Taywin broke in. "We had heard about the new Lord of Flotsam from refugees around the time we found our hunting grounds being patrolled by hired swords. I went to Flotsam to see if it was the same Mister Groag that I had picked berries with." She touched her scalp. "It was. He had me arrested for poaching, my head shaved publicly, and my execution scheduled for the next day."
"Unfortunately, the paperwork was lost," said the scholar innocently. "So we ferreted her out of town in a flour barrel. We hooked up with Rogate here, who had moved in with the kender."
"We thought you'd be returning again," said Taywin.
"In six months, as before. So in between we organized our resources and arranged to keep an eye out for you."
"Now that you have returned," intoned Rogate, "the Allied Rebellion can move forward and crush the spine of the false minion, and spill the blood of his corruption on the sands of history!"
"We arranged for a meeting," Bunniswot added, "with the leader of the kender: Kronin, Taywin's father. With you present we can convince him to join us, and with his approval, the kender raiders will swell our rebellion."
"Uh-huh," said Toede. He looked at the others, then said, "And tell me, exactly, how many people do we currently have in this rebellion I am leading?"
Taywin said brightly, her eyes shining with hope, "Including you, me, Bunniswot, Sir Rogate, and Miles… that makes five."
Chapter 22
The moot is met, during which Our Protagonist shows both his mettle and his metal in matters diplomatic and domestic.
The moot that Taywin had mentioned was another name for a big kender party, and the planning for said party had been bubbling and ebbing for days. The last of the winter stores (mostly salted trout and grape preserves) were being plundered, along with the standard complement of goose, boar, and a delicacy that had eluded Toede previously-hedgehogs wrapped in mud and roasted in their own shells.
Toede watched the geese roasting over the fire and thought of Groag, curled up in his manor (meaning Toede's manor), seated at a table heavily laden with culinary treasures and surrounded on all sides by fawning sycophants. He could imagine that, but equally he could imagine the new lord of Flotsam tightly curled up in his bed, eyeing the darkness nervously, unable to sleep, jumping at every noise.
From what the others had described, it sounded as though the city had fallen on hard times indeed under Groag's rule. There was little there to attract Toede, unless he put Groag's death high on his "to-do" list.
Groag's death was on his list, but not in the top ten, to be honest. After all, the drive to claim his vaunted lordship had several times resulted in an unpleasant death. Toede might have a learning curve verging on a flat line, but he did connect Flotsam with messy, bloody deaths (usually his). Toede thought of Groag, and his drunken palate wrapped around the word: a-dap-tive.
The problem was that his compatriots-pornographer, poetess, nut-case, and guard-were intent on helping him regain this flawed gem, this dead dog of a city, and did not care to take no for an answer. Particularly the nutcase, who, Toede was sure, would get agitated should the target of his fervor prove less than excited about the prospect of reclaiming his historical throne.
Rogate the nut-case was wrapped up in some kind of fantasy version of justice. Taywin was in it for revenge and retribution. Bunniswot apparently considered this some great adventure, like those accursed Heroes of the Lance. And Miles?
Toede looked at the kender guard, who hovered close by him at all times. Miles beamed back at him with a gap-toothed grin, and Toede smiled weakly. Miles? Well, someone in every revolution has to do the heavy lifting, make the tea, pass out the leaflets, and make sure the hero of the rebellion-in this case, Toede-doesn't head for the hills.
Tomorrow, he would have to face Kronin.
Toede winced to think of the kender leader, and wondered how Kronin felt about him. After all, it was Toede who had ordered Kronin and another kender shackled and chased on that disastrous hunt, on the last day of his first life. And even though the kender elder seemed to have a mind like a steel sieve, the pair of them had run rings around Toede and his hunting party, right up to the point when Toede confronted the fire-breathing end of an angry dragon. And died.
Perhaps Kronin was setting Toede up. Perhaps the kender leader intended to shackle him to a boulder and give him a fifteen-minute head start before setting the hounds loose. Toede rubbed his chin at the thought. The kender were little more than savages, and Kronin could be holding a grudge.
Then again, so could Toede. It wouldn't hurt to pack a little extra precaution.
The present kender camp was located near the spot where Groag and he had plunged into the river almost a year ago. Most of the huts had been erected far from the water, and the intended moot-site was among the taller trees that overlooked the berry patches. Toede wandered back to his hut, his guardian in tow. Miles stopped at the entrance while Toede ducked in and searched through his meager belongings.
Taking the sword was out of the question, unfortunately, but the dagger would be just fine. Nicely weighted, it would suitable both for throwing and for use in tight combat, while the blade was fine enough to slip between the ribs of an opponent, be he human or kender.
Perfect precaution, thought Toede, slipping it into the oversized dwarven boots he had been wearing for a year (Krynn time). Or maybe more than just precaution. Given an opportunity, perhaps he would extract a little vengeance on his own. Kronin had caused his death, after all. The first of many, and the beginning of all his troubles.
Not that Kronin would be alone on his list of vengeance. Groag had suggested that ill-fated hunt, after all. And Miles had been all too quick to strike him down, earlier.
Toede realized he would have to keep expanding the list as he went along, but Kronin, Groag, and Miles would do for now.
There was a knock, and Taywin stuck her head in, looking like a shaved chipmunk. "We're starting! Come on!"
Toede smiled and walked out of the hut to join the others, limping only slightly from the additional weight in his boot.
A kender moot, or at least this kender moot, differed from most regular kender festivals chiefly in that during
the moot there were tables set up. They weren't much in the way of tables, in that they were only a foot off the ground, and the kender had to sit or kneel on the hard-packed earth, but at least they kept the food within a set boundary.
Already several of the revelers were using the tables as impromptu dance platforms. Toede identified two polkas and a reel, dancers bouncing between tables and sending dishware and bits of the feast in all directions.
Typical kender behavior, Toede thought.
There were already several makeshift song groups warming up, Toede noted, including not a few rehearsing ribald choruses regarding the social habits of elves. A white-haired kender elder, his hair spun into an elaborate braid that ran to the small of his back, was leading two tables in a call-and-respond contest. The lyrics of this drinking song shot from one table to the other like a shuttlecock. Those at the first table would shout "Oly-Oly-Oly-Ay!" and those at the second table would respond "Oly-Oly-Oly-Ay!". Then the first group would shout "Aley-Aley-Aley-O!" and the second group "Aley-Aley-Aley-O!" The kender at both tables would spend the time between responses drinking as quickly and as much as they could. This continued until both sides passed out.