Flint saw the kender's eyes light up when they came upon the elven weapons. "Keep your hands to yourself," the dwarf cautioned. "If I see just one bowstring out of place, I'll-"

"You don't have to constantly threaten me," Tas interrupted wearily. "I won't touch anything."

Flint looked dubious. "It's taking, not touching, that I'm worried about."

"Why, I never-"

Flint held up a hand to silence the indignant kender. "I know, you've never stolen anything, and it's not your fault that the bracelet is missing," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Now, may we get on with collecting Tanis's things, so we can go find the bracelet that just mysteriously ended up in your possession not once but twice?"

"Be my guest." Tasslehoff waved Flint forward. "I must say, I'm glad to see that you're beginning to see my side in this thing."

Shaking his head incredulously, Flint stomped into Tanis's bedchamber and headed straight for the heavy wooden clothes chest at the bottom of the foot-high feather-stuffed ticking the half-elf used as a bed. He took out an undershirt, several pairs of hose, a tunic, two blankets, a woolen shirt, and heavy woolen socks. He quickly rolled the clothing inside the blankets, tied the two ends of the roll together with a leather thong, and slipped it over his shoulder.

Digging to the bottom of the chest, Flint found a large canvas sack and headed for the kitchen. As he passed the common room, Flint saw Tasslehoff quickly withdraw his hand from the bows.

"I was just looking!" He followed Flint to the kitchen.

The room was very small, really just a storeroom, or pantry, since the cooking was done in the hearth in the common room. The ceiling stretched up higher than in the other rooms, and vallenwood branches grew freely through holes poked and caulked in the side wall. Tanis utilized every available space with shelves. Smoked hams, bunches of dried herbs, bags of potatoes, squash, dried fruit, and garlic cloves hung from thick cords on dark beams. A small drop-leaf table folded down from a cupboard in the wall across from the archway, with two cane-backed chairs tucked beneath it.

Working quickly, Flint grabbed a haunch of ham, an acorn squash, and two handfuls of dried apples and stuffed them into the sack. As he turned to leave, he spotted Tasslehoff inspecting several raisin buns from the local bakery, which Flint knew to be among Tanis's favorite foods. Though usually generous to a fault, Tanis could be downright possessive about his buns.

"Get away from those. We have what we need," growled the dwarf.

"I was just thinking," Tas mused. "We could be gone for several days. These buns are already a day or two old." He poked one to demonstrate, licking his finger afterward. "By the time we get back, they'll be too stale to eat. It just seems like a shame, that's all."

Flint glanced at the buns, then scowled at the kender, then looked back to the buns again. They were thick and shiny with glaze, and each had a star-shaped pattern laid out on top with raisins. Now Flint was staring at them, his empty stomach growling and churning after their all-night march. They did look quite tasty.

"Just one," mumbled Flint, grabbing a bun for himself. Half of it disappeared in the first enormous bite. With his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's and crumbs tumbling into his beard, he led the way back into Tanis's common room. Tasslehoff followed, popping raisins into his mouth.

Just as Flint raised the bun for a second bite, the door flew open and in strode Tanis. He carried a red-and-gray blanket, rolled lengthwise and slung over his shoulder. Bulges in the roll showed where other items were packed inside. Tanis lifted it over his head and dropped it onto the floor, saying, "You'll have to re-roll this, Flint. If I'd made it your size, I never could have slung it over my shoulder. Did you find everything we need?"

Flint tried to speak, but his voice was muffled by a mouthful of raisin bun. He nodded, crumbs tumbling from his beard.

"What's that?" Tanis peered closely at Flint. "That's not a raisin bun, is it?"

"Want one?" answered Tas. He reached into his pouch and produced another of the sticky buns and handed it to Tanis. "Don't wolf it like Flint," he cautioned. "They're a little dry."

Tanis looked from Flint's sheepish face to Tas's satisfied one, then snatched the sweet from the kender's hand. "Let's go, before you two eat me out of house and home."

"I found enough to keep us going for at least a couple of days," Flint told him. "But what about my things? Did you remember my warm hat? How about those woolen socks that fit so nicely inside my leather hiking boots? And what about my axe?"

Tanis clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I got everything." He held out a pack containing the items Flint had asked for, including the dwarf's beloved old axe. Over the years, its smooth wooden haft had developed two grooves in the shape of Hint's meaty hands; it was as comfortable in his grip as a pair of old shoes on his feet.

Anxious to be on the road, Flint took up the pack and the axe and marched toward the door, then suddenly looked apprehensive as he remembered something. "What about Selana? Did you see a tightly hooded woman with unusually pale skin anywhere?"

Tanis shook his auburn head. "I saw no one."

Flint looked measurably relieved, and the tension seemed to slip from his thickset shoulders. "Wonderful. Now maybe we'll see some good luck for once." Settling the blanket pack into a more comfortable position, Flint opened the half-elf's front door and called to his companions over his shoulder as he stepped over the threshold. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we'll be coming home," he said, popping the last bite of raisin bun past his lips. Flint turned back around to watch his step. Suddenly, bits of dry, sticky bun flew out of his mouth with a gasp of surprise.

"Hello, Master Fireforge," said the extremely fair-skinned, green-eyed woman in the blue robe, wisps of whitish hair escaping the confines of her cornflower-colored scarf.

"I've been looking for you."

PART II

Chapter 7

The paunchy human born Waldo Didlebaum some thirty-five years earlier, took pride in his ability to recognize and seize opportunity. Consider his newest occupation, now barely twelve hours old-prognostication. Actually, it had a lot in common with his previous profession, which lasted two weeks: barding.

Both had potential for great prestige and an accompanying lifestyle; they sometimes secured wealthy patrons or received court appointments. At the least they made good money in the streets and inns among the common folk. A comfortable life was all Waldo sought. After all, wasn't that his right?

The avaricious former pickpocket/juggler/brick-maker/sailor/blackmailer had recently entered the bard's profession after seeing a smartly dressed bard perform to rave reviews and bags of coins at Thelgaard Keep in the north. Waldo was newly employed there (and underutilized, in his humble opinion), as third household steward. He saw the position as a temporary setback, the result of some bad judgment and even worse luck as a blackmailer-he'd put the squeeze on the burgher of Clonnisborough over a romantic indiscretion, only to discover the man was also the overlord of the most ruthless smuggling ring in Solamnia. In the interest of prolonging his life, Waldo had dropped everything and fled to Thelgaard.

For all the years of his common life he had watched with envy the deference granted to those of noble birth. To simply dress and speak like nobility might get him the respect he desired; unfortunately, respect doesn't fill a man's empty belly. But professional respect, coupled with high financial rewards, Waldo had thought, would give him all that he desired from life.