Part 1

Cpapter 1

“Oh, that!” exclaimed Tas, dismissing concern with a wave of his hand. “I forgot all about it.”

“Obviously. However, the Kendermore Council didn’t. Now, stop stalling!” the brightly clad dwarf complained, giving the kender’s wrist another sharp tug. Tas dug the fingers of his free hand into the edge of a heavy table and refused to budge.

The redhaired dwarf stopped and turned around to face him. “I don’t want to do this, but you’re really giving me no choice. Woodrow, pick him up and carry him.” But the blond young man took only one step before Tanis’s voice halted him.

“I wouldn’t if I were you, boy.” Stepping forward with his fists clenched before him, the powerfully muscled halfelf looked as if he outweighed Woodrow by at least fifty pounds. Standing next to Tanis, Flint’s face was grim and his hand rested reflexively on the hammer that always hung at his thick waist.

“What’s this all about, Tas?” Tanis asked in his sternest voice.

“I’d like the answer to that as well,” Otik demanded, focusing his irritation at the kender. “You’re disturbing the peace of my inn.”

He looked at his kitchen staff, including his daughter Tika, all of whom had gathered around the bar to see what was happening.

Tas stopped his struggling. “I think this lady wants me to go back to Kendermore and get married,” he said, avoiding his friends’

eyes.

“To her?” Flint asked, his brows raised in amazement.

“Don’t be insulting!” the female dwarf cried, drawing back.

“Of course not, Flint,” Tas sniffed. “She’s not even a kender.”

“Look,” Tanis said impatiently. “Would somebody tell us what’s going one” He gazed directly at the unusually vivid-looking dwarf.

“Who are you, and what’s the real reason you want Tasslehoff?”

The woman regarded Tanis’s handsome face with interest. Suddenly she thrust out her hand, palm down, and said sweetly, “My name is Gisella Hornslager. Yours?”

“Tanis Half-Elven,” he responded, awkwardly returning the woman’s crushing handshake.

Gisella withdrew her hand. “As I was saying, Buzzfoot is under arrest for breaking a marriage oath according to some kender law or another,” she said vaguely. “Now, as much as I’d like to stay and chat,” she continued, letting her gaze wander down Tanis’s lean form, a smirk on her lips, “I really must be going. Schedules to keep, places to be, you know how it is.”

Flint, who had been quite obviously staring at the woman since her arrival, gulped in surprise. “You’re a bounty hunter?”

“Oh, not specifically,” she said, spinning on her heel.

“I’m in the import-export business; my motto is ‘You want it, I got it.’ The Kendermore Council asked me to do this job, and I thought ‘fabric, a kender — what’s the difference as long as it’s portable?’”

She lifted her broad, raspberrycolored shoulders in a weary shrug. “Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really must be going. I’ve got two bags of rare merganser melon out in my wagon getting riper and costing me more money every second I delay. Kendermore’s Autumn Harvest Faire opens in a little more than a month, and that load is worth a half-year’s profits to me there. Woodrow?”

The young man stepped forward obediently and wrapped his strong arms around the wriggling kender.

“Sorry, little fella,” he mumbled.

Tanis stopped Woodrow again, this time with a hand on his arm.

The kender slid to his feet once more, twisting his vest back into place with a disgruntled “humph!” Gisella pulled Tanis to the side, batting two small, kohl black-lined eyes at him. “Look, friend, if it’s money you want, I’ll give you half of my take for him. Fifteen new steel pieces,” she said, biting into each word as though she enjoyed their taste.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Tanis sputtered, unable to comprehend that someone was trying to buy Tasslehoff from him.

“That’s more than fair!” She dropped her voice abruptly. “OK, twenty, but that’s my final offer.”

“My good woman,” Tanis growled, his eyes flashing black, “you cannot buy and sell a kender like horseflesh!”

“You can’t? Why not?” she asked, genuinely surprised.

“Because some things just aren’t for sale!”

“Honey,” she purred, letting her tightly clothed thigh rub against his for a moment, “everything has a price.” Tanis jerked his leg away and took a deep breath, throwing a withering look at Flint, who was jiggling with silent laughter. Groping for a new approach, Tanis suggested, “Let’s ask Tas what he wants to do.”

Everyone turned toward the kender.

“Well, Tas?” Tanis asked. “What’s this about getting married, anyway? You never even told us you had a sweetheart.”

Tasslehoff shuffled uncomfortably.

“I don’t, exactly,” he confessed. “See, a long time ago, somebody suddenly noticed that there weren’t many kender left in Kendermore — people just never got around to getting married. So some other somebody came up with the idea of randomly assigning mates at birth. You know, a boy and a girl are born near each other timewise in the city, and they have to get married sometime near their thirtyfifth birthdays. It’s one of the few rules that any kender can remember.

Except me. I just forgot it.”

“So there’s a girl waiting in Kendermore for you to marry her?”

Flint asked, struggling to keep the smile he felt growing inside him from showing on his face.

“I guess,” Tas said morosely. “I’ve never met her. I think her name begins with a ‘D,’ or at least it sounds like ‘D.’ Dorcas…

Dipilfis… Gimrod… Something like that.”

Flint could contain himself no longer; he burst out laughing.

“I’d like to see the look on her face when she sees what she’s getting! Ha!”

“Tas,” Tanis said kindly, looking into the kender’s crestfallen face, “do you want to marry this girl?” Tas pursed his lips in thought, watching leaves swirl in Tika’s wake as she marched by with a tray of drinks.

“I’ve never thought about it, really. I always figured I’d get married someday… someday later… much later.”

“If you don’t want to marry her, the honorable thing to do is to go back and tell her so,” Tanis suggested reasonably. “Or send a message through Miss Hornslager here. I’m sure the girl will understand.”

Tas brightened slightly. “I suppose I could do that.”

“Well, let me just tell you that Miss Hornslager won’t understand,” Gisella grumbled. “I get paid for delivering a kender, not a message. Bundle him up, Woodrow,” she instructed abruptly. “You don’t need to treat me like a sack of potatoes,” Tas pointed out, his face dark.

“I don’t know,” Flint said mischievously, a twinkle in his eye.

He was enjoying Tas’s discomfort immensely.

“I’d keep my eyes on him every minute. He may intend to return with you today, but a butterfly might cross his path tomorrow, and off he’ll go.”

Gisella looked directly at Tas and clicked her tongue.

“Any old time you think about wandering off, just remember this: The council is holding your Uncle Trapspringer prisoner until you return. They want you back real bad.”

“Prisoner? Poor Uncle Trapspringer!” Tas cried. Suddenly his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Wait a minute, how do I know they really have my Uncle Trapspringer?”

Gisella’s cheeks colored for the first time. She scratched the back of her neck, looking uncomfortable.

“Well, it wasn’t my idea, but they told me to show you something if you gave me any trouble.” She pulled a tiny pouch from the depths of her blouse and tugged open the strings. Wrinkling her nose, she held up a two-inch, jointed piece of polished white bone.

“Here’s his finger!” Tas peered at the fragment closely.

“Yep, that’s Uncle Trapspringer’s favorite one,” he said, unperturbed. “I’d recognize it anywhere.”

Tanis’s face wrinkled in horror. “They cut off your uncle’s finger? But why would they do that over such a small matter?”

“I thought it was unusually nasty, myself,” Gisella agreed, dropping the bone back into the pouch.

Tasslehoff’s expression turned from confusion to sudden amusement. ‘You thought this was one of his fingers? Oh, that’s funny!”

“Well, that’s what you said it was, you doorknob,” Flint growled, shuffling his feet angrily. Tanis looked merely bewildered.

“Oh, that’s really funny!” Tasslehoff shrieked. He clutched his stomach and doubled over with highpitched laughter, oblivious to the irritation of his friends.

“Uncle Trapspringer collects bones,” he gulped — “of animals and such,” he managed to gasp at last. “That’s the one he carries for good luck!”

“Obviously it’s not working,” observed Gisella dryly, tucking the purse back into her blouse.

Tanis sighed heavily. “I should have known better than to try helping you out of a jam, Tas. I give up; you’re on your own.” The halfelf shook Tas’s small hand and backed out the door. “Good luck, friend. See you in five years.”

Chuckling aloud, Flint stepped after the young halfelf. “Have a nice wedding, Tas!” he said, clapping the kender affectionately on the shoulder as he passed him. “Wait!” Tas called. “Of course I’m terribly concerned about Uncle Trapspringer —” But his friends were already gone. Tasslehoff took a step after them, but Gisella and Woodrow blocked his way. Feeling just the tiniest bit forlorn, he chewed his lip and looked expectantly at the redhaired dwarf.

Gisella Hornslager arched her eyebrows in a hopeful gesture.

“Well, that’s that, hmm? Those melons aren’t getting any greener.”

Tasslehoff hesitated.

Just then, Otik emerged from the kitchen, carrying a parchment sack. “I, uh, just wanted you to have something to remember your trip to Solace,” he said shyly, placing the sack in the dwarf’s outstretched hands. Then he wiped his own greasy ones on the front of his apron. Gisella flashed the tubby barkeep a brilliant smile.

“You wonderful, thoughtful little man!” she cooed, planting a red-lipped kiss on his plump, blushing cheek. Behind him, Tika crossed her arms in disgust, a baleful glare on her young face.

“Well, Burrfoot, are you going to come with us easily,” Gisella began, her arms crossed in challenge, “or is Woodrow going to have to carry you?”

Tasslehoff thought about his uncle locked up somewhere because of him, and he realized there was no choice to be made. “I’ll go easily,” he said. “Just let me get my things.”

“Fine. Ta-ta!” Gisella called grandly to Otik, sweeping out through the open door. Under Woodrow’s watchful eye, Tas hurried back to the table he’d shared with his friends and snatched up his hoopak, the fork-shaped, slinglike weapon no kender would be without. Waving good-bye to the preening Otik and scowling Tika, Tas followed Gisella down the bridgewalk that spiraled around the trunk of the inn’s supporting vallenwood tree.

“Wow, what a wagon!” Tas breathed, catching sight of a large, enclosed, wooden wagon hitched at the base of the tree. The roof was arched instead of flat, showing intricate carving and workmanship.

Even the whees looked expensive: thick, with wrought iron spokes.

Painted on the side in bright red were the words: “Mr. Hornslager’s Hypermarket: You Want It, I Got It.”

“Where’s Mr. H?” Tas asked.

Gisella smiled broadly and slapped her thigh. “Right here, Bramblefoot. It’s good for business if people think I’m a Mrs. They just assume I’m Mrs. H. It makes the poor saps think they got a better deal by bamboozling the owner’s silly wife.” Gisella widened her eyes and raised her voice an octave or two. “Oh,” she mimicked, “I couldn’t sell it for that! We paid more than that! Well, if you really like it… it looks so nice on you. But please don’t tell my husband!”

Tas giggled helplessly. He raced down the remainder of the bridgewalk and skidded to a halt before the wagon, “I can’t wait to see the inside! You collect stuff from all over the place, right’!

Gems and steel pieces and candy —”

She laughed. “No, that’s what I get when I sell my goods. Right now I have some spices, a few bolts of fabric, and some melons growing riper by the minute.”

The dwarf hurried up to the buckboard and rummaged through a large leather pouch at the side. “Now, where is that thing…,” she muttered, pushing a loose sheaf of papers around impatiently.

“Woodrow!” she yelled without looking up.

“Yes, ma’am?” he said quietly at her side.

“Oh!” she cried, startled. “Don’t creep around like that, dear,”

she scolded. “Get the kender settled in the wagon while I find that blasted map. I’ve got to see if I can’t shave some time off the return trip, or we may as well throw some of this stuff out right now.”

Tas’s ears perked up. “Map? You’re looking for a map? I’ve got lots of maps. My family makes maps.” He thumped his chest proudly.

“I’m a mapmaker. It’s what I do! “Really?” Gisella asked, looking up, her face half hopeful, half dubious.

“Yes. Here.” He reached into his fur-trimmed vest and pulled out a surprising number of rolled pieces of parchment.

Peering closely at the numbers and shapes scribbled on the upper left corner of each, he finally selected one and unfurled it on the ground. It was slightly faded and the corners were torn, but otherwise the map was in good shape and readable. “That’s odd,” Tas said, blinking at the page. “Solace isn’t on here. Well, it’s a small village, and everyone knows where it is,” he concluded. “It’s just west of Xak Tsaroth, which is marked. He traced his finger from that city to where he knew Solace was.

“Now, I’ll bet you came up the Southway Road from Pax Tharkas, right? Everyone does.” Gisella nodded, studying the map over his shoulder.

“Look at this.” Tasslehoff drew an invisible line to the right edge of the map. “The region of Balifor is almost seven hundred miles straight east of here, and that’s right next to the city of Kendermore. We’ll have to climb a few mountains and travel through some thick forests, but we should save a lot of time over going the long way to the south.” He did some quick figuring in his head. “If we really hurry, we should be able to make it to the city in near to a month.”

Something about the plan bothered Gisella. “Let me see that,”

she said, indicating the map, her expression puzzled. “I know what’s different! I don’t see any of the landmarks here that were on my other map.”

“Was it made by a kender?” Tas asked. She shook her head. “Well, that’s it, then,” Tas said definitively. “Kender often use their own sorts of landmarks, symbols, and elaborate measurements.”

“Like ‘Uncle Bertie’s foot’?” she asked, pointing to words toward the top of the page. “And what’s this one?” Her eyes were left of center. “Where I found the pretty stones’; ‘shop with great candy’; ‘monsters with big teeth here’.” She looked up at Tas. “These are important landmarks ?”

Tas shrugged. “They were to Uncle Bertie.”

“I don’t know, Tasslefoot,” Gisella said slowly, still looking closely at the sheet. “I don’t recognize the names of very many cities on this map.”

“All the major cities are here — Xak Tsaroth, Thorbardin, Neraka. You name it!” Tas said, stomping his foot in frustration at her reluctance. “Your map must not have been as detailed as mine,” he sniffed, then had a thought. “Do you want to get to Kendermore before your melons rot or not?”

Gisella frowned. “Of course I do.”

“Then leave everything to me,” the kender said grandly, rolling up the parchment and slipping it back into his vest. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s getting to where I’m going.” With that, he climbed expectantly onto the buckboard. Gisella excused herself and slipped for a moment into the back of the wagon, giving Woodrow last-minute instructions to quickly finish feeding the horses.

Woodrow’s straw-blond head bobbed absently ahead of the wagon, where he stood feeding the two horses, one dirty-white, the other dove-colored. He stroked their thick necks softly as they nibbled their dinners. The young man didn’t know much about kender, but the one thing he had learned from the few he’d met was that it was a rare kender who knew where he was going in the first place. Woodrow didn’t contradict Tasslehoff’s claims, though; he was in no hurry to get anywhere.