"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 HollowLands to the north, and the SomberCoast, which is no more fun than it sounds, and this bay here is the Gullet, and the WendlewrithingRiver, 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? SchallseaIsland—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
