"Now that we are all here," said the far-off necromancer, regarding the others through the zombie's empty eyes and forcing the words through the zombie's weak throat, "we can begin this council of war."

Contrary to what the necromancer stated, they were not "all there," even discounting the several participants in general (and Rogate in particular) who would never be "all there." The figure that appeared before members of the rebellion was a dead form, animated by the spells of the dark wizard. The necromancer moved its limbs like a puppeteer, drew only sufficient breath to strum the vocal cords, and saw the surrounding world through the zombie's now-rotted eyes. The necromancer himself was present only "in spirit," as it were. His body, mind, and soul were safely locked away in his distant tower, and only his "mouthpiece" was seated among them in the garden of ruined ogre plinths.

Charka's gnoll followers were spooked by the living dead and removed themselves to the perimeter of the camp. This left Renders, Charka, the necromancer's zombie, Rogate, Taywin, Toede, and Bunniswot seated in a loose circle on overturned and partially crushed plinths. Bunniswot had recovered nicely and was now engaged in pleasant small talk with Renders.

"I must apologize for the mysterious nature of my manifestation," wheezed the zombie, "for I feared there would be…" The necromancer paused to choose his words carefully. "Repercussions… if I had used one of my more obvious agents."

"I must admit," said Bunniswot, "the individual who contacted me seemed more… lively."

"Newly dead, he was," said the necromancer, "and the… victim… of a twisted neck. He would not have been necessary had I located the anomaly through my own efforts."

"Animally?" asked Charka.

"Strangeness," defined Renders. "Something, ah, out of step with the rest of the universe."

"Gee," grumbled Toede to the assembled gnoll, kender, scholars, fanatic assassin, and zombie, "what could be considered strange and out of step in this universe?"

Six sets of eyes (including the zombie's unfocused orbs) turned toward Toede.

"Thrice you have been slain, Highmaster," said the zombie to Toede, "each time in a drastic and irreconcilable way. Yet thrice you have been restored, unmarked and unscarred, and returned to life-through no earthly agency, nor, so far as I may divine, the will of the True Gods themselves. Do you have any explanation for your return each time?"

"Unfinished business," said Toede.

"That is a matter that usually concerns ghosts," said the necromancer.

"Then blame clean living." Toede threw up his hands and ticked off options. "Or the gods lied to you. Or other forces are at work. Or there's a hole in the natural order. Or overdue library books. Sheer perversity of the keepers of the universe. All of the above. Frankly, I don't care."

"I know you do not," said the zombie, controlled by the far-off mage. "But I do. If you have a secret, and you must, I would like to learn it." The zombie coughed, sounding to Toede like a flurry of scalpels.

"And if you had found me before the kender…" began Toede.

"I would not have to be here now," finished the necromancer, "and your Allied Rebellion would have had to carry on with you only as a figurehead and a memory."

Toede decided to change the subject, before the necromancer's honeyed words seeped into his compatriots' brains. "So you called us to meet you here, and Charka's gnolls as well. You could just as easily have ambushed us, killed the others, and captured or killed me."

"A possibility," said the zombie, "but one that might be explored later on. However, I believe in omens, signs, and warnings. Last fall, I found this item on the border of my lands."

The zombie reached inside its chest (not just inside its tattered jacket, Toede noticed, but into the cavity where a beating heart would normally reside), and pulled out a medallion. He held it aloft, and it spun and glittered at the end of its chain.

The others craned to read the medallion's faces. Toede did not have to.

"One side has a picture of Hopsloth the late Water Prophet," said the zombie. "The other a crudely inscribed T, a dedication, and a date, all in the same hand. The dedication goes back to a year ago."

Toede kept his voice level. "And?" he said.

"Within a day of finding it, two of my zombies were crushed flat, and Hopsloth was found dead, and the people of Flotsam ascribed the occurrence to the actions of an individual whose name begins with a T," said the zombie. "I believe in omens and signs, Highmaster. I believe that it is better to deal with you here and now. Those who encounter you as an enemy seem to end up in a bad way."

"Instead of a charmed life," said Toede, dryly, "I lead a charmed death."

"If you say so," responded the zombie. "I am willing to facilitate the achievement of your ends."

"Which are?" said Toede, looking innocent of any ends.

The zombie's face crinkled in what Toede assumed was an attempt at a smile. "Why, taking Flotsam back as your own domain, what else?"

What else indeed, thought Toede. Five people attempting to conquer a city was foolhardy, even if-especially if-backed up by an army of kender. He had been scanning for an escape for the past two days, with little luck. But that same assault, aided by gnolls and a powerful sorcerer skilled in the nature of undeath, and perhaps, just perhaps…

"You assume I still desire Flotsam," Toede said. "I've heard if s gotten a bit run-down in the past six months."

"You want Flotsam," said the zombie flatly. "Otherwise you never would have joined this foolish rebellion. And the other members are willing to give it back to you, since they believe they can get what they want better from you than from Groag."

"And what do they want?"

"Have you asked them?" said the zombie, with the same face-crinkling smile. "They probably talk of rights and grievances and vengeances, but they all want something. What do you think it is?"

Toede looked at the others, who seemed lost in somber thought. Then Taywin said, "Permission." "Excuse me?" said Toede.

"Permission," repeated Taywin, her brow furrowed. "The kender are hunted as poachers and thieves, not only by Groag but by his predecessors. Including you. The kender want to hunt and fish in the lands claimed by Flotsam, should we win."

Toede was silent for a moment. "Done," he said at length, "provided that merchants and agents of the local lord are not harassed." Taywin nodded, and Toede thought immediately of five ways to frame the kender and be done with them in the long run.

Charka put in his two coins' worth next. "Charka want to go to Flotsam. Not just Charka, but Charka's people. Not just Charka's people, but other people who are not Charka's."

"You mean lift the ban on humanoids?" said Toede.

"Yes," Charka replied. "Books are in Flotsam, and Charka cannot get to them. Lift ban, and Charka's people fight for Toede."

Toede nodded. "Done." Renders patted Charka on the arm.

"Who's next?" asked the zombie.

Rogate spoke up. "I live only to serve Lord Toede, and accept whatever role he chooses for me."

The necromancer made a wheezing (if rude) noise. "No one honestly believes such."

Toede stepped in. "Rogate does. That's enough for me. He has already been knighted for his efforts and loyalty.

Bunniswot?"

"I live only to serve," said the young scholar, spreading his hands.

"I'd buy that from Rogate," said Toede, "but not you. You already have a position of some minor importance in Groag's court. Why risk helping us?"

Bunniswot was silent. "Maybe I want to be a part of history. A part of change," he said at last.

"Maybe you want to play at being the lord's advisor, moving the pieces around the board at your own whims?" suggested Toede.