toede but easily pressed into service to handle a falling package of noxious spices.