The sought-after fruit hung from low, dense raspberry bushes that flanked a small river, the probable outflow of the lake Toede had seen earlier (the presence of which had forced him to stray into kender territory). The tumbling water was too small to do the name "river" proper justice, and too large and energetic to be considered a mere stream or creek. It was a whitened cascade of water about twenty feet across, thundering over falls and cresting in hydraulics, the latter being great standing waves three feet higher at the top than at the base. The spray from the water hung like a low fog, and the omnipresent dampness encouraged the bushes to bear fruit throughout the warm months.

Toede was still seething inwardly with the indignation of his plight. It took a full ten minutes for him to switch from planning imagined revenge on all kender to assessing the situation for possible escape. The water looked too rough for a chain-bound swimmer, but could throw off the scent of a party of dogs. The spray would dampen any clear sight or bow shot past a hundred feet, and the thunder of the cascades meant that any survivors would have to crawl for help rather than count on being heard crying out in pain.

The girl seemed like no real problem, and the guard was not particularly watchful. Toede realized he would have to take him out quickly, before the dog reacted. After which, there was the matter of Groag.

Toede sighed-there always was a weak link in any plan. They had been spirited out of the hut before making any real decisions as to escape, so he had to act and hope that Groag would pick up on the momentum. More likely another large mountain would hit the sea of Istar, Toede reflected bitterly as they skipped glumly alongside the water. The path was only wide enough for a single creature, and in places was devilishly slick, even for those not hampered by iron chains.

Lord of Flotsam, Lord of Flotsam, Lord of Flotsam. He repeated it now as a mantra, not a daydream.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds about the time Taywin chose a likely place. She looked back, and Toede beamed at her, trying his best to outshine the timid Groag. If I play this right, Toede thought, they will never know what hit them. Taywin brought out a smile that gleamed in the sun in return to Toede's, but Toede was unaware of it, his eyes riveted on the key around her neck.

'This looks like a nice spot. They should be ripe enough. Mister Groag, Mister Underhill, you can start here. I have some baskets…" She fished several smaller baskets from her hamperlike carryall.

"Of course," said Toede, smiling and shoving his arms wrist-deep into the nearest berry-laden bush, wrapping his fingers around a likely collection of berries in the process. The smile froze as the bush locked around him as if it were a tooth-laden vise. Shouting, he pulled his scratched hands away.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Underhill," said Taywin, "I thought you knew about the thorns. All raspberries have thorns."

"Of course, thorns," said Toede through gritted teeth. "I knew about them, just forgot for a moment. It's been so long since I was in the field." He sucked on a bloodstained knuckle.

"Of course," beamed Taywin Kroninsdau, "there are gloves in the large basket, with the smaller berry-baskets. Oh, and if Mr. Groag was any example, there is a difference in hobgoblin and kender taste. We like the ones that aren't green."

"Aren't green," gritted Toede, his jaw still firmly clenched.

'11 make a note of that."

The three of them worked the berry patch, Toede and Groag together, Taywin a little farther down, the guard with the dog watching the pair of hobgoblins. They gathered berries for what Toede thought was half an eternity but was most likely three-quarters of an hour, until each hobgoblin had a half-full basket to Taywin's full one.

"Well, you boys had better catch up. How about if I read some poetry?" she said with a smile.

"Kill me now," muttered Toede in a prayer to the dark gods.

"Beg pardon?" She blinked at the highmaster.

"I said 'silly cow.' I was talking to Groag. He made a face when you mentioned poetry."

"Mr. Groag, I thought you liked my poetry," said Taywin, pouting.

"But I did, mean I do, er, I didn't," Groag's explanation tumbled to an eventual silence as the kender pulled a small tome from her pocket. Toede turned back to his bushes, stifling a smile.

Taywin's voice was strong and clear, and did absolutely nothing to improve the quality of the poetry. Fortunately for Taywin's feelings, it was normal for hobgoblins to hate all sorts of verses above the level of obscene limericks equally, so they failed to appreciate good poetry with the same enthusiasm as bad.

Taywin intoned in her "serious" speaking voice, dropping several octaves into a humanlike alto.

"The knight amount swept on his horse through bracken field and brawny heath and drew his sword of N'er-do-well to face each danger in its teeth."

Groag and Toede were working close together now, a little apart from the female kender. "I didn't make a face," whispered Groag resentfully.

"It's all part of the plan, so don't worry," Toede hissed back.

"He vanquished dark and dreadful lords and proved his will to fight and fight and won the hearts of all around with his fine and lordly might."

"But I don't think it's so bad," continued Groag.

"You wouldn't know bad if it infested your nostrils and bore young," said Toede.

"But she writes it herself. I think she's improving."

"Will you forget about the poetry for a moment?" shouted Toede breathily, trying to convey his rage without increasing his volume. Taywin halted, and the guard looked over at them, spear at the ready.

Toede clanked his chains as he waved at them. "No problem, just a tuber in the way."

Taywin returned to her declamation.

"And so the people of the land did seek him out to cure their woes to battle dark and dreadful lords and aid them in defeating foes."

Groag sighed again. "You think she means us when she says 'dark and dreadful lords'?"

Toede bit the inside of his mouth. "Let's concentrate, for the moment, on escaping."

"Escaping?" said Groag, puzzled.

"Yes, escaping, as in 'finding a lifestyle involving less-heavy jewelry.'" He clanked at Groag. "I have half a plan."

"And so the great and powerful knight did seek the great and holy quest to find the faith and fairest flower and put himself to holy tests."

"Got it!" exclaimed Toede.

"Stuck yourself with a thorn again?" responded Groag.

Toede glared at Groag. "Got the other half of the plan. Be ready to move when I say move."

"Right, move when you say move," agreed Groag. "And in the meantime?"

"Pick faster. I don't know how much more poetry I can take."

Whether spurred on by Toede's promised deliverance or Taywin's poetry, the hobgoblins filled their baskets in record time. The sun had risen high, but the vale was still wet from mist when they finished.

Then the four dined on berries and a few goose sandwiches the female kender had packed. Groag volunteered the information that he had helped grind the grain to make the bread. Toede felt his smile get more brittle by the instant.

"Well, we have to get you boys back," said Taywin at length. "There are other chores needing to be done."

"Pity, it seems so… idyllic," said Toede with a wide smile. Groag looked at him with a panicked glance. The nicer the highmaster seemed, the worse things usually got. "Tell me, Miss Taywin, I'm confused after all this. Are we on the east side of the stream or the west?"

"The western side," said Taywin, already gathering the baskets and the remains of the sandwiches, handing the gathered collection to the guard.

"Oh… pity. Well, we should be getting back," sighed Toede, rising to his feet. Groag, without much choice owing to the chains, rose with him.