Tanis had all he could do to restrain Flint. Raistlin, his face taut, said nothing. The young mage knew the ogress was trying to intimidate him. In truth, he was impressed and more than a little afraid. Morath had warned him that Chen'tal Pyrnee could be volatile.
The Oracle kept stirring her brew, gauging Raistlin's reaction. The mists pulsed above the steaming caldron. The wall sizzled. The ogress's solitary eye roamed the cave, surveying the companions.
Finally she spoke. "I could perform tricks like that all day," boasted Chen'tal Pyrnee, breaking the tension. In spite of herself, she was satisfied by the respectful demeanor of these three unlikely companions. Suddenly she stopped her incessant stirring. "But," the ugly ogress added, giving Raistlin a placating wink with her purplish eye, "you are in a hurry and have business to conduct. What brings you here to see old Chen'tal? It had better be important, or at least interesting. I don't entertain dull visitors. Not for long, anyway." She gave a dissonant cackle.
Raistlin took a step forward, digging into his pack and offering a thick wedge of speckled cheese wrapped in rough white paper. "We brought you a gift," he said politely.
Reaching out, Chen'tal Pyrnee grabbed the offering and swiftly unwrapped it. Her lone eye gleamed with obvious pleasure as she held the thick wedge of cheese in her gnarled palm. All Flint could think of as he watched her was how hungry he was all of a sudden and what a waste of fine cheese this was. The dwarf hoped that the ogress couldn’t hear his stomach rumbling.
Chen'tal Pyrnee plucked at the cheese and stuffed a chunk into her mouth, grotesquely dribbling bits of it as she chewed ferociously. "Mmmm… tasty," the Oracle said grudgingly. She held her hand up high and let the rest of the cheese plop into the steaming caldron.
Flint gulped with disappointment. Reading his thoughts, Tanis could barely repress a smile.
"Morath remembered how much you like the cheese from town," Raistlin continued smoothly. "And this"-the young mage held out a pouch tied with a ribbon, obviously stuffed with coins-"is what I brought as payment for the favor we ask of you."
"Which is?" asked Chen'tal Pyrnee with curiosity, taking the pouch and hefting it in her hand. It jingled, obviously heavy. She didn't need to empty and count the pouch to know that it was sufficient payment for the services she was usually asked to perform.
"From the Master Mage, I have learned that you possess the key to a portal that could transport us to Ogrebond at the edge of the Blood Sea. Our friends, including my brother, have been taken captive in that part of the world and are held in dire jeopardy. We do not have enough time to journey there by land or sea and are desperate for swifter means of travel. We come to you, trusting that you will appreciate the urgency of our quest."
The ugly ogress made a reproachful face and wagged a finger at Raistlin. "Morath shouldn't be telling folks that I have knowledge of a portal. He should know better."
She lowered her voice conspiratorially and leaned closer to Raistlin, so that their faces were an arm's length apart. Her mouth twisted, as if she were attempting a rare smile. Her breath smelled worse than any horse's. The purple eye bulged in its socket. "Portals exist through the benevolence of the Hulderfolk. They are not to be used for purposes of mere expediency. The Hulderfolk set certain conditions. The magic involved is of the highest potency."
"But do the Hulderfolk truly exist?" interjected Tanis from behind Raistlin. "Are they not simply legend?"
The purple eye swiveled to scrutinize Tanis, who had spoken without thinking. The half-elf braced for some type of abuse from the Oracle, but Chen'tal Pyrnee seemed amused rather than angry at his outburst. "Oh, I should think the Hulderfolk do exist," the ogress cackled. "There's no real proof, of course, as there is no real proof of many things. People say the Hulderfolk are invisible during the day and shy at night. Yet I believe they are always with us, watching and waiting. You must live according to what you believe." She shrugged. "I, for one, believe in the Hulderfolk."
Here she endeavored another rare smile. Two smiles in one day, probably a record, thought Flint to himself.
The ugly ogress turned back to Raistlin, hefting the money pouch once again. Her smile vanished. With a flick of her hand, she tossed the pouch back in his direction. It landed at his feet.
"A cartload of coins would not be enough for me to tempt the Hulderfolk," she said flatly. "I would be risking my very existence."
She leaned toward Raistlin again, speaking softly with her stinking breath. "Magic would raise the stakes. Now, I'm not saying I know the whereabouts of a portal, and I'm not saying I don't. If I did, it would take a magic artifact to grant your request. No amount of coinage would make the slightest difference. If you had a magic bauble to trade, we might have something to talk about. Being a noteworthy pupil of Morath's and all, you might happen to have such a bauble. If so, you'd be well advised to barter with it."
With a smirk, the unpleasant hag resumed stirring the hot, bubbling caldron. She cackled and muttered to herself, her purple eye remaining fixed on Raistlin.
The young mage stood with a wan, defeated expression. He started to say something, then thought better of it. The silence in the room grew oppressive.
"Raistlin!" whispered Tanis, beckoning him to his side. The mage turned to confer with his friend. Flint, who was weary of the ogress, sidled up next to them, listening.
"What about the message bottle from Tasslehoff?" asked Tanis, "That's a magical artifact, isn't it?"
"You've got it with you, don't you?" put in Flint.
"Yes," said Raistlin tersely.
"We have no further use for it," added Tanis. "She might want it."
"You don't understand," said Raistlin stubbornly.
"I can hear practically every word you are saying!" crowed the ogress. Chen'tal Pyrnee cupped one hand to her ear, bent her head toward them, and cackled. "Practically every word," she muttered to herself grumpily, stirring the caldron.
The three companions moved away from her and huddled closer together. Raistlin lowered his voice. "The bottle means nothing to me," the young mage whispered, "but to give it to Chen'tal Pyrnee goes against my teaching. This ogress traffics with whomever will pay her price. In the past, she has allied herself with evil. She may do so again. No magical artifact, however innocent, should fall into her hands."
"But she already has at least one artifact-the magical key or whatever it is that unlocks the portal," puzzled Flint. "Therefore, wouldn't it be acceptable to give her ours in exchange? That way, she's not really gaining any power."
"That's true," admitted Raistlin hesitantly.
"After all," added Tanis, "it may be a question of Caramon's life."
"Sturm's, too," chimed in Flint, "not to mention Tasslehoff."
Raistlin frowned. "I suppose you're right," he said. The mage turned back to Chen'tal Pyrnee, who had been observing the huddle and trying to eavesdrop. Her purplish orb gleamed with interest.
Fumbling in his pack, Raistlin pulled out the message bottle. Immediately Chen'tal Pyrnee grabbed it and held it up in two hands, her hideous face alight with pleasure.