"Where did you hear that?" said Bunniswot sharply. Panting, but sharply nonetheless.
"From Raistlin himself," lied Toede, turning halfway around to look down on the sweaty human. "We talked that morning before he boarded the ship out of Flotsam. Last I ever saw of him, but I still get the occasional letter, magical sending, and whatnot."
"So you knew him?" Bunniswot's voice broke as he said it. "You knew Raistlin, and Caramon, and the Heroes of the Lance?"
"About as well as anyone," said Toede, warming to the subject and wondering how far he should go with his dissembling. "You might even say I gave them their start, but that would be bragging." Toede turned his face to the upward slope, both to handle the difficulty of the climb and make sure his face did not betray the truth in his statement.
"Have you told Renders?" asked Bunniswot, his voice suddenly less haughty, less nasal, and more human.
"Should I?" asked Toede, turning to shoot a practiced blank look at the scholar.
"Should you?" said Bunniswot, catching up with Toede, "You heard Renders tell the story of the War of the Lance to the gnolls last night. Even cut down into language they could understand, it is a moving and epic tale."
"Well, I guess it is," said Toede, shrugging. "I mean, if you like that sort of thing."
"Renders would sell his own grandmother to interview the old Heroes, to talk to people who knew them," chuckled Bunniswot. "When we were in Flotsam, he talked to anyone who might have known them: bartenders, sailors, all sorts of riffraff."
Toede thought idly of the innkeep at the Jetties. Yes, he could imagine that one spinning out wild tales in exchange for a few coins.
"And to think that someone who was there-who knew Raistlin-just wandered into camp." Bunniswot laughed. It was an easy laugh, a laugh of comrades who had shared secrets. "So what were they like? Like they're portrayed in the tales?"
"Well, it would be immodest to speak as if I were a close confidante," Toede said, bowing his head in apparent modesty.
Bunniswot took the bait like a trout rising to a salmon egg. "What about Raistlin? He was my favorite of the group-brooding, dominant, so sure of himself."
"Raistlin, yes," said Toede. "He was a friend, and you don't speak ill of friends who go beyond." The hobgoblin sighed. "I still remember that last night. We both had gotten very, very drunk, and he tore into one of his long crying jags."
The hobgoblin heard the footsteps following him stop. "Crying jag? Raistlin?" said the voice behind him, astonished.
"Afraid so." Toede hunched his shoulders. "Caramon had been… well, you know that Caramon had always been bad tempered, and sometimes took it out on Raistlin. Simple jealousy, really. Raistlin was afraid of him, but couldn't abandon his brother. I offered for him to stay at my place, but…" He let his voice trail off.
"I can't believe that!" said Bunniswot. "It goes against what the tales said. Caramon loved his brother!"
"Well, he did," said Toede. "Thaf s why Raistlin stayed. Of course, he would get into these moods, and Raistlin would try to help and… oh, my, it was awful. Simply awful." Toede stopped by a large boulder that looked like a falcon or some other bird of prey, and stole a glance at Bunniswot.
The look on the young scholar's face was priceless. His eyes were the color, shape, and size of newly minted steel groats. His eyebrows had nearly vanished beneath his ragged hairline. His jaw was hanging loose, as if on a single thread.
Toede continued, as if embarrassed. "You see why I don't mention it. Here these people were heroes to you, and just people to me."
"I just find it hard to believe," said Bunniswot, obviously finding it incredibly easy to believe. "But what about the others? What about Tanis?"
"Tanis? Oh, he was the stalwart of the party. Brave, loyal, noble, honest. Of course, sometimes…" Toede made the motion of tipping a flask to his lips.
Bunniswot's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "He drank?"
"Like a fish," sighed Toede. "But he has had a lot of help and counseling since then, and I understand it's under control nowadays. Still, I remember Riverwind and Goldmoon pouring him into the ship that morning. Sad, just sad. Maybe it's better to not mention this to Renders. Rested? Let's get on."
"One more: Tika," said Bunniswot.
Toede feigned an embarrassed blush. "I really don't feel comfortable talking about Tika," said Toede. "I mean she was pleasant enough, but she never liked nonhumans, not even kender. And me being a hobgoblin, well, that just sparked all kinds of fireworks. One reason I never joined them."-sigh-"The stories I could tell of their time in Flotsam… No, no, the world needs heroes, and once you start showing them to be ordinary men and women, everything falls apart. They earned their status, and let's only recall the good times."
Toede started up the hill past the falcon-shaped rock, remembering how easy the journey had been in his dream. His knees were complaining.
Despite the pain Toede smirked to himself, sincerely hoping that his newfound nobility did not preclude him feeling so good about lying to the officious little scrivener.
'Toede?" the scrivener in question asked.
Toede replied testily, "Yes? I mean, what about him?"
"Highmaster Toede," said Bunniswot. "You're a hobgoblin, and Toede was in charge of Flotsam at the time. You had to have met him. Were you one of his bodyguards? Maybe a servant?"
Toede huffed menacingly. "The human assumption is that all nonhumans know each other. Do I assume you knew Astinus of Palanthas, just because you are both scholarly humans?"
Bunniswot looked hurt. "Well, I knew of him."
"Exactly," said Toede. "And I knew of the highmaster. And I also knew what people said about him after he disappeared. In my experience, limited though it might be, I thought of Highmaster Toede as a fair, reasonable, rational being, thoroughly misunderstood by later human bards and scholars who were engaged in a desperate scramble to create 'good guys' and l›ad guys' for their epics."
"Sorry," said Bunniswot. "Didn't mean to upset you."
Toede huffed. "I'm not upset as much as disappointed. You're a bright young human, but you swallow all the lies and half-truths your elders dig up, tainted by blatant pro-human rhetoric."
"Sorry," repeated Bunniswot. "If it is any consolation, in retrospect the highmaster didn't nearly seem the bum-bler he was made out to be."
"How's that?" said Toede.
"Well, his successor was a draconian," said Bunniswot, "who apparently murdered small children in their beds, as it turns out. And his successor is Toede's old mount, this Hopsloth abomination, who's dressed out in finery and has his own corrupt priesthood. So in comparison, Toede seems almost enlightened."
"My point exactly," said Toede. "You never know how good you have it until it's gone."
"Groag knew him, I think," added the young scholar. "He said that Toede had died, but was sent back to fight Gildentongue, then both Toede and the draconian died in battle. Groag was there, and said Toede was a hero. So you're right, he was sadly misunderstood."
Toede turned and smiled. "Groag said that?"
Bunniswot nodded. "For a while, right after he recovered from his burns. Then he stopped talking about Toede. I think…" Bunniswot paused, puffing for breath, "I think that Hopsloth's cultists got to him and convinced him to hush up."
"You're very observant," said Toede, and the pair continued the climb in silence.
The top of the low plateau they had been scaling was not especially high, but just high enough to discourage Saturday-afternoon adventurers. As they reached the summit, Toede turned to look out over the land below. Most of it was covered in a low autumn haze that appeared most dense over the marshlands. The birches were golden, and Toede could see the smoke rising from the scholars' camp-fire. Farther off, hidden by several ridges, was another wisp of smoke. Toede fancied that one to be kender in origin. To his left was a deep valley, and on the opposite side of the vale was a citadel, dark and misty against the white haze. Its general shape was that of a skull, and Toede surmised that was the intended effect of its construction.