Bored, the kender fingered the table, his mug and the seat, the only items available for handling. He finally became interested in tracing the raised grain on the well scrubbed table. He forgot to keep his hat on in order to hide his ears and top knot. He took it off to fan himself. He was soon noticed by a tall, rangy human who frowned and pointed at Trap.
"Hey, innkeeper, I didn't think you allowed kender in here!"
Every eye turned toward Trap. The innkeeper had served them twice with food and three times with ale. He knew Trap had paid promptly, but he slammed his tray of empty mugs on a table and glared at the three in the corner.
"Out, you! I'll have no kender stealing from my patrons."
"He is not stealing," Halmarain spoke up, dropping her highly pitched voice in an attempt to sound like a dwarf. "And he paid you in full! He travels with us, and we'll vouch for him."
"And who will vouch for you?" The innkeeper demanded. "If you travel with a kender-"
"Wait," a burly man on the other side of the room interrupted, rising to glare at the three in the corner. "Ask him his name."
"Trapspringer Fargo," Trap said clearly and at once. "I'm very glad to meet-"
"Wasn't that the name of that outlaw kender traveling with Alchar Groomb's band?" someone yelled. "Trap-springer, or something like that?" Several others nodded.
"It's a common name among kender," Halmarain spoke up quickly. "Half the kender in Hylo are named Trap-springer."
Trap turned toward her, already shaking his head. She must have misunderstood the name. As far as he knew he was the only Trapspringer in Hylo. Before he could object, movement among the patrons caught his attention.
They rose from their seats and started forward, their hunger for revenge clear in their eyes.
Chapter 8
Trap gazed at the angry faces of the inn's patrons. Three humans had risen from their seats and seemed ready to charge the kender's table. Trap tried to decide how he was going to save his skin. He had never found hard blows to his person to be entertaining. At Halmarain's insistence, he had left his hoopak in the cavern so carrying it would not make him instantly recognizable as a kender. His only weapons were the small knife in the sheath at his belt, not much use against a number of swords and war axes. His tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth, leaving him no opportunity to explain.
Grod, who had been sitting as still as a mouse, suddenly stood up and pulled off his new helmet. He bowed his head as he spoke.
"That Trapspringer dead," he announced to the room at large. "A good tale, that."
"Dead?" the first adventurer repeated. He sounded as disappointed as suspicious. So did the others, but they paused, waiting to hear the explanation.
"Yes, he's dead," Halmarain agreed with a sigh. Under her lashes she gazed at the kender and when he didn't instantly agree, she kicked him under the table.
"Dead," Trap said, trying to look sad. He thought of Uncle Goalong, a favorite relative that had recently died. Thinking of Goalong always made Trap sad and in seconds tears ringed his eyelashes; two rolled slowly down his cheeks.
"A friend of yours, was he?" asked a short, heavily muscled man at the closest table when he saw the ken-der's tears. Along with their reputation for purloining, kender were also known for their loyalty to their companions. They grieved deeply at a friend's death.
Trap gulped back a sob. "My uncle," he said. He had been thinking of his Uncle Goalong.
"If we can't kill him ourselves, at least let's hear how he died," demanded the burly man with the red beard. He glared threateningly at Trap. The kender twisted on his seat, his mind racing to make up a story.
"His full name was Trapspringer Quickhands," Trap said. "He was my mother's brother and the third son of Rogo Quickhands. Did you ever meet Rogo when he was wandering? I think he came by here, though he may not, but he did seem to go everywhere, even down to Solace and south from there to Zeriak where I want to go to see the Icewall Glacier. Have you ever seen a glacier? I hear they're really big and-"
"Get on with the tale of this Trapspringer!" the first adventurer demanded.
"Oh. Sure. It's just hard for me to tell it. The shame, you see." The word shame had brought with it a strong emotion and he gulped a sob. "Our village banished him for his misdeeds and I had not seen him for a long time when I met him on the road a few weeks ago."
The kender hoped the customers of the Leaping Hart were not too familiar with the customs of his race. As far as he knew, no village in Hylo had ever banished anyone. He had picked up the idea from a scrap of conversation he had heard while they were shopping.
"I had not thought he would take my purse!" Trap had always been able to throw himself emotionally into his tales and the thought of a kender deliberately stealing from another of his race caused his eyes to flash with anger.
"Robbed his own nephew?" the burly man shook his head. "No honor among thieves today," he added, shaking his head. "Let's hear this tale of how he died."
Kender loved tales, they enjoyed telling them as much, if not more, than listening. They never repeated a story exactly like it happened or as they had heard it. Their agile imagination improved on it, giving it more drama, suspense, or humor. Only a small step separated embellishment from pure invention. Trap decided to base his story on his own recent adventure with the portal.
"Well, now… this is hard. We think my Uncle Trapspringer is dead, because we don't think he could have lived through his trouble with the wizard…" he began. He paused while the listeners took in the fact that a magic user was involved. Since the cataclysm, wizards were in disrepute throughout Krynn. His listeners would believe anything of them.
Trap wove a tale of the outlaw kender stopping a wizard who was traveling toward Lytburg. Wizards did not use weapons because they were usually too busy studying their craft to practice the art of warfare and this wizard had been caught unaware. For a time he had been at the mercy of the kender's weapons. By the use of guile he had prevented the other Trapspringer from spearing him out of hand.
"And that was my Uncle Trapspringer's mistake," the real Trap said as he looked around the room, allowing the tension to build. That's when he noticed Grod had left his seat and was slipping food off the plate of a fully armed mercenary who was giving his attention to the story. Halmarain had slipped away from her place also, and was bearing down on the gully dwarf. The kender left the tiny human to deal with the Aghar and went on with his tale.
"The wizard threw off his brown traveling cloak, revealing himself in his red robes. This startled my uncle, as you can imagine." He gazed at the burly adventurer. "Have you ever seen a wizard wearing red robes? It's an awful color of red, you know." This last he said with a sly look at the little wizard.
"Just tell us what happened next."
"But wizards are interesting," Trap objected. Halmarain threw him a hard look and he went on with his tale.
"Go on with your story," she hissed.
"Before my uncle could do more than step back," he continued, "the wizard raised his hands and sketched a door, muttering his foul incantations. A black hole appeared in the sunlight of the road, from it sprang a wind, carrying such a stench of rot and decay, that the air turned green and viscous…" As he made up his tale, Trap was suddenly visited with the idea that his aborted journey to another plane had not been nearly as fascinating as his story. He felt a bit cheated as he continued to allow his quick thoughts to add intriguing details.