"And you haven't told Renders because…"

"Oh, Gilean's book and bladder, I can't. He showed so much faith in this project, and all I have to show for it is…"

"Ogre pornography," said Toede, shaking his head. "Not that this should depress you any further, but there are bloodthirsty gnolls to worry about now."

"What shall I do? What can I do?" moaned Bunniswot, staring at the debris in his tent.

"What you would do anyway?" said Toede, realizing that Bunniswot in his present condition was not high on the list of prospective survivors of the upcoming massacre. "Pack as much as you can, particularly your… er, translations, while I wake the others. Then have them bury the chest, but not so deep that water can't get to it. Then you wait several years before coming back and discover your notes have been destroyed. You reconstruct as much as possible, but of course, the gist of it is lost. Your reputation is saved, not to mention your life."

Bunniswot shook his head for a moment, then said quietly, "That could work."

"Goood," purred Toede, edging to the opening of the tent. "I'll wake Renders and get everyone else."

Once outside in the cool autumn darkness, Toede fought the urge to double over in laughter. It was unbelievable what humans would worry about when faced with extinction. This experience made his third life worth living, regardless of whatever happened next. Maybe it would be worth saving these humans after all, just to watch Bunniswot go crazy trying to hide his little off-color secret from the others.

"Ogre love poems," he chuckled, heading for Renders's tent.

"Ah. Quite impossible, you realize," said Renders, stroking his beard. "We couldn't pack sufficiently in darkness, even given a, ah, day or so. There is too much left to be done."

It was ten minutes and one quick explanation after Toede left Bunniswot to his fate of "publish and/or perish." Renders was being more difficult than the hobgoblin had deemed possible. Once more, the hobgoblin was on the verge of abandoning the thick-headed humans to their fate.

Instead Toede argued, "Lef s recapitulate. A huge horde of hundreds of gnolls is about to attack at dawn, maybe…" He made some mental calculations about Groag's ability to hold out. "Thirty minutes afterward, tops. They will be screaming for blood since you're on land they think is sacred. They will kill first, ask monosyllabic questions later. I'm leaving now and strongly recommend you do the same."

"Hmm," said Renders, continuing to stroke his beard meditatively. "No. No. We'd lose too much data, too many samples, too many pot shards. Why, ah, Bunniswof s material alone would take days to properly sort and pack."

"Bunniswot is already packing the best of his material," said Toede, imagining the fire-haired young scholar stuffing as much ogre erotica as possible into the leather trunk.

"Oh, dear," said Renders. "If he's rushed, something may be accidentally destroyed."

He should be so lucky, thought Toede, while continuing aloud, "I've done my duty. I've brought the warning, and if you're smart you'll withdraw to Flotsam."

"Wait a tic," said Renders. "You said the gnolls were coming from the, ah, the north, down the path we've been using. Correct?"

"Right," nodded Toede, rolling his eyes.

"And the marshes are to our south and east, and are also gnoll-inhabited, eh?"

"I have had a limited exposure to the extent of the gnolls' influence, but I think it's a given that they could find us easily there," said Toede.

"So, ergo, you are trapped here with us," finished Renders, as calmly as a merchant explaining the difference between a chicken egg and a goose egg.

"Beg to differ," said Toede, already halfway to the opening of the tent. "For there's a path from the road north that leads west. Good-bye."

"Ah," said Renders. "Ah. So you don't know, then?"

At the tent opening, Toede turned again. I'm going to regret this, he thought. "Don't know what, then?"

"About the necromancer," said Renders as calmly as if he had said "about the flower shop" or "about the new maid."

I was right, Toede thought, I'm already regretting it. He raised his eyebrows and asked, "Necromancer?"

"Nasty sort," said Renders. "The first scouts we sent were returned as… ah… zombies, carrying a message that he didn't care what we did with the pillars, as long as we stayed out of his territory." Renders thought a moment. "Interesting chap-it seems he can speak through the zombies he creates, like puppets. Or marionettes. Or something like that. In any event, he rules the west."

Toede came back in, leaving the tent flap open to the cool night air. He could feel time slipping away like a handful of mud. He sat down opposite the elder scholar. "My horse wouldn't go that way," he said dully.

"Your horse is, ah, smarter than you," said Renders, not presuming to understand why Toede would have wanted to go in that direction in the first place.

"What you're saying is that we're trapped here," said Toede, mentally cursing himself for not fleeing to Flotsam earlier, not coming up with a better story, not learning about the necromancer, not leaving Charka to die in the first place, not killing himself as soon as he realized he was alive again. Pretty much everything that had occurred in the past few days of his life, he cursed.

"Well," said Renders, counting off the cardinal directions. "Marshes. Marshes. Gnoll army. Necromancer." He nodded. "Seems you are right. Trapped, that is."

A long silence fell between the two as Toede felt the mud of time in his fingers turn to water, and then to vapor. Finally, Renders said, "Perhaps you could talk to them." He ignored the cold look the highmaster gave him, which could have frozen water.

Renders continued. "After all, they are a murderous nonhuman bunch of savages, and you, well…" He motioned toward the empty air as if to say the point was obvious.

"I've learned to chew with my mouth closed, thank you," said Toede, keeping his voice in check and wondering if the gnolls would thank him if he started in on braining a few scholars now. Judging from Charka's earlier attitude toward gratitude, probably not.

"You could at least try. To talk to them," added Renders.

Or talk my way through them, thought Toede, mentally adding another notch to Charka's intelligence for advancing toward the camp along their only real line of retreat. "The problem is," said Toede, leaning back and stroking his chin. "The problem is, we need some superiority, some dominance that they might fear. Say, for example"-Toede looked at the lamplit roof of the tent-"magic. Do you have any wizards of any ability in your group?"

Renders chuckled. "In my experience, wizards aren't very willing to share their knowledge. And they're always looking for this magical item or that artifact. No, we never bring them along on a dig if we can help it."

Bloody wonderful, thought Toede. "What about warriors, someone good with a sword?"

"We had some scouts," said the older sage, "but we let them go soon after we started. Cheaper that way, with the necromancer not bothering anyone, and we didn't know about the gnolls, of course. There's always… you."

"It would be difficult for all of you to hide behind even my muscular, battle-hardened frame," said Toede, confident by this point that Renders was immune to sarcasm. "And besides, I'm not for hire, and I don't think that Groag's cooking would be reason enough for me to want to die at your side."

"Ah," said Renders, jerking himself upright. "Of course. How foolish. I was so used to dealing with the other one, the cook, that I just assumed. Hmmm, where did I put it? Ah!" The elder scholar pulled a large box out from his trunk and rummaged through it. He removed a large gem, about the size of Toede's thumbnail, and set it on the table before the hobgoblin.