“Don’t eat that!’ Raistlin gasped. “Any of you!”
He swung the staff again and struck Sturm’s bowl, sending it to the floor, and then smashed Tanis’s bowl just as he was digging his spoon into it.
Crockery broke. Gravy splattered. Mushrooms went sliding across the table and fell to the floor. Everyone stared at Raistlin.
“It’s poison! Those mushrooms! Deadly poison! Look!” He pointed.
Attracted by the food on the floor, rats had come slinking out of their holes to take their share. One started to lap up the spilled gravy. It took no more than a couple of slurps before its small body quivered, then stiffened. The rat flopped over sideways, its limbs writhing. Froth bubbled on its mouth, and after a moment’s agony, it went limp. The other rats either took warning from their comrade’s terrible fate, or they didn’t like the smell, for they skittered back to their holes. Caramon went white, and jumping from the table, he made another trip to the slop bucket. Sturm stared, transfixed, at the dead rat.
Tanis dropped his spoon. His hands were shaking. “How did you know?”
“If you remember, I studied the mushrooms when we passed through the forest,” said Raistlin.
“Some of you thought my interest quite amusing, as I recall. Arman and I were discussing dwarf spirits, which, you know, are made of mushrooms. What I found most interesting is that the mushrooms used to make dwarf spirits are safe to ingest if allowed to ferment but poisonous if eaten either raw or cooked. I’d never come across any other plant or fungi with this characteristic, and I took special note of it. I recognized the dwarf spirit mushrooms in the stew. Whoever tried to kill us assumed we would not know the difference.”
“And we wouldn’t have,” Tanis admitted. “We are grateful, Raistlin.”
“Indeed,” Sturm murmured. He was still staring at the dead rat.
“Who tried to kill us, I wonder?” Tanis said.
“Those dwarves who brought the food!” Sturm cried, jumping to his feet. He ran to the door, yanked it open, and darted out. He returned, bringing with him his sword and Caramon’s.
“They’re gone,” he reported, “and so are the guards. At least we can now retrieve our weapons. We’ll be ready if they come back.”
“Our first concern should be about Flint,” said Raistlin sharply. “Has it not occurred to you that if we came seeking the hammer, then others might be seeking it as well, others such as the Dark Queen and her minions?”
“The dragonlance was responsible for driving Takhisis back into the Abyss,” Sturm said. “You may be sure she would try to keep them from being forged again.”
“They tried to kill us. Flint might already be dead,” Tanis said quietly.
“I do not think so. They would wait to kill him until after he’s found the hammer,” said Raistlin.
“Perhaps all the dwarves are in league with darkness,” Sturm said grimly.
“Once the dark dwarves worshipped Takhisis, or so it is written,” Raistlin said, “and if you remember, Tanis, I asked you how the Theiwar knew the refugees were in the forest. You brushed it off at the time, but I think we have to look no farther than the Theiwar thane. What is his name—”
“Realgar. I agree,” said Tanis. “Hornfel may not trust us or like us, but he doesn’t seem the type to stoop to murder. I don’t see how we prove it, or how we catch them.”
“Easy,” said Caramon, coming back to the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Whoever did this will return to make sure it worked. When they come, they’ll get a surprise.” Raistlin, Tanis, and Sturm looked at Caramon, then looked at each other.
“I am impressed, my brother,” said Raistlin. “Sometimes you show glimmerings of intelligence.” Caramon flushed with pleasure. “Thanks, Raist.”
“So we pretend we’re dead, and when the murderer enters—”
“We grab him and then we make him talk,” said Caramon.
“It could work,” Sturm conceded. “We take the murderer to Hornfel, and this provides proof that Flint is in danger.”
“And Tas,” Caramon reminded them.
“Wherever he is,” Tanis sighed. He’d momentarily forgotten the missing kender.
“Hornfel will have to let us go after Flint,” Sturm concluded.
Tanis wasn’t sure about that, but at least this attempt on their lives would put the Thanes on the defensive, unless the Thanes were all in on this together.
“The murderer will be expecting to find our bodies. How would we look if we’d been poisoned?”
“Too bad the bowls are broken,” Sturm said. “That will give it away.”
“Not at all,” Raistlin said coolly. “We would have knocked the bowls about in our death throes. Now, if you will allow me, I will arrange your corpses for best effect.”
The more Realgar thought about it, the less he liked the idea of Grag traipsing off to the Life Tree to see the bodies of the murdered assassins. The Theiwar Thane had argued long, vehemently and quite logically that Grag—being a “lizard” as Realgar termed him, complete with wings and tail—would stand out in a crowd. The bodies weren’t going anywhere. Grag could wait to view them once the hammer was safely in Theiwar hands.
Dray-yan insisted, however. He did not trust these assassins, nor did he trust the Theiwar. He wanted to make certain the assassins were dead as promised. Grag would go in disguise, cloaked and hooded. The dwarves would notice the tall bozak; that couldn’t be helped. The word had spread that humans were in Thorbardin. Grag would be taken for one of them.
Realgar gave in because he had to give in. He detested the “lizards,” but he needed them and their army to conquer and subdue the other clans. Grag’s lizard-warriors had already proven their worth by ambushing a party of human barbarians who had entered Northgate. Not only had the draconians captured the humans, they’d taken an elf lord prisoner as well.
The captives had been given to the Theiwar for interrogation. Grag would have liked to have been present, but Dray-yan had told him there was no need. He knew all he needed to know about these humans. Realgar had only to convince one or two to tell the “truth,” forcing the humans to admit they had come to Thorbardin with the intention of invading the dwarven kingdom, and that would be the end of them. Having spent a moment or two watching the dwarves’ “questioning” methods, Grag had to admit the Theiwar knew what they were about when it came to torture. He had no doubt they would soon have a confession.
Realgar was going to a lot of trouble for nothing, Grag reflected. Once Thorbardin was secure, he and his troops were going to kill the slaves anyway. Still, as Dray-yan pointed out, fostering distrust between humans and dwarves could only aid their cause. Let the Hylar believe that humans had been about to invade their kingdom. They would far less likely to trust any human after that.
Satisfied that all was proceeding as planned, Grag accompanied four dark dwarves to the inn. Realgar himself did not go along. Realgar had asked for a meeting of the Council of Thanes on an emergency matter. He was planning to take two of the captives with him and exhibit them to the other Thanes.
“This revelation will throw the Thanes into turmoil,” Dray-yan told Grag, “giving you time to marshal your forces and bring them into position. We will have the Thanes all neatly trapped in the same bottle.”
“Including Realgar,” said Grag, his claws twitching.
“Including that filthy maggot, and when the hammer of Kharas is brought forth, ‘His Lordship’ will be there to receive it.”
“Verminaard has thought up an excellent plan,” said Grag, grinning. “Too bad he’s going to bungle it. Fortunately, his two brilliant subcommanders will be there to save the day.”