"Fool! Of course they are. Do you think the Nightmaster would make such a mistake?"

The creatures' foul smell acted like powerful smelling salts for Caramon, clearing his senses of their previous grogginess.

The second one must be the leader, Caramon thought. Around the minotaur's thick, muscular neck gleamed a tight collar of polished stones. At his waist, he wore a loincloth of girded metal. He carried only a barbed flail.

"They look pathetic. What threat could they possibly pose?"

"I only do the master's bidding, Dogz. I do not read his thoughts."

"Which is the one?"

"That's what we must find out."

The others hung back in a circle like wolves cringing at the edges of a blazing campfire. With their huge bulk and seven foot height, the minotaurs loomed over Caramon, obscuring his view. The cowled figure remained in the background, enshrouded by fog, so that Caramon couldn't be sure of its outline. Only occasional hisses and swishing utterances reminded him that there was someone, or some thing, back there.

Struggling to sit erect, Caramon noticed another vessel through the mist, a sleek longship off in the distance. He could just make out the topsail poking through the curls of mist. He guessed the ship was about three hundred yards away.

"Caramon! What's going on?" That was Sturm's voice.

From his angle, the Solamnic couldn't see much, and from the sound of his voice, it was clear that he was still dazed.

"Minotaurs and some human rabble," whispered Tas, although he could see even less than Sturm.

"Pirates," muttered Caramon.

"Silence!" barked the leader. The minotaur lashed out with his flail, catching Caramon on the side of the face and making a deep strawberry cut on his cheek. "We're no pirates, fool!"

At that, the two minotaurs retreated back into the fog to where the caped figure stood. From the muttered growls that floated through the air, it appeared that the minotaurs were consulting with this peculiar specimen. The others moved closer to the mast, tightening their circle around the three prisoners. They had bloodthirsty looks in their eyes that left Caramon distinctly uncomfortable.

"Where are we?" asked Sturm in a low voice, sounding more clearheaded now.

"I was hoping you'd have an answer to that question," replied Caramon grimly.

"If only I could consult my maps," chimed in Tasslehoff.

Caramon said nothing. Best to keep silent, he thought to himself. No sense letting this piratical band know how confused they were. The big warrior had a feeling that any signs of weakness would only add to their trouble.

The two minotaurs who had been conferring with the cowled figure returned, towering over him. The one called Dogz reached toward Caramon with thick, wide hands, and ran them over the front and back of Caramon's body, searching for something. Caramon struggled, but he could do little to resist. He spat defiantly into the face of the huge, smelly minotaur.

He heard chuckling from the onlookers as the minotaur reared back in surprise and, with the force of a sledgehammer, kicked the Majere twin in the face. Caramon spat out a bloody tooth and doubled over in pain as Sturm cried out, "By my honor, you will live to regret that cowardly blow!"

"That goes double for me!" shouted Tasslehoff. "When his brother hears about this, you'll be lucky if you aren't turned into a horny toad. He'll-"

"Leave off, Tas!" Caramon managed to gasp.

But the minotaur paid no heed. Already Dogz had moved on, bending over Sturm and groping through the young knight's clothing and gear with his rough hands. This is not the one either, thought Dogz. This human carried nothing on his person, no weapon or purse.

"Hunh," Dogz grunted, holding up one hand, which dripped blood from the matted wound on the back of Sturm's head. In disgust, he slapped Sturm across the side of the face. The Solamnic took the blow stoically, as he had the search, saying nothing.

"That's it!" Tasslehoff cried, struggling in vain against his bonds. "Now you've crossed the point of no return! Sturm never hurt an unarmed person in his whole life-well, at least as long as I've known him! Which is years, or certainly a year or two by now. And he is about as noble and well-meaning a fellow as you will ever meet, quite apart from myself."

This time the kender's voice seemed to surprise the minotaur, as if he hadn't quite deigned to notice Tas before. Caramon heard a sharp intake of breath as Dogz stepped back to speak, in his low rumbling voice, with the leader.

"The third one is a kender, Sarkis."

"So?"

"Kender are unclean. They roam the earth, living by stealth and dishonor. To touch one, it is said, is to invite scorn or, worse, disease. I do not think it is necessary to search this one."

From behind the two minotaurs came an angry hiss. From behind Caramon rose Tas's indignant voice.

"Unclean! Why, you big horny cow! I'll have you know that I bathe regularly. I washed my face just yesterday, to be exact-that is, assuming this is the day after yesterday, which I don't know for sure because I have no idea where I am or how long it took me to get here. But if you want to bring up personal hygiene, I suggest you take your two moon-sized nostrils, bend over, and take a whiff of yourself!"

Sturm bit his tongue.

Caramon rolled his eyes.

The human scum and webbed ogres snickered.

The one named Sarkis stepped away from Dogz and faded into the gray mist toward the cloaked figure. This time Caramon couldn't make out any words, only bestial snorts interspersed with guttural syllables and hissing sounds. The leader was obviously conferring with the mysterious figure.

Caramon's thoughts whirled. They stopped at the thought of his twin. Raistlin and he had become expert at pairing up to seize the advantage in many tight situations. With a fierce longing, the young warrior wished he had his brother at his side now. What would Raistlin do in such a spot?

Sarkis returned and addressed Dogz contemptuously. "Pah, Dogz! It is true that kender are dishonorable, but it is well known they are impervious to common or uncommon illness. You are as likely to catch disease from a tree stump. Let me do the job, you superstitious fool!"

Tasslehoff was able to twist around to see Sarkis descend upon him, huge hands outstretched. "You ugly, wart-faced, pig-snouted, dun-colored cretin! I'm as honorable as they come-well, maybe not as honorable as Sturm, or even Caramon, who is honorable in his own humble way-but twice, ten times, one hundred thousand times as honorable as the likes of you! And let me warn you that I could give you any disease I wanted if I only cared enough to bother… Hey, stop! Quit that! That tickles! Heh-heh! Hah-ha-ha-ha-hah!"

That crazy kender talks too much for his own good, thought Sturm. He saw from his vantage that Sarkis had discovered Tasslehoff's packs and pouches. The minotaur leered, showing yellow teeth in his brutish face.

Sarkis stomped over to his second-in-command, holding up Tas's pouches. He glared savagely at his subordinate.

"Well, what is it?" asked the chastened Dogz.

The humans and webbed ogres tittered until Sarkis silenced them with a glance. Sarkis strode back to the figure in the fog. Their conversation consisted of more hissing and muffled grunts. He returned to Dogz.

"He is the one," Sarkis announced.

Dogz started forward, but Sarkis grabbed him by the shoulder. "Do not harm him! Bring him and" -he handed over the kender's belongings- "his pouches."

Dogz hurried over to Tasslehoff. A high-pitched shriek filled the air. Caramon and Sturm strained against their bonds, but there was nothing they could do.

Dogz came back around the mast, carrying Tas, holding the squirming, ranting kender as far away from him as he could, dangling him by his topknot. It looked as if the huge minotaur was carrying a rabbit by the ears, but the rabbit, in this instance, was cursing a vile streak.