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embarrassment. ”I can't seem to stop teleporting now."
    For a moment Tasslehoff thought the Magus didn't believe him. “You put it on and appeared
     here. A ring that teleports the wearer.” The Magus appeared to consider this possibility.
    Tasslehoff shrugged. “Well, it's got its positive and negative aspec-”
    “Take it off,” said the Magus.
    “Take it off?” Tasslehoff questioned weakly, his grin fading. “Uh, well, I'll try if your
     big friends will let go of me.”
    The Magus gestured, and the undead automatons released their grip on the kender's arms,
     dropping him to the floor. Getting up, the prisoner rubbed his muscles, sighed, then
     grasped the ring tightly. He pulled and tugged until his face turned red,
    but his actions had no effect. “Let me try,” said the Magus. Instinctively, Tasslehoff hid
     his ringed hand. Though he
    didn't fear the Magus, he was not eager to have the Magus approach him, either.
    The Magus spoke a few words, and the air was suddenly charged with power. A nimbus of
     light appeared around the Magus's right hand, which he held out in Tasslehoff's direction.
    “Show the ring,” said the Magus.
    Tasslehoff reluctantly held up his hand, hoping the spell would not blast his arm off.
     With gentle confidence, the Magus reached out and touched the ring.
    A blinding flash of green light filled the room, followed by a loud thump. Tasslehoff
     jerked his hand away in surprise, but he was uninjured. When his vision cleared,
     Tasslehoff watched as the Magus slowly crawled into an upright position on the other side
     of the room. The flash had tossed the Magus away like an old stick.
    “Wow!” said the kender, his eyes widening. “The ring did that? I had no idea . . .”
    A long hiss escaped the Magus's lips. Tasslehoff stopped speaking immediately. For perhaps
     a minute the Magus said nothing, then he dusted off his robes and looked at the automatons.
    “Take him,” the Magus whispered. His voice reminded
    Tasslehoff of the closing of a mausoleum door.
    “Well,” Tasslehoff said to himself, his voice echoing from the walls of his cell, “I guess
     I've been in worse predicaments.”
    Unfortunately, he couldn't think of any worse than the one he was in now. He almost
     believed that the gods of Krynn were angry with him and that they were toying with his
     final punishment even now.
    He racked his brain for some sin he may have com- mitted, other than cursing or borrowing
     things without putting them back where he found them. Other people called it theft, but
     that term made him wince. It was handling, borrowing, not stealing. There was a
     difference, though the distinction was rather hazy to Tasslehoff and he'd never quite
     worked it out.
    He rolled over and sat up. The automatons had cast him in the cell after leaving the
     Magus's chamber, and he had only a low-burning candle for light. Tangled spiderwebs hung
     from the ceiling. Listlessly, Tasslehoff tapped his hand against the floor, and the ring
     clicked out a lonely rhythm.
    I SHOULD'VE LISTENED TO MOTHER AND GOTTEN INTO THE SCRIBE BUSINESS, he mused, BUT MAPPING
     AND TRAVELING WERE ALWAYS MORE INTERESTING THAN KEEPING ACCOUNT LEDGERS. As a child, he
     had filled his room with dozens of maps and had memorized the names on each of them. This
     made it easy to invent unlikely tales about his travels, which always amused and
     entertained his friends.
    Tasslehoff had often tried to make his own maps, but he had no head for the exacting
     patience it took to draw one accurately. Instead, he thought of himself as an explorer who
     didn't have to make accurate maps, relying on those who came after him to clear up such
     details as the direction in which north lay. Being there first, not drawing it up
     afterward, was what counted.
    For years now, he'd walked the world and remembered many sights, great and small. On a
     high gray mountain, he had watched a golden chimera fight a