"You'll need it," said Toede, adding to himself, if there are any nasty creatures left, I'd rather Bunniswot's light attract them to him as opposed to me. "I'll find a dry niche and wait."

"Right-oh," said the scholar. "I hate to leave you like this."

Toede considered yet another string of curses, but instead said, "I'll be fine. I've hosted dinner parties in worse neighborhoods than this. Now go, before I catch the cobbiewobbles or something worse."

"Right-oh," Bunniswot repeated. Toede heard footsteps retreating in long strides. There was another shout about a minute later. Bunniswot, letting him know that he had reached the door unharmed, was indeed heading for help. Toede sloshed through the water and found an uncomfortable pile of damp, rotted timbers that had cascaded from the ceiling a few millennia earlier. He clambered up on them, shucked off his boots, emptied them of water, and unwrapped the package Bunniswot had tossed to him. Strips of cooked boar, still fresh from the previous evening. Toede chewed on the meat, reflecting on his situation.

His dream had been a sending, of that he was certain. An opportunity to further enhance his noble status by helping the young scholar.

And to enhance his own name and line his pockets with any ancient coins that were lying about.

Again, the idea of noble actions and self-advancement seemed to go hand in hand. He helped the scholars and got a gem and a fine meal. He discovered the lost temple of the proto-ogres, and was meant to find great treasure. It wasn't his dream's fault that the floorboards were weak, was it?

The noble heroes always followed their dreams. So Toede followed his, and now it left him seated on some moldering wood awash in fetid, lifeless water.

Of course, the dream didn't mention the big edifice above, the jackal-faced fiend with the rolling-pin lower jaw. Was that more than just an oversight?

Toede shuddered and cast a glance around. It looked as though nothing had passed this way, fiendish or otherwise, for the past five hundred years or so. So either the creature from the carving was very lackadaisical about its housecleaning habits, or the temple was empty.

Except for him.

Toede leaned back, staring into the darkness above him. He closed his eyes and listened, but heard nothing except for the rush of a distant waterfall. He was unaware of the passage of time and fell asleep without intending to. His dreams were monochromatic, unenlightening, and unremarkable. No shining women showed him the way out.

Then was the sound of boots on tiles above, and Toede bolted awake. The sound of rushing water in the distance had stopped, but Toede could discern the sounds of a careful, heavy tread, as if each footfall were being tested

and retested before proceeding.

There was no light from the hole far above, only the same murky grayness.

"Hello?" said Toede, his voice echoing in the darkness. Louder, he shouted, "Bunniswot? Anyone there?"

From above came a quiet, level voice. "Hello, Toede."

"Groag, is that you?" Toede could just make out the smaller hobgoblin's silhouette, black against darker black.

A pause, as if the shadow were thinking it over. "Yes," came the response.

"Did Bunniswot send you?" Toede said, growing concerned. It sounded like Groag, and looked (as far as he could tell) like Groag, and since Toede could not imagine much of a market for Groag-imitators, it must be Groag. But something was amiss here.

Another pause. "Yes," came the answer, "and Renders, before he left."

"Did you bring a rope?" said Toede.

'Typical," came the response. "Yes, I brought a rope."

"Well, nice of you to drop by and all, but do you think you could hurry up and get me out of here?"

Another pause, and when the answer came at last, it was all choked. "Why?"

"Well, because it's wet and cold and I'm in a temple dedicated to a creature who might not be entirely dead," said Toede.

Another pause. "And?"

"And I'm asking you nicely," said Toede, smiling in the dark. "Very nicely."

"Oh." Another pause. "That makes it all better, then, doesn't it?"

Toede frowned and said to the figure above, "I sense that something is wrong here."

"You might say that," said Groag's voice.

"Something in the temple?" His voice caught. Something ugly and fiendish and heading his way?

"No," said Groag's voice.

"Something at camp, then. With Bunniswot and the others?" Toede felt a chill creeping up his spine.

"Yes," said the voice from above.

"Groag," said Toede, "I really enjoy playing 'ask-me-another' with you. Just tell me what happened."

Another silence, and Toede was just about to launch into a string of invectives aimed at his hobgoblin partner, when Groag said in a strangled voice, "You happened, Toede."

"Pardon?"

"You happened." The voice grew stronger, sounding more like Groag every moment. The extremely irritated Groag Toede had left by the fireside the previous evening. "I survived your last little encounter among the living, just barely, and pulled my life back together. Yet every time you show up, everything falls apart again." It sounded as though he were on the verge of weeping.

"Groag, I did come back for you. Didn't I? It's not as if I were going to leave you among the gnolls." Toede tried to give his voice the consistency of buttermilk. If Groag cracked up, he'd never get out of here.

"You came back," came the accusation, "to make matters worse."

"Worse?" shouted Toede. "I foxed Charka into helping us. I got hot food in everyone's bellies. I found this old temple for Bunniswot, and you say I've made matters worse. How?"

A very long silence this time. "By being you. Just by being Toede."

Toede waited for Groag to pick up the thread and explain himself, and after half an eternity the hobgoblin did. "You left Renders and the rest of us behind when you went off haring with Bunniswot. While you were gone, Renders told more stories about the Heroes of the Lance. He also told the story of your death. The first one, with the kender and the dragon."

Again silence, another eternity. Then Groag picked up the story again. "Renders told about the kender and the dragon and your disastrous hunt. And Charka said that Renders was talking about you, King of Little Dry Frogs." Groag chuckled, not a pleasant sound.

"Listen, Groag," said Toede, "Whatever Charka says…"

"Don't interrupt," said Groag, loudly and surprisingly sharply. "Renders said that Charka had to be mistaken. He said it in a way that made Charka feel stupid about it. Charka argued, and soon the two were going at it heatedly. You've seen Charka's style of argument."

A sinking feeling gripped Toede in the stomach and would not let go.

"Then Bunniswot arrived with news of your discovery…" said Groag.

The sinking feeling became sunken. "Charka was angered that you two had gone into the necromancer's territory. Renders said that Charka had mistaken you for Toede. Bunniswot launched into a loud tirade about how misunderstood Toede had been and anyway no hairy dog-man was going to tell him and you where to go. And then…"

"Charka hit Bunniswot?" Toede suggested. There was a sigh above. "Square in the face. Bunniswot hit the ground like a sack of dung." Then sobbing. Toede was surprised, as he did not think that Groag and the scholar were that close.

When Groag continued, his voice had regained its steely tone. "So Bunniswot was lying on the ground, bleeding from the nose and mouth, and Renders got angry and pushed Charka. And Charka pushed back, and Renders fell over backward.

"Then Charka stopped, and realized what he had done-pushing a powerful wizard around. Remember, you told him Renders was this great, flesh-boiling wizard? Except the wizard didn't react as a wizard would, throwing fireballs, with lightning dancing off his beard.