More importantly, the charge ground to a stop thirty yards from the walls, and the surviving gnolls had to take cover behind their shields, their fallen comrades, and whatever low brush they could find. Toede bellowed»orders, but they could not hear him, and the mercenary bowmen returned to their primary targets, hammering the grounded gnoll offensive.

Toede felt a presence close to his right, and heard Renders say, "Ah…"

Toede cut him off, interrupting. "We're being cut to ribbons, be prepared to…"

The next word was going to be "run," or perhaps "flee," or even "surrender." However, at that moment, the gelding whinnied and rose on its hind legs, almost tossing Toede from his saddle, then bolted.

Forward, toward the withering arrow fire. Toede pulled his sword with one hand, clinging to the horse's neck for as much protection as possible. He was over the front line now, Smoker clearing it in a single bound.

Directly behind him, Toede heard the roar of the gnolls as they regained their courage and rose to follow their leader in his impromptu charge. There was another cheer, this one of childlike voices, as the kender also joined in.

Toede turned in his saddle, motioning for the kender to hold their ground. Without decent cover-fire, they would all be cut to shreds. He realized that Smoker was wounded, a long red smear of blood dripping from the animal's flank.

What the kender thought they saw, however, was the general of the Allied Rebellion waving them on, his sword glistening in the dawn. Those who survived the day would speak of the valiant spirit of the hobgoblin.

He was right on top of the enemy line, the gnolls behind him, the spearmen in front of him, when Smoker hit a chuckhole at high velocity. The horse cartwheeled forward, pitching Toede over its head.

And over the heads of the spearmen in the front line. The archers loosed one more volley at the gnolls (and at Toede's mount that screamed as the arrows riddled its broken, twitching body). Those closest to Toede dropped their bows and drew their swords, short wide blades that could gut a hog with one swipe.

Then the stones struck among them, and two out of ten archers fell to hoopak accuracy. The remainder moved back a few paces, and Toede scrambled among retreaters and the bodies. Pain gripped his shoulder-the same one Rogate had shot over a year ago-but he was otherwise unharmed. He touched his breast pocket, and found his secret weapon still intact.

The mercenaries wavered but did not panic as the gnolls slammed into their lines. Toede had to scramble again to avoid being trampled by the human troops falling back. The archers had mostly abandoned their missile weapons and were slashing at those gnolls who had pierced the line of mercenaries.

Still, Groag's mercenaries did not break, and Toede had to wonder exactly what the smaller hobgoblin had promised in exchange for their services.

A particularly burly mercenary swaggered toward him and was rewarded with death as Toede cut the man off at the ankles. The hobgoblin then spun and sunk his blade into another mere. Apparently the missile troops were better with bow than with sword, and lightly armored to boot.

A cry went up, this time from human throats, and Toede could see fresh enemy troops pour into the fray. At least fresh in that they had not yet fought Toede's kender/gnoll army. Many of them were bloodied and had the look of men who had fought the undead, and were now glad to battle flesh-and-blood opponents who have the sense to lie down and die.

Slowly, the mercenary line stiffened, then began to drive the combined gnolls and kender backward, away from the wall. Toede was still trapped on the wrong side of the lines.

And then the dead whale appeared, and everything changed.

It was even larger than in Toede's memory. Most of the skin had peeled away, and the rotting blubber had turned a sickly yellow-green. The ribs poked out one of its sides, and its massive eye was a runny pustule of white ichor.

It had erupted from the beach, where Toede's men had buried it long ago, leaping about two hundred feet in a high arc toward the battlefield. Alas, it would not clear the entire distance, but the airborne necro-whale did cause three things to happen:

Some (not all, but enough) gnolls gawked at the great mass of animated cetacean flesh in midleap.

Some (not all, but enough) humans turned to see what the gnolls were looking at with such fascination and awe.

And some (not all, but enough) kender took advantage of those humans with their backs turned.

The spearmen's line crumbled in a dozen places as the humans toppled, either from daggers set squarely in their backs or calf tendons severed, bringing their unprotected necks closer to the ground (and nearer to kender swords).

Toede was pressed to the ground by a toppling human.

He rolled with the body, struggled, and pushed it off him at last. He rose to find himself alone in the gap of the wall. Alone in the sense that he was the only one present who wasn't dead or close enough to death to deceive the casual observer. He did not recognize any of the dead except Smoker, who had sprouted a double‹lozen arrows in a deadly bouquet and lay there, open eyes staring at Toede accusingly.

Toede cocked an ear and heard distance shouts, battle cries, and the clash of metal against metal. It was all around him, throughout the city, the battlefront broken into a hundred clashes, fought in alleys and plazas and storefronts. The kender would be in their element here, an entire terrain of places in which to run and hide.

The gnolls would make for the Rock Wall, and Renders and the other battle leaders with them. Toede picked through the bodies and moved toward the headland, noting in passing that none of the mercenaries wore the gold disks he had seen in his last incarnation.

He had to double back twice as his path was blocked by intense fighting, and once had to redirect a bloodstained unit of kender to a likely battle scene, but at last he made it. He had no idea how long it took him, but Toede reached the headland wall.

The wall was undefended, the gates to the Rock open. It was comparatively quiet, the battle raging elsewhere in the city. The defenders had abandoned their posts, but had they fled out of fear of flying whales, or plunged into the heat of battle? Or were they lurking in ambush?

Toede strode cautiously up to the gate as a large shadow appeared on the other side. It was gnoll-sized, but had the head of a great ox, and carried a massive, double-headed axe.

It was a minotaur, but this one's skin was the color of paper left in the sun too long, its eyes as sightless as Smoker's or, for that matter, the dead whale's.

Toede sighed and stepped forward. "Hi, Bob," he said.

"Greetings, Toede," said the undead mix of human and bovine traits. "You seem to have expected me."

"Sooner or later," said Toede in a conversational voice, slowly closing the distance between them. He reached back and slid his bloodied sword back into its scabbard. "How long have you planned this, working for both sides?"

The minotaur zombie managed a shrug. "Since before your return. And while it would have been easier had I captured you before the kender did, fortune allowed me to turn that happenstance to my advantage."

Toede smiled. "So you appeared to Groag and offered to protect him in exchange for…"

"For the dead," said the minotaur zombie, "same as you. And of course, everyone will be the dead soon."

"So you wanted Flotsam for yourself, eh?" said Toede, now standing all of five feet away from his opponent.

"As a start," said the zombie. "Even now the first of your battlefield dead are twitching as the bones reknit and the flesh empties. They will be my new army, to slay the survivors of the city and further swell my legions. Then, when I have sufficient ships, I will launch raids along the entire coast, until I have a small nation of undead humans, kender, ogres, hobgoblins, and even dragons under my control!"