all of them closed. There were no decorations of any kind, no
tapestries hung on the walls, no carpets covered the stone floor.
There weren’t even any lights, no torches, no candles. Appar-
ently the mages were supposed to provide their own if they did
any wandering about after dark.
A window at one end did allow the light of Solinari, the sil-
ver moon, to filter through its glass panes, but that was all. The
rest of the hallway was completely dark. Too late Tas thought
of sneaking back into the room for a candle. No. If Caramon
woke up, he might not remember he had told the kender to go
exploring.
“I’ll just pop into one of these other rooms and borrow a can-
dle,” Tas said to himself. “Besides, that’s a good way to meet
people.”
Gliding down the hall quieter than the moonbeams that
danced on the floor, Tas reached the next door. “I won’t knock,
in case they’re asleep,” he reasoned and carefully turned the
doorknob. “Ah, locked!” he said, feeling immensely cheered.
This would give him something to do for a.few minutes at least.
Pulling out his lockpicking tools, he held them up to the moon-
light to select the proper size wire for this particular lock.
“I hope it’s not magically locked,” he muttered, the sudden
thought making him grow cold. Magicians did that sometimes,
he knew – a habit kender consider highly unethical. But maybe
in the Tower of High Sorcery, surrounded by mages, they
wouldn’t figure it would be worthwhile. “I mean, anyone could
just come along and blow the door down,” Tas reasoned.
Sure enough, the lock opened easily. His heart beating with
excitement, Tas shoved the door open quietly and peered
inside. The room was lit only by the faint glow of a dying fire.
He listened. He couldn’t hear anyone in it, no sounds of snoring
or breathing, so he walked in, padding softly. His sharp eyes
found the bed. It was empty. No one home.
“Then they won’t mind if I borrow their candle,” the kender
said to himself happily. Finding a candlestick, he lit the wick
with a glowing coal. Then he gave himself up to the delights of
examining the occupant’s belongings, noticing as he did so that
whoever resided in this room was not a very tidy person.
About two hours and many rooms later, Tas was wearily
returning to his own room, his pouches bulging with the most
fascinating items – all of which he was fully determined to
return to their owners in the morning. He had picked most of
them up off the tops of tables where they had obviously been
carelessly tossed. He found more than a few on the floor (he
was certain the owners had lost them) and had even rescued
several from the pockets of robes that were probably destined
to be laundered, in which case these items would certainly have
been misplaced.
Looking down the hall, he received a severe shock, however,
when he saw light streaming out from under their door!
“Caramon!” He gulped, but at that moment a hundred pos-
sible excuses for being out of the room entered his brain. Or
perhaps Caramon might not even have missed him yet. Maybe
he was into the dwarf spirits. Considering this possibility, Tas
tiptoed up to the closed door of their room and pressed his ear
against it, listening.
He heard voices. One he recognized immediately – Bupu’s.
The other… he frowned. It seemed familiar… where had he
heard it?
“Yes, I am going to send you back to the Highpulp, if that is
where you want to go? But first you must tell where the
Highpulp is.”
The voice sound faintly exasperated. Apparently, this had
been going on for some time. Tas put his eye to the keyhole. He
could see Bupu, her hair clotted with milk potatoes, glaring
suspiciously at a red-robed figure. Now Tas remembered where
he’d heard the voice – that was the man at the Conclave, who
kept questioning Par-Salian!
“Highbulp!” Bupu repeated indignantly. “Not Highpulp!
And Highbulp is home. You send me home.”
“Yes, of course. Now where is home?”