“The name given to you at birth,” said Kharas.
Arman flushed an ugly red. “What does that matter? My name is what I say it is. I chose my name and when I did so, a blessed red light flashed—”
“Yes, yes.” Kharas said impatiently. “I know all about that. What is your name?” Arman opened his mouth. He shut it again and swallowed. His face went even redder. He mumbled something.
“What?” Kharas leaned toward him.
“Pike,” said Arman in sulky tones. “My name was Pike, but Pike is not the name of a hero!”
“It might be,” said Kharas.
Arman shook his head.
Flint grunted. At the sound, the ancient dwarf turned his head, casting a sharp glance in the direction of the secret passage. Flint ducked back into the shadows and hauled the kender with him.
Kharas smiled and ran his fingers through his white beard. Then he turned back to Arman.
“You did not come alone, did you?” he said.
“Two others came with me,” Arman, adding carelessly, “My servants.”
“Servants!” Tas gasped. “Did you hear that, Flint?”
He expected Flint to explode in anger, or rush out and bash Arman with the hammer, or burst into flame, or maybe all three at once.
Flint just sat there, tugging on his beard.
“Did you hear him, Flint?” Tas whispered loudly. “He called you his servant!”
“I heard,” said Flint. He quit tugging on his beard and smoothed it with his hand.
“Servants, huh. I guess they don’t need to be tested then,” stated Kharas. A gust of wind blew the wooden door shut, nearly catching the kender’s topknot in it.
“How rude!” Tasslehoff exclaimed, twitching his hair back just in time.
“Open it!” said Flint, frowning.
Tasslehoff gave the door handle a jiggle, and it came off in his hand. “Oops.”
“You have a lock pick, don’t you?” Flint growled. “For once, it might prove useful.” Tas felt through all his pockets.
“I must have left it in one of my pouches.”
“Oh, for the love of Reorx!” Flint grumbled. “The only reason you’re any use to anyone is for picking the occasional lock, and now you can’t even do that!”
He put his ear to the keyhole.
“Can you hear anything?” Tas asked.
“No.”
“We’d better go!” Tas urged, tugging on Flint’s sleeve. “The really, really old Kharas will probably lead our Kharas to the hammer! We have to beat him to it!”
“It’s not a race,” Flint said, but he suddenly turned around and began to clump rapidly down the stairs, moving so fast that he caught the kender flat-footed. Tas had to scramble to catch up.
“Arman’s real name is Pike, and his brother is Pick. Pick and Pike!” The kender giggled. “That’s funny!”
Flint had no comment. Reaching the floor of the Hall of Enemies, he began searching the room, poking at walls and stomping on the floor to see if there might be a trap door. “Blast it! How do we get out of here?”
Tas fished about in his pocket. “Would this help?” He brought forth a piece of parchment. “It’s Arman’s map. I found it,” he added, with emphasis.
He held out the map to Flint.
The dwarf hesitated, then seized hold of it.
“Arman must have dropped it,” Flint muttered.
Chapter 17
Caramon Skips Breakfast. Grag Is Late For Lunch.
Listening to Sturm’s prayer, Tanis felt suddenly soothed and restful. His worries left him alone for a moment, and he drifted off to sleep. Raistlin’s coughing woke him.
Raistlin had not suffered a bad coughing spell in some time. He ordered Caramon out of bed to fix his special herbal brew. This involved stirring up the fire and searching about for a kettle, and then boiling the water, all of which, thankfully, kept Caramon occupied and caused him to at least quit talking about food. The dwarves had not yet brought them anything to eat, and Caramon was growing worried.
Raistlin sipped at the tea, and his cough eased. He sat dozing in the chair, huddled as close to the fire as he could get. Sturm remained on his knees, finding solace in his prayers. Tanis envied his friend. He wanted to believe, he truly did. How comforting it would be to put Flint’s fate into the hands of the gods, having faith that they would watch over him and guide him. The same faith would reassure him that Hornfel would be made to see the truth, causing him to have a change of heart and open the gates to the refugees.
Instead of faith, Tanis was walking each step of the way with Flint in his mind and seeing darkness and danger at every turn. He stirred restlessly and rolled over, and he was about to try to go back to sleep, when Caramon asked a question that jolted Tanis to alarmed wakefulness.
“Hey, has anyone seen Tas?”
Tanis was on the move as soon his feet hit the floor, searching the room. To no avail. “Damn it! He was here only moments ago!”
“I dunno,” said Caramon, shaking his head. “I haven’t seen him in a while, not since Flint left. But then I’ve been fixing Raist’s tea…”
“Sturm,” said Tanis, breaking in on the knight’s prayers, “have you seen Tasslehoff?” Sturm rose stiffly to his feet. He cast a swift glance around the room. “No. I have not been watching over him. I saw him last before Flint left.”
“Search upstairs,” Tanis ordered.
“Why?” Raistlin asked in a whispered gasp. “You know where he has gone! He went after Flint.”
“Search anyway,” said Tanis grimly.
They looked under crates, inside cupboards, and in the upstairs rooms, but there was no sign of the kender. Sturm took the opportunity, when Tanis and Caramon were roaming about the second level, to speak to Raistlin.
“Tas could ruin our plan! What do we do?”
“Nothing we can do about it now,” Raistlin said with a grimace.
“The only nuisances up there are rats,” Caramon reported as he and Tanis came back down the stairs. “We could question the guards to see if they saw him.”
“And we draw attention to the fact that he’s gone missing,” Tanis said. “We’re already in enough trouble without telling Hornfel we’ve unleashed a kender on his unsuspecting populace. Besides, Tas might come back on his own.”
“And I might walk through this solid stone wall,” said Sturm, “but I doubt it.” Raistlin was about to say something but was interrupted by a dwarf opening the door. They froze, waiting for the dire news that Tasslehoff had been found and tossed in the lake, or the dungeons, or worse.
“Breakfast,” the dwarf announced.
The guard held the door while two more dwarves walked in bearing trays laden with heavy wooden bowls. Caramon sniffed the fragrant aroma and immediately took his seat at the table. The others exchanged glances, wondering if the guards would notice they were one person short. The guards did not take a head count, however. They unloaded the bowls from the tray and handed them about, laid out two loaves of dark bread, and a couple of pitchers of ale, then departed, shutting the door behind them.
Everyone breathed a sigh.
“Those were different guards,” said Tanis. “They’re not the same ones who were here when Flint left. They must have changed shifts. Apparently none of them noticed Tas is missing. Let’s keep it that way as long as we can.”
Sturm sat at the table. Tanis did the same. Caramon was already ladling out the food.
“Smells good,” he said hungrily. He picked up a bowl and took it over to his brother. “Here, Raist. It’s mushrooms in brown gravy. I think there’s onions in there, too.” Raistlin averted his head.
“You need to eat, Raist,” said Caramon.
“Put it there,” said Raistlin, indicating a table near his chair.
Caramon set the bowl down. Raistlin glanced at it and started to turn away. Then he looked at it more intently.
The meal did smell good. Tanis had not thought he was hungry, but he picked up his spoon. Sturm was praying to Paladine to bless this meal. Caramon, tearing off a hunk of bread, dipped it in the gravy and was bringing it, dripping, to his mouth when the staff of Magius lashed out, struck his hand, and knocked the bread to the floor.