She sat down at the table, thinking. Lady Crysania had gone, she was going to find Wayreth Forest by herself. Or rather, she had gone in search of it. No one ever found it, according to legend. It found you! Tika shivered, remembering Caramon’s stories. The dread Forest was on maps, but—comparing them—no two maps ever agreed on its location. And there was always a symbol of warning beside it. At its center stood the Tower of High Sorcery of Wayreth, where all the power of the mages of Ansalon was now concentrated. Well, almost all—
In sudden resolution, Tika got up and thrust open the bedroom door. Going inside, she found Caramon flat upon the bed, sobbing and blubbering like a child. Hardening her heart against this pitiful sight, Tika walked with firm steps over to the large chest of clothes. As she threw open the lid and began sorting through the clothes, she found the flask, but simply tossed it into a corner of the room. Then—at the very bottom—she came upon what she had been searching for. Caramon’s armor.
Lifting out a cuisse by its leather strap, Tika stood up and, turning around, hurled the polished metal straight at Caramon.
It struck him in the shoulder, bouncing off to fall to the floor with a clatter.
“Ouch!” the big man cried, sitting up. “Name of the Abyss, Tika! Leave me alone for—”
“You’re going after her,” Tika said firmly, lifting out another piece of armor. “You’re going after her, if I have to haul you out of here in a wheelbarrow!”
“Uh, pardon me,” said a kender to a man loitering near the edge of the road on the outskirts of Solace. The man instantly clapped his hand over his purse. “I’m looking for the home of a friend of mine. Well, actually two friends of mine. One’s a woman, pretty, with red curls. Her name is Tika Waylan—”
Glaring at the kender, the man jerked a thumb. “Over there yonder.”
Tas looked. “There?” he said pointing, impressed. “That truly magnificent house in the new vallenwood?”
“What?” The man gave a brief, sharp laugh. “What’d you call it? Truly magnificent? That’s a good one.” Still chuckling, he walked off, laughing and hastily counting the coins in his purse at the same time.
How rude! Tas thought, absently slipping the man’s pocket knife into one of his pouches. Then, promptly forgetting the incident, the kender headed for Tika’s home. His gaze lingered fondly on each detail of the fine house nestled securely in the limbs of the still-growing vallenwood tree.
“I’m so glad for Tika,” Tas remarked to what appeared to be a mound of clothes with feet walking beside him. “And for Caramon, too,” he added. “But Tika’s never really had a true home of her own. How proud she must be!”
As he approached the house, Tas saw it was one of the better homes in the township. It was built in the ages-old tradition.of Solace. The delicate turns of the vaulting gables were shaped to appear to be part of the tree itself. Each room extended off from the main body of the house, the wood of the walls carved and polished to resemble the tree trunk. The structure conformed to the shape of the tree, a peaceful harmony existed between man’s work and nature’s to create a pleasing whole. Tas felt a warm glow in his heart as he thought of his two friends working on and living in such a wonderful dwelling. Then—
“That’s funny,” said Tas to himself, “I wonder why there’s no roof.”
As he drew closer, looking at the house more intently, he noticed it was missing quite a few things—a roof among them.
The great vaulting gables actually did nothing more than form a framework for a roof that wasn’t there. The walls of the rooms extended only part way around the building. The floor was only a barren platform.
Coming to stand right beneath it, Tas peered upwards, wondering what was going on. He could see hammers and axes and saws lying out in the open, rusting away. From their looks, they hadn’t been used in months. The structure itself was showing the effects of long exposure to weather. Tas tugged his topknot thoughtfully. The building had all the makings of the most magnificent structure in all of Solace—if it was ever finished!
Then Tas brightened. One section of the house was finished.
All of the glass had been carefully placed into the window frames, the walls were intact, a roof protected the room from the elements. At least Tika has one room of her own, the kender thought. But, as he studied the room more closely, his smile faded. Above the door, he could see clearly, despite some weathering, the carefully crafted mark denotating a wizard’s residence.
“I might have known,” Tas said, shaking his head. He glanced around. “Well, Tika and Caramon certainly can’t be living there. But that man said—Oh.”
As he walked around the huge vallenwood tree, he came upon a small house, almost lost amidst overgrown weeds, hidden by the shadow of the vallenwood tree. Obviously built only as a temporary measure, it had the look of becoming all too permanent. If ever a building could look unhappy, Tas mused, this one did. Its gables sagged into a frown. Its paint was cracked and peeling. Still, there were flowers in the windowboxes and frilly curtains in the windows. The kender sighed. So this was Tika’s house, built in the shadow of a dream.
Approaching the little house, he stood outside the door, listening attentively. There was the most awful commotion going on inside. He could hear thuds and glass breaking and shouts and thumping.
“I think you better wait out here,” Tas said to the bundle of clothes.
The bundle grunted and plopped itself comfortably down into the muddy road outside the house. Tas glanced at it uncertainly, then shrugged and walked up to the door. Putting his hand on the doorknob, he turned it and took a step forward, confidently expecting to walk right in. Instead he smashed his nose on the wood. The door was locked.
“That’s odd,” Tas said, stepping back and looking around. “What is Tika thinking about? Locking doors! How barbaric. And a bolt lock at that. I’m sure I was expected...” He stared at the lock gloomily. The shouts and yells continued inside. He thought he could hear Caramon’s deep voice.
“It sure sounds interesting in there.” Tas glanced around, and felt cheered immediately. “The window! Of course!”
But, on hurrying over to the window, Tas found it locked, too! “I never would have expected that of Tika, of all people,” the kender commented sadly to himself. Studying the lock, he noticed it was a simple one and would open quite easily. From the set of tools in his pouch, Tas removed the lock-picking device that is a kender’s birthright. Inserting it, he gave it an expert twist and had the satisfaction of hearing the lock click.
Smiling happily, he pushed the paned glass open and crawled inside. He hit the floor without a sound. Peering back out the window, he saw the shapeless bundle napping in the gutter.
Relieved on that point, Tasslehoff paused to look around the house, his sharp eyes taking in everything, his hands touching everything.
“My, isn’t this interesting,” went Tas’s running commentary as he headed for the closed door from beyond which came the crashing sounds. “Tika won’t mind if I study it for a moment. I’ll put it right back.” The object tumbled, of its accord, into his pouch. “And look at this! Uh-oh, there’s a crack in it. She’ll thank me for telling her about it.” That object slipped into another pouch. “And what’s the butter dish doing clear over here? I’m sure Tika kept it in the pantry. I better return it to its proper place.” The butter dish settled into a third pouch.
By this time, Tas had reached the closed door. Turning the handle—(he was thankful to see Tika hadn’t locked it as well!)—he walked inside.