KENDERMORE
MARY KIRCHOFF
To Steve, who helped me immensely and without complaint and
exhibited considerably more patience than I might have managed if the
roles were reversed.
And to Alexander, the light of my life, who, despite seeing me
only at dinner for months on end, still remembered to call me Mommy.
***
Kendermore
Late afternoon was a peaceful time at the Inn of the Last Home
in the village of Solace. Three friends sat at their favorite table
near the inn's fireplace, making plans.
"Where do you think you'll go first, Tas?" The speaker was Tanis
Half-Elven, who relaxed with his chin cupped in his an and his elbow
propped on the dark, oak table.
Across the table from Tanis sat his kender friend, Tasslehoff
Burrfoot. Next to Tasslehoff was the burly dwarf, Flint Fireforge.
The smell of smoke hovered about the kender's nose. It clung to
all forty-eight inches of his childlike frame, from the toes of his
blue leggings to the very tip of his topknot of ginger-colored hair.
The familiar scent comforted him, for he was just a smidgeon sad; soon
he would be leaving his closest friends for five years, which was a
very long time. Their tight-knit group of seven had decided to part
and meet again - five years to the day - after they'd learned what
they could about rumors of war in the land, as well as solve some
personal problems.
"I haven't thought much about where I'm going yet," the kender
said vaguely. "Wherever the wind blows me, I guess." Raising an empty
flagon upside-down, Tasslehoff threw his head back and waited for the
last dollop of flavorful foam to slide slowly into his waiting mouth.
At last, the froth drizzled out with a "plop!"
Smacking his lips in satisfaction, he wiped them with the edge
of his fur-trimmed sleeve. Squinting agains't the haze in the dimly
lit taproom, he looked at Tanis. "Friends all over Krynn have been
waiting for my next visit, though!" Tasslehoff pushed his empty mug to
the edge of the table for refilling.
Flint's eyes twinkled merrily under his bushy, grayblack brows.
"I'll bet they've been waiting! And I'll bet they've kept busy, too,
working on kender-proof door locks!" Beneath his huge bulb of a nose
and wild, peppery moustache, the old dwarf's mouth opened wide with
laughter, setting his fleshy cheeks to jiggling. Even Tanis, ever the
peacemaker, could not help smirking behind his hand.
"Oh, do you think so, really?" Tasslehoff cried earnestly. As he
smiled, his young face broke into a thousand tiny, spreading creases,
like a shattered pane of stained glass. Facial wrinkles were a
characteristic shared by all kender, which made it very difficult to
accurately guess a kender's age. "Most locks nowadays are so flimsy -
no protection at all! I don't know how anyone expects to keep anything
safe anymore."
"No one does if kender are about," Flint snorted under his
breath. He could tell from Tanis's warning glance that the elf's sharp
ears had caught his words. Tanis liked to defend the kender against
Flint's gratuitous insults, even if Tas was never in the least truly
offended.
Two of Flint's fingers, tightly pressed together, disappeared
under his moplike moustache, and he blew a loud, sharp whistle. The
inn was not busy, so in no time the innkeeper's adopted daughter
appeared. She was a rosy-cheeked girl with eager eyes and
short-cropped, dark, curly hair. Though a slight breeze blew through
large cracks in the inn's few arched, stained-glass windows - in a few
weeks they would be doubly covered with oiled parchment to keep out
the winter - the weather on this day was unseasonably warm for early
fall. Flint called it "summer's last dance." Coupled with the heat
from the ever-present fire in the hearth, the heavy air had pasted the
girl's hair to her forehead and moistened her coarse, graying tunic to
her back.
"Yes, sir?" she inquired eagerly. Her voice carried none of the
weariness so common among seasoned serving wenches. In a few years,
Flint thought sadly, when the impertinence and unwanted attentions of
too many men wore her down...
"Tika, isn't it?" he asked, and she nodded. Flint smiled
encouragingly. "Then, Tika, I need two more -" Tanis quickly drained
the last of his own mug and pushed it forward. "- make that three more
mugs of Otik's fine ale," Flint corrected himself. "On me."
"Very good, sir." Tika's willowy form bobbed once, then darted
skillfully through the closely spaced tables to the bar.
The Inn of the Last Home was shaped like the letter "L." The
ceiling was low, making the room cozy for small groups, though
sometimes on very busy nights it just seemed cramped. The walls were
built of thick, dark beams sealed with a thin mixture of tar, which
gave off a heavy, musky scent that was pleasantly familiar to the
inn's regular patrons. Small, round tables filled the room, though
Otik had also included one long table with benches to encourage
conversation among strangers.
The kitchen, a noisy, bustling place, was at the foot of the L.
The sounds of pans rattling and the cook screaming, and the enticing
scent of Otik's renowned spiced potatoes, were not unusual at any
hour.
What was unusual was that the inn was built in the mighty
branches of a vallenwood tree, a graceful, fastgrowing giant that
seemed to thrive around Solace. In fact, the entire town, except for
the stables and a few other buildings, was all located high above
ground in vallenwood trees. The village was unlike any other -
breathtakingly beautiful, yet practical for defense. Bridgewalks
spiraled to the ground around the trunks and swayed gently in the air
between trees, linking together businesses, families, and friends.
The three friends seated before the fire seemed lost in thought
as Tika returned with their drinks. The young girl's eyes lingered on
Tanis's attractive face - the dark, wide-set, brooding eyes,
cheekbones seemingly chiseled from marble, and his thick, wavy, red
hair, carelessly uncombed. But when her gaze dropped unconsciously to
his lean, muscled torso, obvious even through his shirt, her hands
grew clumsy and she slopped a bit of ale across the table.
"Oh, I'm sorry... it must be the heat." she mumbled, jabbing at
the spill with the hem of her apron.
"No harm done," Tas assured her. "It's really a very small
puddle. Actually, I'm impressed that you hit the table at all,
considering the way you were staring at -"
"Thank you, Tika," piped Flint, drowning out the rest of the
kender's all-too-honest proclamation. Tika flushed crimson and,
grateful for the dismissal, dashed into the shadows of the kitchen.
"Tas, you shouldn't have embarrassed her like that," Flint
scolded the kender.
"Embarrassed who' Whatever do you mean? Oh, Tika!" Tas finally
caught Flint's meaning. "It's not my fault if she fills mugs to the
brim, although" - he shrugged - "personally I like that in a girl."
Tas scooped a fingerful of foam from the top of one of the mugs and
guided it into his mouth.
Flint rolled his eyes in mock disgust. "There's not a bit of
common sense in that head of yours sometimes. You shouldn't have
pointed out that she was staring at Tanis."
Tas looked puzzled "But girls always stare at Tanis. Have you
seen some of the looks Kitiara gives him? Why, sometimes I get so
embarrassed it's hard to watch! Kit never seems to feel ashamed,
though. I wonder why..."
"Uh-hmmm!" Tanis cleared his throat loudly, his face suddenly
hot. "Would both of you mind not talking about me as if I weren't
here?" He frowned sternly, turning to the unabashed kender. "Tas, what
Flint meant was -" Tanis groped for words that might persuade the
kender.
"It doesn't matter," he sighed at last, seeing Tas's attentive,
childlike expression, curious yet uncomprehending.
"So, Tanis," Flint said, striving to change the subject, "you
haven't told us where you're going." Pulling a chunk of wood and his
whittling knife from the depth of the brown leather vest he insisted
on wearing in every type of weather, Flint leaned back and began
carving details into the miniature form of a half-finished duck.
Tanis stroked his clean-shaven chin and contemplated the fire's
blue flames. "I don't know... I thought I might wander toward the city
of Qualinost," he said ambiguously, his unblinking eyes burning.
Flint looked up and gave Tanis a meaningful stare. Tanis's entry
into the world had been more difficult than most. His mother, an elf
woman raped by a human, had died giving birth to Tanis. The half-breed
child was raised by his mother's brother. Though his uncle treated the
boy as one of his own, Tanis never felt truly welcome among humans or
elves. And as Tanis grew into manhood, his mixed heritage became even
more physically apparent; he was smaller than most humans and larger
than most elves.
It was then that he felt the attitude of his elven family
change. Everyone except Laurana, that is, whose girlish attentions
were not completely unwanted. Which made the tension between Tanis,
his uncle, and his uncle's sons - Laurana's brothers - even more
apparent.
So he had left. The void haunted him, and he knew he must face
his uncle - and Laurana - one day. The task was complicated by the
fact that the man was not only his uncle, but the Speaker of the Sun,
the leader of the Qualinesti Elves.
Flint reached out and squeezed Tanis's shoulder reassuringly.
"You'll always have a home here, lad."
Tanis looked away from the flames, giving Flint a smile that was
not reflected in those brooding, dark eyes. "I know." But this was to
be a happy parting, and Tanis did not wish to think of Qualinost just
now. Not yet.
He flashed Flint a cheery smile. "And if I know you, Flint
Fireforge, you'll spend the whole five years whittling before your
hearth."
Flint sliced an over-large chunk from the wood in his fingers.
"And what would be wrong with that?" he asked indignantly. Tanis was
sure now that the dwarf intended to do just that.
"Nothing, except that it would be awfully boring after an hour
or so," interjected Tasslehoff, sending sparks flying as he stirred up
the fire in the hearth. "You know, Flint, I could stay for a while and
keep you company and -"
"And nothing." Flint cut in, glaring at the kender. "I don't
need any lame-brained kender underfoot! Did it occur to you that may e
I'd like to be a little bored after having you kids cluttering up my
hearth for so.long!" Tanis found the term "kid" amusing since he was
nearly one hundred years old by human reckoning, though he looked
twenty. Of course, Flint was no youngster himself - he was in his
early one-hundred-forties, which translated to late fifties for a
human.
The grizzled dwarf wasn't finished yet. "Raistlin always
brooding, Sturm so blasted stoic, Kitiara forever arm-wrestling with
Caramon, or wrestling of another sort with Tanis...." His gruff
expression softened, and he gave the half-elf a good-natured poke in
the ribs.
Tas leaned back his chair and propped his feet on the table. "Do
you think Sturm has a chance of finding his father in Solamnia?" he
asked, suddenly reminded of their friends who had already left. Sturm
Brightblade and Kitiara Uth-Matar had left Solace earlier in the day,
headed for Solamnia to the north. Sturm was searching for the father
he'd been forced to leave as a child, and Kitiara had gone along for
the adventure.
"If Sir Brightblade is still alive, I'm sure Sturm will find
him," Tanis said firmly. "He can't miss with Kit along to help."
The fire crackled and popped, spitting a hot ember onto Tas's
left leg. With a yelp he was on his feet, leaping around madly. "Ouch!
Ouch! Is that why Kit went - to look for Sturm's father?" he asked,
slapping furiously at his smoldering legging.
Tanis, scarcely taken aback by the kender's acrobatics, replied
seriously, "I don't think Kit knows what she's looking for."
The ember extinguished, Tas poked his finger through the
black-rimmed hole in his blue leggings. "Well, whatever it is, I'm
sure she'll find it," he said. "She's so..."
"Driven?" Tanis completed the sentence.
"Determined, I was going to say," said the ingenuous kender.
"She is that," said Tanis with a knowing smile.
"I'm worried about those darn fool brothers of hers," Flint
muttered, "although I don't know why I bother. And I don't care what
anyone says, Raistlin is too young to be taking that magical test in
the Tower of High Sorcery. Gonna get himself killed is all. And poor
Caramon - I don't know what he would do without him." The twin
brothers, Caramon and Raistlin Majere - Kitiara's half-brothers - had
already left as well. Frail Raistlin intended to take the dangerous
magic user's test in the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth, and his
burly brother Caramon had insisted on accompanying him for protection.
Tasslehoff looked thoughtful. "I think it's the other way
around," he said, not intending to sound unkind. "I don't know what
Raistlin would do without Caramon. Unless, of course, he's dead."
"Family...." was all Tanis said, his thoughts remote.
"That's it!" Tas exclaimed, jumping to his feet, his eyes
sparkling with excitement. "That's what I'll do! I'll go visit my
family. Gee, I wonder where any of them are."
"You don't know?" Flint asked, looking up from his whittling.
"How about your parents?"
"Not exactly, no. Not lately, anyhow."
"Then, how do you even know whether any of them are still
alive?" Tanis asked, sipping his ale.
"Someone would have told me if they weren't, I guess," Tas
reasoned.
"But if you don't know where they are, how would anyone know
where you are to tell you that someone whose whereabouts you didn't
know had died?" Flint sputtered awkwardly. The dwarf paused for a
moment, then shook his head. "Listen to me, now I'm starting to sound
like a kender!" he spat.
But Tas was too busy listing off relatives to notice. "There's
Uncle Remo Lockpick, my father's uncle's second cousin, I think. He
has a wonderful collection of keys - big ones, small ones, heavy ones,
ones made of bright blue gems as big as your head." Tas scratched his
chin. "What would anyone use a key like that for?"
Both Flint and Tanis wondered why any kender had need of a key,
considering their light-fingered tendencies, but each remained silent.
"And then there's Uncle Wilfre," Tas continued thoughtfully,
"but no one's seen him in, oh, well... I guess I've never seen him,
actually." He took another pull on his ale before continuing.
"My favorite uncle, though, is my mother's brother - I think,"
Tas said, happily remembering. "He's a Furrfoot, not a Burrfoot, which
is very confusing at family picnics, as you might guess. Anyway, Uncle
Trapspringer moved in with my family after his bride died on their
honeymoon. At least he assumed she was dead."
"What do you mean, 'assumed'?" Tanis exclaimed.
"That sounds tragic."
"Oh, it's all very romantic, the way Uncle Trapspringer tells
it," Tas began, holding up his mug for a refill. The kender was
obviously gearing up for one of his long stories.
"The short version, if you please," Flint warned him. "I don't
want to be sitting here, listening to your tale, when the others
return five years from now."
Tasslehoff rolled his eyes. "Very funny, Flint. I've never told
you a five-year story. Not that I don't know a few....
"Now," he continued as if uninterrupted, "Uncle Trapspringer and
his bride decided they didn't want to go just any old place for their
honeymoon, so that's exactly where they went. Or tried to, anyway."
As usual, Tas was proving obtuse. "Where did they go?" Flint
asked, feigning patience. He was sorry almost the second the words
left his mouth.
Tas looked exasperated. "Really, Flint, you're not listening.
Where else would you go on your honeymoon but the moon, of course?
That's the point!"
Tanis's eyes narrowed. "They went to the moon?"
"No," Tas corrected him, "but they sure tried to. They bought a
magical potion at the Spring Faire in Kendermore. They both drank
half, closed their eyes, and thought about the moon, just like the
salesman told them to. But when Uncle Trapspringer opened his eyes, he
was still at the faire and his bride was gone! Her wedding dress was
in a heap next to him on the ground." Tas's eyes misted over. "Golly,
that story always makes me sad. Do you suppose he just didn't think
about the moon hard enough?"
"He didn't think hard enough all right, but not about the moon,"
snorted Flint as he shook a handful of wood shavings from his beard.
"She probably knew what she was getting into and ran off while his
eyes were closed, before it was too late. Surprising insight, for a
kender." "Uncle Trapspringer says she must be dead," Tas said,
"because if she weren't she would have found a way back to him by now.
But I think she's on Lunitari right this minute. I bet she's awfully
lonely. I wonder what we look like from up there?"
"At least she won't be going hungry," said Flint. "Everyone
knows that the moon is made of red cheese!" He forced the smile from
his twitching face.
"I'm not so sure," Tas said soberly. "I don't know what Lunitari
is made of, but red cheese is most unlikely. Red something, I'll
wager, but nothing so mundane or squishy as' cheese -"
Flint burst into a loud guffaw.
Tas's monologue was cut short when the heavy, oak door at the
entrance to the inn blew open and slammed against the wall with a
bang, sending early autumn leaves swirling through the taproom.
Through the doorway stepped the most unusually vivid creature any of
the three companions had ever seen. The woman, a dwarf judging by the
squatty proportions of her body, was incredibly voluptuous by that
same standard. A silky, raspberry-colored blouse that gathered at the
wrists was stretched tight across her sizable bosom, straining the
criss-crossed front laces. Below it, a canary yellow braided leather
belt cinched in her waspish waist. Her pants, made of skin-tight
purple leather, were tucked into leather boots that matched perfectly
the color of her blouse. Her l...
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