It was two days' ride back to Flotsam, and Toede figured that gave him two days to convince Groag to head somewhere else, with the money and horses. One day, actually, since if Groag could not be convinced, Toede would sneak off in the dead of night without him. If Flotsam was under the control of Hopsloth, it was among the last places he wanted to go without a small army. Living nobly is one thing, but dying nobly is quite another.

The path was wide enough for the pair to ride two-abreast on their short, sturdy horses. For most of the afternoon they rode in silence. The shadows grew long as they rode in the shade of the western hills. Toede felt the farther the distance from the camp, the likelier that Groag would throw in with him. It wasn't as though they were kender slaves, after all.

It was Groag who broke the silence. "I suppose I should thank you." Toede scowled, thinking of Charka. 'Thank me?"

"You kept the draconian from killing me," said Groag. "I heard that. You called to it."

"A moment of weakness," said Toede, speaking the truth as far as it went.

"And you died in combat with it, in a burning pyre," sighed the smaller hobgoblin. "Sacrificed yourself so I might live."

"Ah," said Toede, playing with the idea of letting Groag think of him more heroically, but reluctantly abandoning it. It seemed more noble to be honest, particularly if it would help him scare Groag into going along with him. 'To be truthful, I didn't die fighting Gildentongue."

'Then you've been alive all this-" Groag started, but Toede interrupted.

"I died," said he, "but not from Gildentongue. I was… digested, for lack of a better word." Groag looked at him blankly. "Hopsloth ate me," Toede added flatly.

"Oh, my," said Groag, his voice a mixture of concern and amusement.

"It seems," continued Toede levelly, "that the assassin we fought at the Jetties had been sent by Hopsloth, not Gildentongue. My mount was… less than pleased with the idea of my glorious return, and when the devoted gate guards reported that someone claiming to be me had reappeared in the city, he took what he thought was appropriate action."

"Dumber than a bag of lampreys, you said?" chided Groag.

"You learn new things each and every day," responded Toede.

"That might explain what happened later," said Groag. Toede shot him a questioning look, and Groag continued. "After my recovery, I told my story to the scholars, or what I thought had happened. About your return from the dead, and our misadventures, and what we discovered in your manor. But I didn't know that Hopsloth had… ah… eaten you." Again the mix of bemusement and interest. "I thought you died in combat with the aurak.

"Anyway," Groag said, "with Hopsloth in charge, there have been more disappearances. Like with Gildentongue, but more important people. The priests serving Hopsloth would denounce one person or another, and a few days later, they'd be gone."

"That sounds stupid enough to be Hopsloth's doing,"

agreed Toede. "He might as well hang a sign out in front of the city saying: Tyrant begging to be iced by adventurers- Heroes of the Lance preferred."

By now the darkness was almost complete, and while the hobgoblins were not totally inconvenienced by the gathering gloom, the horses were becoming less sure in their steps. The pair stopped beneath a particularly large oak with a modicum of clear terrain at its base. Neither one sought to make a fire, since that was a human custom, and they had slept in worse conditions without benefit of bedrolls.

As the pair bedded down, Toede said, "Groag, do you think we're doing the right thing? Going back to Flotsam, I mean. It doesn't sound particularly healthy."

Groag was already bunched up in a small coil. "As right as anything. I mean, if you don't go in announcing who you are, we can likely get in and out without any problem."

"We could just take the horses and the pouch of coins and head west," said Toede, as if the idea had just occurred to him. "Have you ever been in the Solace area? Nice land, and the humans are easy to control."

There was a silence, then, "If we did that, then the scholars would probably starve."

No great loss to the world, thought Toede. He weighed his options, trying to berate Groag into joining him versus just slipping away in the dead of night. At length he said, "You're probably right," and stretched out, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Goodnight, Groag."

"Goodnight, Toede," said his companion. No title. Not lord, not highmaster, but just Toede. Toede scowled.

Toede stared above his head at the dark tracery of the bare oak branches against the night sky. He waited until Groag's breathing was regular and deep, then quietly rolled out of his own bedding.

He checked Groag and frowned, for the smaller hobgoblin had the pouch of coins clutched in his hands and resting under his chin. He'd have to abandon the money, unless he killed his companion. That was a tempting idea, but probably unnecessary under the circumstances. Groag was snoring loudly, and was deeply asleep. At length, Toede decided to take both horses and equipment, since he could sell or eat one if need be.

Besides, thought Toede, this way Groag could still get the supplies for his precious scholars. It would just take a few more days. Not that they couldn't stand to lose a few pounds.

Toede quietly untied the horses and led them a short way from the oak. One of them whickered softly but followed without further complaint. Toede was about to saddle up and ride off when all the hellish Abyss seemed to rip open and dump its contents into his life.

The first thing he was aware of was the scream, or screams, that came from all sides. Blood-curdling howls that would have frozen the blood of a lycanthrope. Then they were all around him, huge creatures swarming over him.

Had Toede mounted up and tried to ride away, he would have gotten fifteen, maybe twenty feet before a dozen spears pierced him. He didn't have the chance anyway; he was immediately swept up by a huge set of furry arms, then thrown roughly on the ground. He heard the horses neigh in panic as the wind was knocked out of him.

Then three spear points pushed roughly on his chest.

Toede looked up into the faces of three large gnolls, their faces caked with reddish mud in lines and swirls. A larger gnoll stood behind them, bellowing.

"King of Little Dead Frogs!" shouted Charka. "Charka thought you starve by now!"

Kill me now, thought Toede, careful not to voice his desire.

In which Our Protagonist makes threats he cannot carry out and promises he does not intend to keep, and also places his fate in the hands of greater powers, and is not surprised as to their performance.

The other gnolls looked at Charka, and the large gnoll barked something at them in some swamp-tongue that Toede could not follow.

Charka, draped in a broad swath of quilted armor that could have been used to make blankets for fifty kender, with a wide belt and sword hanging on the side, was more impressive now than before. A steel skullcap ornamented with a single blood-red gem was fitted between the gnoll's hyenalike ears.

Whatever Charka had said had its effect, for Toede was pulled up and frog-marched back to the oak. Other gnolls were holding Groag under spear-point guard. Toede noted the tatters of the bedrolls and decided that Charka's goons had cut his companion out, probably after Groag wrapped them tightly around himself in hopes that their attackers would ignore him.

There were about thirty gnolls, all told, dressed in quilted armor that was significantly more faded and less flashy than that worn by Charka. Charka got the best and the newest material, which indicated a stature not evident when they had first met.