Wanderlust tms-2

by Mary Kirchoff

  Tanis shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Well, a trip to Qualinost isn't definite. Not yet, that is. We might, umm, head north into Abanasinia first. We still haven't decided. It all depends."

  "What does it depend on?" the kender asked innocently.

  Flint folded his arms and smirked at Tanis, then said smugly, "I'm interested, too, Tanis. Exactly what does this depend on?"

  Tanis shuffled his feet and cleared his throat awkwardly, then tried to swallow the dry lump forming there. 'The usual things. The condition of the roads, and what we hear from other merchants about those areas, and whether we can get good directions, and-" he blushed-"things like that."

  Tasslehoff beamed. "You don't have to worry about directions. I have wonderfully accurate maps of the whole area. They show where the roads come from and where they're going-mostly, anyway. Plus where there are bad bridges and high taxes and monsters and good food. They show lots of things." The kender set his shoulders resolutely. "You're going to be awfully glad you met me."

  Chapter 2

  Among Friends

  The Inn of the Last Home was perched high in the branches of one of the mightiest vallenwood trees in Solace. This was only fitting, as the inn was one of the largest buildings in town. Even on the ground it would have looked inviting. Nestled there in the branches of that powerful tree, the two-story inn seemed enchanted.

  The one drawback to its location was reaching it. A long and winding ramp spiraled round and round the great trunk until it finally deposited the unprepared visitor, puffing and very ready for a drink, at the door of the inn, forty feet above the ground. (Needless to say, this ramp had a stout railing for the sake of those customers who might have trouble negotiating the path back down.)

  This evening found Tanis and Flint snaking their way up the torturous incline.

  Pausing for a moment to lean against the trunk, Flint ruffled his moustache. "I swear that rascal Otik moves this inn just a little bit higher every year. Besides, what idiot makes his business taxing to get to and easy to leave?"

  "It's only hard when you start from the ground. I never hear you complain when we come in on the bridge-walks," replied Tanis. "I think the real problem is that you're getting old."

  "And I think you're getting stupid," grumbled the dwarf as he resumed the pace. "Only a hare-brain would meet a kender for a drink, and only a doomed idiot would invite one along on a trip."

  Tanis, who was accustomed to the dwarf's bile after years of exposure, took no offense. "Nobody says you have to come along, Flint. I know your wares well enough to sell them for you. Somebody your age probably shouldn't travel much, anyway."

  Flint poked a short, stubby finger at his nettlesome young friend. "Just you remember that even at my age I could still snap you in half like a greasy chicken bone. It's only my short reach that's kept you alive this long."

  Tanis chuckled and wrapped his arm around the dwarf's thick shoulders. "Anyway," he said, "nobody says he has to come along, either. He'll probably forget we even suggested it. If he really does have maps of the whole region we can look at and perhaps copy, he could save us enormous amounts of time and wasted effort. You know what a maze the Kharolis Mountains can be."

  "Yes, I know," the dwarf grumbled. "And I also know I could be sitting before my own hearth with my feet up, eating my own smoked ham and drinking good dwarf spirits."

  The half-elf sighed. "It'll do you good to get out. I swear," he said with a shake of his russet head, "you'd be a regular hermit, Flint Fireforge, if I let you."

  "So why don't you?"

  Tanis clapped Flint's shoulder fondly. "It's a shame I'm the only one who knows what a pushover you are." He gave the dwarf's shoulder a firm, warning squeeze. "Now, please at least try to be nice to Tasslehoff. He seems like a pleasant enough little fellow."

  A skeptical snort was Hint's only answer, his heavy boots clopping noisily on the wooden bridgewalks.

  They arrived at the landing before the entrance to the inn. Bright lights from inside shone warmly through the colorful stained glass windows. Sounds of laughter and song drifted out to welcome the new arrivals. Tanis closed his eyes, pulled open the door, and drew a deep breath as he stepped into the room.

  The inn had an aroma that Tanis found irresistible: pipe and hearth smoke mingled in the air, along with the scents of Otik's spiced potatoes, sizzling sausages, roasting fowl, and fresh bread from the kitchen, and the inescapable smell of spring from the mighty vallenwood trunk that grew right through the midst of the common room.

  As Tanis opened his eyes again, the pleasant air caught in his throat. The crowd at the inn was often boisterous. This night, several dozen patrons stood or sat throughout the room, clapping and banging their mugs on the tables in time to an embarrassingly bawdy song. And in the center of it all, leading the singing as he leaped from table to table and even walked on the shoulders of his audience, was the person they had come to meet, the irrepressible kender himself, Tasslehoff Burrfoot.

  Flint's elbow jabbed into Tanis's ribs, releasing the air that had caught in the taller man's throat. Tanis glanced at Flint, but could only shrug in response to the dwarf's glare. With studied patience, Tanis began to thread his way through the noisy, stomping crowd.

  The song ended moments before the two new arrivals reached an empty table along the room's farthest wall. Seemingly from nowhere, a body launched itself toward Tanis, who reflexively put out his arms to catch it.

  Tas smiled up at his new friend. "Hey, Tanis, I'm glad you made it!" He crawled from the half-elf's lap, twisted his vest back into place, and settled himself into a chair. "What a crowd!" He took a sip from a half-empty mug of ale left over from the previous patrons. Foam coated his upper lip in a golden mustache. "This is a great town. I can see why you guys live here." He settled back with a satisfied belch.

  "Did you hear the song?" he asked, leaning forward again. "It almost became the kender national anthem, but it's a hard one to sing correctly, what with those four octaves in it and all. Still, bad renditions are real popular at inns in Kendermore. At least they were when I was last home."

  "When was that?" Tanis asked conversationally. He yanked the reluctant, grim-faced dwarf onto the bench next to him.

  With a long-suffering sigh, Flint wiggled three fingers above his head at a serving girl and settled in for the night. The fair-haired lass bounced over quickly, three large, overfull mugs slopping over in her cradled arms.

  "Thanks!" Tasslehoff threw back the contents of the half-filled mug he'd found, then traded it for one of the full ones in the girl's arms.

  "Now, what was your question? Oh, yes, Kendermore," Tasslehoff recalled. He scratched his head. "What year is it now?"

  "Year?" Tanis asked, incredulous. "Have you been gone so very long?"

  "I haven't really given it much thought," said the kender, screwing up his wrinkled face in concentration. "Let's see, I left just after my sixteenth day of life-gift, which was the second of the month of Blessings, 341. I remember having two birthdays since then-one spent with some very nasty wizards who wanted this really neat teleporting ring I had, and the other talking to some very nice ladies in a pleasant bordello in Khuri-khan, or was it Valkinord? I always get them confused. Have you been?"

  Oblivious to Hint's blush and Tanis's laughter, Tas pressed on. "I guess that means I've been on wanderlust for two and a half years, so far. Hmm," he muttered, "I didn't realize it had been that long…"

  "Good lords," breathed Flint apprehensively, "what on Krynn is 'wanderlust'?"

  Tasslehoff looked surprised at the question. "Why, it's when you wander around, learning about life and making maps. When you've learned enough, or made enough maps, you're ready to return to your hometown and begin life as an adult. Doesn't everyone do it?"

  "Good heavens, no," snorted the dwarf, compelled to call on the gods yet again. "What a ridiculous notion."

  Tanis remarked with a shrug, "I guess it's no different than any culture's rite of passage.
The elves have one, I know." He flinched at the memory of his humiliation at being forbidden to take the elven rite in Qualinost years ago because he was a half-breed. "And I'll bet the dwarves have one, too.

  "So," Tanis continued, filling in the dwarf's gloomy silence, "have you learned enough to return home yet?"

  "Not yet, but I'll tell you," the kender said as he leaned in, his little face serious, "I made some really great maps of that bordello."

  Blushing anew, the straitlaced dwarf swallowed the last of his amber ale in another big gulp. "Speaking of maps, let's have another drink and take a look at yours."

  "You want to see the bordello one?" asked Tas eagerly.

  "No!" exploded Flint, flustered further by Tanis's laughter. Flint heaved a sigh of relief just then, when the serving girl returned with another round. "You said you had some maps of Abanasinia, which is the only reason I'm here. So let's see 'em," he ordered.

  Of course, there were few things in the world Tasslehoff liked better than talking about and showing off his maps. In a trice he had ordered a plate of fried sausages and settled into his chair near the wall. Across from him, Tanis stretched out his legs along the bench, Flint still sitting stiffly next to him.

  "I don't think you'll be able to see well way over there," Tas said frankly to the bushy-haired dwarf, "what with the light so dim and your eyes so old."

  "My eyes are fine! You just worry about your maps being a waste of my time," said Flint, poking a finger at the kender.

  With a hurt glance at the dwarf, Tas untied the flap on his shoulder bag. "Making maps is my life, you know," he announced to no one in particular. "I suppose you could say I can't help myself. I see something interesting, and I've just got to jot it down. I don't sell them, though I'm sure such beautiful and exact maps would draw a terrific sum. I just make them for me. And sometimes I give one to somebody I like, if it's really special."

  Reaching into the bag with both hands, Tasslehoff dragged out what could only be called a wad of items: parchment rolls, folded parchment, squares of paper and vellum, a few small sheets of bark, the soft leather upper from a luxurious riding boot, several scraps of linen, a bone tube sealed with wax at both ends, and a straight black stick about fourteen inches long.

  Tas picked up the stick and turned it around in his hands. "What in the world is this?" he mused aloud. He rapped it on the table edge and nearly dropped it in surprise when a shower of sparks burst from the end. Sudden recognition lit up his face.

  "Hey, Fozgoz's wand!" he squealed. "Watch, Tanis, I can do magic with this!"

  Leaping to his feet, Tas shook the wand at Flint and intoned, "I command you to become a hairless goat, now!"

  Arms and legs flailing wildly, the hefty dwarf scrambled desperately to escape from the sizzling, smoking fusillade that erupted over him. His beer mug crashed to the floor to create a spreading pool of foam. The bench nearly tipped over before Flint could plant his hobnailed boot firmly on the floorboards.

  Meanwhile Tanis's arm shot up and his strong fingers locked around Tas's wrist. With his free left hand Tanis snatched the wand from the kender and dunked it, still spewing sparks, into one of the full mugs on the table.

  "What's the matter with your brain?" Finally on his feet, with his back to the wall, Flint bellowed at the kender. "You all saw it," he said to the gaping crowd, "he's completely crazy!" He pointed an accusing finger at the half-elf. "This is your fault, Tanis. You shouldn't have stopped me from having him arrested this morning. Maybe it's not too late."

  Tasslehoff slipped his wrist out of Tanis's grasp. "Gee whiz," he muttered sheepishly, "it was just a joke. It's a silly old fake wizard's wand. There's no magic in it, just sparks."

  "How is any sane person supposed to know that?" blustered Flint. Aggravated, he brushed himself off and resettled on his bench, mumbling the whole time about "crazy kender." Gradually the rest of the inn's customers went back about their business. The serving girl slipped in and placed a pewter plate of sizzling sausages on the table next to Tasslehoff's sundry valuables. Flint snatched one of the hot links and munched it angrily, oblivious to the burns it inflicted in his mouth.

  Tas looked for some support in Tanis's face but found only stern admonishment. "It was just a joke," he muttered again. He picked at a sausage. "I don't know how the wand ended up in my bag in the first place. That phony wizard must have dropped it there somehow when I wasn't looking."

  Flint and Tanis exchanged knowing glances.

  "Your maps?" Tanis prompted.

  Tasslehoff bounced up in his seat, and he pushed the sausage plate to the side. "Right." His nimble fingers flew across the heap of documents, sorting and examining and sifting at lightning speed. He selected a sheet of parchment and flipped it open under Tanis's nose. "Here's the Bay of Balifor. That's close to Kendermore, my home. I came through there at the start of my journey."

  Another map unfolded, this one much larger. "And here's the Laughing Lands. This is near my home, too. See, there's the Hollow Lands to the north, and the Somber Coast, which is no more fun than it sounds, and this bay here is the Gullet, and the Wendlewrithing River, and the Writhing Wreak between the two. I made that map myself."

  "It's very nice, Tasslehoff, but we're interested in something a little closer to Solace," Tanis said.

  "Of course you are," agreed the kender, "I have maps of every place I've been, and I've definitely been here." He continued pawing through his assortment, glancing at each item, occasionally opening one for a closer look. "Here's the… no, that won't help. Here's a secret cave near Bloten-no, that's way across the Newsea. What's this? Schallsea Island-we're getting closer. Now, this is a map of Ergoth. How'd that get here? It belongs down near the bottom of the pile.

  "Look at this! It's not really a map at all. It's a lock of hair from Contessa Darbiana. I met her at the western edge of Silvanesti. She was fleeing from a band of outlaws-well, they weren't actually outlaws, they were more like rebels, only there weren't enough of them to have a real rebellion, so they just robbed people and caused lots of trouble. They were chasing her because they wanted to kidnap her and use her politically somehow. At least, that's what she said."

  Tasslehoff bent over his maps and continued shuffling through them.

  After several minutes, Flint pushed his hat back from his eyes. He reached across the table and picked up the lock of hair. "Well?"

  Tas's head jerked up. "Well what?" he asked, aimlessly shuffling the maps.

  "What happened to Contessa Darbell, you doorknob?"

  "Darbiana. The bandits got her. I barely managed to escape myself. A military patrol found me a few days later, and the officer told me that they'd tracked and ambushed the bandits and killed all of them. They never found a trace of Darbiana. It's kind of sad, I guess, when you think about it."

  Flint's mouth dropped open. "That's a terrible story," he objected.

  Tasslehoff defended himself as only a kender could. "I never claimed it was a good story. You asked me, remember?" Tas leaned forward, snatched back the lock of hair, and stuffed it in his bag. "If you don't want to hear sad stories, don't ask me to tell them."

  Flint rolled his eyes and crossed his thick arms.

  Leaning forward on his elbows, Tanis was getting drawn into the bewildering assortment of scrawled maps laid before him. He picked up one of the bark scraps to examine. It looked nothing like a map, but was instead covered with strange, twisted scratches. "What's this?"

  Tasslehoff bent close and squinted at the squiggles as he tried to read them. "That's a rescue message," he stated, "written in the script of Zhakar."

  "Dare we ask?" mumbled Flint through his mustache.

  "It's not sad, if that's what you mean. I got caught in a wizard's keep and…"

  "After breaking in, no doubt," interrupted Flint.

  "No, I did not break in. I just went in."

  "Were you invited?"

  "No, but nobody told me to stay out. If that wizard was so concerned about
privacy, he should have locked his door. So I walked in to have a look around, because I'd never been in a wizard's keep before, and this shriveled old stick of a man got all excited and had his guards, who were just about the ugliest things I've ever seen on three legs, lock me in a cell.

  "I stayed there for a few days, thinking the wizard would cool off and let me go, only he didn't seem like the forgiving type. So finally I scratched out this rescue message on a piece of bark, figuring maybe I could slip it to one of the locals and get myself rescued."

  "Good thinking," said Tanis. "Obviously it worked."

  Tas shook his head. "No locals ever came around to get it. I had to trick my way out.

  "The wizard came to check on me one day because he needed some rendered hobgoblin fat and he was having a hard time getting any. I suspect he was wondering whether rendered kender would work as well. Not being so curious about that myself, I persuaded him that I knew where I could get some of what he needed-even the chunky kind. So he let me go, on the condition that I come back with the grease as soon as possible. I think he tried to put some sort of spell on me to guarantee I would come back, but it didn't work.

  "Which reminds me," he added, holding up a small, blue glass vial with a cork in the mouth, "don't ever open this in a closed room. It's awful-smelling stuff."

  Tanis and Flint exchanged glances again, and Flint ordered another round.

  "Here it is!" announced Tas. Triumphantly he spread out a tattered piece of vellum, frayed around the edges and stained in the middle. "I'm afraid I was running low on mapping material when I did this. Still, it's perfectly readable."

  Tanis cocked his head this way and that, then turned the map slightly, then turned it a bit more. Finally he turned it around completely, but he was still puzzled. "Without wanting to sound too stupid, Tasslehoff, umm, what is it?"

  "It's Abanasinia." Tas held out his hands as if to say, "Of course." Still Tanis drew a blank. Tas grabbed the map and rotated it about seventy degrees. "See? There's the Eastwall Mountains."