Gnoll. The undoglike dog was not a dog but a gnoll. Toede's mind reviewed what he knew of the hyena-headed humanoids, noted for their low intelligence, nasty dispositions, and voracious appetites. Toede's mind wondered, How could anyone be so stupid as to think this was a dog? Toede's mind looked shamefully at his feet.

Of course Toede was not listening to his mind at the moment, or his stomach or any other organ that was not directly involved with getting him far from this snarling beast (and it was snarling now, unrecognizable gnoll-curses as it half pulled, half waded its way to shore).

Toede slipped back a few more feet, then leaped for solid ground.

Or at least what he thought was solid ground, only a few feet from where he had stashed the club. And the ground was solid, as far as the weight of a small being walking around on it was concerned. Leaping from a tree four feet up in the air was another matter entirely.

The soil crumbled away, back into the mudhole, taking the highmaster with it. Toede bellowed as he fell forward. He felt his entire lower body slide into the dirty water.

It's only worse if you panic, his mind said, and was rewarded with a lively string of curses from the rest of Toede's body, which was flailing, reaching, and twisting in all directions at once to pull itself out of the muck, while only succeeding in driving more of itself deeper into the mire.

I don't know why I even try, sniped Toede's mind.

Toede reached out with one muddy arm for a handful of long grass attached to the (presumably) solid bank, only to be rewarded with the entire plant being pulled out by its roots. Toede cursed one more time as he felt the muck touch his lower lip.

Then a strong arm, its biceps as wide as a Toede-and-a-half, wrapped itself around him and lifted him bodily from the mire. The ebony mud clung to him for a moment, stretched, then abandoned the contest and returned to its sludge state.

As Toede felt himself lifted off the ground, his legs dangling uselessly below him, the world whirled around. Dirt stung his eyes, but when he blinked back the mud he realized he was firmly in the grip of an equally filthy gnoll.

He was spun around again, face-to-muzzle with the mongrel monster. Saliva was dripping down in long, ropey strands from its fang-ladened maw. Toede's arms were pinioned against his sides, and he could see the creature's chest heave as it breathed hard. Or laughed. The gnoll could very well be saying grace and Toede wouldn't

be the wiser. Or saying grace.

The maw opened in a mighty yawn, and Toede closed his eyes, ready for the next life, if there was one. At least it was quick, his mind noted astutely as the rest of his body told it to just shut up.

Chapter 11

In which Our Protagonist learns not to judge a book by its cover, which is all for the best since he will soon be in the company of individuals more scholarly than his present companion.

And then the gnoll licked Toede's forehead.

Toede squirmed, not only because the gnoll smelled of wet dog, but because its breath smelled of dead wet dog. In addition, Toede's face was one of the few areas that was not covered with slime. Until the gnoll licked it, that is.

It's either thanking me, thought Toede, or tasting me, deciding if I need a little salt.

Then the large humanoid set Toede on the ground and smiled at the small hobgoblin.

"Charka," it said, pounding its chest to indicate its identity, sending flecks of mud in all directions.

"Oh, you're very welcome," said Toede, angry and disappointed that his expected meal not only could talk, but had waded out of the mire with plenty of energy.

The two stood there for a moment, regarding one another. Then the gnoll struck its hairy chest again. "Charka!" it said.

"Right," snarled Toede. "It's not like this hasn't been riveting, but there are beetles out there I have to root around for."

The gndll repeated the motion a third time. "Charka!" it nearly shouted, pointing at the hobgoblin.

Toede sighed, and pointed at himself. "Toede," he said, then added, "Lord Toede."

The gnoll snapped its head back and howled in what Toede took to be a paroxysm of amusement. "Name means 'King of Little Dry Frogs,' " the creature said, smiling a wolfish grin (or close enough, from one with the head of hyena). Then, still chuckling, it sat down to unbind its feet.

It was only then that Toede noticed the lower extremities of the creature had been chained and weighted. A thick metal chain had been wrapped twice around the gnoll's ankles, and three suitably heavy morning stars had been threaded into the links.

The gnoll did not seem to be sufficiently depressed to be a suicide attempt, so Toede asked, "How did your predicament come about?"

The gnoll looked up at him with the look animals give humans when they are asked to explain gravity. "Hur?" said the gnoll.

"I was admiring your footwear," said Toede, "How were you fitted with such stylish fashion statements?"

The gnoll waved its massive hands. "Speak humanjab-ber too fast. Talk real."

Toede frowned, pointing at the chains. "How?" he asked in a loud voice.

"Ah," said the gnoll, pulling one of the morning stars free and tossing it on the dried ground. "Bartha. Chief Bartha. Hate Charka. Beat Charka. Chain Charka. Leave Charka in mud to die."

"And what could possess anyone to do this to such a charming and genteel creature?" asked Toede.

"Hur?"

"I said why?" repeated Toede.

"Bartha hate Charka," said the gnoll, pulling another morning star out from the tangled mass at his feet, and starting to work on the third.

Toede waited for a moment. Nothing else seemed forthcoming, so he prompted. "And this was because…?"

"Hut?"

"Why Bartha hate Charka?" Toede said, feeling his higher brain functions shutting down like street vendors in the path of a city patrol crackdown.

"Bartha hate Charka," said the gnoll.

"Well, that makes sense," added Toede.

"And Charka kill Bartha's brother," said the gnoll.

"Ah," encouraged Toede.

"And Charka kill Bartha's other brother," added the gnoll. "And Charka kill Bartha's mother."

"There's a pattern forming here," said Toede.

"And Charka kill Bartha's mother's brother," recounted the gnoll. "And Charka kill Bartha's mother's other brother," finished the gnoll, as the chains slipped away from its ankles. The gnoll stood and stretched. "So Bartha hate Charka. No good reason."

"Let me guess your next course of action," said Toede, smiling.

Puzzled, the gnoll looked at the hobgoblin.

"What Charka do next?" asked Toede.

The gnoll bared its teeth. "Charka kill Bartha."

"Never would have guessed," said Toede. Before the gnoll could add anything, Toede said, "Toede help Charka kill Bartha."

The gnoll looked at Toede for a moment, then tilted its head upward and howled. Toede waited for it to subside, but it did not, at least not immediately. Charka dropped to its knees and howled again, panting hard, clutching its sides as if to keep its lungs from exploding.

"It's not that funny," muttered Toede.

"King of Little Dry Frogs help Charka kill Bartha?" said the gnoll, then howled again. "Maybe King of Little Dry Frogs bite Bartha's feet? Or King of Little Dry Frogs run up and punch Bartha in knee? Maybe King of Little Dry Frogs yell at Bartha and Bartha curl up and die?" More howling.

"That's enough," said Toede and pointed a pudgy finger at the gnoll's chest (possible only now that the gnoll had dropped to its knees in amusement). "I saved Charka's carcass, remember?" he said. "Nice and noble thing to do, saving your life. What you do when someone saves your life?"

The gnoll looked puzzled, then a dawning light broke on its features. "Ah! Gratitude!"