"Many times," Clotnik cheerfully conceded, his eyes flashing green in the candlelight. "I have often been cut down to size. You know," he added with a mischievous grin, "I used to be much taller."

"Besides free drinks," asked Tanis, narrowing his eyes, "what is it that you want?"

"Want?"

"He hears well, Otik, don't you think?"

The innkeeper nodded, his eyes drawn again to the whirling balls that Clotnik now juggled in yet another pattern, this time using his right hand to juggle three in a circle and his left hand to juggle the other two in the traditional up and down method.

"I'd like to travel with you," Clotnik said guardedly.

Tanis laughed shortly. "Even though you don't know where we'd be going?"

"I didn't say I didn't know where you were going," Clotnik corrected. "I said you didn't know."

Tanis cocked his head to one side and considered the juggler.

Clotnik began tossing the balls high into the air from behind his back, each ball nearly touching the ceiling of the inn as he juggled all five in a huge ellipse.

'Tour father must be very proud of you!" said Otik suddenly, overcome by the juggler's performance.

At those words, Clotnik's head whipped around to look at the innkeeper. And in that instant, the juggler lost his concentration. He tried to recover, but it was too late. The iron and brass balls thudded to the floor, one just missing Otik's foot. Clotnik managed to grab the gold and the silver spheres, and then he lunged for the swiftly falling, fragile glass ball. Unfortunately, it had sailed out of his reach. "No!" he cried.

Tanis, swift and graceful, dove out of his chair and, landing on the floor with arms outstretched, plucked the delicate glass ball out of the air.

Tika burst into applause from her vantage point at the kitchen door. Otik cheered. And Clotnik let out a sigh of relief that sounded like the whoosh of a metalsmith's bellows. "I can't replace that if it breaks," explained the juggler, wiping the sweat from his slanted forehead with a sleeve.

"Then why do you risk it7" Tanis replied, examining the intricate blue and green design on the otherwise clear glass ball before handing it back to Clotnik.

"Why bother juggling at all if there isn't some risk involved?" Clotnik asked nonchalantly, returning the five balls to his traveling bag. "After all, who would go see a man fight a hatori to the death if the hatori had no teeth?"

"Good point, but why fight a sand crocodile in the first place?" Tanis retorted.

Clotnik gave a short laugh. "I'm going to enjoy traveling with you," he said. "You have a lively mind-not to mention a quick hand."

Tanis kept his tone urbane. "It seems you've accepted an invitation that I have yet to offer."

"You will offer."

"Why?"

"Because," Clotnik said, leaning over to whisper, "I can take you to a man who knew your father."

Tanis felt the color drain from his face. A hand, cold and inexorable as death, clenched his ribcage with killing force. The half-elf sat in stunned silence, his heart thumping wildly.

His father.

All his life he had wanted to learn something, anything, about the man who had spawned him. All he knew was that once, during a warring time between humans and elves, a human soldier had had his way with an elven maiden, Tanis's mother, leaving her broken, battered, and with child. What kind of man would do that? Tanis questioned yet again. What kind of blood did the half-elf have running in his veins? Tanis's mother had died only months after Tanis's birth, leaving him to the care of distant elven relatives-and part of neither world, human nor elven. After ninety-seven years of life, Tanis still wondered about that human warrior. But how could this juggling dwarf know anything about the stranger, no doubt long dead, who was his father?

Clotnik seemed well satisfied with the reaction his comment had had on Tanis. So he turned to Otik and declared, "As for you, my fine innkeeper, have I paid my bill?"

This time it was Otik's turn to squirm; he hated giving away his hard-brewed ale. Yet the juggler had truly put on a magnificent show. "Don't you have anything you can give me toward the settlement of this debt?" Otik pleaded.

"Not a thing," admitted Clotnik, "except my showmanship. Come now, isn't that worth more than any metal coin?"

"Well-"

"So it's settled," he announced triumphantly. "Now, where are the three mugs of ale that are part of our bargain?"

To Otik's surprise, Tika was already carrying them out of the kitchen.

Tanis stood on a rise looking back at Solace in the valley below. He and Clotnik had left before dawn, and just then, as the sun's first rays flooded across the top of the valley, they illuminated the village's majestic treetops like a crown of jewels. Lower down, radiant golden shadows traced the homes and businesses in the vallen- wood limbs in which they were perched. By far the dominant feature in the landscape was the Inn of the Last Home, nestled in tree branches atop a staircase that spi- raled around the trunk of the huge tree. Tanis resolutely shoved aside the memories of convivial times at the Inn; the future beckoned now. If only it were as predictable, as illuminated, as the staircase to Otik's establishment.

"How long before we meet this man you spoke of7" Tanis asked.

Clotnik, his ears drooping still farther in the throes of what appeared to be a minotaur-sized hangover, winced at Tanis's brisk tone. "Several days," he said quietly. "Maybe longer. You must be patient."

"Did this man know my father personally?"

"He'll tell you everything when you meet him."

"Were they good friends?" Tanis persisted.

The dwarf sighed and clutched his head. "Just wait," he begged. "What's your hurry? You've waited ninety-seven years to learn more of your father. What matters a few more days?"

"Every day matters," Tanis replied, noting that Clotnik somehow knew exactly how old he was. Very few knew his total years. Any doubts he harbored about the juggler's genuine knowledge about his father were muted by that one offhand remark. "I have something to do as soon as I finish meeting with your friend," the half-elf added vaguely.

"And what might that be?" the dwarf casually asked as ' they trudged along a sun-dappled road to the west.

Tanis did not answer. The real reason he had suggested that the companions separate for five years was not entirely noble. He wanted to strike out on his own, alone, to find something to believe in, something in which he could take some pride.

He had watched others grab at life while he stopped and considered, balanced his options. Some might have said that as a half-elf, his options and possibilities were limited by virtue of his birth. He didn't want to believe that. Those he knew and loved best had a purpose in their lives. He had none.

Kit, much as he thought her mercenary ways immoral, reveled in her military skills. Then there was Raistlin; he wanted to be a great wizard, and he was willing to sacrifice anything for that. Caramon, Raistlin's warrior twin, had a purpose, too-to care for his brother. Sturm Brightblade believed in his knighthood, in his Code, and it gave him strength and dignity. Flint Fireforge had his metalsmithing, a trade and art that gave the dwarf pleasure as well as pride. And Tasslehoff Burrfoot… well, Tas was a kender, and that didn't count. Tanis fell into a dark mood. What had his ambition been? To sit around the Inn of the Last Home and listen to his friends tell tales of their exploits while he slowly grew old and did nothing? He had had an idea, a thought, a wild dream. But he had told no one. It had been his secret, something he dared not share with his companions for fear that if he failed, he would, in his own mind, further lose their respect. But Clotnik was a stranger. Why not tell him? "I am going to become a sculptor," he blurted, realizing he had been nearly bursting to share his ambition. "In wood? Stone? Clay?" asked Clotnik, seemingly pleased to find the half-elf finally willing to talk. "Stone, I think. Something that will last." The juggler gave Tanis a long, thoughtful stare.