Palan heaved a relieved sigh and stretched his aching muscles. From his vantage point in the entryway, the front room looked much as they had left it. Neat, plain furniture, thick rugs and a tapestry or two, along with the cozy and familiar nicknacks his wife used to spruce up the place. He never realized how homey they made it look until now. He sighed again.

It was so good to be home.

Letting his satchel slip to the ground, Palan rubbed a particularly sore muscle in his thigh and limped onto the bright homespun carpet. He was a tall man, cleancut and handsome, proud-looking in his armor, if somewhat out of place in the domestic confines. A large swath of bandage across his rump also dimmed the image, but even so he cut an impressive figure.

The short journey across the floor was nothing to the miles already traversed on this latest bout of questing, yet it took him several long seconds to make. All the while the lines of determination and bravado faded slowly from his face, and by the time Palan reached his destination, much of the remnants of the past hardships had vanished. What was left was an expression of relief - pure, simple and unabashed. Placing a hand on the armrest of his favorite chair, the weary paladin lowered himself, ever so slowly and carefully, onto the deep feathered cushion. Another sigh escaped his lips. The trail was hard enough without the nature of his current wounds to contend with. There was no such thing as a soft saddle, and standing in the stirrups for three days would wear down any man. But that didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. His eyes eased eased shut as his head tilted slowly back onto the cool wood.

The quests were finished.

He was home.

A sudden crash from the entryway broke through the fragile domestic silence that had settled on the room.

"No, not there," came a woman's voice, light and pleasant as it floated down the hall. "Oh, you've dropped it... I'm sorry, here, let me help..." Some bumps and mumbling followed. Palan took the opportunity to carefully lower himself back into the chair and regain control of his breathing.

"Yes, right there will be fine. Now, the rest needs to come in this way... no that's alright, you can turn that upside down; it's only heads and things inside... oh, drat! Now where did I put that key?"

A pretty face poked into the room, tightly framed by a bush of curly brown hair.

"Palan, love, do you have the key to the hallway storage closet? The movers need inside."

"Certainly, dear." He reached for his belt. "I have it right... well, I used to have it here in my pouch. I wonder what..." Palan fumbled under his mail shirt for a moment. "Ah, that's right. They're in my other pants. I sent them along with Kurto. He's going to the armorer to have the repairs made. But he's good about checking pockets, so I'm sure he'll bring them along when he comes back."

"Well, until then we can just make do. Oh, right there..."

She turned and pointed out a spot to one of the movers, a sallow-looking fellow in white coveralls. Sauntering over the mover dropped his crate with a heavy crash directly onto its top.

"Hey, watch it!" Palan's eyebrows raised. The mover smiled in a way that indicated his was the only company currently available to work and sauntered out for another load.

"Diona, who are these guys?" Palan looked at his wife, who was busily directing more movers. All of them were short and sallow and wearing white coveralls, and there seemed to be quite enough of them to destroy every possession in the house. The

pretty middleaged woman looked back at him.

"I'm sorry, honey. The regular boys were doing some work out in Goldshire. These were the only ones I could find, and I know how you hate to wait for unpacking. I figured we could just jump in and get it done."

Palan looked at her as she beamed at him, hair tied back in a neat businesslike ponytail, the sleeves of her blue mage's robes rolled up to the elbows. She was still as beautiful as the day he'd married her. He smiled.

"No problem, dear. And thanks for..."

"Oh, Palan, would you mind moving?" Two workers staggered past her, a large trunk between them. "That goes right over there, please, just past the chair." Palan sighed and levered himself to his feet. He managed to drag the chair out of the way just in time to prevent it from being crushed by a corner of the plummeting chest. He winced at the sound of splintering wood.

"Thanks guys. Maybe you should consider going into the moving business." His only answer was a grin that made him want to carry all of the boxes in himself, wound or no wound. Diona squeezed his cheek as she went by.

"Cheer up, lover. It'll all be over soon." He watched her walk out the door amid musings over how much it was costing him to have his possessions destroyed. With a helpless shake of his head he sank once more into the chair. A short while later the sounds of crashing boxes and scraping crates ceased and quiet once more descended on the house. Diona reentered the main room, dusting her hands.

"There!" She said with satisfaction. "Done at last!"

"Yes, and thanks to the movers we won't have to unpack anything." Palan winced as he readjusted himself on the soft cushion. "We can just have a nice welcome home bonfire with all the pieces. We'll invite the neighbors. It'll be fun."

"Oh, honey," Diona bustled towards him, descending onto his lap and kissing him on the forehead. "I'm sorry about the movers. But it was for you." She smiled, a familiar and welcome sight. "I love you."

"I love you too." Palan grinned back at her, clamping his teeth against the pain as her weight made the cramps jump screaming through his thighs and forced his damaged buttocks ruthlessly down onto the hard wood beneath the cushion. Diona glanced around her happily. She shifted her weight and the wand on her belt jabbed into his crotch.

"My, it's good to be home, isn't it?"

"Yes, it certainly is."

"Are you alright? You're talking funny."

"Oh, no. It's just that..."

"Oh, I'll bet you're feet are hurting. Here, let me help you off with those boots." She slipped off and started working on the footwear. Palan let out his breath in a woosh.

"It's not exactly my feet..."

"What...?" she looked up at him, even prettier with the slight expression of concern flushing her cheeks. “Honey, just tell me where it hurts and I'll...”

"Forget it." Palan reached down gingerly and patted her hand. "Look, I'm sorry if I've been touchy. It's just these darn quests."

“I know, Palan.” Her soft blue eyes caught his own. “Things didn't go quite as you planned. We had our problems. But with the two new members, that little flash flood and a lack of reliable information about dragons, you couldn't expect everything to go perfectly. What really matters though is that everyone made it through okay and we're all home. That's the important thing.”

He smiled.

“You're right, Diona. You're right...” He bent down and kissed her. “We're all okay.”

She put a hand on his cheek and stared into his eyes happily for a moment. Then she rose and began to rummage through some crates and bags. Palan's seat was getting a bit uncomfortable so he got up to fetch another pillow.

"As long as you've brought it up, though, I would like to talk to you about one of the problems. Can't we make this the last trip with Kikonendrathil?"

"Oh, honey, we've had this talk before." Diona looked back from the crate, a wisp of packing straw clinging to her hair. "I can't just abandon him. He taught me everything I know."

"I realize that. I just wish he hadn't forgotten it afterwards." Palan sank with a sigh onto the extra pillow.

"Now Palan, that isn't fair. He's a sweet old man and a powerful mage."

Palan rolled his eyes, exasperated.

"Yes, honey, but you can sling spells now about as well as he ever could; and there isn't much call for 'sweet old men' on adventures. We agreed on hiring a priest and another warrior, but I don't remember ever discussing genteel elderly amnesiacs."

Diona flashed him a look. She took the few items she had removed from the crate and carried them across the room. Palan rose and limped after her.

"Look, it's not just our safety I'm worried about - true, that's mostly it - but you also have to think about him. He's been doing this for... for... how long has he been doing this, anyway?"

Diona was hunting through a bag of dishes, looking for the match to a silver candlestick.

“I don't know exactly. But when he took me on as a pupil he said it was to honor the eightieth anniversary of his first spell.”

Palan's eyes jerked wide.

"Diona, that was years ago. He must be a hundred, easy. Probably a good deal more." He looked blankly into space as this news sunk in. "Wow." His wife turned away defiantly, heading for another cluster of boxes.

"That's immaterial," she snapped. "Age is different with mages. And Kikonendrathil was once the most powerful one in the land."

"Yes, and now he's the oldest one in it. Diona, think about his health. Think about the hardships of the trail, think about the dangers. Why, he forgot that pyroblast spell right when we needed it. If Enondil hadn't been there to pull him clear, the dragon would have made lunch out of him."

"He remembered fireblast, though," Diona flashed back.

"Don't remind me. If I hadn't put my shield up, you'd be talking to charcoal right now."

"He was aiming at the dragon whelp."

"What was he going to do, shoot through me?"

"Well..." she floundered. "He was only trying to help. He just needs a little work on his aim, that's all."

"You should have the whelp help him. There's nothing wrong with its aim." Palan touched his backside tenderly. "It's teeth must have been six inches long. That thing wasn't a baby, it was a miniature adult."

Diona's face softened a little and she stopped her work.

"I'm so sorry, honey. Does it still hurt?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. It feels like its teeth are still buried in my rump. Are you sure Felina pried the jaws loose before she stitched me up?"

Diona put down the candlestick and slipped her arms around his middle.

"There, there... you're alright."

They stood there for a moment, embracing. Then Palan took her by the shoulders. His voice was soft.

"Look, I know you love the old guy. And he was a great mage in his day. But maybe he's past his prime. I don't expect you to make a decision right now. Just consider it. Okay?"

Diona eyed the floor, downcast. She heaved a sigh.

"Alright. I'll think it over. But I'm not promising anything."

Palan gave her a peck on the forehead.

"I wouldn't ask you to. I'm just..."

A loud crash of pottery from the entryway cut him off.

"Curse and befuddle!" Came a wheezy, reedy voice. Then, softer, "Foul place for a houseplant, anyhow. Never understood the need, myself... green things belong on the outside, I've always said... except for a nice salad... now salad is a different matter entirely... wonder what time supper is...?" A bent and elderly figure, obviously a mage, shuffled in from the hall, shaking bits of greenery from the end of its staff. He was garbed in faded black robes and hat, all inscribed with strange runes and looking badly in need of replacement, or at the very least a good laundering. A wisp of gray beard hung from his face, which was as seamed and weathered as a scrap of old leather boot, and a vacant expression haunted his gray eyes. One of them seemed to wander slightly, and he had a way of weaving when he shuffled along that made one wonder exactly which eye he was following. Despite his obviously decrepit state, however, there was an unmistakable aura of pride and unbridled power that hovered about the figure, which was only somewhat diminished by an equally unmistakable aura of confusion and senility.

"Kiko!" Diona detached herself and ran over to take the mage's arm affectionately. "Come in! We were just talking about you."

"Hunh? Whazzat?" Kiko shook the last leaf from his staff and glanced about as if he had just awoken. "Oh. Diona my child. Yes. Good to see you again! How long has it been?" His wandering, unfocused gaze lit on Palan and froze. Gray cloudy eyes narrowed, both of them momentarily fixing on the same target.

"And who is that?"

"That's my husband, Master. You remember Palan?"

"Ah, yes, yes." The creased face split in a wide grin. "How's the arse, boy?"

Palan smiled wanly.

"Just fine, Kiko. Thank you for asking."

"Hunh? Asking what?" The old wizard looked up from an examination of the runes on his sleeve, then waved dismissively. His wandering eye had already slid off target, apparently finding the whole affair quite disinteresting.

"Well, whatever question you've put to me, it will have to wait. I'm off to lunch. To the kitchen!" With a determined stride, the aged mage set off for the nearest closet door. "Quite a hunger I have, a real pang... all this dratted questing. If either of you need me, I'll be in the... the... “ he paused in mid-stride, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Now where was I going...?"

Palan tried to catch his wife's eye, but she ignored him as she helped steer the dottering mage toward a nearby doorway.

"Let's go get you a nice wild hog shank. I think there's still some left over from yesterday. And maybe a tall flagon of mead. Does that sound nice?" Their voices faded as they passed into the kitchen.

"That's all he needs," said a voice at Palan's shoulder. "Alcohol."

The paladin glanced back at the familiar night elven features of the group's hunter and his closest friend, Enondil. “I just don't understand.” Palan shook his head. “With everything else she's all I could ask for. But when it comes to that old man, Diona is absolutely blind.”

His friend nodded sagely.

“By the way, where are the others?”

The night elf thoughtfully twanged his bowstring.

"I believe I saw Kurto rounding the corner just as I came in. With Falconrys you can never tell, but Blaise and Felina were outside chatting by the cart." Just then Kikonendrathil entered from the kitchen, carrying a plate of wild hog shank and a foaming mug and humming tunelessly. Palan hoped it was not some half-remembered spell that he was inadvertently invoking. The mage had done that on this last trip and it had cost them one of their pavilions and an oxcart. He waited cautiously, but nothing seemed to be happening. Relaxing a bit, Palan turned back to the conversation.

"Speaking of Blaise, what do you think?"

Enondil nodded.

"I think you've made a good choice. He's a fine warrior. For one so young the lad has great potential."

"I'll say." A note of pride edged into Palan's reply. "Did you see him strike that Dragonmaw raider? His blade cut clear through the breastplate. Didn't even slow it down. The kid's got an arm. Yep..." Palan breathed in contentedly and patted his stomach.

"Reminds me a bit of myself at the same age. Young, eager, full of spit and vinegar. His name even fits, too: 'Blaise Hellfire'. Now there's the name of a hero, eh?"

Enondil smiled and opened his mouth to reply but was not allowed the chance. A commotion sounded at the door, followed immediately by a stumpy dwarf with a full load of armor.

"Confound and bebother!" the dwarf snorted. "Who closes an armorer's shop on market day?!" With a great crash, the armful of metal dropped to the ground. Instantly there was a responding crash at the other end of the room as Kikonendrathil leapt up from the sofa, plate and mug dashing to the floor.

"Dragon!" he shrieked. As he whirled his hands flew out toward the doorway. Quite surprised, the stumpy dwarf just managed to hurl himself clear as a gout of searing flame blasted across the room. The magical fire collided with a wooden trunk instead of its intended target and exploded it into smoking fragments. Coins jingled down like rain amidst the smoke and reverberating boom. Diona rushed over to help the dwarf to his feet.

"Are you alright Kurto? Oh, I'm so sorry! He thought you were a dragon!"

Kurto's face looked pale and ashen. He stood unsteadily for a moment, brushing bits of burning debris of his beard.

"I'm alright," he muttered gruffly. "It was a bit flatterin', at least. I've been mistaken for a little old man before, but never a dragon..."

She patted out a fat ember that had landed on his back.

"Well, nevertheless I apologize deeply. I'll have a talk with him. I promise, it will never happen again."

"Aye," muttered the dwarf, warily eying his doting attacker. "See that it doesn't, lass. Well, at any rate," he harrumphed, "I'll have to take this armor out to the cart. I can do a few of the repairs myself anyway." He bent and started retrieving pieces.

Enondil hurried forward to help him.

"I'll give you a hand, friend dwarf." He cast a sidelong glance at the mage. "It looks like quite an armful." A moment later they were loaded and heading for the door.

"Look at him," Kurto muttered under his breath. "He's back to eatin' his lunch already... like it never happened. The man's a menace."

"You're lucky he didn't mistake you for a maid, instead of a dragon," the night elf replied. "Now that would have been interesting."

"Shut up, boy, or I'll bob yer ears! Should be short, anyway, like the rest of us... don't know how you stand 'em, must always be catchin' on trees and bushes, pokin' yer mate in the eye..." The slam of the door cut him off.

"Would you stop shaking your head like that?" Diona looked crossly at her husband as she stooped to pick up pieces of broken mug.

"Oh was I? I'm sorry. I didn't realize. Well, if you need me, I'll be over here picking up hot melted silver pieces and stamping out carpet fires."

As it was, the silver was too hot to touch. Palan contented himself with crushing embers until the metal had cooled sufficiently. He had barely gathered two handfuls when a bang of the front door again interrupted. He looked up to see a young woman in wispy, blue and brown robes walk in. Her face was pretty, with eyes that were a startlingly innocent blue and rosy cheeks that shone with a healthy hue. But today the eyes were a bit redder and the cheeks somewhat flushed. It looked as if she had been crying.

"Hello, Felina," Palan greeted her with some concern. "How are you?"

"Hmm? Oh, fine." She looked at him absently and sniffled. "Do you know where Diona is?"

"Certainly. She just took some broken crockery into the kitchen. She should be right... there she is now."

"Thanks." And with that, the girl was off across the room. When she reached Diona the two withdrew to a private corner and began conversing in low tones. Palan shook his head again. He wondered what had gone wrong this time. After three or four

handfuls of coins, he got his answer.

"Felina, that's wonderful!" Diona threw her arms exuberantly around the younger woman and hugged her. "Palan, did you hear? Felina is pregnant!"

"What?!" The next handful of coins jingled merrily onto the floor.

"She's only had the signs for a few days, but she's certain! Oh, that's wonderful dear!" She hugged Felina again happily. "Palan, what do you think?"

"I think that's what you get when you hire a priest whose patron deity is a fertility goddess," he muttered. A little louder he added a forced "Congratulations!"

"Why don't you just go lie down in the bedroom for awhile." Diona guided her through an open door. "I'll fetch you some hot tea in a moment. And cheer up, now, it'll be alright. I'm going to talk to Palan." Diona pulled the door shut softly after her. From inside came the muffled sound of a nose being blown.

"What are we going to do with a pregnant healer?" Palan asked as his wife came up close. "We can't take her out on jobs anymore and we can't just fire her..."

"Palan," Diona fixed him with an even gaze, her tone reprimanding. "I think we can worry about the business aspect of it later. Right now, she's quite upset. Apparently there has been something going on between Felina and your new apprentice. It seems he's the father."

"Blaise?" Palan was shocked. "I had no idea."

Diona nodded.

"She just told him the news, too, and apparently he didn't take it well. It seems they're having a tiff. I told her you'd have a talk with him."

"Me?! I wouldn't even know what to say!"

"Oh honey, please?" Diona took his hand. "This is young love here! These kids are hurting and confused and they need us." She looked plaintively into his eyes. Palan's resolve weakened.

"Alright," he sighed. "But I don't know what good it will do. I've never really been good with the emotional stuff."

His wife smiled and squeezed his hand.

"Thank you, dear. It will mean so much to Felina." She gave him a brief hug, then stepped back. "I'm going to get that tea now. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

Palan watched her go. He was just beginning to wonder what in the world he would say when there was the sound of heavy boots behind him. A brawny youth had just entered. His honest brown eyes looked worried and the muscles of one thick, bare arm rippled as he toyed nervously with his sword hilt.

"Blaise!" Palan greeted him in what he hoped was a cheery and genuine voice. "Come in!"

"Oh, hi Mr. Kettil. Is Felina around?"

"Yes, she's in the bedroom; but I'd like to talk to you for a minute myself, alright?" Palan put an arm around the younger man in a fatherly fashion and steered him toward the far corner of the room. Blaise frowned.

"Oh. So she told you, hunh?" His gloomy look deepened.

"Told Diona, actually. She passed it on to me.” Palan blinked. He felt himself floundering already. “So tell me... uh... what is this all about, anyway?" He knew it wasn't a particularly insightful question, but it seemed a safe place to start.

Burly shoulders heaved in a deep sigh.

"I don't know. Everything just seemed so perfect, and then... woosh!"

"Woosh what?"

"Woosh... it wasn't so perfect anymore. I dunno... things just sort of... fell apart. I try to say something but all the wrong words just come out." Palan eyed Kikonendrathil, who was sitting quietly in the corner talking to his hog shank.

"Seems to be going around," he muttered.

"Yeah, but with me it's like... I don't know. Worse. Felina's really nice and everything, and I try as hard as I can, but..." Blaise hung his head. "I guess I'm just a failure."

"A failure?" Palan flashed a look of surprise, but from there was at somewhat of a loss. They came to the far end of the wall and stopped, and it seemed his brain had as well. Desperately he cast about for inspiration. "Oh come now! You... you... you can't say that when the rest of the adventure went, uh, so well. After all, you... you... you

saved Kikonendrathil from the dragon!" It was hard to sound convincingly excited about that fact, but it was the only thing that popped into his mind. At least it seemed to get a rise out of Blaise.

"Yeah." The youth flashed a brief smile. "I guess I did."

"Yes, and... and.. and also did a wonderful job against those... those... Dragonmaw Orcs. Especially their chieftain. Enondil and I were talking about how impressed we both were." Palan was getting on track now.

"Really?" Blaise lowered his head in modesty. "Gosh, Mr. Kettil, thanks. You don't know how much that means to me, coming from a paladin as great as yourself."

"Absolutely! Your technique, your arm. Everything really came together. That kind of body count you can't rack up from just sheer luck. You've got talent, boy. Like the way you handled that giant darkfang spider..." Palan made a circle with thumb and forefinger. "Simply marvelous."

Blaise blushed.

"Thanks, Mr. Kettil. Did I really do that good?"

"Sure did. And it's Palan." He stepped aside to let his wife out of the kitchen. "All you really need to work on is controlling that sword of yours."

"Hmph, I'll say," Diona muttered as she maneuvered around them with a tray of tea things. "That's what got him into trouble in the first place."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Palan countered. "Control is one thing, but there's a lot to be said for raw unleashed power. It can make a great deal of difference in penetration."

"What?!" Kettle and cups rattled as Diona almost lost her grip on the tray. "I told you to talk to him about it, not give him pointers!"

"Look, this is hard enough as it is." Frustration edged into Palan's voice. "I told you I was no good at it. I was just trying to boost his confidence."

Diona's eyes opened wide.

"Confidence?! What more of a confidence booster do you think he needs?" She jerked her head toward the bedroom. "I asked you to talk to him about feelings and you end up giving him pointers on how to control his 'sword!'"

"And I tell you, control is not the problem!" Palan shouted back angrily. "Power can overcome that! Why, this boy's sword cleaves armor! It can probably even break rocks!"

Diona's jaw dropped open. Palan caught himself.

"Wait a minute." He looked at her closely. "What 'sword' are you talking about?"

"Look, it doesn't matter," Blaise cut in. "You're right. I guess I'm not a failure. I just have to look at this honestly, like I do my fighting. She told me she was pregnant and it shocked me. Then she started talking weird you know, about babies and rattles and stuff like that. I got scared. I raised my voice to her, and..." he put a hand to his face. "I guess that was it. It was just too much for me to handle right away, and I snapped. But

the important thing is I love her. And I want this baby. Do you think she'll talk to me, Mrs. Kettil?" He looked hopeful.

Diona smiled a matronly smile and nodded.

"I think she would like that very much."

"Gosh, I'd better do that right away, then. You know, I miss her already. Where is she, in the bedroom?" Diona nodded.

"Here, take her this." She held out the tea. Blaise accepted it carefully.

"Wish me luck! If things go well, we might even get married!"

"Mrs. Felina Hellfire!" Diona clapped her hands together. "Wouldn't that be sweet?"

"Yeah... uh... sweet..." Blaise suddenly looked sheepish. “But actually...” The sentence trailed of into an embarrassed silence.

"Wait a minute," Palan caught on. "Are you trying to tell us that 'Hellfire' isn't your real name?"

"I hoped you wouldn't find out. Gosh I'm sorry." He blushed. "It's just an alias. You know, to help me out until I got established. My real name family name is Chudd."

"Then, 'Blaise' isn't real either?" Palan added a bit wistfully.

"Nope. It's Lub. Lub Chudd." The burly warrior lowered his head. "Kind of silly, hunh?"

"Not at all... Blaise." Diona patted him on the shoulder. "Nothing wrong with a little change at all. Now never mind that and get in there and do what you have to do." The youth brightened.

"I will! Thanks, Mrs. Kettil! And thank you, Mr... I mean Palan. Your talk helped a lot." A moment later, after a soft knock, he disappeared into the bedroom.

Palan watched him go. His lips were pursed in thought.

"I helped a lot? What did I do?"

"The right thing, dear." Diona put her arm around him affectionately. "Sorry I yelled at you."

"Hmm? Oh yeah, me too." He squeezed her back. "Well, maybe things will get back to normal now." There was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," Palan offered, stifling a yawn.

"Thanks. I'd better get back to that unpacking." Diona headed back toward the kitchen, snagging a box of dishes on the way. Palan walked to the door and opened it. Standing on the step outside was a short man in a businesslike tunic with a clipboard in

one hand and a thick parchment catalog tucked under the opposite arm.

"Hello." His greeting was brusque and businesslike, but not unfriendly. "I'm Turic, from Wooden Nickel Treasure Evaluations, Stormwind branch. Hear you made it back with quite a haul?"

"Yes, we just got in. Word sure does travel fast. Please, come in." Palan stood aside as the other man bustled through. "By the way, where's Lyle?"

"Took some time off. He was pricing a magic ring and it turned out to be cursed. Be convalescing for another week or so."

Palan winced.

"Ouch. Hazards of the trade, I guess."

"You got that right... woah..." the treasure examiner lifted his feet as he crunched through the remains of the broken chest.

"Somebody miss a trap?"

"No, his marbles."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Forget it. It's a long and painful story. Let's just get started, shall we?"

"Suits me." The short man looked about at the assortment of bags and boxes. "Where would you like to begin?"

"How about here?" Palan knelt by a big black iron box. "We tried to put all of the more expensive looking items in this.” Removing a heavy padlock he opened the lid with a noisy creak. "Ah! How about these? We ought to get top coin on these little beauties. Rounded up a couple dozen on our last quest." Pulling a small velvet bag out he handed it to the evaluator. With a practiced hand, Turic untied the string and shook a few of what looked like large, shiny black pearls into his palm. He eyed them carefully for a moment. "I doubt that. Excrement isn't commanding a very high resale these days."

"What?" Palan snatched the bag away and peeked inside.

"These are dung balls. Probably from a corrosive swamp ooze. The waste beads up on their skin and drops off from time to time, eventually hardening into smooth round balls. This lot are remarkably old, but still hardly worth any money."

"Uh... well..." Palan dug back into the box. "How about pricing some of these old coins then? They're branded with a royal seal and the genuine article, I can almost guarantee you."

Turic accepted a few and turned them over in his hand. After a minute he nodded to himself.

"Yes, they're genuine alright. And in fine shape. We'll be able to pay you... well, let's be generous. One tenth of face value."

"A tenth?!" Palan was incredulous. "Look at the craftsmanship here! Look at the markings! These are obviously coins of great age and historical value! Why only a tenth?"

"Well, most of them look to be from the reign of King Maltos. Maltos coins aren't doing so well now. The market took a big dive after they discovered he used bury his treasure under human feces."

"Ugh. A tenth is just fine."

"There might be some coins of a different period mixed in, of course. I'll just have to check and... well now, here's something interesting." The little evaluator picked up a fragment of pale wood from the floor. "Looks like albino swampwood. Almost impossible to get in any quantity these days, and it's all the rage right now. Figurines, earrings, you know... small stuff, but quite pricey." He turned it over in his hands. "Edges are a bit scorched," he mused, "but it'll still fetch a handsome price. Got any more?"

Palan looked ruefully at the remains of the blasted chest.

"Just bits and pieces really. Whatever you can pull out of the carpet. Say..." he brightened suddenly. "I remember seeing a little box of the same type of wood. Diona picked it up. Had some funny writing on the side."

Turic whistled.

"An albino swampwood box? And engraved, too? Well now, that would really be a find. Working with that stuff is a real trick, so people have been known to pay small fortunes for prefashioned artifacts. Should fetch plenty of gold on the auction house. You're sure it's around here?"

Palan was rifling through nearby containers.

"Yes, I'm certain. I remember seeing it. If only I could remember where..." He stopped and leaned back, thinking.

"Well, let me know if you locate it. For now I'm just going to go through all of these containers in turn. It'll go much faster that way."

"Sounds good," Palan said absently. He moved away to examine a few more bags. The search fruitless, he rose and stood surveying the room, hand on his chin. Enondil entered and sauntered up beside him.

"How are you... ahhh, the treasure evaluator!" The night elf rubbed his hands together gleefully. "How is it looking so far?"

"Well, there have been a few surprises."

"Good or bad?"

"Both. But if I can just find that little wooden box, it'll sure help tip the scales. Do you remember seeing it?"

The night elf shook his head.

"You'd best try Falconrys. He'll know where it is."

"Good idea! Have you seen him around?"

"No, but that doesn't mean much. You know how he is."

"Yes. That's the trouble with rogues. There's never one around when you need one. Well, we'll just have to wait..." Just then the bedroom door opened and Blaise walked through.

"Blaise!" Palan greeted. "How did it go?"

"Great." The young face beamed. "We had a wonderful talk. She's sleeping now, poor tired thing. Just thought I'd slip out and have my sword pounded back into shape."

“Er... right.” Palan blinked, trying to rid himself of a sudden, unbidden mental picture. “Well... I'm glad to hear things are turning out well. Say, will you do me a favor on your way back? Stop by the Pig and Whistle and tell Langston to set up a table for eight tonight, if you would. The works. And while you're there pick up a keg of his finest. We have some celebrating to do."

"Will do, Palan. One keg, coming up." His grin widening at the thought of food and drink, Blaise ducked out the doorway and was gone.

"Now, if I can only find that box." Palan looked back to the crates stacked around him.

"I'll go check in the cart," Enondil volunteered. "It might have shaken loose on the way back. Besides," he added. "I don't like the way our mage is talking in his sleep."

Palan looked at Kikonendrathil, now dozing on the couch and mumbling softly to himself. He shivered.

"Right. One of us should stay alive to collect for that box. I'll keep looking in here." Enondil left. Palan stood still for a moment, pondering where the best place to begin his search was when a commotion sounded behind him. Looking back he was just in time to see a short wiry figure come trotting into the room.

"Ah, Falconrys!" Palan's face lit up. "Just the man I wanted to see."

"Sorry chief, can't talk now. By the way, is the back door open?"

"It'll only take a minute. Do you remember that little box Diona picked up, the one made out of funny looking wood, had carvings on the sides?"

"Ummm, not at the moment. I'll get back to you on it." Falconrys tried to edge his way past the other man. "I'm in rather a hurry at the moment."

Palan was about to respond when a voice rang out from the front door. It was gruff and angry and nearly made the walls shake.

"Stop, you thief!" The voice thundered. "Curse my beard, if ever I catch you I'll break every bone in your body! Now where have you..." A hairy face thrust into view. "Aha! There you are, you little sneakthief!"

"Uh oh," Falconrys muttered and slipped behind Palan. The newcomer meanwhile, a heavyset man with rich robes and a bristling beard, stomped directly up to them.

"I have you at last, you cur!"

"Excuse me sir!" Palan put out his hand to stop the man.

"Before you come barging any further into my house, I demand an explanation! What exactly is the problem here?"

"There's no problem," Falconrys put in over his shoulder. "Just a small misunderstanding, that's all."

"The only thing you're misunderstanding is that unless you give back my property, I'll bash your head in, you cursed little footpad!" bellowed the intruder. He shook a heavy fist in the air to punctuate.

"Aha." Palan glanced back at the rogue with a look of peeved understanding. "Falconrys," he said carefully. "This gentlemen seems to think you have something that belongs to him. Is this true?"

"Well, you see, I..."

"Jaed!"

"Oh, alright." The little man dug inside his shirt and pulled out a leather pouch. "But I didn't steal it. I simply happened upon it. You can see that the strings have broken, quite cleanly I might add, a definite sign of completely normal wear and tear... it's obvious that it just dropped to the street, which is precisely where I found it." He passed it to his accuser.

"Wait a minute!" the man bellowed. "This is blue! Mine was green!"

Falconrys took it back and rummaged again through his clothing. Glancing over his shoulder, Palan could see an assortment of small, brightly colored bags hanging from the inner lining of the rogue's cloak. He sighed. Falconrys paused in his search. There were two green ones. He shot a glance at Palan, who merely rolled his eyes. After a moment, the slender hand selected one at random and passed it over. The merchant's angry eyes cleared and a smile broke over his face.

"My pouch!" Eagerly he opened the drawstring and peered inside.

"How about a little something for the effort?" Falconrys held out a hand hopefully.

Immediately the big man's face clouded again.

"How about I don't turn you in, you fleabitten pickpocket?!" he shouted. "And I'll thank you to keep your hands off my money. If it happens again I'll turn you inside out! Now good day!" And with that he stomped out.

Palan faced his friend, frustration etched on his features.

"Jaed, you promised."

"But I didn't steal it!" the little man protested. "I just..."

"'Happened upon it,' yes, I know."

"Look, Palan, I'm sorry. But I've got to keep in practice."

"Practice? What for? You're already the best."

The little man sighed resignedly.

"I know. But I'm afraid I'll slip someday."

"Look," Palan put his hands on the slender shoulders. "If it helps, why don't you practice on us? Provided you give it back..." he added quickly. Falconrys brightened.

"You mean it? Gee, that's great. Thanks, chief!"

"Don't mention it. Now, have you seen that little box?"

"Hmmm... try the kitchen stuff. It might have gotten mixed in."

"Kitchen stuff! Of course! Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Well, I'm off to unpack." Falconrys trotted off and Palan turned to head for the kitchen. Turic the treasure evaluator stopped him halfway.

"I've bagged up most of the loose coin for you; fifty per sack for the full price stuff, one hundred for the Maltos. Sacks of fifty are by the closet in the hallway, the rest I just left in the chest. I'll move on to the miscellaneous items now, unless you have any objections."

"Sounds great. And by the way, you might want to get to the murloc heads right away. They've been sitting around for awhile."

"Good idea. That crate with the flies?"

"That's the one. Are we still getting ten coins apiece for the murlocs?"

"Fifteen now. The king's youngest daughter just ran off with one."

"That's life." Palan started once more for the kitchen. He was almost there when Enondil popped back in.

"Any luck?" Palan asked.

The night elf shook his head.

"Not a sign of it."

"Hmm..." Palan mused. "Well, Falconrys gave me a good lead..."

There was a light rap on the front door. The night elf cocked his head and looked thoughtful.

"Let's see, the timing is right since our return, and the evaluator has had enough time for preliminary work..." He nodded confidently. "I believe we have just heard the tolling of the bell of doom, friend Palan. The Tax Man cometh."

"That's where you're wrong, my friend." Palan chuckled as he headed for the door. "It's probably Blaise returning with the keg, his hands too full to work the latch. I'd know Dvorak's heavy hand anywhere." He smiled mischievously. "Besides, theres a foul stench that precedes that man wherever he goes. Greed has a potent and unmistakable aroma, and he's surrounded by a veritable cloud of it, the bloated old vulture." Palan opened the door.

"Well hello, Dvorak! It's so good to see you."

Dvorak entered brusquely. He was pearshaped, with a balding head and thick, angry looking glasses. His smile was far from warm.

"Yes, yes, it's always good to see you too, Palan. Now just excuse me while I flap myself over to the nearest treasure chest and get started. Try to pretend I'm not even here. It will only take a minute."

Palan made a sour face to Enondil over the tax man's shoulder and followed him into the front room.

"Oh, so you caught my little joke," Palan laughed weakly. "Ha, ha, what a kidder! Well, here's all we brought back. If you need anything, just let me know. Anything at all."

"And you tell me if the stench is bothering you too much. I hate to be offensive, you know." Dvorak twisted off the cap of his pen with great relish. Palan clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. Suddenly there was another knock on the door.

"I'll get it," he said miserably. "After all, what else can go wrong?" Palan opened the door to a humble looking man in a simple brown smock.

"Greetings, O worthy adventurer. I am Brother Rourke from the Order of Wretched Beggars. Would it be too forward of me to ask if you would be kind enough to share some of your newfound wealth with the poor and disheveled?" The priest smiled benignly. Palan looked at the bulky stack of coin sacks beside him. A momentary flush of guilt washed over him.

"Sure, father." He selected a good-sized bag. "Buy them all a new tunic and a hot meal." He handed it to the priest, whose face lit up with joy as he felt its weight.

"Thank you my son," he beamed piously. "You will not regret this most generous gift. It is more than our poor parishioners would ever ask for." Then he paused, reconsidering. "Well, perhaps not. But their greed is one thing that we are always working on," he confided with a tired look. "Our task is never done, it seems."

"Perhaps not, father. But we're all thankful that you do it."

"Ah, blessings, my son. A bit of understanding makes it all worthwhile. Light bless you!" Palan closed the door behind the departing priest, figuring that a little cold hard cash probably didn't hurt either. He headed for the main room with a smile stoked by his warmly glowing conscience. Another knock brought him up short.

"I'll get it!" he called, and headed back to open the door. Outside was another brown-robed monk. Strangely enough, he appeared identical to the last in every way.

"Greetings, O noble hero. Would you care to aid the poor and downtrodden with a small donation of worldly goods?"

Palan blinked.

"Wait a minute. Weren't you just here?"

The priest blinked back.

"I don't believe so."

"But aren't you Brother Rourke?"

"Ah, no." Understanding dawned. "I am Brother Malney. I'm the Brother's brother."

"You're not from the Order of Wretched Beggars?"

"No. Widows and Orphans." He raised his eyes penitently heavenward.

"Well, it sounds like a good cause. I guess I could spare a little more." Palan reached another bag off the pile and handed it over. The warm glow of his conscience seemed to cool a little.

"Thank you my son." Brother Malney bowed his head gratefully. "Your generous gifts shall not soon be forgotten."

Palan closed the door. After a step he stopped. He turned back and opened it once more, peering into the street outside. It was empty, save for the back of the disappearing Brother Malney. Satisfied, Palan closed the door and turned away. He was stopped by another loud rap.

"What!" He jerked open the door. The brown-robed priest outside bowed his head.

"Greetings, O mighty quester. I am..."

"Here," Palan thrust two bags of coin into his hands. "Give one to the next Brother you see." He closed the door on the startled priest and stumped back into the front room. Dvorak was waiting for him and he forced a smile onto his face.

"Well, what's the damage today, old friend? Do I still have a house?" He laughed weakly.

Dvorak did not.

"Let's cut out the pleasantries, Kettil. You owe us one hundred and fifty silver, by my estimate. Care for a recount?" He grinned evilly and fingered his pen like it was the hilt of a large sword.

"Why no, good Dvorak. I trust you implicitly." On impulse, Palan heaved two heavy bags of Maltos coin out of the black chest and held them out to the tax collector. "There's a hundred coins to a bag here - why don't we just call it two hundred even?"

Dvorak's eyes lit up.

"Certainly!" He quickly scribbled some notes on his clipboard, then tore off a pink sheet of parchment. "And here's your copy of the King's receipt."

"Oh, could you just mark that 'paid in full'?"

"But of course," the tax collector replied magnanimously. Dvorak scribbled again, then exchanged the parchment for the two bulging sacks. "And Kettil... thank you." He eyed the other man in a comradely fashion. "You see, taxes don't have to be painful."

"Of course. And here, have a bag of chocolate balls too." Palan set a little velvet sack on top of the load.

"Well thank you, Palan." Dvorak was practically purring. "We'll be seeing you."

Enondil, who had been lounging nearby, held the door for the pearshaped man on his way out. The night elf raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"That was awfully generous, don't you think?"

"Not especially." Palan patted the "paid in full" receipt in his breast pocket. "But I'll fill you in later." He gave a great yawn and stretched carefully. "Right now my head is throbbing, my rear is throbbing, my legs are throbbing, and there are still some things to do before I can rest. Now about that box - are you sure you checked the cart carefully?"

Then, for what seemed the hundredth time that day, the front door burst open and a figure came rushing in. It was Blaise, and he was breathing hard.

"Great, you're back..." Palan started, then stopped, noticing Blaise's empty arms. "Where's the ale?"

"Sorry Mr. Ket... Palan - I didn't make it that far! Something came up. Listen... I have news! Everyone, come on out! Gather round!" The young warrior shook Kikonendrathil awake and pounded on the door of the bedroom, then rushed back outside, yelling for Kurto. Felina stumbled sleepily into the main room as Falconrys trotted in through the back door.

"What's up, chief?"

"I don't know. Blaise..."

Diona poked her head through the kitchen door, a little wooden box in her hand.

"Palan, don't you think this would look good on our..."

"My box!" Palan rushed to her side, snatched the container and cradled it lovingly in his arms. He kissed his wife with a wet smack, and she promptly began to blush.

"Great piles of slag, boy, put me down! I have legs, ye know! They're short, but I do have 'em!" Kurto's gruff voice floated in from the hallway. There was a thump and Blaise reappeared, beckoning the dwarf eagerly after him. Kurto stumped into the room, a blacksmith's hammer in one hand. "Confound it, what's all the ruckus about? What's the big news boy?" Everyone fell silent, waiting for the answer. After the recent flurry of activity, the quiet seemed alien and unreal.

Blaise took a deep breath, his eyes flashing. "I just came back from the Pig and Whistle. I went to set up the banquet for tonight, just like you asked me, Mr. Kettil..."

"Oh, honey..." Diona sank her head on her husband's shoulder. "A banquet..."

"...but before I could do that I heard some guys getting all excited by the bar. Two of them just came in from the Wetlands with big news... the Dragonmaw are on the move! Scores of 'em, they said... with catapults and warlocks to boot! Been burning up fields and houses for miles around. They're looking for someone to stop them, or they'll sack the whole region... maybe even Menethil Harbor!"

"Oh great..." Palan put a hand on his throbbing backside. "Dragonmaw..."

Everyone was quiet for a moment, as the news sank in.

"Well?" At last it was Enondil who spoke, softly. "What do we do?"

Palan found that all eyes were on him. He looked at the box in his hand. He looked at his comfortable chair. His throbbing backside gave a sudden twinge and he winced, gently massaging the wound. His broad shoulders slumped...

...then straightened. As he turned to face the others, the look of bravado and determination that he had so eagerly discarded such a short time ago was back. Palan put a hand on the handle of his warhammer, his pain forgotten.

"You all know the drill. Packed and saddled in ten minutes. Enondil, you're on horses, Felina whip up some extra bandages and check your elixirs, Falconrys and Blaise, help Diona with the provisions - make sure we've got enough supplies for at least three days... plenty of sweet nectar and spice bread, we won't have time to stop. Now let's move! And Turic..." he tossed the swampwood box to the little evaluator as the room filled once more with noise and motion. "Hold onto this, will you? We'll be back..."

THE END