"Will that do?" he asked.

Toede picked up the gem and turned it over a few times. If it were a fake, it was one that could pass his critical eye (and by connotation anyone else's, short of a dwarf's). Toede nodded, pocketing the gem. At least I'll die rich, he thought.

Toede looked out at the still-sleeping camp, thinking of recommending that the scholars just take their chances with the swamp or the necromancer. Across the dying embers of the campfire, he could see the clear light of Bunniswot's magical stone, showing the dancing shadow of the young scholar trying to re-cover that which he had so recently uncovered.

Toede smiled. "Actually, Renders, I can talk to them, but first I'll need some things from Bunniswot."

It was a few hours before dawn. Groag was still seated beneath the oak, watching his fingers. He flexed them, wiggled them, and in the likely event that Toede would not reappear, bid them a fond farewell.

Such pleasant hands, he thought, pity they're going to be gone soon, and all because of that rat-bastard Toede. At least he (Groag) had thought better than to tell his captors outright that Toede was likely going to head for the high country as soon as inhumanly possible. There could still be a chance for a miracle rescue, up to the point of the first hatchet-fall on his digits.

He was being watched over by a pair of Charka's guards. Charka didn't seem as interested in him as the gnoll chieftain had been in Toede. Groag idly wondered what the link between the two was. When he wasn't saying mental good-byes to his extremities, that is. If their positions had been reversed, would he have fled? Probably not, but then he (Groag) thought that he (Toede) had sacrificed his (Toede's) life for his (Groag's) own. If that was true, then why was the former highmaster acting untrustworthy this time around?

Groag's gloomy reverie was broken by the sound of approaching hooves. His heart leaped for a moment, but his brain turned surly and sour. Whatever it was, he thought, it couldn't be good.

The horse carrying Toede stopped at the edge of the clearing. At first thought Groag thought it wasn't the highmaster at all, that it was one of the scholars disguised as Toede. Then he realized that it was Toede, and that Toede was wearing Bunniswot's ridiculous dressing gown, the one his mother made for him. The gown hung long and loose on the sides, with the sleeves rolled back and tied off at his elbows. The patches of alchemic symbols were dark blotches in the red moonlight.

Toede did not dismount, such that he remained only a little shorter than the surrounding gnolls. The former highmaster intoned in his deepest, darkest pronouncement-style voice: "I bring greetings to Charka from Chief Boils Flesh. Boils Flesh is most displeased with Charka for doubting power of Boils Flesh. Most displeased."

By this time most of the gnolls were staring at the mounted hobgoblin. Toede raised a hand, revealing a small, dark wooden box.

"Boils Flesh gives challenge to Charka," continued Toede.

"Box hold weakest juju of Boils Flesh. If Charka can defeat juju, Boils Flesh and other wizards become dinner. If Charka cannot"-and here Toede smiled his most evil smile-"Boils Flesh will curse Charka and Charka's people."

Toede tossed the box at the gnoll chief's feet. Charka picked it up with all the care usually reserved for a live skunk. The gnoll turned it over in his hands a few times, then carefully lifted the lid.

The bright rays of the light-stone struck the chieftain full in the face. Charka squinted, snarled, and dropped the box. The box hit the ground and flew fully open, bathing the entire region beneath the oak in near daylight.

Gnolls, though unharmed by something as simple as light (unlike vampires, goblins, or other mythological creatures) were by nature nocturnal, so the entire company took two steps backward from the unusual radiance.

Weakest juju indeed, thought Groag bitterly. That was Bunniswof s piece of magical light, purchasable from any hedge wizard passing through Flotsam. Was Toede so stupid as to imagine that Charka had never met a wizard, and had never witnessed a light spell?

Actually Toede was hoping exactly that, but additionally hoped that the wizards Charka and his people had encountered were all of the necromancer class: powerful figures best seen at a distance, and not meddled with unless one was tired of living. Toede certainly looked pleased by the result so far; he was fighting to keep the smile from his sallow face.

"Defeat juju and live," said Toede. "Fail and be cursed. You have until dawn."

Charka blinked the sparks out of his eyes and picked up the small ball, apparently curious that something so bright could be so heavy. He closed his fist around it. The light seeped between his taloned fingers and gave his fur a soft glow. He tightened his grip, and the light was extinguished.

Charka smiled and relaxed. As soon as he opened his fist, the light resumed, leaking out through the gaps between his fingers. Charka growled and gripped the stone harder. Again, the light was extinguished, only to return as bright as before. A third time Charka tried to crush the stone, but to no effect.

Charka barked something in swamp-talk to the other gnolls. Two of them bustled away. He tried to squeeze the stone into submission with both hands, but with the same result. Toede was obviously enjoying himself. "King of Little Dry Frogs explain curse to Charka."

Toede did so, as Charka strained with the magically lit stone and the other gnolls watched. Toede's description was detailed, graphic, and delivered entirely in the pidgin language Charka could understand.

As could a few of the other gnolls, for Groag could see their faces blanch in the cursed light. As for Groag, he had no problem with the flesh melted off the bones part, but the threat of live boring beetles being shoved under the fingernails was a bit much even for him.

The two gnolls who left earlier returned with a bucket made of lashed leather, filled with swamp water. Charka plunged the lighted stone into the water and was rewarded for his trouble with wet fur along both arms and a pleasant light-show across the bare trees as the light shone through the ripples of the water's surface.

Charka cursed, or at least Groag thought it a curse, for it was long and bitter in nature. One of the other gnolls strode up to Charka, babbling something else in swamp-talk. Charka snarled back. An argument ensued that was ended only by Charka backhanding the babbling gnoll. The other gnoll retreated, his ears flat and head slunk low. Charka snarled, an apparent challenge. None of the other gnolls responded. Charka set the magically lit stone on the ground and began pounding it with a rock.

At first all Charka did was pound the sphere into the ground. Then the chieftain placed it on another rock and tried crushing it between two stones. Then another attempt, hammering at it with his morning star, bringing the heavy iron head down on the rock.

As Charka hammered, light danced beneath the denuded oak, highlighting the surrounding trees; the gnolls, looking more uncomfortable by the moment; Toede, as motionless as a carved figure on his horse; and an increasingly beaten and dejected Charka. Long ropes of saliva were dripping from the gnoll's wolflike mouth, and the muscles of his face and neck were tight with strain.

Groag stood up then. Neither of his guardian gnolls were paying attention. He began edging around the tree, ready to bolt any moment. He was ignored. The sky was already beginning to lighten, turning that slate-gray shade that preceded the dawn.

Charka pounded until he dropped his morning star in disgust, panting heavily. The sphere was now more of an ellipsoid, but all the gnoll's activity had not diminished the radiance of it in the least.