The Second Generation

by Margaret Weis

  The sail rumbled overhead, and Palin paused thankfully.

  “Getonwiththegoodpart!” shouted the gnomes, who always speak extremely fast and jamtheirwordstogether. Deciding that this was excellent advice (once he understood it), Palin continued.

  “Soon after this, Reorx was tricked by one of the evil gods into taking the vast power of chaos and forging it into a gem. It is generally believed that the god behind this was Hiddukel, god of corrupt wealth—”

  “No, lad.” Dougan sighed. “It was Morgion.”

  “Morgion?” repeated Palin in astonishment.

  “Aye, the god of decay. But I’ll go into that later.” The dwarf waved his hand. “Carry on.”

  “At any rate,” continued Palin, somewhat confused, “Reorx made the Graygem and set it into the moon, Lunitari the Red, the moon sacred to the gods of neutrality.”

  The gnomes were all grinning; their favorite part was coming up.

  “During this time, the gnomes had built a great invention, designed to take them off the world and out into the stars. This invention lacked only one thing to make it operational and that was a force to propel it. Looking into the sky at night, the gnomes saw the Graygem shining from the heart of Lunitari and knew, instantly, that if they could capture the power of chaos that resided in the Graygem, it would drive their invention.”

  Much nodding of heads and wise looks among the gnomes. Sturm yawned. Tanin stood up and leaned over the railing, where he was quietly sick.

  “One extremely gifted gnome built an extension ladder that actually worked. It carried him up to the moon and there, with a net he had brought along for the purpose, he captured the Graygem before the gods were aware of him. He brought the gem down to the world below, but there, it escaped him and sailed off to the west, passing over the lands and trailing chaos behind. Chaos entered the world in the form of magic. Beasts and creatures were transformed by the gem in its passing, becoming wondrous or hideous as the gem chose.

  “A band of gnomes followed the Graygem across the sea, hoping still to catch it and claim it for their own. But it was a human, a man named Gargath, who trapped the stone and held it in his castle by certain newly acquired magical means. Reaching the castle, the gnomes could see the light of the Graygem illuminating the countryside. They demanded that Gargath give the stone up. He refused. The gnomes threatened war”— shouts and cheers among the gnomes here—“Gargath welcomed the battle. He built a high wall all around the castle to protect it and the gem. There was no way the gnomes could get over the wall, so they left, vowing, however, to return.”

  “Hear! Hear!” cried the gnomes.

  “A month later, a gnome army arrived at Castle Gargath with a huge, steam-powered siege engine. It reached the wall of the castle, but broke down just short of its goal. The gnomes retreated with heavy losses. Two months later, the gnomes returned with an even larger steam-powered siege engine. This engine plowed into the first, caught fire, and burned. The gnomes retreated with even heavier losses. Three months later, the gnomes were back with a humongous, steam-powered siege engine. It lumbered over the ashes of the first two siege engines and was thundering toward the wall when the drive mechanism broke down. The engine, with a mighty groan, toppled over on its side, smashing down the wall. Although not quite what they’d had in mind, the gnomes were delighted.”

  More cheering.

  “But, as they rushed through the breach in the wall, a steel gray light beamed forth from the stone, blinding everyone. When Lord Gargath could see again, he saw—to his astonishment—that the gnomes were fighting among themselves!”

  Frowns here and cries of “Liar! We were misquoted!”

  “One faction of gnomes was demanding that they be given the Graygem to carve up and turn into wealth. The other faction demanded that they be given the Graygem to take apart and see how it worked.

  “As the two sides fought, their aspect changed.… Thus were born the races of the dwarves, who carve rock and think constantly of wealth; and kender, driven by their insatiable curiosity to roam the world. The Graygem escaped during the confusion and was last seen heading westward, a party of gnomes and Lord Gargath in pursuit. And that,” finished Palin, somewhat out of breath, “is the story of the Graygem—unless you ask a dwarf, that is.”

  “Why? What do the dwarves say?” demanded Tanin, looking at Dougan with a somewhat sickly grin.

  Dougan fetched up a sigh that might have come from the tips of his black shoes. “The dwarves have always maintained that they are the chosen of Reorx, that he forged their race out of love, and that gnomes and kender came about from trial and error until he got it right.” Boos. The gnomes appeared highly indignant, but were instantly subdued by Dougan, whirling around and fixing them with a piercing stare. “According to the dwarves, Reorx created the Graygem to give them as a gift and it was stolen by the gnomes.” More boos, but these hushed immediately.

  “Well, it seems to me,” said Sturm, with another yawn, “that the only one who knows the true story is Reorx.”

  “Not quite, lad,” said Dougan, looking uncomfortable. “For, you see, I know the true story. And that is why I’m on this quest.”

  “Which is right, then?” asked Tanin, with a wink at Palin.

  “Neither,” said Dougan, appearing even more uncomfortable. His head drooped down, his chin buried itself in his beard, while his hands fumbled at the golden buttons on his sopping-wet velvet coat. “You … uh … you see,” he mumbled, making it extremely difficult for anyone to hear him over the splashing of the sea and the flapping of fish on the deck, “Reorx … uh … losttheGraygeminagameofbones.”

  “What?” asked Palin, leaning forward.

  “Helostit,” muttered the dwarf.

  “I still didn’t hear—”

  “HE LOST THE DAMN GEM IN A GAME OF BONES!” Dougan roared angrily, lifting his face and glaring around him. Terrified, the gnomes immediately scattered in all directions, more than a few getting conked on the head by the sail as it whizzed past. “Morgion, god of decay and disease, tricked Reorx into making the gem, knowing that if chaos were loosed in the world, his evil power would grow. He challenged Reorx to a game, with the Graygem as the stakes and …” The dwarf fell silent, scowling down at his shoes.

  “He gambled it in away in a bones game?” Sturm finished in amazement.

  “Aye, lad,” said Dougan, sighing heavily. “You see, Reorx has one little flaw. Just a tiny flaw, mind you, otherwise he is as fine and honorable a gentleman as one could hope to meet. But”—the dwarf heaved another sigh—“he does love his bottle, and he does love a good wager.”

  “Oh, so you know Reorx, do you?” Sturm said with a yawn that cracked his jaws.

  “I’m proud to say so,” said Dougan seriously, stroking his beard and curling his moustache. “And, with his help, I’ve managed after all these years to locate the Graygem. With the assistance of these lads here”—he smote a passing gnome on the shoulder, completely bowling the little fellow over—“and with the help of you three fine young men, we’ll recover it and … and …” Dougan stopped, seeming confused.

  “And?”

  “And return it to Reorx, naturally,” the dwarf said, shrugging.

  “Naturally,” Tanin responded. Glancing over at Sturm, who had fallen asleep on the deck, the big man caught a gnome in the act of making off with his brother’s helm. “Hey!” cried Tanin angrily, collaring the thief.

  “Ijustwantedtolookatit!” whined the gnome, cringing. “Iwasgoingtogiveitbackhonest. You see,” he said, talking more slowly as Tanin released his grip, “we have developed a revolutionary new design in helms. There are just a few problems with it, such as getting it off one’s head, and I—”

  “Thank you, we’re not interested,” Tanin growled, yanking the helm away from the gnome, who was admiring it lovingly. “C’mon, Little Brother,” he said, turning to Palin. “Help me get Sturm to bed.”

  “Where is bed?” Palin asked tiredly. “And, no, I’
m not going back into that foul-smelling hold again.”

  “Me either,” Tanin said. He looked around the deck and pointed. “That lean-to-looking thing over there seems to be about the best place. At least it’ll be dry.”

  He indicated several wooden planks that had been skillfully and ingeniously fit together to form a small shelter. Leaning against the hull, the planks were beneath the sail as it rumbled past, and protected those lying within from water and falling fish.

  “It is,” said Dougan smugly. “That’s my bed.”

  “It was your bed,” returned Tanin. Leaning down, he shook Sturm. “Wake up! We’re not going to carry you! And hurry up, before that god-cursed sail decapitates us.”

  “What?” Sturm sat up, blinking drowsily.

  “You can’t do this!” roared the dwarf.

  “Look, Dougan Redhammer!” Tanin said, bending down and staring the dwarf grimly in the eye. “I’m hung over, seasick, and I haven’t had anything to eat all day. I’ve been doused with water, hit by fish, run over by a sail, and bored to death by kids’ bedtime stories! I don’t believe you, I don’t believe your stupid quest.” Tanin paused, seething, and raised a finger, shaking it at the dwarf’s nose. “I’m going to sleep where I want to sleep, and tomorrow, when I’m feeling better, I swear by the gods I’m going to make these little bastards turn this ship around and take us back home!”

  “And if I stop you?” Dougan threatened with a leer, not at all disconcerted by Tanin’s rage.

  “Then there’ll be a new figurehead on whichever end of this stupid boat is the front!” Tanin hissed through clenched teeth. “And if 11 have a long, black beard!” Angrily, the big man stalked over to the lean- to and ducked inside. Sleepily, Sturm followed.

  “If I were you, dwarf,” Palin added, hurrying after them, “I’d keep out of his way! He’s quite capable of doing what he says.”

  “Is he, lad? I’ll keep that in mind,” the dwarf replied, tugging thoughtfully at his beard.

  The shelter was crammed with the dwarf’s possessions—most of which appeared to be gaudy clothes. These Palin shoved unceremoniously out onto the deck with his foot. Tanin stretched out on the deck, Sturm collapsed next to him, and both were asleep almost as quickly as if their younger brother had cast a spell over them. Palin lay down in the small remaining space, hoping sleep would come to him as swiftly.

  But he was not the campaigner his brothers were. Sturm could sleep in full armor on the sands of a desert while Tanin had been known to snore blissfully as lightning cut down a tree standing next to him. Soaked to the skin, shivering with cold, Palin lay on the deck and gave himself up to misery. He was hungry, but every time he thought of food, his stomach lurched. His muscles ached from the sickness; the bitter taste of salt water filled his mouth. He thought with longing of his bed at home; of clean, sweet-smelling sheets; of hours of peaceful study, sitting beneath the sheltering limbs of the vallenwood, his spellbook in his lap.

  Closing his eyes, Palin tried to keep back the tears of homesickness, but it engulfed him like a wave. Reaching out his hand, he touched the Staff of Magius. And suddenly the memory of his uncle came to him. From where? Palin had no idea. Raistlin had died long before Palin was born. Perhaps it was from the staff … or maybe he was recalling some tale of his father’s, and it had become real to him now in his weakened state. Whatever the reason, Palin saw Raistlin clearly, lying on the ground in a dismal, rainswept forest Huddled in his red robes, the mage was coughing, coughing until it seemed he could never draw breath again. Palin saw blood upon the ashen lips, saw the frail body wracked by pain. But he heard him speak no word of complaint. Softly, Palin approached his uncle. The coughing ceased; the spasm eased. Lifting his head, Raistlin looked directly into Palin’s eyes.…

  Bowing his head in shame, Palin drew the staff nearer to him, resting his cheek upon its cool, smooth wood and, relaxing, fell into sleep. But he thought he heard, in the final moment before he slipped over the edge of unconsciousness, the voice of the dwarf, and he thought he saw a head peering into the lean-to.

  “I’ve a deck of cards here, lads.… What do you say? High card sleeps here tonight? …”

  Chapter Four

  The Isle of Bargath

  Tanin was quite capable of carrying out his threat to take over the ship, though just how he was going to force the gnomes to sail it was another matter entirely. During the night, the gnomes, just as firmly determined to continue the voyage, began to organize a supply of weapons. Since most of these weapons were of gnomish design, there was every possibility that they would do as much or more damage to the wielder as to the intended victim, and thus the outcome of the battle—two warriors and a mage against numerous gnomes and a dwarf—was open to question.

  The question was, fortunately, never answered. The next morning the brothers were awakened by a tremendous crash, the heart-stopping sound of splintering wood, and the somewhat belated cry of “Land ho!”

  Staggering to their feet, they made their way out of the lean- to and across the deck, not an easy task since it was listing steeply to port.

  “What is it? What’s happened? Where are we?” demanded Tanin, rubbing his eyes.

  “We’ve arrived!” announced Dougan, smoothing his beard in satisfaction. “Look!” He made a grand, sweeping gesture toward what was—at this time—the prow. “The Isle of Gargath.”

  The brothers looked. At first all they could see was a confused mass of split sail, dangled ropes, broken beams, and gnomes waving their hands, arguing furiously, and shoving each other about. The motion of the ship through the water had ceased, due, no doubt, to the presence of a cliff, which had bashed in the figurehead, part of the hull, and snapped the sail in two.

  His face grim, Tanin made his way through the wreckage, followed by Sturm and Palin, several bickering gnomes, and the dwarf. Reaching the prow, he clung to the side and stared out past the cliff face toward the island. The sun was rising behind them, shedding its bright light upon a stretch of sandy beach that curved out of sight to the north, vanishing in a patch of gray fog. Strange-looking trees with thin, smooth trunks that erupted in a flourish of frondlike leaves at the top surrounded the beach. Beyond the wide, sandy strip, towering above the trees and the cliff face upon which the boat now rested, was a gigantic mountain. A cloud of gray smoke hung over it, casting a pall upon the beach, the water, and the ship.

  “The Isle of Gargath,” Dougan repeated triumphantly.

  “Gargath?” Palin gaped. “You mean—”

  “Aye, laddie. The lord himself followed the Graygem, if you remember, when it escaped. He built a ship and sailed after it as it vanished over the western horizon, and that was the last anyone on Ansalon ever heard of him. His family figured he had dropped off the edge of the world. But, a few years back, I happened to be drinking with a group of minotaurs. One thing led to another, there was a game, as I recall, and I won this map off them.” Reaching into the pocket of his red velvet coat (now much the worse for wear and salt water), Dougan pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to Tanin.

  “It’s a minotaur map, all right,” Tanin said, setting it down on the listing rail and smoothing it out, trying to keep his balance at the same time. Sturm lurched over to see, and Palin crowded next to him, bracing himself on the Staff of Magius. Though it was written in the uncouth language of the man-beasts, the map was drawn with the precision and skill for which minotaurs are grudgingly renowned by the civilized races of Krynn. There was no mistaking the continent of Ansalon or, much farther to the west, a tiny island with the word “Gargath” written out to the side.

  “What does that mean,” Sturm asked, pointing to an ominous-looking symbol next to the island, “that thing that looks like a bull’s head with a sword stuck through it?”

  “That?” repeated Dougan, shrugging nonchalantly. Snatching the map from Tanin, he rolled it up hastily. “Some minotaur doodle, no doubt—”

  “The minotaur ‘doodle’ for danger,” Pal
in said grimly. “Isn’t that right?”

  Dougan flushed, thrusting the map back into his pocket. “Well, now, laddie, I believe you may be on to something there, although I personally don’t put much stock in what those savage creatures might take it into their heads to draw—”

  “Those ‘savage creatures’ have marked this island with their strongest warning!” Palin interrupted. “No minotaur ship will land anywhere bearing that mark,” he added, turning to his brothers.

  “And there are few things in this world or the next that minotaurs fear,” Tanin said, staring at the island, his face dark.

  “What more proof do you need?” asked Dougan in a soft voice, following Tanin’s gaze; the dwarf’s dark, bright eyes were filled with hunger. “The Graygem is here! It is its power the minotaurs feel and fear!”

  “What do you think, Palin?” Tanin turned to his youngest brother. “You’re the magic-user. Surely you can sense it”

  Once again, Palin felt the thrill of pleasure, seeing his older brothers, the two people he looked up to in this world most with the exception of his father—or maybe even more than his father—looking at him respectfully, awaiting his judgment. Gripping the Staff of Magius, Palin closed his eyes and tried to concentrate and, as he did so, a chill feeling clutched his heart with fingers of ice, spreading its cold fear through his body. He shuddered and opened his eyes to find Tanin and Sturm regarding him anxiously.

  “Palin—your face! You’re as pale as death. What is it?”

  “I don’t know.…” Palin faltered, his mouth dry. “I felt something, but what I’m not sure. It wasn’t danger so much as a lost and empty feeling, a feeling of helplessness. Everything around me was spinning out of control. There was nothing I could do to stop it—”