Jeff Grubb: Lord Toede

"Not exactly," sighed Groag. He concentrated on a point beyond Toede's left shoulder. "The proclamation said that all hobgoblins were banned from Flotsam now that you were dead," he said, very quickly.

Groag closed his eyes tight, waiting for another explosion. After half a moment, he opened them to see Toede sitting there, calmly, in deep thought.

"Highmaster Toede?" said Groag softly.

"Who?" said Toede, his voice stone-level.

"Who what?" prompted Groag quietly.

"Who made that proclamation?" snarled Toede. "Who is going to die for his temerity and stupidity!"

Groag rocked backward just far enough to be out of arm's reach. "That would have been Gildentongue, your draconian advisor. I understand that he is involved with some cult or another nowadays, but at the time…"

Toede missed most of the words after "Gildentongue" and was already on his feet, ranting. "Gildentongue!" he shouted. "That cheap gold-plated draconian has my job? My throne? That lizard hasn't got the political savvy to tie his own bootlaces without checking with the dragon high-lords! No doubt about it, we're getting out of here, and going to set that little piece of scalework straight!"

"Please, Highmaster Toede," said Groag, "your voice carries."

"That's Lord Toede, as in Lord of Flotsam," shouted Toede, ignoring Groag's plea for quiet. "When I get hold of that Gildentongue, I'm going to take a long pole with barbed hooks and shove it down his throat, pulling it outward so he can see his own intestines before I pop his eyes out and use them as billiard balls! And then, while he's twisting in his own blood, I'm going to call in the manor guard for some spear practice, then I'll call in a team of hobgoblin tap dancers, and then… and then…"

It was about this time that Toede realized that he and Groag were no longer alone. Halfway through his ranting someone had pulled the bolt free on the hut door, and now a young female kender stood there, framed in the morning sun.

She was frail and beautiful in the childlike way that al^ kender seemed-children who had run off and stayed young by hunting and fishing and living in the wilderness. She was nearly as tall as Toede and half his weight, and was poured into a stylish set of buckskin pants and a loose cotton shirt worn open to the third button. Her boots were custom-made and mud-spattered. A beaming smile dimpled her cheeks, and her fine-boned face was framed in a halo of auburn-red hair. She carried a large wicker basket at her side.

Toede hated her at once.

"Mister Groag, I see you're feeling better," she said, her voice a chirping warble, which to Toede sounded like a sliding cat trying to get purchase on a slate roof. "And your friend is in good voice, too, though he sounds a tad grumpy. Does he want to come berry picking with us?"

Toede's face flushed to the color of overripe tomatoes. "His… friend would rather have himself stripped naked and fed to wild tigers than spend one moment in kender slavery! If my hands were free I'd stretch your poaching little neck far enough to hang draperies on it! How dare you imprison me like this!"

Toede expected the kender to back up, like a tentative courtier daunted by a superior's anger. Instead, the kender held her ground, such that Toede was straining at the end of his leash, his chains taut from his outstretched arms. The kender did not seem daunted in the least. In fact, she wore a small smile.

"Now, that attitude is not going to help," chided the kender merrily. "Your companion has come a long way in the time he has been with us, haven't you, Mr. Groag?" Toede heard a mumbled agreement behind him.

Toede spat and cursed, "I am not like Mr. Groag. I am a great and powerful lord, bound for ever greater greatness! Do you have any idea, any idea whatsoever of whom you are… you are…"

Toede hesitated. He was close enough to examine her jewelry in detail, and part of his mind was already involved in estimating its net worth and use. One item caught his attention and began sending messages, marked 'urgent' to the section of his mind that controlled his ranting. Finally, the rant-section of Toede's brain took a look at the message, and then at the item hanging around her neck on a small silver chain.

"Pardon me for a moment," said Toede with sudden calmness, turning back to his companion. He hissed at the other hobgoblin. "Mister Groag, this wouldn't be by any chance Kronin's daughter that I am now addressing? The one that took you captive?"

Groag nodded.

Toede continued in a low mutter. "And is that a key she is wearing right here?" He motioned to his sternum, trying not to clatter his chains.

Groag nodded again.

"And would that be the key to these locks?" he whispered between clenched teeth, motioning as gently as possible to his wrist manacles.

Groag nodded again.

"Aha," he said, and Groag saw his former master's smile widen to the point it seemed to split his face. That had always been a bad sign in the past, so Groag began to back away from the highmaster.

Toede turned to the kender girl, his smile softening slightly, his face becoming a placid plate of contentment. "I must apologize, my dear kender. I have been under a great deal of stress recently and sometimes lose my temper. I say things I do not mean, and, well, hurt the feelings of others. I'm sorry. Very sorry. Perhaps I do merely need a change of lifestyle."

The kender's smile lit up the room. Toede felt his stomach tighten in a spasm of pain at the very sight.

Instead, he locked his teeth together, fought his own rising gorge, and continued. "Do you have any idea how much I truly enjoy berry picking? Why, I'm an old, seasoned hand at it. And perhaps, if I could be so bold, might there be some poetry as well?"

"If you wish." The kender smiled with genuine excitement. "Though I thought we might go easy your first time out."

"Oh, of course," said Toede. Groag shook his head, wondering, not for the first time, if Toede were dead, and this was some strange and bewildering spirit that had moved into his body.

The young kender pulled the key from its silver chain and began unlocking their fetters from the central bolt. Only when her back was turned did Groag see Toede's face immediately cloud and small lightning bolts of anger dance beneath his deeply creased brows. The only Toede present, realized Groag, was the one that had always inhabited that body.

The kender's full name was Taywin Kroninsdau, at least that's what Toede thought she said when she made introductions, making mention of Kronin's name. Thankfully neither Kronin nor Talorin were immediately at hand to discern his true identity, and Toede hoped no one caught the early part of his self-identifying rant. Taywin seemed perfectly agreeable to calling him Mr. Underhill. Were the kender to figure out who they really had tumbled upon, they might try to ransom him. And that old scaleflint Gildentongue would probably rather leave him there to rot than part with one sliver of steel.

As it was, Taywin Kroninsdau nodded brightly (she was the type of semi-sentient who did everything brightly) when he introduced himself as Mr. Underhill and gave no sign that she doubted his words.

Their hut had a kender guard posted outside, a sleepy sort who seemed lazy even by kender standards, who was to accompany them along with Taywin. Toede and Groag had their chains lengthened so they could take shortened, hopping strides, with about ten feet of chain connecting them.

Taywin led the way, the large basket in hand. The two chained hobgoblins were reduced to skipping to keep up with her. The amused kender guard, armed with a particularly wicked-looking spear, brought up the rear, alongside a shag-muzzled, honey-colored mastiff. Taywin introduced the guard as Miles and made Toede shake hands politely. Introductions were not made to the dog.