The Old Man
Tika Waylan straightened her back with a sigh. flexing her shoulders to ease her cramped muscles. She tossed the soapy bar rag into the water pail and glanced around the empty room.
It was getting harder to keep up the old inn. There was a lot of love rubbed into the warm finish of the wood, but even love and tallow couldn't hide the cracks and splits in the well-used tables or prevent a customer from sitting on an occasional splinter. The Inn of the Last Home was not fancy, not like some she'd heard about in Haven. It was comfortable. The living tree in which it was built wrapped its ancient arms around it lovingly, while the walls and fixtures were crafted around the boughs of the tree with such care as to make it impossible to tell where nature's work left off and man's began. The bar seemed to ebb and flow like a polished wave around the living wood that supported it. The stained glass in the window panes cast welcoming flashes of vibrant color across the room.
Shadows were dwindling as noon approached. The Inn of the Last Home would soon be open for business. Tika looked around and smiled in satisfaction. The tables were clean and polished. All she had left to do was sweep the floor. She began to shove aside the heavy wooden benches, as Otik emerged from the kitchen, enveloped in fragrant steam.
'Should be another brisk day-for both the weather and business,' he said, squeezing his stout body behind the bar. He began to set out mugs, whistling cheerfully.
'I'd like the business cooler and the weather warmer,' said Tika, tugging at a bench. 'I walked my feet off yesterday and got little thanks and less tips! Such a gloomy crowd! Everybody nervous, jumping at every sound. I dropped a mug last night and-I swear-Retark drew his sword!'
'Pah!' Otik snorted. 'Retark's a Solace Seeker Guard. They're always nervous. You would be too if you had to work for Hederick, that fanat-'
'Watch it,' Tika warned.
Otik shrugged. 'Unless the High Theocrat can fly now, he won't be listening to us. I'd hear his boots on the stairs before he could hear me.' But Tika noticed he lowered his voice as he continued. 'The residents of Solace won't put up with much more, mark my words. People disappearing, being dragged off to who knows where. It's a sad time.' He shook his head. Then he brightened. 'But it's good for business.'
'Until he closes us down,' Tika said gloomily. She grabbed the broom and began sweeping briskly.
'Even theocrats need to fill their bellies and wash the fire and brimstone from their throats.' Otik chuckled. 'It must be thirsty work, haranguing people about the New Gods day in and day out-he's in here every night.'
Tika stopped her sweeping and leaned against the bar.
'Otik,' she said seriously, her voice subdued. 'There's other talk, too-talk of war. Armies massing in the north. And there are these strange, hooded men in town, hanging around with the High Theocrat, asking questions.'
Otik looked at the nineteen-year-old girl fondly, reached out, and patted her cheek. He'd been father to her, ever since her own had vanished so mysteriously. He tweaked her red curls.
'War. Pooh.' He sniffed. 'There's been talk of war ever since the Cataclysm. It's just talk, girl. Maybe the Theocrat makes it up just to keep people in line.'
'I don't know.' Tika frowned. 'I-'
The door opened.
Both Tika and Otik started in alarm and turned to the door. They had not heard footsteps on the stairs, and that was uncanny! The Inn of the Last Home was built high in the branches of a mighty vallenwood tree, as was every other building in Solace, with the exception of the blacksmith shop. The townspeople had decided to take to the trees during the terror and chaos following the Cataclysm. And thus Solace became a tree town, one of the few truly beautiful wonders left on Krynn. Sturdy wooden bridge-walks connected the houses and businesses perched high above the ground where five hundred people went about their daily lives. The Inn of the Last Home was the largest building in Solace and stood forty feet off the ground. Stairs ran around the ancient vallenwood's gnarled trunk. As Otik had said, any visitor to the Inn would be heard approaching long before he was seen.
But neither Tika nor Otik had heard the old man.
He stood in the doorway, leaning on a worn oak staff, and peered around the Inn. The tattered hood of his plain, gray robe was drawn over his head, its shadow obscuring the features of his face except for his hawkish, shining eyes.
'Can I help you. Old One?' Tika asked the stranger, exchanging worried glances with Otik. Was this old man a Seeker spy?
'Eh?' The old man blinked. 'You open?'
«Well…» Tika hesitated.
'Certainly,' Otik said, smiling broadly. 'Come in. Gray-beard. Tika, find our guest a chair. He must be tired after that long climb.'
'Climb?' Scratching his head, the old man glanced around the porch, then looked down to the ground below. 'Oh, yes. Climb. A great many stairs…' He hobbled inside, then made a playful swipe at Tika with his staff. 'Get along with your work, girl. I'm capable of finding my own chair.'
Tika shrugged, reached for her broom, and began sweeping, keeping her eyes on the old man.
He stood in the center of the Inn, peering around as though confirming the location and position of each table and chair in the room. The common room was large and bean-shaped, wrapping around the trunk of the vallenwood. The trees smaller limbs supported the floor and ceiling. He looked with particular interest at the fireplace, which stood about three-quarters of the way back into the room. The only stonework in the Inn, it was obviously crafted by dwarven hands to appear to be part of the tree, winding naturally through the branches above. A bin next to the side of the firepit was stacked high with cordwood and pine logs brought down from the high mountains. No resident of Solace would consider burning the wood of their own great trees. There was a back route out the kitchen; it was a forty-foot drop, but a few of Otik's customers found this setup very convenient. So did the old man.
He muttered satisfied comments to himself as his eyes went from one area to another. Then, to Tika's astonishment, he suddenly dropped his staff, hitched up the sleeves of his robes, and began rearranging the furniture!
Tika stopped sweeping and leaned on her broom. 'What are you doing? That table's always been there!'
A long, narrow table stood in the center of the common room. The old man dragged it across the floor and shoved it up against the trunk of the huge vallenwood, right across from the firepit, then stepped back to admire his work.
'There,' he grunted. 'S'posed to be closer to the firepit. Now bring over two more chairs. Need six around
