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Tasslehoff, dressed in clean, blue leggings and his
usual vest and tunic, stood attendant for his uncle. In the
pocket of his vest were two wide bands of shiny, polished
silver. Under such short notice, Damaris was attended
by a blushing Woodrow, who was wearing a new muslin
shirt with properly long sleeves.
Smiling proudly, Mayor Metwinger straightened his
purple mayoral robes and gulped in a big breath, prepar-
ing to ad-lib the traditionally long but unwritten kender
marriage ceremony.
"Daddy," Damaris said, holding tightly to Trap-
springer's hand, "could you give us the condensed ver-
sion? We'd like to get on to the party at the Autumn
Faire."
"That starts today, does it?" said the mayor, actually
relieved. He was still having a bit of trouble, after his
bump on the noggin, remembering anything longer than
three or four sentences.
"So, will you marry her, and you marry him?"
"Yes!" they both cried at once.
"Done!" the mayor announced joyously. "Now let the
celebration begin!"
Tasslehoff lay in the warm autumn sun, his back
propped up against a tree on the grounds of the Palace.
Moving the Autumn Faire to the relatively unscathed
setting on the northeast side of the city was the popula-
tion's only concession to the devastation visited upon
Kendermore. But the unspoken kender motto, "There's
always more where that came from," certainly applied to
homes. Members of the city's Department of Housing
had been out early with reams of parchment, planning
Kendermore's "new look
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