Where earlier the cooking fire had been, there was now a tall, glowing woman, who did not fade when Toede stared at her. She was clad in shades of blue and white, and her hair was the color of yellow stained glass. She lit the pillars around her with the power of her aura.

She smiled at Toede, and when she did Toede felt the bottom fall out of his world. She motioned; he followed her.

The blue woman and Toede traveled through the forest of stone as dreamers travel, ignoring the briars, brambles, and bumps in the path, but instead gliding smoothly over the surface, ignoring everything in their way. Occasionally the blue woman would point at a particular landform- such as cleaved rock, or a boulder that looked particularly like a hawk-as they ascended to the west into hillier country that was (would be?) the necromancer's territory.

At length the travelers reached a low hillock that was not a hillock at all, but a great stone temple. The ghost-ogres were burying the temple in a great mound of dirt, and Toede saw that the lower reaches were already covered in grass and small trees.

The blue woman led Toede to the entrance of the temple. The ghost-ogres ignored the pair entirely. Then she motioned, and the great iron doors parted at the top of the temple stairs, and both she and Toede were bathed in a great golden radiance.

Toede awakened with a start to find that it was much later in the evening. The campfire had been broken down to little more than embers, and the gnolls were scattered around the ground, where they had drifted off to sleep among the remains of the burlap potato wrappers. There was no sign of Groag, Renders, or any of the humans.

Someone had left a cloak draped halfway on Toede, so the hobgoblin drifted back off to sleep. Now he slept more soundly, without dreams, for the shadow-gods had judged him, and now he knew what the rewards for his noble actions truly were to be.

In which Our Protagonist follows his dreams, provides his own version of history, and even though the feast with the gnolls is now over, discovers the concoction "Toede in the Hole."

"I don't feel comfortable about this," said Bunniswot, stopping and rubbing his left shin again. He had injured said limb after the first rock slide, and had been carrying on and limping ever since, seeking sympathy just because he was the one carrying the pack and shovels. "Let's go back and get a few more people."

Toede shook his head and turned to look at the human, amazed to find someone in worse physical shape than himself. Sweat was running down Bunniswot's face, and from his higher elevation, Toede for the first time noted that the human had a small bald patch on the back of his head.

"We could go back," said the former highmaster, "and get some help from Renders, and explain to him why following a hunch was more important than your ogrish erotica."

Bunniswot winced at the suggestion. "Or," Toede added slyly, "we could count on Charka to send a few of his boys into territory that is not only taboo, but under the control of a known, dangerous necromancer. Risk two of his tribe to me and a man called- now what did he name you?"

"Whacks-the-Rabbit," said Bunniswot in a mild voice. His encounters with the gnolls had not been as positive as those enjoyed by Renders.

Toede nodded, continuing, "If I'm right, and by the powers I believe in I think I am, you'll have something really important to take back to Renders." And with that he resumed climbing, not bothering to add that, if Groag had been on speaking terms with Toede, he'd much rather have taken the smaller hobgoblin as opposed to a hapless human.

"Seems like a lot to stake on a dream," said the young scholar, scrambling after him. "It's not very professional."

"Don't discount dreams, child," said Toede. "Raistlin dreamed of sunken Istar before setting sail on the Perechon."

"Where did you hear that?" said Bunniswot sharply. Panting, but sharply nonetheless.

"From Raistlin himself," lied Toede, turning halfway around to look down on the sweaty human. "We talked that morning before he boarded the ship out of Flotsam. Last I ever saw of him, but I still get the occasional letter, magical sending, and whatnot."

"So you knew him?" Bunniswot's voice broke as he said it. "You knew Raistlin, and Caramon, and the Heroes of the Lance?"

"About as well as anyone," said Toede, warming to the subject and wondering how far he should go with his dissembling. "You might even say I gave them their start, but that would be bragging." Toede turned his face to the upward slope, both to handle the difficulty of the climb and make sure his face did not betray the truth in his statement.

"Have you told Renders?" asked Bunniswot, his voice suddenly less haughty, less nasal, and more human.

"Should I?" asked Toede, turning to shoot a practiced blank look at the scholar.

"Should you?" said Bunniswot, catching up with Toede, "You heard Renders tell the story of the War of the Lance to the gnolls last night. Even cut down into language they could understand, it is a moving and epic tale."

"Well, I guess it is," said Toede, shrugging. "I mean, if you like that sort of thing."

"Renders would sell his own grandmother to interview the old Heroes, to talk to people who knew them," chuckled Bunniswot. "When we were in Flotsam, he talked to anyone who might have known them: bartenders, sailors, all sorts of riffraff."

Toede thought idly of the innkeep at the Jetties. Yes, he could imagine that one spinning out wild tales in exchange for a few coins.

"And to think that someone who was there-who knew Raistlin-just wandered into camp." Bunniswot laughed. It was an easy laugh, a laugh of comrades who had shared secrets. "So what were they like? Like they're portrayed in the tales?"

"Well, it would be immodest to speak as if I were a close confidante," Toede said, bowing his head in apparent modesty.

Bunniswot took the bait like a trout rising to a salmon egg. "What about Raistlin? He was my favorite of the group-brooding, dominant, so sure of himself."

"Raistlin, yes," said Toede. "He was a friend, and you don't speak ill of friends who go beyond." The hobgoblin sighed. "I still remember that last night. We both had gotten very, very drunk, and he tore into one of his long crying jags."

The hobgoblin heard the footsteps following him stop. "Crying jag? Raistlin?" said the voice behind him, astonished.

"Afraid so." Toede hunched his shoulders. "Caramon had been… well, you know that Caramon had always been bad tempered, and sometimes took it out on Raistlin. Simple jealousy, really. Raistlin was afraid of him, but couldn't abandon his brother. I offered for him to stay at my place, but…" He let his voice trail off.

"I can't believe that!" said Bunniswot. "It goes against what the tales said. Caramon loved his brother!"

"Well, he did," said Toede. "Thaf s why Raistlin stayed. Of course, he would get into these moods, and Raistlin would try to help and… oh, my, it was awful. Simply awful." Toede stopped by a large boulder that looked like a falcon or some other bird of prey, and stole a glance at Bunniswot.

The look on the young scholar's face was priceless. His eyes were the color, shape, and size of newly minted steel groats. His eyebrows had nearly vanished beneath his ragged hairline. His jaw was hanging loose, as if on a single thread.

Toede continued, as if embarrassed. "You see why I don't mention it. Here these people were heroes to you, and just people to me."

"I just find it hard to believe," said Bunniswot, obviously finding it incredibly easy to believe. "But what about the others? What about Tanis?"

"Tanis? Oh, he was the stalwart of the party. Brave, loyal, noble, honest. Of course, sometimes…" Toede made the motion of tipping a flask to his lips.