Wanderlust

by Mary Kirchoff

  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.”

  Tanis scratched his head.

  “And the coast. There are the Straits of Schallsea across the north, and Newsea on the east.”

  At last Tanis caught on. “Oh, I see. This is the coastline, here. I thought that was part of the stain.”

  “That is part of the stain,” corrected Tas, pointing with a thin finger. “This is the coast.”

  “Right,” said Tanis. “I see it now.”

  “I told you this would be nothing but trouble,” Flint sang out softly.

  Tanis ignored the dwarf as he pressed his face close to the map, pausing occasionally to take swigs from his mug. Tasslehoff sat quietly waiting for words of appreciation or admiration.

  He sat still as long as he could, which was about fifteen seconds. When the lack of conversation became unbearable, he blurted, “Isn’t Tanthalas an elf name?”

  “That’s right,” said Tanis, still studying the map.

  “So how come you’re not an elf?”

  Tanis looked up slowly. “It’s kind of a long story.”

  But Tasslehoff would not be put off. He crossed his arms expectantly. “I’m in no hurry.”

  “You might as well tell him now,” Flint ordered, “because he’s not going to let up until he gets it out of you.”

  Tasslehoff squirmed up to the edge of his seat as Tanis swallowed another mouthful of beer. “Well, a long time ago … oh, what the hell,” he said, annoyed that he was making his heritage sound like a bedtime story. The half-elf set down his mug and then, using both hands, swept the long, reddish brown hair back on both sides of his head. Tasslehoff gasped on seeing the elongated, slightly pointed ears.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “They’re not elf ears, but they sure aren’t human ears, either. They look like my ears, only twice as big. What are you, a giant kender?” Tas snickered behind his hand.

  That remark brought an expl
osion of laughter from Flint. The dwarf lurched forward, spraying beer all across Tanis’s back. “A giant kender! He’s assayed you, my boy!” Wiping tears from his face, Flint was able to stop laughing only by looking away from Tanis. Just as he calmed down, Flint looked back again and the sight of his friend, with hair pulled back and ears sticking up, started the whole uproar over again.

  More than slightly irritated, Tanis pulled his hair back across his ears. Tasslehoff tried hard to look concerned, but he could not keep his mouth from crinkling.

  “No,” stated Tanis, “I am not a ‘giant kender.’ ”

  Tas snorted indelicately through his nose.

  Piqued, Tanis’s almond-shaped eyes narrowed. “My mother was an elf and my father was a human warrior. My mother never even knew his name. All he left me was mixed blood and no people to call mine,” he concluded somberly.

  “With those ears, you’d be welcome in Kendermore,” said Tasslehoff, slapping his knee in merriment. Feeling the effects of too much ale, both he and Flint promptly doubled up, shrieking with laughter. Tas kicked the table leg, while Flint pounded the top with his fist. Beer mugs danced and skittered across the surface, splashing foam on everyone.

  The half-elf leaped to his feet. “Sargonnas take both of you!”

  He whirled and pushed his way through the crowd to the blazing hearth at the back wall. There he stood, staring into the roaring flames, feeling their warmth rapidly baking through his leggings and tunic. In his own ale-numbed state, he did not mind when the heat became uncomfortable, almost scorching. Still Tanis stood there, one hand on the mantel, the other clenching and unclenching at his side.

  Back at the table, the kender looked at the half-elf and chirped, “Gee, he’s really mad. Is he overly sensitive or something?”

  Startled by the kender’s insight, and dismayed that he had not realized it first, Flint quickly brought himself under control again. Tanis had always been uncomfortable with his mixed heritage, but Flint knew that it was the memory of the rape of his mother that had truly upset him. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered to Tas, red-faced.

  Swaying from the ale, the powerful dwarf shouldered his way across the tavern to where Tanis fumed. He stood silently alongside the furious half-elf for several moments, as they shared the warmth of the fire. Then he thrust his great hands into his tunic before clearing his throat.

  “Come back to the table, pup. We were out of line there, and, well, the kender’s real sorry. Me, too.”

  Tanis hesitated, then glared at Flint for a brief moment. “Tasslehoff didn’t know, Flint, but I expected better from you.”

  Flint coughed guiltily, and spat into the fire. “And you deserve it. Like I said, I’m real sorry about that. We’ve all had a few drinks. Come back to the table.” Flint extended his hand, and after a few moments, the younger half-elf took it. Flint pressed it affectionately.

  The pair turned and shuffled back to where Tasslehoff waited. The trio sat silently for several long moments, everyone staring self-consciously into his beer mug—except Tasslehoff, of course, who was incapable of feeling self-conscious.

  “Now that I know something about Tanis, what about you, Flint?” the kender prompted. “Where did you learn to make such beautiful jewelry? You’re quite good, and I should know. I’ve been all over Ansalon and seen a lot of things.”

  Flint swelled under the praise. Like Tasslehoff with his maps, the dwarf was always willing to discuss his craft. “My kin have always been metalsmiths or warriors,” he said. He told the kender about his youth in the hills near the dwarven fortress-city of Thorbardin and his decision to leave the hill dwarves of Hillhome and move to the human settlement of Solace so long ago. His pride was unmistakable when he spoke of his summons to the court of the Speaker of the Sun.

  “I would have to say that was where I honed my skills to their highest point, during my time in Qualinost,” he said in conclusion. “Even the Speaker of the Sun said so. That’s also where I met Tanis.”

  “Is that where you made that splendid bracelet I saw today?” asked Tas. “The copper one with the gems that you weren’t even willing to discuss selling?”

  Flint shook his head. “No, that’s a very new item. It sure is a beautiful piece of work, though, isn’t it?” As he spoke he reached into his pocket and drew out the bracelet. He turned it over and around in his hands, stroking the filigree and buffing the stones on his sleeve.

  Impulsively, Tasslehoff stretched across the table to look at the item more closely. But as his hand shot forward, Flint’s beer mug crashed onto the table, gouging out a dent as large as a walnut. Only Tas’s remarkable reflexes saved his hand from being smashed by the heavy crockery. Tas shoved his hands into the protective recesses of his pockets, looking profoundly hurt. “I only wanted to look at it.”

  “May I?” asked Tanis. Flint eyed him suspiciously for just a moment, then sheepishly handed over the piece. “Sorry, Tanis,” he muttered, “I forgot myself for a second.”

  Tanis examined the bracelet minutely as the other two watched. When he spoke, he addressed Flint without taking his eyes from the jewelry.

  “This is exquisite, Flint,” he admitted. “But why do such gorgeous work in copper? These stones look valuable—why mount them in such a relatively inexpensive metal?”

  Flint rocked back on the bench and said mysteriously, “That’s the way she wanted it.”

  “Somebody commissioned it?” asked Tas.

  Flint nodded, looking uncomfortable.

  “You didn’t tell me about any commissioned piece,” said Tanis. “Was it somebody local?”

  “I didn’t tell you,” confessed Flint, “because the whole thing happened so fast, and the woman was very strange and mysterious.”

  “A strange woman?” Tasslehoff looked intrigued.

  Flint settled himself forward on the bench again and dropped his deep voice to a whisper. “One day last week this woman showed up and claimed she knew my work from the time Tanis and I spent in Qualinost.

  “Now, I took it from that that she was an elf, but she didn’t look like any elf I ever met, not a healthy one, anyway. She was close to being the palest creature I ever saw—almost translucent as death itself—and all wrapped up in silk cloaks.”

  “Maybe she was an undead creature, or a succubus, come to seduce you and drain your life away!” Tasslehoff suggested eagerly.

  “She looked too nervous to be seducing anyone,” Flint said.

  “A succubus would be nervous,” reasoned Tas.

  “Tasslehoff, would you let him finish?” implored Tanis, silencing the kender’s wild guessing.

  “Anyway,” Flint continued, “she said she needed this bracelet, only it had to be made according to very strict instructions. I told her I could make anything, any way she wanted it. So she handed me a sheaf of papers and said, ‘Make it this way, exactly.’

  “Well I’ve made things for folks who were obsessed with details before, but this was incredible. Every bit of that bracelet was designed and sketched out on those papers. And as if all that weren’t enough, she handed me a sack full of copper ingots, gems, powders, and little jars of liquid that had to be mixed into the metal just so. She said, ‘You’ll find everything you need in this sack.’ She even expressly asked me not to put my usual trademark on it.”

  Flint leaned back. “Naturally, I was a bit put off by that. I thought to myself, ‘Why does she want an original Flint Fireforge if she doesn’t want the signature?’ ”

  Tanis was taken aback. “That is strange. I hope she paid you well for it.”

  “That’s just it,” said Flint, a puzzled expression on his face. “The whole thing was so fishy that I quoted her what I thought was an outrageous fee. She paid it, plus half as much again, up front, without flinching! I couldn’t turn it down!”

  Flint looked at the dregs of his ale, then pushed it away. “I followed those instructions to the letter, right down to burning them when I was finished. I kept the bracelet at
my booth because she said she would come back to pick it up during the Spring Festival. I expect she’ll be by any day now.” At last the dwarf sat back on the bench again, satisfied that his story was finished.

  Tasslehoff stared intently at the bracelet, now lying on the table. “No wonder you were so touchy about it. Who do you suppose she is, and what’s the bracelet for?”

  “I’m no clairvoyant,” said Flint. “There’s certainly something unusual about the bracelet, though, I’ll grant you that. I’ll just be happy to have it off my hands.”

  Tanis nodded. “It’s obviously very important to this woman, whoever she is.” He stretched and looked at the dying embers in the hearth. The inn’s common room had nearly emptied. A sleepy-eyed Otik glared at them from behind the bar. “Anyone care for a last round?”

  Following Tanis’s example, Flint threw his arms back and stretched his face in a ferocious, jaw-breaking yawn. “No, I drank at least three too many already,” he said, pushing himself away from the table. “Let’s stagger home, Tanis, or I’ll fall asleep here.”

  “What about my maps?” asked Tasslehoff. “You’ve hardly looked at them.”

  Tanis frowned, but his ale-fogged brain was unable to choose between going home and to bed, or staying to study the maps.

  Fortunately, Tasslehoff provided a solution for him. “I’m staying at the inn tonight. How about if I stop by Flint’s stall tomorrow and you can look at them there?”

  Tanis was relieved to see that Flint had already shuffled toward the door and had not heard the suggestion. Tanis hastily accepted the idea, said his good-byes to the kender, and dashed after the drunken dwarf to keep him from falling off the bridgewalks.

  Left alone in the stillness and smoke of the common room, Tas made his way up the narrow stairway to the sleeping floor in the inn. It had been a long, tiring day.