“No road is ever old.”
Tasslehoff suddenly ran forward, his arms open wide.
“Flint!” The kender threw his arms around the dwarf and hugged him. Flint, embarrassed, returned the embrace reluctantly, then quickly stepped back. Tasslehoff grinned, then looked up at the half-elf.
“Who’s this?” He gasped. “Tanis! I didn’t recognize you with a beard!” He held out his short arms.
“No, thanks,” said Tanis, grinning. He waved the kender away. “I want to keep my money pouch.”
With a sudden look of alarm, Flint felt under his tunic. “You rascal!” He roared and leaped at the kender, who was doubled over, laughing. The two went down in the dust.
Tanis, chuckling, started to pull Flint off the kender. Then he stopped and turned in alarm. Too late, he heard the silvery jingle of harness and bridle and the whinny of a horse. The half-elf put his hand on the hilt of his sword, but he had already lost any advantage he might have gained through alertness.
Swearing under his breath, Tanis could do nothing but stand and stare at the figure emerging from the shadows. It was seated on a small, furry-legged pony that walked with its head down as if it were ashamed of its rider. Gray, mottled skin sagged into folds about the rider’s face. Two pig-pink eyes stared out at them from beneath a military-looking helmet. Its fat. flabby body leaked out between pieces of flashy, pretentious armor.
A peculiar odor hit Tanis, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Hobgoblin!” his brain registered. He loosened his sword and kicked at Flint, but at that moment the dwarf gave a tremendous sneeze and sat up on the kender.
“Horse!” said Flint, sneezing again.
“Behind you,” Tanis replied quietly.
Flint, hearing the warning note in his friend’s voice, scrarnbled to his feet. Tasslehoff quickly did the same.
The hobgoblin sat astride the pony, watching them with a sneering, supercilious look on his flat face. His pink eyes reflected the last lingering traces of sunlight.
“You see, boys,” the hobgoblin stated, speaking the Common Tongue with a thick accent, “what fools we are dealing with here in Solace.”
There was gritty laughter from the trees behind the hobgoblin. Five goblin guards, dressed in crude uniforms, came out on foot. They took up positions on either side of their leader’s horse.
“Now . . .” The hobgoblin leaned over his saddle. Tanis watched with a kind of horrible fascination as the creature’s huge belly completely engulfed the pommel. “I am Fewmaster Toede, leader of the forces that are keeping Solace protected from undesirable elements. You have no right to be walking in the city limits after dark. You are under arrest.” Fewmaster Toede leaned down to speak to a goblin near him. “Bring me the blue crystal staff, if you find it on them,” he said in the croaking goblin tongue. Tanis, Flint, and Tasslehoff all looked at each other questioningly. Each of them could speak some goblin-Tas better than the others. Had they heard right? A blue crystal staff?
“If they resist,” added Fewmaster Toede, switching back to Common for grand effect, “kill them.”
With that, he yanked on the reins, flicked his mount with a riding crop, and galloped off down the path toward town.
“Goblins! In Solace! This new Theocrat has much to answer for!” Flint spat. Reaching up, he swung his battle-axe from its holder on his back and planted his feet firmly on the path, rocking back and forth until he felt himself balanced. “Very well,” he announced. “Come on.”
“I advise you to retreat,” Tanis said, throwing his cloak over one shoulder and drawing his sword. “We have had a long journey. We are hungry and tired and late for a meeting with friends we have not seen in a long time. We have no intention of being arrested.”
“Or of being killed,” added Tasslehoff. He had drawn no weapon but stood staring at the goblins with interest.
A bit taken aback, the goblins glanced at each other nervously. One cast a baleful look down the road where his leader had vanished. The goblins were accustomed to bullying peddlers and farmers traveling to the small town-not to challenging armed and obviously skilled fighters. But their hatred of the other races of Krynn was long-standing. They drew their long, curved blades.