Read Online Lord Toede by Jeff Grubb - Free Book Online Page B

hand, brightened
     visibly at this revelation.
    “Is that so,” he replied, smiling. “Well, ain't that coincidental, since I'm really Sturm
     Brightblade. I just sent my armor out to be cleaned. Now get back to your lairs,
     Hob-gobs!” Comet-face punctuated his sentence with a sharp jab of his spear. Toede
     backpedaled a few paces. Comet-face advanced again, spear lowered and shouting epithets.
     Toede heard faint footfalls behind him, growing softer by the second, and knew that his
     army of one was retreating. Summoning what dignity he could manage, Toede wheeled about,
     shouting, “I will remember you, when I drag you out for judgment!”
    The only answer was laughter aimed at Toede's back. Groag was waiting for him behind the
     last wagon, out of sight of the guards. “Some help you were,” grumbled Toede. “What now?”
     muttered Groag. “We wait for nightfall, then you chew through the closed gates with your
     teeth,” answered Toede. Groag looked pale, and Toede added, “That is a joke. We both know
     your head would be a much more efficient battering ram. Lef s try another entrance.” It
     was about a half mile to the Southeast Gate, and the pair took a wide swing that cut
     across a number of fields. To the north, the wall continued in an unbroken line, and even
     Toede had to admit that Gildentongue had done a fair job mobilizing the local population
     to repair the old structure. When they at last came within sight of the Southeast Gate,
     Toede turned to Groag and said, “Right, then. You try to walk in. Don't mention me or your
     own name. If they give you any trouble, come right back. ”But what are you ... ?“ asked
     Groag. ”I'll be making a contingency plan,“ said Toede sweetly, and walked off toward the
     end of the caravan line, where an ox-drawn wain laden heavily with wheat waited its turn.
     The farmer, a thin whipping pole in hand, was standing by the oxen's yoke. He was already
     staring at the pair. The rest of the wagon crews were scrupulously ignoring the
     hobgoblins. Toede bowed low, at the waist, to the farmer. The farmer smiled, the sun
     catching the few remaining teeth in his mouth. Groag shrugged and padded off toward the
     main gate. If anything, the second attempt went more poorly than the first, no doubt
     because Groag lacked even Toede's skills of bluff and bluster. Specific mention was made
     of what body parts Groag would lose if he ever darkened the gate again. A duly chastened
     and threatened Groag quickly beetled to the back of the caravan line, only to find Toede
     waiting there, in pleasant conversation with the human farmer. Toede looked over at Groag
     and said brightly, ”In you go.“ He patted the side of the hay-laden cart. Groag stared at
     Toede until the highmaster had to motion jerkily with his head. Groag climbed uneasily
     into the wagon. Toede looked around to see if they were being observed, then followed.
     Both hobgoblins burrowed into the wheat, and the farmer took his position up next to the
     oxen. The wain smelled slightly of rot. The wheat was obviously the last of the winter
     crop. There was a rustle of hay and a low whisper from Groag. ”What next?“ Toede hushed
     him. There was a sharp crack of the whip on oxen backs, and the wagon began to creak
     forward, the noise nearly drowning out conversation. ”The farmer recognized us, at least
     as being part of the previous administration. More brains than teeth, that one.“ ”What?“
     said Groag Toede snarled as quietly as possible. ”I told the farmer you were a former
     “hob- gob” notable, seeking to visit your poor, sainted mother. That sob story, and the
     promise of a pouch of coins, bought us this passage.“ The cart stopped, and both
     hobgoblins fell silent. Then it rumbled forward again, and Toede resumed. ”Actually, I
     think it was the promise of the coins that got us this far. It's nice to know some things
     in