“By the gods! That’s it!” Riverwind whooped joyfully. “Kronn! I know how to beat the ogres.”
Not long after Riverwind and Kronn left, the door to Baloth’s cell opened again and Giffel Birdwhistle strode in. Seeing him, the hairless ogre cried out. “No!” he shouted. “I told you everything, I swear! No more!”
Giffel looked the ogre up and down, then nodded to someone outside the door. “All right, let’s get him out of here.”
“Out?” Baloth blurted. “You’re letting me go?”
Giffel nodded. “Kronn’s orders. We’re not going to feed you and take care of you, and my people don’t execute their prisoners. You told us what we needed to know, so we’re setting you free.”
Baloth gawked in amazement as the guards came in. There were more than a dozen of them, armed with polpaks-saw-bladed pole arms that they held at his throat as two of their number untied the strong ropes that bound his ankles. Then they used the weapons to prod and herd the ogre out of his cell. With Giffel in the lead, they led him down the tunnel, away from the vault. Baloth stumbled along in a haze, too tired and bewildered to resist.
They followed the passage for what seemed miles and miles, finally stopping at a flight of stairs. Giffel dashed up the steps and opened the secret door at their top. A low, grassy hummock swung aside to let in a shaft of ruddy, evening light.
“Bring him up,” he called.
It took some doing, but the kender guards managed to shove the hulking ogre up the narrow staircase. The earthen walls shuddered and crumbled as he wormed his way out of the tunnel. Then he was out, gazing around in bafflement. He was far from Kendermore. The dead trees of the Kenderwood surrounded him.
The guards encircled him, polpaks ready, as Giffel drew a knife from his belt and came forward. The tall kender went behind Baloth and began to saw at the cords around the ogre’s wrists. “Just so you know,” he said, “your army’s about a league north of here. You can go back to them if you want… but I don’t think you’d better.”
The ropes fell away, and Baloth groaned as blood flowed back into his numb hands. “Why not?” he asked.
“Because,” Giffel said, “you told us when they plan to march-and that bit about Malys, too. I’m no expert on ogres, of course, but from what I gather, if Kurthak figures we let you go, he’ll also figure out you betrayed him. So he’ll kill you-and painfully, too. I can’t even imagine what’ll happen if Malys finds out.
“Anyway, it’s your choice. You can go north and hope they don’t kill you, or you can head south and try to get away.” The tall kender sheathed his dagger and stepped back toward the concealed staircase. The guards fell back with him, polpaks still pointed at the ogre.
“Goodbye, Baloth,” Giffel said as he stepped onto the stairs. He grinned. “It was nice talking to you.”
He headed down the steps, the guards with him. Baloth watched dumbly as the grassy hummock swung back into place, covering the entrance to the tunnels. The ogre glanced around furtively, making sure he was alone. He went over to the hummock and tried to find the button or lever that made it work. After a while, he gave up.
Then he turned and began to lope away through the forest to the south.
Chapter 22
Once more, Riverwind found precious little time for rest. He spent much of the night with Kronn, Catt, and Paxina. He told Kronn’s sisters what Baloth had told them, then revealed his idea for defending against the ogres’ attack. Their discussion lasted until nearly dawn.
No one was completely sure-records of meetings, when they were kept at all, tended to be haphazard and careless about such details as attendance and agenda-but not even the oldest kender could remember having seen City Hall’s audience room crammed quite so full as it was that morning. There were currently one hundred and three Council members, and by the time Riverwind, Brightdawn, and Moonsong arrived, the room was quite literally packed to the walls.
Though the impending attack by Malys and the ogres was still weeks away, Riverwind and Brightdawn were both dressed for war. Clad in leather armor, she wore her mace on her belt. He had his sabre and a quiver of white-fletched arrows. Instead of armor, Moonsong wore a new blue gown-a gift from the kender-but like her father she had a sword at her hip. The weapon belonged to Stagheart, who was still too badly hurt to leave his sickbed.
Brightdawn smiled as she nodded toward the room full of milling, chattering kender. “If you’d told me a year ago that we’d be here today, I would have laughed,” she said.
Chuckling, the three Plainsfolk strode into the surging sea of topknots and hoopaks. It was hard going-they were tossed and buffeted by the kender-but in time they reached the head of the room. Paxina, Kronn, and Catt waited for them, standing on a raised dais beneath a grinning portrait of their father. The Plainsfolk and the Thistleknots shook hands, exchanging words of greeting. Then Riverwind turned to face the crowd. He raised his hands and called for silence. It took a while for the room to settle down, but in time it was quiet enough for Riverwind to make himself heard.
“Before we begin,” he proclaimed, in a loud, booming voice, “I’d like my knife back.”
There was a moment’s confusion as the Councillors looked around and checked their pockets. At last a hand shot up in the back holding Riverwind’s bone-handled dagger. It passed up from one kender’s hand to another, until at last it reached the front.
“Sorry!” a voice called out. “You must have dropped it on the way in.”
With a tight smile-some things, it seemed, would never change-Riverwind tucked the knife back in his belt.
“I’m sure we all know why we’re here,” he declared. “The ogres attack in twenty days. When they do, we won’t be able to keep them from breaching the walls. Kendermore will fall.”
A murmur of consternation rippled through the crowd. Riverwind waited for it to subside.
“Are you saying we’re doomed?” asked an old, bespectacled kender at the front of the crowd. Fear was plain in his voice.
“No, Merldon Metwinger,” Paxina said. “We’re not doomed-only Kendermore is.”
Riverwind nodded firmly. “When I met Kronn and Catt in Solace, they asked me to help you fight Malystryx and the ogres. I thought that meant saving your city, but now I know that isn’t possible.
“But,” he added quickly, seeing hope fade from many of the Councillors’ faces, “there is still a way to save your people.”
“How?” asked several kender at once.
Catt stepped forward. Her broken arm still hung in its sling, but she held her back straight and her head high.
“We’re leaving,” she proclaimed. “We’ll take the tunnels out of the Kenderwood, then travel across Ansalon to Hylo where the rest of our people live. They’ll take us in.”
“Leaving?” Merldon Metwinger asked. “What, all of us? That’ll take forever!”
“Well,” Catt replied patiently, “not quite that long. But it will take time. We’ll be drawing lots to see who leaves when. We’ve already sent messengers ahead to Solamnia and other lands asking for help in our journey. The rest of us have to start leaving tomorrow, so we need you to spread the word about this fast. Yes, Merldon?”
The old Councillor tilted his head back, peering at her through his spectacles. His squinting eyes looked huge through the lenses. “Just how long is this going to take?” he asked.
Catt cleared her throat. “I’ve, uh, been working on that. Allowing time for holdups, we can’t evacuate everyone in less than twenty-three days.”
The room erupted with shouts of outrage, confusion, and alarm. “Twenty-three days!” the Councillors exclaimed. Fingers pointed at Riverwind. “But he said we’ve only got twenty!”
Paxina cupped her hands to her mouth. “Quiet down!” she hollered. “All of you, shut up!”
A sulking silence fell over the audience hall. “I don’t mean to be rude,” Merldon Metwinger asked, “but where are we going to get the other three days?”