Tanis congratulated her on her bravery.

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Kirsig appeared to blush. "No time for that," she said briskly. "Down we go!"

One by one, the three companions lowered themselves down the vent. Using the fallen ogre's spear as a lever, Kirsig managed to replace the grating.

"Good luck!" Kirsig called after them.

Left alone, she dragged the body of the ogre guard over to a corner and hurriedly piled straw on top of it, concealing it as best she could.

The foul liquid they found themselves in shone in the dark with iridescent silver and purple streaks. Bubbling foam, spongy globules, and floating chunks of things that stank of disease and death eddied around them. Scavenger fish darted at the garbage, their scaly sides brushing against the companions' churning legs. A giant snake lay belly up in the sewage, part of its awesome length submerged, two man-sized bulges in the portion of its white, swollen stomach that bobbed on the surface.

Weird, faraway cries rent the dark tunnel. Ancient corpses had beached on outcroppings along the walls, their dusty bones giving off a kind of eerie light. The companions could hear but not see the rats skittering along the thin, narrow ledge that ran along the tunnel sides.

Tanis kept a firm grip on Raistlin's wrist. "Are you all right?" the half-elf asked both his friends.

Flint bobbed along on the other side of Raistlin. The sewage channel was only about six feet wide. Their feet could almost touch the irregular, debris-strewn bottom, but not quite, and Flint had to kick himself upward at intervals to keep his chin above the slimy water.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me," said Raistlin tersely.

Flint grunted his reply. He was fine, too, if you call half drowning in a grimy, disgusting, ogre sewer tunnel fine.

The stream of garbage flowed around them, tugging them in an easterly direction which, as Kirsig had said, was toward the shore of the Blood Sea. The current pulled at them with surprising strength. They had all they could do to hold on to one another and stay afloat.

"Hang on," warned Tanis, tightening his grip on Raistlin. "The channel must run down a slope. We're going to be picking up speed."

Flint had one hand clamped on Raistlin's shoulder as the three of them began to be carried along with the current at a faster and faster pace. Nausea as much as terror gripped the companions. They whirled along, past all manner of garbage and dead things wedged in crevices or stuck on outthrust stones.

The cries they had heard earlier now picked up in intensity and became almost deafening. The tunnel angled and took a downward dip, so that Tanis, Flint, and Raistlin were pitched forward. The current accelerated still more, and they were tossed this way and that, struggling for control.

Floating bodies-some ogres, some too sodden to tell-bumped up against them in the horrible flow.

The fearsome cries rose to a din as the tunnel took a sharp curve. The current tossed Flint into a stone wall. The dwarf cried out in pain, clutching at his leg. Raistlin managed to stretch out and grab him by the collar.

Whirling downward, the trio spun by a horribly disfigured creature clinging to the ledge. It might have been human once. Now it was one of the undead. A long tongue flicked out at them, running over teeth that were sharp and supernaturally elongated. The nails on its hands had become razor-sharp claws. It clung to the ledge with one mottled, desiccated limb, and with the other leaned toward them, making a gesture with its clawed fist that was at once threatening and pathetic.

Tanis raised an arm, managing to ward off the creature, pushing aside the outstretched arm of the undead thing. It opened its unclean maw and screamed futile gibberish at the three companions as they shot past it, eluding its grasp.

Choking on the stench and the sludge, they were borne by the torrent, hurtling down the dark, fetid tunnel as if riding a water chute. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Tanis, Flint, and Raistlin shot out into startlingly bright moonlight that illuminated a shallow cove lined with rocks and filthy debris.

Tanis helped Raistlin to his feet. With their arms around one another, they staggered along the shore of the cove to a sheltered area away from the sewage outlet. Flint was nowhere to be seen. After several minutes, Tanis began to wonder what had happened to Flint. He picked his way back and found the grizzled dwarf sitting on a rock, drenched, splattered with muck, furious, and in pain.

"What is it?" asked Tanis wearily.

"My leg," gasped Flint. "I can't put any weight on it. I think it's broken."

Tanis hurried to examine him. Sure enough, there was a fracture in the right limb, which had already swelled and was turning purple.

With Flint complaining all the way, Tanis flung the dwarf across his shoulders and carried him from the cove, setting him down gently next to Raistlin.

Although the young mage was plainly worn out, his face covered with grime and small cuts, he found a broken tree limb nearby, tore strips from his robe, and did the best he could to approximate a tight splint on Flint's leg.

"Just my luck," said Flint sulkily, wincing as Raistlin wound the bandaging.

"We should have left you to the lacedon," said the young mage with uncharacteristic wry humor.

"The what?" asked the dwarf.

"The ghoul back there," said Tanis. He was lying on the sand, covered with slime and dirt, but he was too exhausted to care. "Kirsig was right about there being undead creatures in the tunnel."

"Of course, they'd like you better if you were dead. They feed on corpses, you know," said Raistlin dryly, finishing with the splint. Unceremoniously he curled up against a rock and within minutes was asleep.

Flint grumbled something unintelligible.

Their little cove was sheltered by a horn of rocks. Beyond that, the dark and forbidding Blood Sea stretched to the horizon. Light from the two moons, Lunitari and Solinari, speckled the black water with silver. They could hear nothing but the crash of surf and the lapping of waves.

For hours, Tanis and Flint waited for Kirsig, shivering. At one point, thinking Flint hadn't said anything in a long while, Tanis looked over and realized that the bone-weary dwarf had fallen asleep as well, sitting up against a rock with his broken leg stretched out in front of him. With a sigh, Tanis settled in for the night watch.

It was an hour or so before dawn when Tanis caught sight of a small craft wending its way across the cove. Kirsig was sitting on one of the forward seats, but someone else was pulling the oars. Tanis roused Flint and Raistlin.

As the boat pulled up next to them, Kirsig jumped out, followed by the other occupant of the boat, a tall, well-proportioned black-skinned man with a gleaming bald pate. He was bare-chested, wearing only a thick breech-cloth and high-strapped sandals. A fine bone necklace curved around his muscular neck, and a small jeweled knife hung from a loop on his waist.

"I'm sorry I took so long," explained Kirsig hurriedly. "I had to go to town and hunt up Nugetre. Then I had to pack my things…" Suddenly she stopped and stared, wide-eyed. "Garsh, what happened to the pretty dwarf!"

She rushed over to Flint, who remained sitting against the rock, and knelt down to examine his leg solicitously. The dwarf scowled.

The one called Nugetre was standing with his hands on his hips, staring at Tanis and Raistlin, grinning as he sized them up.

"Kirsig…" began Tanis.

"What do you mean, you had to pack your things?" Raistlin asked Kirsig pointedly.