The Companions

Chapter 4

The first to awaken was Caramon, his head throbbing painfully. He had a vague sensation of having dreamed something-of being up in a high stone tower, buffeted by strong winds and driving rain. Only it wasn't a tower; it was the tallest tree in a forest, bending and swaying, with Caramon clinging precariously high in its branches. Lightning struck the tree, and it snapped in the middle, and Caramon was falling. But he could save himself. All he had to do was grab the anchor of a silver ship flying by, an anchor that bobbed and dangled mere inches from his fingertips…

"Unh," he grunted. That sailor's mead was worse than dwarf spirits. Caramon reached up to massage the bridge of his nose, but something held his hand down. Opening his eyes painfully, he realized that, for some reason that escaped him, he was roped to a post along with Sturm and Tas, who were still unconscious. Caramon closed his eyes again and relaxed. It was just a bad dream. It would all go away when the mead wore off.

The sounds of the storm faded and were replaced by the cries of gulls, the sighing of the wind, and the gentle rocking and swaying of a ship. Then, after some time, other sounds became gradually audible… low grunts and scraping noises and the squeaking of oars.

Caramon's bleary eyes opened again, and he tried to assess the situation. Where was he, anyway? What had happened? Why were he and Sturm and Tasslehoff roped to the ship's mast?

Sturm leaned against him, his head thrown back and his mouth agape. Behind them, if Caramon twisted his shoulder, he could make out Tas, an ugly purple bruise spreading across his forehead. Caramon elbowed Sturm, but got no reaction. He could hear Tasslehoff as the kender began to stir and groan.

All three were bound and shackled to the center post of the Venora. As far as Caramon could see, nobody else was aboard the ship, which seemed to be drifting gently with the current.

Caramon combed his memory, trying to recall how he got there. The last thing he remembered, he had been on deck, swapping yarns and sharing mead with some of the sailors. They were on their way back from Eastport. It was a beautiful clear night, one of those times when all seemed right with the world.

Straining his eyes, he couldn't place the sun, but Caramon felt that it must be daytime. It was hot and humid. The sun must be up there somewhere, behind the filmy gray clouds. Not clouds… more like a warm-weather mist, which cast its pall over everything, so that Caramon could see only a short way ahead of him on the ship.

All of a sudden, the sounds that he had been hearing stopped and were replaced by other, closer, more distinct sounds. Footfalls. Clanking weapons. Voices.

"What is it?" whispered Tas groggily. "What has happened?"

"Shhh."

The mist cleared slightly. Caramon saw hands gripping the side railings of the Venora and figures climbing over the rail onto the ship. In twos and threes, they began to creep forward, coming closer, closer, so that soon Caramon knew he would be able to make out their features.

Over his shoulder, Caramon whispered vehemently, "Sturm, wake up!" He could feel the Solamnic move his head and begin to stir.

As the figures approached, Caramon saw that they were a motley assortment including several human ruffians, a few ogres, a phalanx of minotaurs, and a mysterious caped, cowled figure, hunched over, who stood almost out of view toward the rear. Caramon couldn't get a good look at this furtive figure, who occasionally hissed orders at the rest, unaccountably creating the impression of some slithering, serpentine creature.

Caramon shifted his attention back to the ogres. He felt certain they were ogres, yet they were strange and unlike others of that ill-begotten race. They were shorter and fatter, with stringy flaxen-colored hair, greasy gray skin, and webbed hands and feet. Caramon was taken aback by the sight of ogres alongside the minotaurs, for in olden times, the minotaurs had been slaves of the ogres, and the two brute races were usually regarded as dire enemies of each other.

The humans were dressed in ragged if colorful patchwork clothing. They were lean and sun-parched, but obviously rugged. From their waists dangled cutlasses and assorted seagoing utensils. The ogres and minotaurs likewise carried conspicuous tools and weaponry.

Caramon jerked his shoulder again, and this time he felt Sturm's head rise groggily. He sensed Tas struggling with his bonds, but the warrior knew from experience that the kender's efforts were in vain.

The minotaurs took charge of the boarding party, elbowing their way to the front of the group. Though there were only four or five of them, the bullish creatures, garbed in harnesses and skirts with gemmed rings through their ugly snouts, dominated the group. Short, rust-colored fur carpeted their massive bodies, and horns curved sharply upward from their wide brows. Their cloven hooves made a harsh clatter on the deck.

Two of the minotaurs stepped toward the trio of prisoners, pausing a few feet away. They spoke to each other in voices that were muted for minotaurs but whose deep, gravelly tones carried easily to Caramon's ears.

"Be these the three?" rumbled one. He carried several axes and a wicked-looking knife stuck into his leather straps.

"Fool! Of course they are. Do you think the Nightmaster would make such a mistake?"

The creatures' foul smell acted like powerful smelling salts for Caramon, clearing his senses of their previous grogginess.

The second one must be the leader, Caramon thought. Around the minotaur's thick, muscular neck gleamed a tight collar of polished stones. At his waist, he wore a loincloth of girded metal. He carried only a barbed flail.

"They look pathetic. What threat could they possibly pose?"

"I only do the master's bidding, Dogz. I do not read his thoughts."

"Which is the one?"

"That's what we must find out."

The others hung back in a circle like wolves cringing at the edges of a blazing campfire. With their huge bulk and seven foot height, the minotaurs loomed over Caramon, obscuring his view. The cowled figure remained in the background, enshrouded by fog, so that Caramon couldn't be sure of its outline. Only occasional hisses and swishing utterances reminded him that there was someone, or some thing, back there.

Struggling to sit erect, Caramon noticed another vessel through the mist, a sleek longship off in the distance. He could just make out the topsail poking through the curls of mist. He guessed the ship was about three hundred yards away.

"Caramon! What's going on?" That was Sturm's voice.

From his angle, the Solamnic couldn't see much, and from the sound of his voice, it was clear that he was still dazed.

"Minotaurs and some human rabble," whispered Tas, although he could see even less than Sturm.

"Pirates," muttered Caramon.

"Silence!" barked the leader. The minotaur lashed out with his flail, catching Caramon on the side of the face and making a deep strawberry cut on his cheek. "We're no pirates, fool!"

At that, the two minotaurs retreated back into the fog to where the caped figure stood. From the muttered growls that floated through the air, it appeared that the minotaurs were consulting with this peculiar specimen. The others moved closer to the mast, tightening their circle around the three prisoners. They had bloodthirsty looks in their eyes that left Caramon distinctly uncomfortable.

"Where are we?" asked Sturm in a low voice, sounding more clearheaded now.

"I was hoping you'd have an answer to that question," replied Caramon grimly.

"If only I could consult my maps," chimed in Tasslehoff.

Caramon said nothing. Best to keep silent, he thought to himself. No sense letting this piratical band know how confused they were. The big warrior had a feeling that any signs of weakness would only add to their trouble.

The two minotaurs who had been conferring with the cowled figure returned, towering over him. The one called Dogz reached toward Caramon with thick, wide hands, and ran them over the front and back of Caramon's body, searching for something. Caramon struggled, but he could do little to resist. He spat defiantly into the face of the huge, smelly minotaur.

He heard chuckling from the onlookers as the minotaur reared back in surprise and, with the force of a sledgehammer, kicked the Majere twin in the face. Caramon spat out a bloody tooth and doubled over in pain as Sturm cried out, "By my honor, you will live to regret that cowardly blow!"

"That goes double for me!" shouted Tasslehoff. "When his brother hears about this, you'll be lucky if you aren't turned into a horny toad. He'll-"

"Leave off, Tas!" Caramon managed to gasp.

But the minotaur paid no heed. Already Dogz had moved on, bending over Sturm and groping through the young knight's clothing and gear with his rough hands. This is not the one either, thought Dogz. This human carried nothing on his person, no weapon or purse.

"Hunh," Dogz grunted, holding up one hand, which dripped blood from the matted wound on the back of Sturm's head. In disgust, he slapped Sturm across the side of the face. The Solamnic took the blow stoically, as he had the search, saying nothing.

"That's it!" Tasslehoff cried, struggling in vain against his bonds. "Now you've crossed the point of no return! Sturm never hurt an unarmed person in his whole life-well, at least as long as I've known him! Which is years, or certainly a year or two by now. And he is about as noble and well-meaning a fellow as you will ever meet, quite apart from myself."

This time the kender's voice seemed to surprise the minotaur, as if he hadn't quite deigned to notice Tas before. Caramon heard a sharp intake of breath as Dogz stepped back to speak, in his low rumbling voice, with the leader.

"The third one is a kender, Sarkis."

"So?"

"Kender are unclean. They roam the earth, living by stealth and dishonor. To touch one, it is said, is to invite scorn or, worse, disease. I do not think it is necessary to search this one."

From behind the two minotaurs came an angry hiss. From behind Caramon rose Tas's indignant voice.

"Unclean! Why, you big horny cow! I'll have you know that I bathe regularly. I washed my face just yesterday, to be exact-that is, assuming this is the day after yesterday, which I don't know for sure because I have no idea where I am or how long it took me to get here. But if you want to bring up personal hygiene, I suggest you take your two moon-sized nostrils, bend over, and take a whiff of yourself!"

Sturm bit his tongue.

Caramon rolled his eyes.

The human scum and webbed ogres snickered.

The one named Sarkis stepped away from Dogz and faded into the gray mist toward the cloaked figure. This time Caramon couldn't make out any words, only bestial snorts interspersed with guttural syllables and hissing sounds. The leader was obviously conferring with the mysterious figure.

Caramon's thoughts whirled. They stopped at the thought of his twin. Raistlin and he had become expert at pairing up to seize the advantage in many tight situations. With a fierce longing, the young warrior wished he had his brother at his side now. What would Raistlin do in such a spot?

Sarkis returned and addressed Dogz contemptuously. "Pah, Dogz! It is true that kender are dishonorable, but it is well known they are impervious to common or uncommon illness. You are as likely to catch disease from a tree stump. Let me do the job, you superstitious fool!"

Tasslehoff was able to twist around to see Sarkis descend upon him, huge hands outstretched. "You ugly, wart-faced, pig-snouted, dun-colored cretin! I'm as honorable as they come-well, maybe not as honorable as Sturm, or even Caramon, who is honorable in his own humble way-but twice, ten times, one hundred thousand times as honorable as the likes of you! And let me warn you that I could give you any disease I wanted if I only cared enough to bother… Hey, stop! Quit that! That tickles! Heh-heh! Hah-ha-ha-ha-hah!"

That crazy kender talks too much for his own good, thought Sturm. He saw from his vantage that Sarkis had discovered Tasslehoff's packs and pouches. The minotaur leered, showing yellow teeth in his brutish face.

Sarkis stomped over to his second-in-command, holding up Tas's pouches. He glared savagely at his subordinate.

"Well, what is it?" asked the chastened Dogz.

The humans and webbed ogres tittered until Sarkis silenced them with a glance. Sarkis strode back to the figure in the fog. Their conversation consisted of more hissing and muffled grunts. He returned to Dogz.

"He is the one," Sarkis announced.

Dogz started forward, but Sarkis grabbed him by the shoulder. "Do not harm him! Bring him and" — he handed over the kender's belongings- "his pouches."

Dogz hurried over to Tasslehoff. A high-pitched shriek filled the air. Caramon and Sturm strained against their bonds, but there was nothing they could do.

Dogz came back around the mast, carrying Tas, holding the squirming, ranting kender as far away from him as he could, dangling him by his topknot. It looked as if the huge minotaur was carrying a rabbit by the ears, but the rabbit, in this instance, was cursing a vile streak.

"Ouch! Of all the-You clod-footed, garlic-breathing pokehead! Watch what you're-Ouch! Where are we go-Ouch! You overgrown, thickheaded, milkless cow! Ouch! That's my hair you're pulling! Hey, what about Caramon and Sturm? Yeeeow!"

As Caramon and Sturm watched, the minotaur passed the kicking kender to two of the humans, who climbed over the rail and disappeared, presumably into a dinghy below. Smirking with satisfaction, Dogz turned to face Sarkis.

Caramon heard a scuttling sound and could just make out the cowled figure retreating toward the ship's railing, then being swallowed up by the fog as he went over the side. Other humans, webbed ogres, and minotaurs hurried to do likewise.

Stepping forward, Dogz asked menacingly, "What about these two?"

Sarkis shrugged indifferently. "They are unimportant. Throw them overboard and set fire to the ship."

The few remaining humans edged forward. One of them, a lumbering hulk of a man with a red beard and bearing a rope scar on his neck, gave Dogz a look of eager pleading. Dogz nodded to him.

The two bull creatures turned away and also disappeared over the side of the ship.

The humans swarmed over Caramon and Sturm, punching and beating them with short clubs. Unable to defend himself, Caramon tried to protect his eyes by clamping them shut. Next to him, Sturm moaned, then grunted as the first blows landed, but after that the Solamnic took his punishment in silence.

The huge man with the rope scar began to kick at the mast. After several kicks, it snapped at the bottom, and he and the other humans lifted it, dragging Sturm and Caramon over to the side of the Venora.

Sounds of the ship being wrecked surrounded them. Then came a sloshing noise, followed by a whoosh and a sudden rush of heat and fire.

Still bound to the jagged section of mast, Sturm and Caramon were hefted into the air. The men began a crude chant, lofting the prisoners in an arc over the water, then swinging them back to the ship several times before letting go with a final shout. Sturm and Caramon and the mast section sailed through the air before plummeting toward the water in a twisted jumble.

As he smacked the water, Caramon struggled to react. His arms seemed all tangled up with the wooden mast, and his hands were tied tight. Even without these disadvantages, swimming wasn't Caramon's strong point. He would have drowned in Crystalmir Lake some months ago if Sturm hadn't rescued him. He had made some modest strides since that day, but now he kicked for all he was worth.

Because of the way in which they had hit the water, Sturm was briefly pinned under the mast and took a few seconds to surface. Gasping for air, Sturm struggled to free his arms, but like Caramon, he couldn't. He scissored his legs, kicking strongly. Fortunately for the two of them, the wooden mast section helped keep" them afloat.

"Don't kick so hard!" Sturm managed to wheeze at Caramon. "You'll use up all your strength. Take it easy for now."

The water was strangely warm and murky, brown rather than blue-green and swirling with sediment. Their kicking churned up bubbles and slimy, clinging vegetation. The water had a decidedly stagnant smell.

Suddenly a tremendous explosion rocked their ears. Both men twisted their necks around in time to see, through the mist, the Venora explode in a great plume of smoke and fire. The current had already carried the ship several thousand yards off. The other ship, the one Caramon had barely glimpsed, had vanished into the haze.

Caramon and Sturm watched for several minutes as remnants of the ship burned and sank into the waves. Almost as if by signal, then, the warm fog descended heavily, obscuring everything but the rolling infinity of the ocean.

As they struggled to keep afloat, both Caramon and Sturm had the same unspoken thoughts.

Where were they? Why had this happened to them? How in blazes would they ever find and rescue Tasslehoff? Or save themselves?

Although he certainly missed his good friends Caramon and Sturm, and although he certainly needed rescuing, Tasslehoff Burrfoot was having a pretty good time.

It was true that he was stuck in a small iron-barred brig in the lower deck of the minotaur ship, which stank worse than a mountain of dead skunks. It was also true that he was a prisoner of the minotaurs, the webbed ogres-which he had learned were called orughi-and human seafaring rabble who might at any moment put him to death.

But so far he had been treated rather well, all things considered. Sarkis had given him back his packs and pouches. Indeed, the commander of the ship acted as though the kender's possessions were sacrosanct and would be safer under the protection of Tas. Tas could spend hours poring through his various belongings, and now he had no shortage of hours to kill. He wished he hadn't sent the magic message bottle to Raistlin, since this would be an even better time to use it.

Tas got plenty of sleep. And his captors fed him reasonably well under the circumstances, mostly a greasy, lumpy meat stew that once you got used to it tasted just fine. The bowls of stew were sometimes brought to him by monkeys, who were on the ship in droves and acted as the cook's helpers. One of them in particular, a pear-shaped woolly monkey, Tas got to know rather well. He dubbed him "Oh-Tick," after a certain innkeeper he remembered fondly, and when he conversed with Oh-Tick, Tas felt the monkey, tilting his head in a listening kind of way, almost understood him.

Tas had plenty of interesting visitors. Very few of the ship's denizens had ever met or even seen a kender before. So they trooped down, by ones and twos, to gawk at him, in some cases to taunt him, and in a couple of instances to throw fruit cores and dirt clods at him.

Tas threw the fruit cores and dirt clods right back, but he liked it best when they came to taunt him. The human rabble really knew some good insults, and this in turn stimulated Tas's imagination. He came right back at them with some of the most totally offensive things he had ever thought of. It made several of his visitors so angry that their faces got all purple before they stomped away.

The minotaurs had more dignity, even if they smelled worse. They would approach almost respectfully and gaze at him in his solitary cell. Tas only saw Sarkis once again, when the leader came down all alone and spent several minutes standing impassively, watching Tas, his eyes taking note of every detail of the kender from topknot to soft leather boots. Tas couldn't manage to get a word out of the huge, ugly beast.

Dogz was different. Scornful and arrogant, he, too, came to take a leisurely look at Tasslehoff. After their first encounter, which was marked by a nasty exchange of barbed comments, Dogz returned again and again. Tas began to have stilted but edifying conversations with the huge beast, who seemed in some ways to be as curious about him as Tas was about everything, and indeed more fearful of Tas than the other way around. Gradually the two developed an awkward, almost friendly relationship.

Dogz was Sarkis's cousin, as it turned out, and utterly in awe of and loyal to his higher-ranking relative. Sarkis regarded Dogz's friendship with the kender to be another sign of a pathetic weakness, so Dogz had to steal his opportunities to see the kender.

"So you really like being a minotaur, huh?" asked Tas, amazed at the fierce pride exhibited by the strutting bull creature. Tas found Dogz fascinating, but the kender couldn't help but know, even if Dogz seemed oblivious to it, that minotaurs were a race widely scorned on Krynn.

"It is… a great honor to be a minotaur," rumbled Dogz uncertainly.

"What's the good part?" asked Tas, intrigued. "I mean, when you're a kender, the whole world's your oyster. You've got friends and relatives everywhere, except maybe in Thorbardin among the Theiwar, although I'm sure even they would warm up to me eventually. You know how to make the very best maps, and if you're lucky, you've got a handsome topknot…"

Tas paused, realizing that this minotaur wasn't going to interrupt or answer until Tas shut up. So Tas did something he rarely did. He shut up, giving Dogz the cue to speak.

"We fight to live, live to fight," said Dogz after a long pause. He spoke haltingly but impressively. His wide-set eyes, Tas thought, looked almost mournful. "We bow down to no one. Our destiny is to rule."

"Pretty heavy burden," said Tas thoughtfully. He was tempted to add "even for a beast of burden," but he thought perhaps he'd better not say that.

"Yes," said Dogz, raising his eyes to meet Tas's gaze.

After about a week, Tas realized that he hadn't seen his favorite monkey, Oh-Tick, for several days, and he asked his regular visitor about it.

"Monkey stew," said Dogz, pointing to the bowl of stew in Tas's hands. "That is why the disgusting creatures are on board. Did you think they were pets?" Dogz gave a snort of laughter.

Oh-Tick's demise made Tas feel lowly and ashamed. Suddenly he lost his appetite for the stew. Dogz noticed that he had stopped eating and said, rather gently considering his rumbling tone, "Kender don't usually eat monkey?"

"Not usually," Tas replied disconsolately.

"What do kender eat?" asked Dogz thoughtfully.

"Almost anything," said Tas, "except monkey. Especially a monkey friend," he added diplomatically.

"We always eat monkey stew," said Dogz. "They are silly animals." Then, more sympathetically, "I'm sorry."

"Me, too." Tas shoved his face between the bars to peer at Dogz. "I suppose I could pretend it was bran meal or something. I love plain old bran meal. I dream of hot bran meal with currants and honey! You wouldn't happen to have any plain old bran meal on this ship, would you?"

Dogz shook his head. Tas sighed and pushed away his bowl. Several minutes passed in silence before Dogz asked tentatively, "If you aren't going to eat your monkey stew, would you mind if I ate it?"

Tas pushed the bowl between the bars.

When Dogz's shipmates came down to observe Tas, he got a chance to observe them, too. The kender was thrilled by the close-up view of minotaurs, and especially the webbed ogres, who waddled up to spy on him. Short, fat, and dull-witted, they shouted their insults at him in orughi, so Tas could only do his best to match their tone and decibel level in Common.

Tas had to look quick at some of the orughi, who after clucking their insults would scoot away before the kender could respond. Tas liked it when they stayed around awhile so he could study the ancestral weapon many of them carried over their shoulder, an iron boomerang with a long metallic cord, which Dogz told him was called a tonkk. It was used to hunt flying creatures. Tas would have liked to try using a tonkk, which reminded him of his own favorite weapon, the hoopak.

Tasslehoff still had his own hoopak, which had been strapped across his back when he was taken off the Venora. Sarkis hadn't shown any interest in taking it away, and besides, it was no help to Tas in his cramped prison quarters.

One afternoon, after about a week, Tas felt the ship slowing down. There was a good deal of commotion on deck above as the ship shuddered to a halt. Tas heard the sounds of cargo being unloaded, and then the muffled tramping of the crew disembarking. For several hours, Tas heard sounds of activity above, but during the entire time, no one came to check on him.

The kender was beginning to think they had forgotten all about him when at last Dogz and Sarkis came below, speaking to each other in their low, guttural voices. They carried a small wooden cage that smelled of monkeys and made Tas think forlornly of Oh-Tick.

They entered Tas's cell, squeezed the kender inside the cage, and then slid the cage onto two poles, which they hefted and balanced on their shoulders. Then the two minotaurs carried Tas up on deck and down the gangway, where the kender got his first glimpse of the fabled minotaur island of Mithas.

With the cage bobbing on their shoulders, Dogz and Sarkis paraded Tas through the streets of the minotaur city of Lacynos. What an amazing place, Tas thought. He could hardly wait to tell all his friends about it… if he was lucky enough to live through the experience!

The harbor was crowded with war galleys, cargo ships, and fishing boats. A system of ropes and pulleys unloaded huge bundles of lumber and other vital goods from cargo ships. Human slaves supplied the power, overseen by whip-wielding minotaurs. Fierce-looking merchants and human pirates argued with each other on the docks. The water was thick with floating seaweed and garbage.

The city proper began where the wharf ended. Lacynos's rutted lanes, filthy alleys, and busy streets were paved with dirt that, as a result of rain and heavy traffic, had been churned into thick, gooey mud. Crude wooden buildings, larger than any Tas had seen in all of Southern Ergoth, were organized into block patterns. Outside ladders took the place of inside stairways; square holes in the rooftops provided egress.

Tas had to twist around repeatedly to glimpse all the strange, marvelous activity. There were plenty of humans, who seemed to have a monopoly on the corner taverns. Many of them looked like armed brigands, flaunting their plundered gems and rings. They carried wicked, curved swords and hooked weapons. The outnumbered humans mixed with the minotaurs, but Tas noticed that occasionally loud arguments took place between members of the two races and fights broke out.

So frenetic was the atmosphere that not everyone noticed Dogz and Sarkis carrying the caged kender, but others did.

The human ruffians pointed and guffawed. The minotaurs peered curiously and growled with contempt. Tas pointed and guffawed and growled right back, trailing laughter in his wake.

They turned down a wider street, carrying Tas toward a bustling square of stalls, tents, and booths where the smell of fish and sweat was overpowering. The sounds of loud haggling drowned out other noises.

"Our marketplace," Dogz boasted, inclining his head toward Tas. "Here you can buy the finest silver pieces in all the minotaur isles. But you have to be careful. There is also an abundance of worthless items."

Sarkis barked a command at Dogz. "Stop talking to the kender!" he ordered. "It is a sign of weakness."

Bouncing around in the cage, Tas decided to say nothing, sorely tempted though he was.

Here in the market square, with only a few more hours of daylight remaining, business was conducted in a colorful and chaotic manner. Few noticed Dogz and Sarkis as they shoved and elbowed their way through the crowd. Tas spotted exotic jewelry and weapons for sale, wool and clothing, and every variety of fish in the sea, smoked, canned, fresh, and not so fresh.

Up another, more deserted street they turned toward the most impressive building in the city of Lacynos, the seasonal residence of the king of the minotaurs. This was an elaborate, marble-columned mansion with spacious gardens and adjoining buildings set on high ground overlooking the teeming minotaur metropolis.

They passed a contingent of human slaves, disfigured with cuts and dried blood, digging ditches for runoff under the supervision of whip-wielding minotaur guards. These humans, in many cases gaunt and jaundiced-looking, were objects of pity in Tas's eyes. They slaved under the lash and didn't even dare to glance up at the kender as Tas passed.

When they arrived at the front gate of the palace's outer wall, Tas saw well-ordered formations of minotaur soldiers drilling outside the grounds. Sentries were posted at intervals along the wall, and everyone seemed to know Dogz and Sarkis. The guards quickly hailed and admitted them.

To tell the truth, Tas was getting a little tired of his cramped sightseeing trip and more than a little curious about where he was going. Consequently, the kender was perfectly happy when, after descending a long flight of steps to a lower level of one of the buildings, the minotaurs finally stopped. Sarkis unlatched the cage and Tas tumbled out. He barely had time for a good stretch before Sarkis pushed him into a dim and dank, if much roomier, jail cell.

Without further comment, Sarkis gave a snort, turned, and climbed back up the stairs. Dogz stalled, glancing at Sarkis's retreating form before turning back to Tas. "Goodbye, friend Tas," the minotaur said sadly and turned to leave.

"Wait! What's going to happen now?" Tas shouted, but it was too late, for Dogz had hurried back up the stairs.

An hour or two went by. It was hard to keep track of time in the boring cell. It wasn't that it was so dirty, although it was dirty enough, or that it was so smelly, considering that Tas was almost getting used to the stench of minotaurs. It was just that the complete furnishings consisted of a bunk and a bucket, with nothing else to see or do, and Tas was so uncharacteristically dispirited that he didn't even feel like rummaging through his pouches. By comparison, the minotaur ship had been a carnival of entertainment.

Things began to look up when footsteps sounded and two minotaurs he hadn't seen before came down the stairs with Sarkis, who carried a flail. One of the minotaurs wore a crimson cape and a thin gold band around his forehead. Tas wondered if it was truly gold and wished he could hold it in his hands for just a minute to see. The other minotaur was ugly and horned like most of them, but wore a kilt and didn't bear any weapons.

The one with the gold band bore an air of authority. He stepped in front of the others and looked at Tas. The expression on his snout face was blank. His foul breath made Tas retreat to the back of the cell. His yellow teeth glistened.

"So this is the kender mage,” said the caped minotaur.

"Yes, King," answered Sarkis.

Kender mage? Tas thought. What in blazes were these dumb bullheads talking about?

"The Nightmaster will be very pleased," the king said, then spun on his cloven heels and started up the steps.

So astonished was Tas by the brief exchange that he barely had time to say anything. "Nightmaster who?" he shouted after the retreating figure. "King who? If you're the bull in charge, then you'd better let me out of here before my friends find out where I am! And I've got plenty of friends-numerous-lots! If they chose you for king, it must be because you have the worst breath in all of Lacynos-no, make that all of Mithas. Make that all of Ansalon, you overdressed, forked-tailed, bulging-eyed lardhead!"

If only he had room to toss his hoopak. If only iron bars didn't stand between him and the minotaurs. Tas grabbed his hoopak and waved it threateningly.

Sarkis and the other minotaur, the one who wore the kilt, stood there, watching Tas indifferently, waiting for him to shut up. Eventually he did.

"I have never seen a kender before," rumbled the kilted minotaur in a surprisingly civilized tone. "And I have certainly never seen a kender mage."

"Yes, Cleef-Eth," said Sarkis. "As ordered, I have delivered him to your keeping."

Tas waited to hear what Cleef-Eth was going to say next. Sarkis deferred to him, that was plain. And Cleef-Eth appeared to be a minotaur of some intelligence and standing.

"Torture him until he reveals to us his secrets," said Cleef-Eth, leveling his big, round bullish orbs at Tasslehoff.

"Don't kill him, though… not right away, at least. But hurt him so he knows that we mean business."

Sarkis snapped his flail against his palm. "It will be my pleasure, Cleef-Eth," he said with relish.