Ten years later…

The hillside was slippery with early spring mud. Tasslehoff Burrfoot carefully picked his way along the driest spots, using his forked kender hoopak staff for balance. At times he paused and probed ahead with the pole to test the depth of the sludge puddles. He knew from experience that mud could be deceptive as well as uncomfortable.

Two days earlier he had given up the idea of catching a ride on a farmer's or merchant's wagon. No vehicles could move on the roads in their present condition. Still, in another day or two the roads would solidify nicely, and traffic would again start rumbling and jolting along them. In the meantime, there was nothing to do but walk.

Tasslehoff was sure this trip would be worthwhile, in spite of the wet feet, spattered clothes, and sputtering evening fires at damp campsites. The treetop village of Solace lay just ahead, and by all accounts it was a sight to see. Centuries earlier, following the great Cataclysm, the citizens of Solace had sought protection from marauders and prowling monsters by moving into the giant vallenwood trees. Now, fanciful descriptions of their lofty homes and graceful rope bridges, perched high above the valley floor, were spoken of throughout Krynn.

Pausing on a ridge overlooking the fabled village, the kender could not suppress an indrawn breath of wonder. Quaint thatched roofs poked through the tip-tops of budding trees, looking both magical and homey all at once. Wisps of smoke from cook-fires trailed off into the blue afternoon sky.

A fluttering of excitement filled his lungs, like one hundred pairs of butterfly wings tickling him from the inside. He couldn't decide whether to skip, hop, or run down that muddy road, so he did all three in an overlapping sort of way and in no time at all reached the edge of Solace.

Tas paused at the edge of town to gaze up at the homes overhead. From his height of less than four feet, they seemed to tower extraordinarily high. Wide-eyed gazes darted from one tree to the next, taking in every detail: how the structures were anchored in the trees, how many doors and windows each had, the trim and paint, locations of ladders and stairways. He also noticed, however, that not all the houses were in the trees. Several homes and the village stable sat very mundanely on the ground.

Tas was both disappointed and delighted at that. No one had ever mentioned it before. On the one hand, the town seemed somehow less wonderful if the horses had to stay on the ground.

But it was also a new piece of information, certainly important enough to merit recording. He fished through the pouch slung from his shoulder and drew out a tightly rolled parchment, a small jar of ink, and a battered quill. The parchment was covered with notes, diagrams, and partial, half, and nearly completed maps of every size and orientation. Quickly locating an unused corner, Tas jotted down a few important observations and sketched out a small diagram of the area. Replacing the items in his pouch, he marched into town.

The quiet was most seductive. The vallenwoods' new spring leaves rustled in the breeze as small insects buzzed and chirped. There were no braying donkeys or shrieking children or crashing wagons. There seemed, in fact, to be no people at all.

Tas's eyes suddenly narrowed and darted suspiciously from side to side. He had not seen a single person since his arrival. Surely something was amiss. His mind careened wildly through the possibilities. The people could have been captured by slavers, or eaten by scaly monsters who crept into town during the night. Perhaps everyone just moved away, or perhaps they were carried off by giant goatsucker birds. That notion sent a shiver up his spine as he cast a nervous glance across his shoulder.

Determined to find an answer, Tas singled out a nearby tree and scampered up the steep walkway circling the trunk. The tree held a cozy-looking cottage and a small shed, connected by suspended walkways. He peered through the smoky window of the house, but couldn't make out much detail in the darkened interior. A knock on the front door brought no response, so he tried the latch-it was locked. From one of his many pockets Tas produced an oilcloth wrapped around an astounding collection of bent and shaped wires, files, and keys of every description. With his nose almost touching the door, he peered into the keyhole for several thoughtful moments, then selected one of the picks. He was about to apply it to the lock when he heard a noise from below.

Tas looked down in time to see a group of several people carrying baskets and talking and laughing as they walked along the main road through town. Moments later they turned off onto a smaller road and disappeared from view.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the oilcloth bundle disappeared again, and Tasslehoff scurried to the ground.

"Hey, wait for me!" he called, but they were too far away to hear. The kender's short legs pumped furiously as he raced down the road in pursuit of the basket carriers. Around the bend he flew and over a low rise, before skidding to a halt.

Below the small knob where Tasslehoff stood lay a fair! The area was choked with sellers' stalls, tents, booths, performers, beggars, and people in general. Lots of people-certainly all of Solace and probably quite a few more, Tasslehoff concluded.

He rushed down the slope into the throng. On every side he heard the cries of merchants hawking their wares and services. Wide-eyed, the kender looked this way and that, and then back again. He dodged around a donkey when two men carrying a rolled tapestry on their shoulders appeared from nowhere. Tas slipped between them and found himself in a tiny open space, a stationary island in a roiling sea. Twisting right and left, forward and back, he peered from here to there, trying vainly to see everything at once. In fact, he could see very little of anything except arms and torsos flowing past, pushing, touching, gesturing, carrying, buying and selling.

A frantic warning shout from behind came just in time for Tas to sidestep an enormous barrel before it thundered past. The juggernaut gouged a trough through the mud and doused the lower half of Tasslehoff's body with a sheet of brown water. Two men, both looking frightfully concerned, splashed and galloped after it, one shouting warnings as the other screamed curses and epithets. Tas giggled as he watched the barrel's progress, people leaping and scrambling out of the way along its route. The show ended when the runaway barrel crashed into a furniture maker's stall, bringing a colorful canopy flapping down across the debris.

The crowd quickly returned to its business. As Tas turned back to the festival, a stabbing pain shot up through his leg. He swallowed a yelp and then landed a quick punch against the hip of a burly man in a long canvas coat who was standing on Tas's foot. Whether the punch actually hurt the man is hard to say, but it drew his attention. His head snapped to one side and he scanned the crowd darkly, but it was several moments before he noticed the diminutive kender at his waist. A growl welled up from somewhere deep inside the man's cavernous chest. He placed one hand on Tas's left shoulder, lifted his foot, and gave a mighty shove that sent the hapless kender crashing through the crowd.

Hopping backward and windmilling furiously to regain his balance, Tasslehoff tumbled into a pile of rugs. He scrambled to safety at the top and sat, looking over the crowd and rubbing his throbbing foot.

Rough hands grabbed him from behind. "Get your muddy feet off my merchandise, you little urchin!" Tasslehoff was spun around and found himself face to angry face with a slim, bearded man wearing a large satin hat.