Charka agreed to the plan, if grudgingly. Taywin rocked back on her perch. "You know, I'm amazed," she said, looking at the two figures sitting across the fire. "Humans and gnolls usually fight, yet the two of you seem to have formed a fast friendship."

Charka looked at the kender. "Is it not obvious?" "Ah," said Renders. "Ah. I think you are thinking in terms of human and gnoll. You should instead think in terms of male"-he placed an affectionate hand on the gnoll's shoulder-"and female."

Taywin stopped rocking, and her eyes grew wide, such that her eyebrows would have disappeared beneath her hairline (if she currently had one).

Toede grunted, rising to his feet. "And on that note," he said, abandoning the kender to press on through what promised to be a conversational mine field, "I have to get back to my own studies." He padded off to his command tent.

The tent was made of motley pieces of stained, formerly white canvas that had once graced the scholar's camp, and had been presented (with as much pomp and dignity as the kender could manage) to Toede by the parents and children of the warriors Toede was sending off to die in Flotsam. Toede hated it because it was a reminder of the faith they had (or at least seemed to have) in him, and because it was such an inexpert job. The evening wind curled and howled through the hastily sewn, jagged patchwork.

Toede stomped into his tent, pulled out the camp chair in the gathering dark, and opened the box containing the light-stone. He fitted it into its holder, bathing the interior of the tent in a soft, warm light. Toede opened the book of his wit and wisdom to where he had last marked it, a passage that Bunniswot noted as being a frank discussion of free-market ethics. Toede was glad for the explanation, for otherwise he would have assumed it was about a noble and street duchess arguing about various prices and services.

Toede leaned back in his chair, balancing on the rear legs, and propped his feet up on a makeshift table of boards and stones. There was a small movement near his bunk, and a small, kender-sized figure appeared.

"Greetings, Toede," said Miles.

Toede would have jumped in surprise at the familiar intonation of the voice, but unfortunately, his current position was not made for jumping, so instead he merely pitched over backward in his chair.

Toede grunted as he hit the soft earthen floor and looked up to see a distinctly waterlogged Miles. His face was partially ruined by days of immersion in water and the tender bashing of the cascades, but it was still recognizable. If nothing else, the ornate dagger sticking out of his chest was a dead (pardoning the pun) giveaway.

Miles grinned, long-drowned muscles pulled almost entirely away from the skull. "I think I surprised you."

"You have a nasty sense of humor, Necromancer," said Toede, pulling himself to his feet.

"Everything about me is nasty," said the mage who was manipulating Miles's body and voice. "But I rarely have a chance to… display it."

"Lucky me," murmured Toede. More loudly he said, "Are your troops in position?"

"The bulk of them are," said Miles's corpse.

"Oh, they're platoons of invisible stalkers," said Toede, "with a wing of aerial servants, and a division of unseen avengers?"

Miles made a clucking noise that Toede assumed was laughter. "The bulk of my army has always been here, Toede, even during your reign. Lumber, stone, and trash were not the only things washed up on shore when Istar sank those many centuries ago."

"That's your army?" mocked Toede. "Those skeletons that haven't been turned up by the plow?"

The necromancer gave a kenderish shrug. "I have a small force that will make a… diversionary attack on the North Gate at dawn."

"They will be cut to ribbons," said Toede.

"It won't bother them," said the necromancer.

"Our assault will ideally come a half hour after yours."

"Your mind is sharp," said the undead kender. "I look forward to examining it." Before Toede could put in a retort, the necromancer added, "You are throwing your troops in in large numbers to create maximum chaos?"

"As if I have a choice," said Toede. "Subtlety is not in the gnoll playbook. They're going to catch the brunt of it."

"Good," hissed the necromancer. "Any on your side I should… spare?"

"You are only to take the dead," cautioned Toede, "not help borderline cases along."

"We agreed to that," said the necromancer. "What I mean is, are there any you wish to give a proper burial to? The scholars, perhaps, or the shaved kender?"

Toede thought a moment, then said, "No. A deal is a deal, and we all agreed to it. Should they fall, they fall into your hands."

"Easy for you to say," said the necromancer. "I will be going now. Remember, tomorrow, after dawn." He hefted Miles's light body to its water-curled feet.

"One last thing," said Toede, raising a hand.

"And that is?" said the undead creature.

"Do you have a real name?" asked Toede, smiling. "I mean, necromancer is just a title or a job description. What are you called at the Necromancer's Club?"

"Necromancers do not have clubs," said the creature, more of its face muscles loosening from their moorings as it gave a scowl.

"You know what I mean," said Toede.

A silence fell between the two. Finally, the necromancer spoke. "Bob," he said.

Toede's face brightened. "Bob?"

"It's short for-" the necromancer quickly put in.

Toede waved him silent. "Bob will do. Now we have something that only you and I know, so if you send a message, say it's from Bob, and I'll know it's not a counterfeit." The undead kender nodded, but the remains of its face muscles evidenced suspicion at Toede's reasoning. "I'm going now," the creature said at last. "Prepare well for tomorrow's battles."

"I wasn't counting on sleeping," said Toede, as the undead kender knelt and slipped under the back of the tent.

"I wasn't counting on you sleeping, either," said Miles's corpse with a smile, and then was gone.

Toede cursed and set up his camp chair again. The idea of escape had all the appeal of a cold shower. Cutting his losses and fleeing at that moment meant heading into the woods, where the necromancer likely had undead sentinels. The safest place for Toede at the moment was at the head of an army about to assault Flotsam.

Bunniswot stuck his head in the opening. "Are you alone?" asked the flame-haired scholar.

"In a manner of speaking," said Toede testily.

"Did Taywin tell you about Charka and Renders?" queried the scholar.

"Why aren't you back in Flotsam?" Toede asked sharply.

"I guess I never thought about Renders, you know, as being a romantic individual," continued Bunniswot.

"Why aren't you in Flotsam?" repeated Toede, verging on a bellow.

"I bring bad news and good news," said the scholar, smiling. Toede suddenly missed the straightforward threats of the necromancer.

Toede sighed. "Bad news first," said the hobgoblin.

"They know you're here," said the scholar.

"Small surprise," muttered Toede.

"And Groag has sent a messenger out to the dragon highlords, to ask for reinforcements."

Toede stroked his warty chin. That meant Groag was either unsure about the size and ability of Toede's forces, or was strapped for cash and in danger of losing some of the mercenary units. "And the good news?"

"Said 'messenger' is me," beamed Bunniswot. "Therefore, no message."

Toede was silent for a moment, then said, "You left by the North Gate?"

Bunniswot looked confused for a moment, then said, "No, by the Southeast Gate. That is closer to here."

"Closer to here, human," said Toede, "but in the opposite direction of where you should have been heading. Perhaps Groag is stupid enough not to have noticed, but probably by now he realizes you're at best a coward and at worst a traitor."