They arrived at midday, to be greeted with much pomp and circumstance. The delegation saluted Fesz in the manner to which a high dignitary was entitled. The welcoming minotaurs observed Tas with obvious curiosity. Dogz stood scowling in the background.

A minotaur with showy insignia, attended by a human slave, made a big show of fawning over Fesz and inviting him to a lunch in his honor. But Fesz, already in a foul mood because of the hot, noisy, thoroughly unpleasant journey, brushed past the other minotaur, insisting upon seeing the human prisoner-the one who had not escaped-right away.

"Yes, right away! Or heads will roll!" added Tasslehoff in a voice that brooked no argument.

"That's him," rumbled Dogz. "He's one of the humans from the ship." He added, almost guiltily, "I guess we should have killed him right off, instead of throwing him overboard."

"Of course you should have," said Tas, somewhat sulkily. "Now look at all the bother he's caused. If you had asked me, I would have said, 'Kill him and be done with it.' Don't put off until tomorrow what you can do today-especially when it comes to killing, I always say. Of course, I wasn't really evil at the time, so maybe I wouldn't have said 'Kill him and be done with it' exactly, but in retrospect, Dogz, you're absolutely right."

"What's his name again?" asked Fesz, cocking his head and observing the human.

They were standing in front of Sturm Brightblade's prison cell. Sturm sat on a chair facing them, his hands tied with rope behind the chair. The Solamnic was somewhat bruised and bloody, probably signs of recent beatings. But the minotaur guards had obviously tried to freshen him up to make him look presentable for the unusual visit from this high emissary of the Nightmaster.

Sturm glowered at them. He was surprised and initially relieved to see Tasslehoff, but the kender hadn't greeted him, maintaining an aloof demeanor. Sturm watched, puzzled, as Tas whispered in conspiratorial conversation with the minotaurs. The kender was certainly acting peculiarly. The young Solamnic couldn't catch Tas's eye.

What was he up to?

One of the minotaurs, Sturm noted, was the oddest specimen he had laid eyes on yet. Hulking and large-horned, this one was obviously some dignitary or high priest. The bull creature was dressed in feathers and furs and moved with solemn, dignified purpose.

Sturm had the distinct impression Tas was acting as the minotaur's sidekick or aide.

"Sturm Brightblade," said Tas, spitting contemptuously the way he had seen some of the minotaurs do. "He thinks he's a Solamnic Knight, but he's not really-just another sad case of misguided ambition, if you ask me. It's a long story, and I'm not sure you want to go into it, but as far as I can figure it out, it all started with his father-"

"Let me see him more closely," growled Fesz, interrupting.

Behind them, the minotaur guard hurried to oblige. The door slid open, and Tas and Fesz stepped inside the cell.

Dogz waited outside the cell, feeling indifferent to the whole situation.

Fesz approached Sturm, studying him with a frown on his face. Tas did likewise, hoping that Fesz noticed how well he imitated the minotaur's every movement. The kender stuck his face right up next to Sturm's, cocking his head just as the minotaur shaman did.

Having already learned that it was a mistake to react impulsively in this prison, Sturm decided to remain silent, assess this latest development, and watch for some inkling of what game the unpredictable kender was playing.

"A big mistake," said Tasslehoff scornfully. "Obviously they've been torturing this fellow, which is a monumental waste of time. He'd die rather than break his code of honor. The same goes for Kitiara, if I haven't mentioned it before. Waste of time to torture her. Only in her case, it has nothing to do with honor. It's just plain pigheadedness. When we get to Karthay, we can tell the Nightmaster, if he hasn't figured it out for himself. Which he probably has, being the Nightmaster and all."

Sturm listened carefully. What was this kender babble about Kitiara, Karthay, and someone called the Nightmaster?

"It's especially a waste of time to torture Sturm if all you're going to do is punch and kick and occasionally cut him up a little. Sturm comes from a long line of Solamnic traditional nonsense, and he doesn't respond to ordinary physical torture the way some humans might. Now, if it was up to me, I'd do something a little more imaginative."

Fesz had moved past Sturm to pace the cell behind the prisoner. The shaman minotaur inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring. He tilted his horned head. Fesz had already forgotten Sturm. He was memorizing the still-lingering scent of the other human, the one called Caramon, the brother of Raistlin.

Tasslehoff reached into his pouch, rummaging for something. He pulled out a small pair of scissors. With the other hand, he grabbed one end of Sturm's long, drooping mustache.

"This is what I'd do," he cried triumphantly, slicing off the end of Sturm's mustache. Sturm winced but said nothing, glaring furiously at the kender.

"Yes!" Tas held the tuft of brown hair in the air, proudly displaying it to Fesz. "Now, that's what I call torture! These Solamnics are very proud of their mustaches. Oh, very proud indeed!"

He leaned back toward Sturm with an exuberant grin. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," the kender taunted the young Solamnic. "Yes, a very, very long time! You think you're so high and mighty just because you can grow a long, droopy mustache. Well, I could, too, if I wanted to. I could grow a mustache longer than a topknot. I-"

"I would like to see where the kyrie is held," rumbled Fesz, cutting Tas off, "and where the other human was last seen before he disappeared."

"Yes, your excellency!" said the guard, hurrying to escort them. Grabbing the kender by the shoulders, the guard steered Tas out of the cell. The evil kender twisted under the minotaur's grip, shrieking over his shoulder at the tight-lipped Sturm.

"And I suppose you think we came all this way just to see you, Mr. Droopy Mustache! Hah! It just so happens that we are on our way to Karthay, where we are going to rendezvous with the Nightmaster and do a great, big, important magic spell that will bring Sargonnas into this world. And did I mention that none other than Kitiara Uth Matar is there already, being held prisoner, so we've got more important people on our schedule to torture than you…"

The minotaur guard led the way down a corridor. Fesz followed, prodding Tas in front of him.

It was Dogz who paused to gaze at Sturm. The minotaur rubbed his chin ruefully, thinking he really ought to have killed the two humans the first time he encountered them. Next time he would know better. Now he was up to his thick, bull neck in things he didn't understand. With a sigh, Dogz trailed after Fesz, Tas, and the minotaur guard.

Sturm was left with half a mustache to ponder what was going on.

The three minotaurs and Tas headed toward the far end of one of the dim corridors, where a sole prisoner was kept behind bars, manacled to a side wall.

This prisoner, Fesz explained to Tasslehoff on the way, was a kyrie, one of the fabled bird-people who lived in remote, mountainous areas of Mithas. The kyrie were sworn enemies of the race of minotaurs, rarely seen in captivity.

"Your former friend, Caramon, was a trustee who brought food and water to the other prisoners," noted Fesz. "He was last spotted outside the kyrie's cell. Then he vanished without a trace-like magic."

If he was talking about Raistlin, Caramon's twin brother, Tasslehoff said sagely, then they'd have to take into account all sorts of possibilities-invisibility spells, time travel, even escape disguised as a scurrying centipede. But since it was Caramon, the kender was certain that magic had had nothing to do with it.