"Wizard say do magic," he announced.
"Hey, that's right!" They had not seen any illusions for days, and Trap had spent the evening hoping.
"You're right! She did!" Ripple agreed, glaring at Halmarain.
The little wizard looked up from her book, frowned at Grod and sighed. After sending Grod for a handful of long blades of grass, she spread them out and spoke the words of a spell. The blades of grass rose, glowed with color, and twisted in the air, circling around and through the loops of other blades. The illusion that fascinated the kender and the gully dwarves lasted about five minutes.
"Trap, it's your turn," Ripple said. "I played the flute. Grod and Umpth sang, now you tell a story. I know. Tell one about that Uncle Trapspringer."
"Him dead," Grod said. "Make a good tale, that."
Trap let his mind travel back to his sadness over his Uncle Goalong and tears trickled down his cheeks.
"My poor Uncle Trapspringer," he began. "He never should have ridden that pony backward…"
While Trap wove his tale, Halmarain had pulled a spellbook out of her pack. The large book was nearly half her height and she struggled to spread it out across her short, out-thrust legs. She kept her head lowered as if studying the book, but occasionally she lifted her eyes as Trap wove another tale of a strange and interesting death for his imaginary uncle.
Chapter 10
Astinus of Palanthus bent his head over his work as he described how…
Jaerume Kaldre rubbed his left arm and was surprised again. He was twice surprised. First, that he could feel the huge elbow, forearm, and hand. Second, that with the same arm he could feel the touch of the fingers of his right hand, nearly fleshless.
Both sensations were new. In life he had lost his left arm just above the elbow, but his right hand had been strong and well fleshed. After the loss of his left limb he had managed to maintain his position as the leader of a troop of mercenaries, at times with a knife in the back, though occasionally he openly fought his opponents.
His new left arm came from a dead goblin, the bones attached to his own by Draaddis Vulter, who'd raised him from the dead. Kaldre's appetite for command, never small, had been enlarged when he had been brought back to life in the wizard's laboratory. The skills of the wizard Vulter had allowed him to walk the soil of Krynn again in a sort of half-alive state Kaldre was not too sure he liked. He did like the rewards that were promised him if he completed the task Vulter and his goddess had set for him. Takhisis, the Dark Queen, had personally promised him that he would lead her death knight legions into battle. In life he had not been a general, and the thought of filling that post, even in death, pleased him.
When he left Draaddis Vulter's lair in Pey, Kaldre had been certain he would be able to complete the task set for hint. He would have no trouble taking two stones from a pair of miserable kender thieves. An infant fiend from another plane would not be too hard to find, capture, and deliver to the wizard.
Once away from the ruins, though, Kaldre's confidence began to wain. Under orders from Draaddis Vulter, he stood in a large cavern in the Garnet Mountains, staring at his new troops, sure he would be better off without them. In front of him stood a group of fifty trembling kobolds, bunched together at the side of the cavern. Their cowardice and their smell disgusted him, but he was under orders.
Did the wizard and the Queen of Darkness really believe he needed this miserable scum? If so, they had too little faith in his abilities to even consider giving him command of a legion. Or were they testing him? When he was alive, all his followers had been human. He had never worked with other races, and a legion of death knights, spreading terror across the face of Krynn could be made up of many types of warriors.
He shrugged. If they wanted to test his mettle, he would not be found lacking.
"Form up," Kaldre ordered. "We begin our march to-night." His followers could see better in the dark and were weakened by bright sunlight, and Kaldre had discovered one bonus in his new "life," his own night vision was far better now than it was when he was alive.
"We following," replied the kobold leader Malewik. "Muchly quick we following. We doing as wizard says."
The kobold eyed Kaldre with a resentful wariness, subtly informing the death knight that his kobolds were cooperating only because of their instructions from Draaddis Vulter.
The wizard had insisted that Kaldre could depend on the kobolds, but that they had an instinctive fear and hatred of the undead. Beneath Malewik's stolen dwarf helmet his eyes were speculating.
"We hunt two kender," Kaldre told them. "They were in Lytburg when they were last seen, though that was nearly a week ago."
"Humans not liking kender, not liking kender muchly much." Malewik had immediately understood their first and major problem, as his next statement proved: "Is driving kender out of city, doing soon or doing before now. We finding kender not so easy maybe."
"Yes, and if they're gone we'll need to find out when and where." Kaldre agreed. "We will travel west until we near the city. Then I will enter and find out what I can."
Jaerume Kaldre led his motley band from the cavern. The journey began well and continued for almost two miles before the first kobold decided he had traveled far enough and attempted to disappear into the forest.
Takhisis had foreseen trouble with the undisciplined humanoids and had ordered Draaddis to send his messenger-the winged rat-along on the first leg of the journey. The creature raised a racket and Kaldre caught the deserter before he was out of sight of the others. One short swing of his sword decapitated the hapless kobold. Behind him, Kaldre could hear the fearful muttering of the rest of his "army."
"Here, you, the last in line," Kaldre called to the huddled group. He leaned sideways in his saddle and picked up the deserter's head by spearing it through the ear with the tip of his sword.
"You carry this," he said, flinging the head at the group. "You'll all take turns carrying it; it will remind you of what will happen if you desert."
As he rode ahead of the silent kobold column he decided he would use the same tactic on his real legions when he took them into battle. He would make sure he had no deserters. The kobolds obediently followed all night and most of the next day, then he left them in an abandoned barn.
Jaerume Kaldre reached the north gate of Lytburg just after sunset. He dismounted from his blowing, steaming horse on the far side of the bridge and walked across. As he approached the gates he saw four guards on duty and another four appeared, led by an officer.
He slowed his pace and pulled his hood down to keep the light of the torches from showing too much of his pale, skull-like face.
But the soldiers had not noticed his approach. The officer and the new arrivals gathered around a guard who was showing off a broken spear.
"He bit off the point and chewed it up," the guard was explaining.
"Have you been drinking on duty?" the officer demanded.
"Nay, and the others will bear me out. I was stopping a dwarf I had reason to question. He just bit the end off the spear and chewed up the point. I never seen the like."
"Saw it myself, Captain," a second guard spoke up. "That dwarf just bit off that spearhead and chewed it up. He never even spit out the shards."
The officer glared at the two guards, but he had heard the approach of the stranger and turned, his expression harsh, as if he intended to use Kaldre as the target for his frustration.
"It's late to approach a city, traveler," the captain called. The words had been formed in advance of his turning to face the man, but they came out stiffly. An air of decay hung about the stranger like the stuffiness of a garment left too long in an old chest, but the aura of evil emanated from the figure and not his garments. The officer nearly choked with fear.