Then his heart thumped as the wind carried the sound of bells to his ears. He watched in amazement as a wagon, very similar to the one he had just foreseen, rounded the bend. It lurched and rocked along the soft road, pulled by a whiskery gray nag. A human, slightly built, sat on the driver's bench, humming absentmindedly to himself.
Tasslehoff was certain something awful was about to happen.
Waving his hoopak above his head, he hollered, "Watch out! There's danger!" Even as he spoke, several things happened. The horse, startled by the shouting and commotion, backed up in its harness and pushed the wagon off the soft edge of the road into a broad, water-filled rut. The wagon tipped dangerously, then settled in the mud and stuck. Tasslehoff heard a loud "thunk" and a rustling noise. Looking up, he saw a massive log at least the size of a man swinging down through the branches on the end of a rope. It swept across the road, precisely where the wagon would have been if the horse had not panicked.
Guttural whoops and croaks rang through the crisp air as several large, ugly creatures broke from cover in the woods and charged toward the wagon. Hobgoblins! Tas had tangled with these savage brutes often enough in his travels to recognize them instantly. Smelly, dirty, sadistic, dressed in uncured hides and brandishing clubs or captured axes, they specialized in ambushing travelers and raiding isolated farms.
Flailing their long, hairy arms and splashing through the muck, they closed rapidly on the wagon, now hopelessly mired. The horse screamed and kicked and somehow managed to connect with the lead hobgoblin. The beast collapsed face-down in the muck, hiding its shattered ribs.
Quickly Tas fitted his stone into the sling of his hoopak. Taking only a moment to aim, he let fly at the closest creature. The stone thudded solidly into its back, drawing a tremendous yelp of pain. The furious hobgoblin turned and its red eyes locked on Tasslehoff. Flashing a greasy yellow-toothed grin, it squealed something unintelligible at another hobgoblin. Thinking they had found easy prey, both rushed toward the kender.
Tas calmly scooped up another stone from the road. This one was small and jagged, just what he wanted. Loading it, he took his time and aimed carefully. As the hoopak snapped forward, the second hobgoblin's head snapped backward. The beast spun partway around, then crashed to the road, dead. Tas resisted the urge to whoop, knowing there was still plenty of danger ahead.
Unaware of its partner's fate, the first hobgoblin ran headlong toward the unarmed kender. Tas planted his feet wide apart and held the sling in front of him like a quarterstaff. The hobgoblin roared brutally, raised its club with both of its gnarled hands, and lunged.
In the last possible moment, so quickly the movement could hardly be seen, Tas whipped the hoopak staff sideways so its metal-shod point faced the onrushing monster and then he drove it forward with all his might. He felt the wood shiver and groan as his weapon punched through the hobgoblin's thick hide and tore a grisly path through its vitals. Hot, rancid breath, stinking like rotted meat, swept over Tas as the hobgoblin rattled out its dying gasp. Tasslehoff leaped aside as the lumbering body plunged past him and crashed to the ground. The kender chuckled loudly, remembering the final look of disbelief in the creature's jaundiced eyes.
The mingled screams of a horse and a man quickly brought Tas back to his senses. One remaining hobgoblin struggled to grab the horse's bridle while another fought, almost playfully, with the human, who was defending himself rather badly with a large mallet.
Tas crouched and snatched a thin, straight dagger from his legging, then sprinted toward the fight. Without slowing, he ran straight by the first hobgoblin. As he passed, the dagger flicked out and sliced through the knotted flesh inches below the creature's buttock. The monster howled in pain and shock, then stumbled as the now useless muscles of its hamstrung leg gave out. Dragging its leg and yelping horribly, it staggered into the forest and disappeared.
The last of the creatures, toying with the human, was distracted by the sound. What it saw made its jaw drop. Three of its companions lay dead in the mud, a fourth was critically wounded and fleeing, and a kender with a bloody dagger was smirking at it.
The kender winced as the human's mallet crashed into the back of the hobgoblin's skull. Its eyes rolled back and the body flopped to the soft ground. The human, foaming and hysterical, hammered on the limp form until its head disappeared in a churning froth of blood, mud, and bone.
"I think it's pretty well dead," Tas concluded.
Looking in horror at what he'd done, the man dropped the mallet and leaned against the tree behind him, panting and shaking for several minutes. "Thanks for your help, stranger," he managed at last. "I knew it was too early in the season to hit the roads, I knew it was. Did I listen to myself? No, I gave in to Hepsiba. 'We need money. It's springtime! Get out on the road, you lazy fool.' That's what she said. So I left, mostly to get away from her nagging, I'll admit. And now here I am, in the middle of nowhere, fighting for my life, my wagon up to its axle in mud. This trip is surely cursed by the gods!" He gave a vague snarl skyward.
"What are you complaining about?" Tas wondered. "You're alive and they're not." He nodded toward the carnage behind him. "I would say you've had a spectacular day, aside from what's happened to your wagon." Tas skipped across the muddy potholes to the side of the wagon. Tugging up his leggings, he hunkered over and peered under the vehicle.
"She looks stuck, all right. But I once saw Beetleater Thugwart-he was a half-ogre who lived in Kendermore-heft a wagon out of mud like this all by himself. It was too bad he broke the axle doing it, but his heart was in the right place. Anyway, he just turned it over and Willie Wontori-he was the wainwright in Kendermore-fixed it right up, good as new."
"Who in blazes are you, anyway?" the man finally managed to squeeze in.
The kender pulled himself up proudly to his full four feet and extended his fine-boned hand. "Tasslehoff Burr-foot, at your service. And who might you be?"
"I might be the Speaker of the Sun," the man sighed, still leaning against the tree, "but don't count on it."
"Oh, I wouldn't," Tasslehoff said, casually slipping his unshaken hand into the pocket of his leggings. "He's an elf, and you're a human. Besides, why would someone as important as the leader of the Qualinesti elves drive a broken-down old trader's wagon himself? Surely he'd have servants for that."
The man's parchment-colored face wrinkled up in a frown. "Did my wife send you after me, or is it your own idea to make me feel worse?" he asked rhetorically.
Tasslehoff shook his head. "I'm sure I don't know your wife, unless she was at the inn in Solace last night. I'm not from around here."
"My wife at an inn? No, that would cost money and be too much fun. Lord, even when I'm on the road, I am hounded," muttered the human.
Tas crossed from the wagon back to where the dead hobgoblin lay, impaled on the kender's hoopak. "Yuck," he pronounced, his lips drawing up in disgust. Propping the body on its side, he placed one foot against its ribs and pulled the weapon out. He held it by his fingertips at arm's length, then carried it to the side of the road and proceeded to scrape it clean in a small patch of snow.
The man snorted at the sight and turned his attention to his wagon. Carefully he picked his way past the body at his feet. "What are these things, anyway?" he asked, frowning at the grisly sight.
"Hobgoblins. Don't feel bad about killing one. They're evil from ears to brisket. They rarely listen to reason. I avoid them when I can, because otherwise you pretty much have to kill them. And once they get their smell on something, it never comes off. I can see I'm going to have to spend this evening making a new hoopak-this one will never be the same again."