Tanis made a face at the thought of the sewage channel.

"Go on," urged Raistlin, sensing that Kirsig had more to say.

"I pour all the slops and dregs down there, and worse-if you know what I mean. I know where the tunnel comes out, down near the bay, a place where the guards can't see you. The only thing is-" Again she hesitated.

"What?" demanded Tanis.

"The sewer is haunted with the spirits of the dead. Ghosts and ghoulies. Everybody says so. It will be dangerous to pass through. You could die."

"We'll take that chance," Raistlin said quickly.

"Then stay in this room and keep quiet," Kirsig said, giving each of them, in turn, a stern look. "I'll be back after the stroke of midnight. By then most of 'em inside the keep are drunk on grog or in dreamland. You'll be safe here, but don't stick your noses out of this room."

She took a last, fond look at Flint, letting her fingers slip slowly and reluctantly away from his gray-flecked beard. His eyes remained frozen. "Such a pretty dwarf," Kirsig said before picking up her bucket and mop. She opened the door a crack, peered outside, then slipped through it without another word.

After the door closed behind her, Tanis waited several moments before whispering to Raistlin. "Do you think we can trust her?"

The young mage slumped on a chair. He nodded.

Tanis seemed satisfied.

"But-" began Flint feebly.

His two companions cast him an amused glance. "Surely she wouldn't betray her special new friend," Tanis said.

Flint scowled, flushed beet red, and fell silent.

At dusk, the three companions heard loud noises from the lower floors, harsh voices raised in laughter and shouting, a volley of oaths building to a tumult, then joined in an ogre chorus:

Such carrying-ons continued until long after the moons rose, causing Tanis to worry that the revelry might last through the night.

Finally heavy-footed clomping echoed in the hallways, followed by the sounds of shoving and arguing, armor and heavy garb dropping to the floor; and then, at last, relative stillness, punctuated by guttural snoring. From the room's lone window, Tanis saw the battlement guards change shift.

At last the trio heard a quiet shuffling. The door slid open, and there stood Kirsig.

"Follow me!" the female half-ogre grunted, beckoning.

Keeping to the shadows, they followed her down the stairs, hearing the groans and breathing of sleeping ogres on all sides as they descended three flights. Through half-open doorways, they could see feet propped up on bedposts and an occasional glint of metal hanging from wall hooks. But no one challenged them. Just in case, Flint and Tanis held onto their weapons tightly.

On the main floor, the three companions had to pass through a huge, high-ceilinged room where the remains of the evening's banquet-goblets and animal bones and the like-lay where they had spilled on the huge oaken table and tiled floor. The walls were hung with vivid tapestries of gory battles. The fire had nearly sputtered out. Only embers remained.

A throne set on a dais reigned over one end of the table, and on the throne lay a gigantic, muscular, yellow-brown ogre, his feet stretched across one armrest, thoroughly drunk and asleep. His mottled skin was covered with bumps and bruises. He was snoring with his snout open. A thick band of silver, decorated with green jewels, stretched tightly around his forehead, the only conspicuous sign of his stature.

"Arrast, the chief," whispered Kirsig, pointing. "Don't worry. He drank so much grog, he'll be in a stupor till morning."

As if he heard himself being discussed, Arrast stirred slightly and turned over on his side, his face set against the back of the throne. He lifted his head momentarily, gave a coarse bellow, then resumed his snoring.

Not entirely reassured, remembering what Kirsig had said earlier, Flint hurried past the sleeping chief of Ogre-bond.

At the far end of the huge room, a square grating covered a deep, dark pit sunk into the floor. Although Flint peered down it, he could see nothing. Slithering and scratching sounds drifted up from far below. The fetid stench that wafted upward was enough to make the dwarf momentarily lose his balance.

"Games pit," said Kirsig, grabbing him by the elbow.

"Black willows," said Raistlin grimly.

Tanis nodded.

"Yes," agreed Flint, although he didn't have the slightest idea what "black willows" were, and as he hurried past the dark pit, he told himself he had no desire to find out.

Through a small archway and down narrow stone stairs to a lower level they descended. This was the dungeon, a fact made plain by the damp, rotting odor, the debris of bones and broken weaponry, and the piles of straw discolored by streaks of dried blood. The walls held flickering sconces that offered only dim light.

Kirsig pointed ahead. Tanis and Raistlin followed Kirsig closely, with Flint straggling behind. They entered a large musty room. Two dark corridors lined with cells branched off to the right and left. Even at this hour, faint moans and cries emitted from the recesses, the sleep of the occupants disturbed by who knows what manner of nightmares.

"I wish we could do something to help them, poor devils," Tanis whispered to Raistlin.

"First we must rescue ourselves," Raistlin replied.

"There!" pointed Kirsig, indicating a large vent in the far corner of the floor of the room.

They hurried over to it. Although Tanis and Flint easily loosened the grate covering the vent, they had difficulty lifting it aside. Kirsig and even Raistlin bent to help. At last its weight shifted, and they were able to slide it away.

When Kirsig straightened up, she found herself eye to eye with a hulking, dull-orange ogre guard. Opening its mouth, the creature barked something at them in a language that none of the three companions from Solace understood.

They only understood the word "Kirsig" and made a guess at the rest of the obviously hostile message.

Tanis lunged at the creature, swinging his sword, but the ogre guard was twice his height and, despite appearances, no slow-witted oaf. The ogre guard swung his arm up in the air and batted the sword away, knocking Tanis against a wall, stunning the half-elf. With his knife, Flint made a game stab at the guard, but the ogre's reach was long, and worse, he held a thick, spiked club. The ogre brought his club up in an arc, then down, aiming at Flint's head. The dwarf dodged aside, but the club caught him on the shoulder, smacking him to the ground.

Raistlin took a step backward, his face masklike. He began to chant in a low voice, anxiously feeling in one of his pouches for the components he needed to throw a spell.

The ogre noticed the young mage and advanced cautiously. His yellow eyes gleamed, and a spotted tongue darted in and out between jutting, blackened teeth. With taloned hands, he reached out for Raistlin.

Suddenly the ogre's eyes went slack, and he crashed forward. Raistlin had all he could do to jump out of the way or be crushed. From the ogre's back protruded a long, thin dagger, trickling black blood.

Raistlin stared. Flint and Tanis got up groggily and gazed at the unpredictable Kirsig.

"I keeps one handy," said the female half-ogre, proud but shy. She put her foot on the ogre's back and pulled out the dagger, wiped it clean, and stuck it back inside her leather skirt. "You would, too, if you worked at Ogrebond and had to mingle with ogres!"