"You're saying I made a mistake," said the scholar defensively.

"I'm saying your career in Groag's court is probably over," said the hobgoblin, "so you'd better hope that we win. Or better yet," he said, jumping off his chair and pacing, "head out first thing tomorrow, before the battle. If you reach the highlords, you can at least claim you were delayed."

"I could leave now," said Bunniswot.

"You'd be eaten by zombies," said Toede. "You have a horse?"

"Yes," said the scholar.

"I don't," said Toede. "I'll need yours for tomorrow, so you take one of the kender ponies."

Bunniswot stood there for a moment, looking at Toede.

"Yes?" said the hobgoblin.

"You meant it," said the scholar. "About the zombies. And about not going back to the city. You care about me. You don't want me getting into real danger."

I don't want you showing up during the battle with half your face eaten away, replied Toede mentally. It

would be distracting.

"So I have a soft spot," Toede lied. "Maybe I'm getting old. Maybe." He patted the open tome. "I guess I feel I have to live up to the reputation I've acquired in my absence."

Bunniswot gave Toede a look that he could not read, a combination of admiration and fear and something else. It lasted for only a moment, then the scholar stammered and said, "Ah, so you want my report, then?" His face was drained of blood as he reached into his vest pocket.

"Report?" said Toede, arching his eyebrows.

Bunniswot's hand hovered in his vest. "Groag's troop positions," he explained.

"Only if it's different from this," said Toede. "Mercenary troops across the holes in the wall, with militia elsewhere. The gates securely barred and barricaded, a minimal force in the north and west, and Groag's elite guard manning the Rock Wall, to be used as auxiliaries if our forces break through."

The young scholar jerked his empty hand back out of his vest as if he had discovered a venomous snake in there. "How did you…?"

"Groag is strapped for money to pay his mercenaries, and in any event is a cheap little cuss, so they will be placed in the position of the greatest potential loss of life. Dead meres don't draw paychecks. He then gives the less well-trained militia defensive posts they can cower behind, so they'll fight to protect their positions. Lastly, the elite guard is not intended to reinforce, but rather to protect the highmaster of Flotsam at all costs."

Besides, Toede finished to himself, Groag was there when I set up the bloody plan over two years ago.

Bunniswot's look changed to one of amazement. Shakily, he nodded. "That's right. It's all right." He started for the entrance. "If you want me, I think I'll bunk by the fire."

Toede walked to the entrance, watching the young scholar walk haltingly over to the campfire. Renders was telling yet one more Tale of the Lance to Charka and Taywin. Charka had apparently heard this one before, because he (no, she) was interjecting appropriate sound effects.

Bunniswot reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the papers detailing Groag's not-so-secret battle plans. He looked at them a moment, then tossed the plans on the fires. The flames glowed a brilliant green as they consumed the parchment, then dimmed.

Toede shook his head. He hadn't been all that hard on Bunniswot, but sometimes even scholars had to be taught that others knew things that they themselves did not. Still, Bunniswot was quite the nervous nelly, always swooning right and left. Better to get him out of the line of fire, before something bad happened to him, or more importantly, to those around him.

"He's a traitor, you know," said a small, delicate voice behind him.

He turned to a small, elfin figure hovering gently over the pages of Bunniswot's tome of Toede-advice. It was dressed in shades of blue and silver and white, with features so sharp they could cut glass.

Toede raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't anyone knock anymore?" He pulled his chair up to the open book so he was almost nose to torso with the small apparition. "You said Bunniswot was a…"

"Traitor," repeated the apparition in a high, melodic, singsong voice. "He works for Highmaster Groag. He means you harm."

"Uh-huh," said Toede. The small figure hovered there, its small feet barely grazing the pages of Toede's book.

"He seeks to catch you unaware and slay you, or failing that, to plant unsound ideas in your mind, hoping you will cause your own death," said the apparition, which looked like a cute pixie, a redundant statement most of the time, but applicable here.

"Uh-huh," said Toede, putting his hands on his knees.

"And you would be?"

"A spirit of wisdom," said the pixie. "A warning from the future. A voice of reason. The animated urge of learning."

'This is a multiple-choice test, I assume," said Toede.

"Mock not," said the spirit in blue and silver and white, "for he does mean you harm."

"So you say," said Toede. "Perhaps I should have Rogate take care of him."

"Trust not Rogate, either," said the spirit, "for he means you ill as well."

"He is a traitor too?" asked Toede.

"Only to himself," said the pixie. "For you scrambled his mind in your first meeting, in the tavern in Flotsam.

With every moment he spends with you, his mind clears, and soon he will realize that he was given the holy task to kill you."

"Hmmmm," murmured Toede, "then perhaps Charka and Renders can take care of them, but I suppose they are also…"

"Traitors," piped up the small creature. "They have been compromised by the necromancer, who also means you harm."

"That I never would have guessed," said Toede sarcastically.

The spirit pixie overlooked his attitude. "They have been promised dominion over Flotsam if they arrange for you to die in battle. Renders is to remain at your side, and slip a dagger between your ribs during the heat of combat."

Toede rubbed his chin again. "Then perhaps we should get the loyal kender rabble to throw these dastards into a makeshift brig, then execute the lot of them at dawn."

"Alas!" said the pixie.

"Let me guess…" said Toede. 'The kender mean me harm, too."

'The girl is loyal only to her father, who reserves a deep and abiding hatred for you." The pixie bowed its head remorsefully. "You are surrounded by treacherous servants."

"And to think that they don't realize they are all traitors," said Toede. "If only they were organized, they could have killed me days ago."

If the pixie was aware of sarcasm, it did not show on the being's delicate elfin features. "There is but one hope," it said, and Toede could almost hear inspirational music rising up around it.

"You must leave this place," the pixie said sternly. "Take the horse that Bunniswot brought, and ride to the south and east. You will find a small inn, with a single light in the window. Knock on the door and ask for shelter. They will take you in. With you absent, the attack will succeed, but the alliance will fall in upon itself, and the city will be wracked by civil war."

"You're saying I should flee like a coward," said Toede, leaning forward.

"It is the only way." The pixie nodded. "To save my own hide," said Toede, reaching up and curling his fingers around the edges of the book. "At the cost of my good name."

"You must leave now if you are to avoimmmmphl" The pixie's voice was stifled as Toede slammed the massive volume closed. He counted to ten, then opened the book. Only a small singed spot on the pages reassured him that it had not all been a dream.

"Surprisingly," he said aloud to the smoking scorch mark, "I've been thinking the same things myself. Why would these good and, yes, noble people throw in with one such as I? I have been assigning them all sorts of evil motivations and reasons, and my guts have been twisted trying to figure it out.