“I’m certain,” murmured Gunthar, absolutely mystified. Then he shook his head, regaining his sternness. “Now, explain yourselves. Who are you? Why are you here? Wills said something about a dragon orb—”
“I’m—” The mage stopped, blinking.
“Fizban,” said the kender with a sigh. Standing, he extended his small hand politely to Gunthar. “And I am Tasslehoff Burrfoot.” He started to sit down. “Oh,” he said, popping up again. “A Merry Yuletide to you, too, sir knight.”
“Yes, yes,” Gunthar shook hands, nodding absently. “Now about the dragon orb?”
“Ah, yes, the dragon orb!” The befuddled look left Fizban’s face. He stared at Gunthar with shrewd, cunning eyes. “Where is it? We’ve come a long way in search of it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” Gunthar said coolly. “If, indeed, such a thing were ever here—”
“Oh, it was here,” Fizban replied. “Brought to you by a Knight of the Rose, one Derek Crownguard. And Sturm Brightblade was with him.”
“They’re friends of mine,” explained Tasslehoff, seeing Gunthar’s jaw go slack. “I helped get the orb, in fact,” the kender added modestly. “We took it away from an evil wizard in a palace made of ice. It’s the most wonderful story—” He sat forward eagerly. “Do you want to hear it?”
“No,” said Gunthar, staring at them both in amazement. “And if I believed this swimming bird tale—wait—” He sank back in his chair. “Sturm did say something about a kender. Who were the others in your party?”
“Flint the dwarf, Theros the blacksmith, Gilthanas and Laurana—”
“It must be!” Gunthar exclaimed, then he frowned. “But he never mentioned a magic-user.…”
“Oh, that’s because I’m dead,” Fizban stated, propping his feet upon the table.
Gunthar’s eyes opened wide, but before he could reply, Wills came in. Glaring at Tasslehoff, the retainer set mugs down on the table in front of his lordship.
“Three mugs, here, my lord. And one on the mantle makes four. And there better be four when I come back!”
He walked out, shutting the door with a thud.
“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Tas promised solemnly. “Do you have a problem with people stealing mugs?” he asked Gunthar.
“I—no.… Dead?” Gunthar felt he was rapidly losing his grip on the situation.
“It’s a long story,” said Fizban, downing the liquid in one swallow. He wiped the foam from his lips with the tip of his beard. “Ah, excellent. Now, where was I?”
“Dead,” said Tas helpfully.
“Ah, yes. A long story. Too long for now. Must get the orb. Where is it?”
Gunthar stood up angrily, intending to order this strange old man and this kender from his chamber and his castle. He was going to call his guards to extract them. But, instead, he found himself caught by the old man’s intense gaze.
The Knights of Solamnia have always feared magic. Though they had not taken part in the destruction of the Towers of High Sorcery—that would have been against the Measure—they had not been sorry to see magic-users driven from Palanthas.
“Why do you want to know?” Gunthar faltered, feeling a cold fear seep into his blood as he felt the old man’s strange power engulf him. Slowly, reluctantly, Gunthar sat back down.
Fizban’s eyes glittered. “I keep my own counsel,” he said softly. “Let it be enough for you to know that I have come seeking the orb. It was made by magic-users, long ago! I know of it. I know a great deal about it.”
Gunthar hesitated, wrestling with himself. After all, there were knights guarding the orb, and if this old man really did know something about it, what harm could there be in telling him where it was? Besides, he really didn’t feel like he had any choice in the matter.
Fizban absently picked up his empty mug again and started to drink. He peered inside it mournfully as Gunthar answered.
“The dragon orb is with the gnomes.”
Fizban dropped his mug with a crash. It broke into a hundred pieces that went skittering across the wooden floor.
“There, what’d I tell you?” Tas said sadly, eyeing the shattered mug.
The gnomes had lived in Mount Nevermind for as long as they could remember—and since they were the only ones who cared, they were the only ones who counted. Certainly they were there when the first knights arrived in Sancrist, traveling from the newly created kingdom of Solamnia to build their keeps and fortress along the westernmost part of their border.
Always suspicious of outsiders, the gnomes were alarmed to see a ship arriving upon their shores, bearing hordes of tall, stern-faced, warlike humans. Determined to keep what they considered a mountain paradise secret from the humans, the gnomes launched into action. Being the most technologically minded of the races on Krynn (they are noted for having invented the steam-powered engine and the coiled spring), the gnomes first thought of hiding within their mountain caverns, but then had a better idea. Hide the mountain itself!
After several months of unending toil by their greatest mechanical geniuses, the gnomes were prepared. Their plan? They were going to make their mountain disappear!
It was at this juncture that one of the members of the gnomish Philosopher’s Guild asked if it wasn’t likely that the knights would have already noticed the mountain, the tallest on the island. Might not the sudden disappearance of the mountain create a certain amount of curiosity in the humans?
This question threw the gnomes into turmoil. Days were spent in discussion. The question soon divided the Philosopher gnomes into two factions: those who believed that if a tree fell in a forest and no one heard it, it still made a crashing sound; and those who believed it didn’t. Just what this had to do with the original question was brought up on the seventh day, but was promptly referred to committee.
Meanwhile, the Mechanical Engineers, in a huff, decided to set off the device anyhow.
And thus occurred the day that is still remembered in the annals of Sancrist (when almost everything else was lost during the Cataclysm) as the Day of Rotten Eggs.
On that day an ancestor of Lord Gunthar woke up wondering sleepily if his son had fallen through the roof of the hen house again. This had happened only a few weeks before. The boy had been chasing a rooster.
“You take him down to the pond,” Gunthar’s ancestor told his wife sleepily, rolling over in bed and drawing the covers up over his head.
“I can’t!” she said drowsily. “The chimney’s smoking!”
It was then that both fully woke up, realizing that the smoke filling the house was not coming from the chimney and that the ungodly odor was not coming from the hen house.
Along with every other resident of the new colony, the two rushed outside, choking and gagging with the smell that grew worse by the minute. They could see nothing, however. The land was covered with a thick yellow smoke, redolent of eggs that had been sitting in the sun for three days.
Within hours, everyone in the colony was deathly sick from the smell. Packing up blankets and clothes, they headed for the beaches. Breathing the fresh salt breezes thankfully, they wondered if they could ever go back to their homes.
While discussing this and watching anxiously to see if the yellow cloud on the horizon might lift, the colonists were considerably startled to see what appeared to be an army of short, brown creatures stagger out of the smoke to fall almost lifeless at their feet.
The kindly people of Solamnia immediately went to the aid of the poor gnomes, and thus did the two races of people living on Sancrist meet.
The meeting of the gnomes and the knights turned out to be a friendly one. The Solamnic people had a high regard for four things: individual honor, the Code, the Measure, and technology. They were vastly impressed with the labor-saving devices the gnomes had invented at this time, which included the pulley, the shaft, the screw, and the gear.
It was during this first meeting that Mount Nevermind got its name as well.
The
knights soon discovered that, while gnomes appeared to be related to the dwarves—being short and stocky—all similarity ended there. The gnomes were a skinny people with brown skin and pale white hair, highly nervous and hot-tempered. They spoke so rapidly that the knights at first thought they were speaking a foreign language. Instead, it turned out to be Common spoken at an accelerated pace. The reason for this became obvious when an elder made the mistake of asking the gnomes the name of their mountain.
Roughly translated, it went something like this: A Great, Huge, Tall Mound Made of Several Different Strata of Rock of Which We Have Identified Granite, Obsidian, Quartz With Traces of Other Rock We Are Still Working On, That Has Its Own Internal Heating System Which We Are Studying In Order to Copy Someday That Heats the Rock Up to Temperatures That Convert It Into Both Liquid and Gaseous States Which Occasionally Come to the Surface and Flow Down the Side of the Great, Huge, Tall Mound—
“Nevermind,” the elder said hastily.
Nevermind! The gnomes were impressed. To think that these humans could reduce something so gigantic and marvelous into something so simple was wonderful beyond belief. And so, the mountain was called Mount Nevermind from that day forth, to the vast relief of the gnomish Map-Makers Guild.
The knights on Sancrist and the gnomes lived in harmony after that, the knights bringing the gnomes any questions of a technological nature that needed solving, the gnomes providing a steady flood of new inventions.
When the dragon orb arrived, the knights needed to know how the thing worked. They gave it into the keeping of the gnomes, sending along two young knights to guard it. The thought that the orb might be magic did not occur to them.
5
Gnomeflingers.
Now, remember. No gnome living or dead ever in his life completed a sentence. The only way you get anywhere is to interrupt them. Don’t worry about being rude. They expect it.”
The old mage himself was interrupted by the appearance of a gnome dressed in long brown robes, who came up to them and bowed respectfully.
Tasslehoff studied the gnome with excited curiosity, the kender had never seen a gnome before, although old legends concerning the Graygem of Gargath indicated that the two races were distantly connected. Certainly there was something kenderish in the young gnome, his slender hands, eager expression, and sharp, bright eyes intent on observing everything. But here the resemblance ended. There was nothing of the kender’s easy-going manner. The gnome was nervous, serious, and businesslike.
“Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” said the kender politely, extending his hand. The gnome took Tas’s hand, peered at it intently, then, finding nothing of interest—shook it limply. “And this—” Tas started to introduce Fizban, but stopped when the gnome reached out and calmly took hold of the kender’s hoopak.
“Ah …” the gnome said, his eyes shining as he grasped the weapon. “Send for a member of the Weapons Guild—”
The guard at the ground-level entrance to the great mountain did not wait for the gnome to finish. Reaching up, he pulled a lever and a shriek sounded. Certain that a dragon had landed behind him, Tas whirled around, ready to defend himself.
“Whistle,” said Fizban. “Better get used to it.”
“Whistle?” repeated Tas, intrigued. “I never heard one like that before. Smoke comes out of it! How does it wor—Hey! Come back! Bring back my hoopak!” he cried as his staff went speeding down the corridor, carried by three eager gnomes.
“Examination room,” said the gnome, “upon Skimbosh—”
“What?”
“Examination Room,” Fizban translated. “I missed the rest. You really must speak slower,” he said, shaking his staff at the gnome.
The gnome nodded, but his bright eyes were fixed on Fizban’s staff. Then, seeing it was just plain, slightly battered wood, the gnome returned his attention to the mage and kender.
“Outsiders,” he said. “I’ll try and’ member … I will try and remember, so do not worry because”—he now spoke slowly and distinctly—“your weapon will not be harmed since we are merely going to render a drawing—”
“Really,” interrupted Tas, rather flattered. “I could give you a demonstration of how it works, if you like.”
The gnome’s eyes brightened. “That would be much—”
“And now,” interrupted the kender again, feeling pleased that he was learning to communicate, “what is your name?”
Fizban made a quick gesture, but too late.
“Gnoshoshallamarionininillisyylphanitdisdisslishxdie—”
He paused to draw a breath.
“Is that your name?” Tas asked, astounded.
The gnome let his breath out. “Yes,” he snapped, a bit disconcerted. “It’s my first name, and now if you’ll let me proceed—”
“Wait!” cried Fizban. “What do your friends call you?”
The gnome sucked in a breath again. “Gnoshoshallamarioninillis—”
“What do the knights call you?”
“Oh”—the gnome seemed downcast—“Gnosh, if you—”
“Thank you,” snapped Fizban. “Now, Gnosh, we’re in rather a hurry. War going on and all that. As Lord Gunthar stated in his communique, we must see this dragon orb.”
Gnosh’s small, dark eyes glittered. His hands twisted nervously. “Of course, you may see the dragon orb since Lord Gunthar has requested it, but, if I might ask, what is your interest in the orb besides normalcuri—?”
“I am a magic-user—” Fizban began.
“Magicuser!” the gnome stated, forgetting, in his excitement, to speak slowly. “Come this way immediately to the Examination room since the dragon orb was made by magic user—”
Both Tas and Fizban blinked uncomprehendingly.
“Oh, just come—” the gnome said impatiently.
Before they quite knew what was happening, the gnome, still talking, hustled them through the mountain’s entrance, setting off an inordinate number of bells and whistles.
“Examination Room?” Tas said in an undertone to Fizban as they hurried after Gnosh. “What does that mean? They wouldn’t have hurt it, would they?”
“I don’t think so,” Fizban muttered, his bushy white eyebrows coming together in an ominous V-shape over his nose. “Gunthar sent knights to guard it, remember.”
“Then what are you worried about?” Tas asked.
“The dragon orbs are strange things. Very powerful. My fear,” said Fizban more to himself than to Tas, “is that they may try to use it!”
“But the book I read in Tarsis said the orb could control dragons!” Tas whispered. “Isn’t that good? I mean, the orbs aren’t evil, are they?”
“Evil? Oh, no! Not evil.” Fizban shook his head. “That’s the danger. They’re not good, not evil. They’re not anything! Or perhaps I should say, they’re everything.”
Tas saw he would probably never get a straight answer out of Fizban, whose mind was far away. In need of diversion, the kender turned his attention to their host.
“What does your name mean?” Tas asked.
Gnosh smiled happily. “In The Beginning, The Gods Created the Gnomes, and One of the First They Created Was Named Gnosh I and these are the Notable Events Which Occurred in His Life: He Married Marioninillis …”
Tas had a sinking feeling. “Wait—” he interrupted. “How long is your name?”
“It fills a book this big in the library,” Gnosh said proudly, holding his hands out, “because we are a very old family as you will see when I contin—”
“That’s all right,” Tas said quickly. Not watching where he was going, he stumbled over a rope. Gnosh helped him to his feet. Looking up, Tas saw the rope led up into a nest of ropes connected to each other, snaking out in all directions. He wondered where they led. “Perhaps another time.”
“But there are some very good parts,” Gnosh said as they walked toward a huge steel door, “and I could skip to those, if you like, such as the part where great-great-great-grandmother Gnosh inven
ted boiling water—”
“I’d love to hear it.” Tas gulped. “But, no time—”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Gnosh said, “and anyway, here we are at the entrance to the main chamber, so if you’ll excuse me—”
Still talking, he reached up and pulled a cord. A whistle blew. Two bells and a gong rang out. Then, with a tremendous blast of steam that nearly parboiled all of them, two huge steel doors located in the interior of the mountain began to slide open. Almost immediately, the doors stuck, and within minutes the place was swarming with gnomes, yelling and pointing and arguing about whose fault it was.
Tasslehoff Burrfoot had been making plans in the back of his mind as to what he would do after this adventure had ended and all the dragons were slain (the kender tried to maintain a positive outlook). The first thing he had planned to do was to go and spend a few months with his friend, Sestun, the gully dwarf in Pax Tharkas. The gully dwarves led interesting lives, and Tas knew he could settle there quite happily, as long as he didn’t have to eat their cooking.
But the moment Tas entered Mount Nevermind, he decided the first thing he would do was come back and live with the gnomes. The kender had never seen anything quite so wonderful in his entire life. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Gnosh glanced at him. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Not quite the word I’d use,” Fizban muttered. They stood in the central portion of the gnome city. Built within an old shaft of a volcano, it was hundreds of yards across and miles high. The city was constructed in levels around the shaft. Tas stared up … and up … and up.…
“How many levels are there?” the kender asked, nearly falling over backward trying to see.
“Thirty-five and—”
“Thirty-five!” Tas repeated in awe. “I’d hate to live on that thirty-fifth level. How many stairs do you have to climb?”
Gnosh sniffed. “Primitive devices we improved upon long ago and now”—he gestured—“view someofthemarvelsoftechnologywehaveinoperat—”
“I can see,” said Tas, lowering his eyes to ground level. “You must be preparing for a great battle. I never saw so many catapults in my life …”
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