The Second Generation

Foreword (Or Afterword, As the case May Be)

“A fine mage you are,” muttered Tanin, standing on the dock, watching the ship sail away. “You should have known all along there was something strange about that dwarf!”

“Me?” Palin retorted. "You were the one that got us mixed up in the whole thing to begin with! 'Adventures always start in such places as this. “

the young magic-user said, mimicking his older brother’s voice.

“Hey, guys,” began Sturm in mollifying tones.

“Oh, shut up!” Both brothers turned to face him. “It was you who took that stupid bet!”

The three brothers stood glaring at each other, the salt breeze blowing the red curling hair of the two eldest into their eyes and whipping the white robes of the youngest about his thin legs.

A ringing shout, sounding over the dancing waters, interrupted them.

“Farewell, lads! Farewell! It was a nice try. Perhaps we’ll do it again someday!”

“Over my dead body!” All three brothers muttered fervently, raising their hands and waving halfheartedly, sickly grins on their faces.

“That’s one thing we can all agree on,” said Sturm, beginning to chuckle.

“And I know another.” The brothers turned thankfully away from the sight of the sailing vessel lumbering through the waters.

“And that is ... ?”

“That we never tell another living soul about this, as long as we live!"

Sturm’s voice was low. The other two brothers glanced about at the spectators standing on the docks. They were looking at the ship, laughing.

Several, glancing at the brothers, pointed at them with stifled giggles.

Grinning ruefully, Tanin held his right hand out in front of him. Sturm placed his right hand on his brother’s, and Palin put his right hand over the other two.

“Agreed,” each said solemnly.

Chapter One

“Adventures always start in such places as this,” said Tanin, regarding the inn with a satisfied air.

“You can’t be serious!” Palin said, horrified. “I wouldn’t stable my horse in this filthy place, let alone stay here myself!”

“Actually,” reported Sturm, rounding the corner of the building after an inspection tour, “the stables are clean compared to the inn, and they smell a damn sight better. I say we sleep there and send the horses inside.”

The inn, located on the docks of the seaside town of Sancrist, was every bit as mean and ill-favored in appearance as those few patrons the young men saw slouching into it. The windows facing the docks were small, as though staring out to sea too long had given them a perpetual squint. Light from inside could barely filter through the dirt. The building itself was weather- and sand-blasted and crouched in the shadows at the end of the alley like a cutpurse waiting for his next victim. Even the name, The Spliced Jib, had an ominous sound.

“I expected Little Brother to complain,” Tanin remarked sourly, dismounting and glaring at Sturm over the pommel of his saddle. “He misses his white linen sheets and Mama tucking him in at night. But I expected better of you, Sturm Majere.”

“Oh, I’ve no objection,” Sturm said easily, sliding off his horse and beginning to untie his pack. “I was just making an observation. We don’t have much choice anyway,” he added, withdrawing a small leather pouch and shaking it. Where there should have been the ring of steel coins, there was only a dismal clunk. “No linen sheets tonight, Palin,” he said, grinning at his younger brother, who remained seated disconsolately upon his horse. “Think of tomorrow night, though—staying at Castle Uth Wistan, the guests of Lord Gunthar. Not only white linen but probably rose petals strewn about the bed as well.”

“I don’t expect white linen,” Palin returned, nettled. “In fact, bed sheets at all would be a pleasant change! And I’d prefer sleeping in a bed where the mattress wasn’t alive!” Irritably, he scratched himself under the white robes.

“A warrior must get used to such things,” Tanin said in his worldly-wise Elder Brother voice, which made Palin long to toss him in the horse trough.

“If you are attacked by nothing worse than bedbugs on your first quest, you may count yourself lucky.”

“Quest?” Palin muttered bitterly, sliding down off his horse.

“Accompanying you and Sturm to Castle Uth Wistan so that you can join the knighthood. This isn’t a quest! It’s been like a kender outing, and both you and Father knew it would be when you decided I could go! Why, the most danger we’ve been in since we left home was from that serving wench who tried to cut off Sturm’s ears with a butcher knife!”

“It was a mistake anyone could make,” Sturm muttered, flushing. “I keep telling you!—I intended to grab her mugs. She was what you might call a buxom girl and when she leaned over me holding the tray, I wasn’t exactly paying attention to what I was doing—”

“Oh, you were paying attention, all right!” Palin said grimly. “Even when she came at you with a knife, we had to drag you out of there! And your eyes were the size of your shield.”

“Well, at least I’m interested in such things,” Sturm said irritably. “Not like some people I could mention, who seem to think themselves too good—”

“I have high standards!” retorted Palin. “I don’t tumble for every 'buxom' blonde who jiggles in my direction—”

“Stop it, both of you!” Tanin ordered tiredly. “Sturm, take the horses around and see that they’re brushed down and fed. Palin, come with me.”

Palin and Sturm both looked rebellious, and Tanin’s tone grew stern.

“Remember what Father said.”

The brothers remembered. Sturm, still grumbling, grabbed the horses' reins in his hand and led them to the stables. Palin swallowed a barbed comment and followed his brother.

Although quick-tempered like his mother, Tanin appeared to have inherited few other qualities from his parents. Instead, he was in temperament more like the man in whose honor he had been named—his parents' dearest friend, Tanis Half-Elven. Tanin idolized his name—father and did his best to emulate his hero. Consequently, the twenty-four-year-old young man took his role as leader and eldest brother quite seriously. This was fine with one younger brother. The fun-loving Sturm was almost the epitome of his father, having inherited Caramon’s jovial, easygoing nature.

Disliking to take responsibility himself, Sturm generally obeyed Tanin without question. But Palin, just twenty-one, possessed the keen mind and intellect of his uncle, the powerful, tragic archmage Raistlin. Palin loved his brothers, but he chafed under what he considered Tanin’s overbearing leadership and was irritated beyond measure by Sturm’s less than serious outlook On life.

This was, however, Palin’s “first quest”—as Tanin never failed to remind him at least once an hour. A month had gone by since the young mage had taken the grueling Test in the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas. He was now an accepted member of the order of wizards on Krynn. But somehow that didn’t satisfy him. He felt let down and depressed. For years, his greatest goal had been passing the Test, a goal that, once attained, would open countless doors.

It hadn’t opened one. Oh, admittedly Palin was a young mage. He had little power yet, being able to cast only minor spells. Ideally, he would apprentice himself to some skilled archmage, who would take over his tutelage. But no archmage had requested his services, and Palin was shrewd enough to know why.

His uncle, Raistlin, had been the greatest wizard ever to have lived. He had taken the Black Robes of evil and challenged the Queen of Darkness herself, intending to rule the world—an attempt that ended in his death.

Though Palin wore the White Robes of good, he knew that there were those in the order who did not trust him and who, perhaps, never would. He carried his uncle’s staff—the powerful Staff of Magius, given to him under mysterious circumstances in the Tower of High Sorcery at Palanthas. Rumors were already buzzing among the conclave as to how Palin could have acquired the staff. It had, after all, been locked in a room sealed with a powerful curse. No, whatever he accomplished, Palin knew deep within himself, he would accomplish as his uncle had—studying, working, and fighting alone.

But that was in the future. For the time being, he supposed, he must be content to travel with his brothers. His father, Caramon, who, with his own twin brother, Raistlin, had been a hero in the War of the Lance, was adamant on that point. Palin had never been out in the world. He’d been sheltered by his books, immersed in his studies. If he went on this journey to Sancrist, he was to submit to Tanin’s authority, placing himself under his brothers' guidance and protection.

Palin swore a sacred oath to his father to obey his brothers, just as Tanin and Sturm swore to protect him. In point of fact, their deep love and affection for each other made the oath superfluous—as Caramon knew. But the big man was also wise enough to know that this first outing together would put a strain on brotherly love. Palin, the most intelligent of the brothers, was eager to prove himself—eager to the point of foolhardiness.

“Palin has to learn the worth of other people, to respect them for what they know, even if they’re not as quick-thinking as he is,” Caramon said to Tika, remembering with regret the twin who had never learned that lesson.

“And Sturm and Tanin have to learn to respect him, to realize that they can’t solve every problem with a whack of their swords. Above all, they’ve got to learn to depend on each other!” The big man shook his head. “May the gods go with them.”

He was never to know the irony of that prayer. It appeared, at the beginning of the journey, that none of these lessons was going to be learned easily. The two older boys had decided privately (certainly not mentioning this to their father) that this trip was going to “make a man” of their scholarly sibling.

But their views as to what constituted “manhood” didn’t accord with Palin’s. In fact, as far as he could see, “being a man” meant living with fleas, bad food, worse ale, and women of dubious character—something Palin considered pointing out when Tanin muttered, “Act like a man!” out of the corner of his mouth as he and Palin entered the inn.

But Palin kept his mouth shut. He and his brothers were entering a strange inn, located in what was reputedly a rough part of Sancrist. The young mage had learned enough to know that their very lives might depend on presenting a unified front to the world.

This the brothers, despite their differences, managed quite successfully. So successfully, in fact, that they had met with no trouble whatsoever on the long trip northward from Solace. The oldest two brothers were big and brawny, having inherited Caramon’s girth and strength. Experienced campaigners, they bore their battle scars proudly, and wore their swords with practiced ease. The youngest, Palin, was tall and well built, but had the slender body of one accustomed to studying rather than to wielding weapons.

Any who might consider him an easy mark, however, could look into the young man’s handsome, serious face, note the intense, penetrating gaze of the clear eyes, and think twice about interfering with him.

The Staff of Magius that Palin carried might have had something to do with this as well. Made of plain wood, adorned with a faceted crystal held fast in a dragon’s claw made of gold, the staff gave no outward, visible sign of being magical. But there was a dark, unseen aura around it, perhaps associated with its late master, that viewers invariably perceived with a sense of uneasiness.

Palin kept the staff near him always. If he wasn’t holding it, the staff rested near him, and he often reached out to touch it reassuringly.

This night, as on other nights, the sight of Tanin and Palin entering the inn did not particularly impress those within, except for one party. Seated at a grubby booth in a corner, this group immediately began to jabber among themselves, whispering and pointing. The whispering increased, growing even more excited, when Sturm came in and joined his brothers. Several members of the group nudged a person who was sitting nearest the wall, his face hidden in deep shadows.

“Aye, I see, I see!” grumbled the man. “You think they’ll do, do you?”

The others at the table nodded and chattered among themselves enthusiastically. Smaller than the man in the shadows, they were just as hidden. Muffled to the eyebrows in brown robes, their features and even their hands and feet were indistinguishable.

The person in the corner gave the young men a shrewd, appraising scrutiny. The brown-robed creatures continued to jabber. “Shut up, you buggers,” the man growled irritably. “You’ll attract their notice.”

Those in the brown robes immediately hushed, falling into a silence so deep they might have all tumbled into a well. Naturally, this startling silence caused everyone in the common room of the inn to turn and stare at them, including the three young men.

“Now you’ve done it!” snarled the man from the shadows. Two of the brown-robed creatures hung their heads, though a third seemed inclined to argue. “Be quiet! I’ll handle this!”

Leaning forward into the light, he gave the three young men an amiable smile from the depths of a full, glossy black beard and, raising his mug, said cheerfully, “Dougan Redhammer, at your service, young gents. Will you take a drink with an old dwarf?”

“That we will, and with pleasure,” Tanin said politely.

“Let me out,” grunted the dwarf to the brown-robed creatures, who were so packed into the booth it was impossible to tell how many of them there might have been. With much groaning and swearing and “ouch, that's my foot, you widget brain” and “mind my beard, gear-head,” the dwarf emerged—somewhat flushed and panting—from the back of the booth. Carrying his mug and calling for the innkeep to bring “my private stock,” Dougan approached the table where the young men had taken seats.

The others in the inn, sailors and local residents for the most part, returned to their own conversations—the subjects of which appeared to Palin to be of a sinister nature, judging from the grim and ill-favored expressions on their faces. They had not welcomed the brothers nor did they seem interested in either the dwarf or his companions. Several cast scowling glances at Dougan Redhammer. This didn’t disconcert the dwarf in the least. Pulling up a high stool that compensated for his short stature, the stout and flashily dressed (at least for a dwarf) Dougan plopped himself down at the brothers' table.

“What’ll you have, gentlemen?” asked the dwarf. “The spirits of my people? Ah, you’re men of taste! There’s nothing better than the fermented mushroom brew of Thorbardin.”

Dougan grinned at the brothers expansively as the innkeeper shuffled to the table, carrying three mugs in his hand. Putting these down, he thumped a large clay bottle stoppered with a cork in front of the dwarf. Dougan pulled the cork and inhaled the fumes with a gusty sigh of contentment that caused Sturm’s mouth to water in anticipation.

“Aye, that’s prime,” said the dwarf in satisfaction. “Hand your mugs round, gents. Don’t be shy. There’s plenty for all and more where this came from. I don’t drink with strangers, though, so tell me your names.”

“Tanin Majere, and these are my brothers, Sturm and Palin,” said Tanin, sliding his mug over willingly. Sturm’s was already in the dwarf’s hand.

“I’ll have wine, thank you,” Palin said stiffly. Then he added in an undertone, “You know how Father feels about that stuff.” Tanin responded with an icy glare and Sturm laughed.

“Aw, loosen up, Palin!” Sturm said. “A mug or two of dwarf spirits never hurt anyone.”

“Right you are there, lad!” said Dougan roundly. ” 'Tis good for what ails you, my father was wont to say. This marvelous elixir’ll mend broken head or broken heart. Try it, young wizard. If your father be the Hero of the Lance, Caramon Majere, then he lifted a glass or two in his day, if all the tales I’ve heard about him be true!”

“I’ll have wine,” Palin repeated, coldly ignoring his brothers' elbow-nudging and foot-kicking.

“Probably best for the young lad,” said Dougan with a wink at Tanin.

“Innkeep, wine for the youngster here!”

Palin flushed in shame, but there was little he could say, realizing he’d said more than enough already. Embarrassed, he took his glass and hunched down in his white robes, unable to look around. He had the feeling that everyone in the inn was laughing at him.

“So, you’ve heard of our father?” Tanin asked abruptly, changing the subject.

“Who hasn’t heard of Caramon Majere, Hero of the Lance?” said Dougan. “Here’s to his health!” Lifting his mug, the dwarf took a long pull of the spirits, as did both Tanin and Sturm. When the three set the mugs down, there was no sound for the moment except slight gaspings for air. This was followed by three satisfied belches.

“Damn good!” said Sturm huskily, wiping his streaming eyes.

“I’ve never had better!” Tanin swore, drawing a deep breath.

“Drink up, lad!” said the dwarf to Palin. “You’ll surely drink a toast to your own father, won’t you?”

“Of course he will, won’t you, Palin?” said Tanin, his voice dangerously pleasant.

Palin obediently took a sip of his wine, drinking to his father’s health.

After that, the others quickly ignored him, becoming absorbed in conversation about the parts of the world each had been in recently and what was transpiring where. Palin, unable to take part in the conversation, fell to studying the dwarf. Dougan was taller than most dwarves the young man had known and, although he called himself “old,” he couldn’t have been much over one hundred years, an age considered to be just suitably mature for a dwarf. His beard was obviously his pride and joy; he stroked it often, never failing to draw attention to it when possible. Shining black, it grew thick and luxuriant, tumbling over his chest and down past his belt. His hair, too, was as black and curly as his beard and he wore it almost as long. Like most dwarves, he was rotund and probably hadn’t seen his feet below his round belly in years. Unlike most dwarves, however, Dougan was dressed in a flamboyant style that would have well become the lord of Palanthas.

Outfitted in a red velvet jacket, red velvet breeches, black stockings, black shoes with red heels, and a silk shirt with puffy sleeves—a shirt that might once have been white but was now stained with dirt, spirits, and what may have been lunch—Dougan was an astonishing sight. He was remarkable, too, in other ways. Most dwarves are somewhat surly and withdrawn around members of other races, but Dougan was jovial and talkative and altogether the most engaging stranger the brothers had come across on their travels. He, in his turn, appeared to enjoy their company.

“By Reorx,” said the dwarf admiringly, watching Tanin and Sturm drain their mugs, “but you are lads after my own heart. If s a pleasure to drink with real men.”

Sturm grinned. “There are not many who can keep up with us,” he boasted, motioning the dwarf to pour the spirits. “So you better have a care, Dougan, and slow down.”

“Slow down! Look who’s talking!” The dwarf roared so loudly that all eyes in the common room turned on them, including the eyes of the small creatures in the brown robes. “Why, there isn’t a human alive who can outdrink a dwarf with his own brew!”

Glancing at Sturm, Tanin winked, though he kept his face solemn.

“You’ve just met two of them, Dougan Redhammer,” he said, leaning back in his chair until it creaked beneath his weight. “We’ve drunk many a stout dwarf under the table and were still sober enough, Sturm and I, to guide him to his bed.”

“And I,” returned Dougan, clenching his fist, his face turning a fiery red beneath the black beard, “have drunk ten stout humans under the table and not only did I lead them to their beds, I put their nightclothes on them and tidied up their rooms to boot!”

“You won’t do that to us!” vowed Tanin.

“Wanna bet?” roared the dwarf, with a slight slur.

“A wager, then?” cried Sturm.

“A wager!” shouted Dougan.

“Name the rules and the stakes!” Tanin said, sitting forward.

Dougan stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I’ll match you lads one on one, drink for drink—”

“Ha!” Sturm burst out laughing.

“—drink for drink,” continued the dwarf imperturbably, “until your beardless chins hit the floor.”

“It’ll be your beard and not our chins that hits the floor, dwarf,” Sturm said. “What stakes?”

Dougan Redhammer pondered. “The winner has the very great satisfaction of assisting the losers to their beds,” he said, after a pause, twirling a long moustache around his finger.

“And loser pays the tabs for all,” added Tanin.

“Done,” said the dwarf, with a grin, holding out his hand.

“Done,” said Tanin and Sturm together. Each shook Dougan’s hand, then the dwarf turned to Palin, his hand outstretched.

“I want no part of this!” Palin said emphatically, glaring at his brothers.

“Tanin,” he said in a low voice, “think of our funds. If you lose, we—”

“Little Brother,” Tanin interrupted, flushing in anger, “next journey, remind me to leave you home and bring along a cleric of Paladine! We’d get preached at less and probably have more fun.”

“You have no right to talk to me that way!” Palin snapped.

“Ah, it must be all three of you,” Dougan interrupted, shaking his head, “or the bet’s off. There’s no challenge in a dwarf outdrinking two humans. And it must be dwarf spirits. Why, the lad might as well be drinking his mother’s milk as that elf water!” (Elf water—a name dwarves use for wine, which they can’t abide.)

“I won’t drink that—” Palin began.

“Palin”—Tanin’s voice was stern and cold—“you are shaming us! If you can’t have some fun, go to your room!”

Angrily, Palin started to rise, but Sturm caught hold of the sleeve of his robes.

“Aw, come on, Palin,” his brother said cheerfully. “Relax! Reorx’s beard! Father’s not going to walk through that door!” He tugged at Palin’s sleeve until his brother slowly resumed his seat. “You’ve been studying too hard. Your brain’s gone all cobwebby. Here, try some. That’s all we ask. If you don’t like it, then we won’t say any more about it.”

Shoving a full mug over to his brother, Sturm leaned close and whispered in Palin’s ear, “Don’t make Tanin mad, all right? You know how he sulks, and we’ll have to put up with him from here to Lord Gunthar’s. Big Brother’s got your own best interests at heart. We both do. We just want to see you have a little fun, that’s all. Give it a try, huh?”

Glancing at Tanin, Palin saw that his brother’s face was grim and unhappy. Maybe Sturm’s right, Palin thought. Maybe I should relax and have some fun. Tanin was more than half serious when he said that about leaving me home. He’s never talked that way before. It’s just that I’ve been wanting them to take me seriously, to quit treating me like a kid. Maybe I have gone too far....

Forcing a laugh, Palin lifted the mug. “To my brothers,” he said huskily, and was pleased to see Tanin’s green eyes brighten and Sturm’s face break into a broad grin. Putting the mug to his lips, Palin took a drink of the infamous brew known as dwarf spirits.

The taste wasn’t bad. It was pleasant in fact, a kind of dark and earthy flavor that brought visions of the dwarves' under ground home of Thorbardin to his eyes. Rolling it on his tongue, Palin nodded in pleased surprise and swallowed

The young mage wondered suddenly if a fireball had exploded in his head. Flames shot through his mouth. Fire burst out his ears and nose, roared down his throat, and seared his stomach. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see. He was going to die, he knew it... any moment... here, in this filthy, gods-forsaken tavern....

Someone—Palin had the vague impression it was Sturm—was pounding him on the back and, at last, he was able to gasp for air.

“I do enjoy seeing a man enjoy his liquor,” said Dougan earnestly.

“My turn now. A drink to the young mage!” Putting his mug to his lips, the dwarf tilted his head back and drained it in one long swallow. When he reappeared, his eyes were watery and his large, bulbous nose bright red. “Ahhh!"

he breathed, blinking back his tears and wiping his mouth with the end of his beard.

“Hear, hear,” cried both Sturm and Tanin, raising their mugs. “A drink to our brother, the mage!” They, too, drained their mugs, not quite as fast as the dwarf, but without stopping for breath.

“Thank you,” said Palin, deeply moved. Cautiously, he took another gulp. The effect wasn’t so awful the second time. In fact, it was pleasurable.

Palin took another drink, then another, and finally drained the mug. Setting it down on the table amid cheers from his brothers and Dougan, the young man felt warm and good all over. His blood tingled in his veins. Tanin was looking at him with approval and pride; Sturm was filling his mug again. Dougan downed two more mugs in a row, Sturm and Tanin drank theirs, and then it was Palin’s turn again. He lifted the mug to his lips

Palin was smiling, and he couldn’t quit smiling. He loved Tanin and Sturm better than anyone else in the world, and he told them so, until he broke down and cried on Sturm’s broad shoulder. But no! There was someone else he loved—that was the dwarf. He staggered to his feet and went round the table to shake the dwarf’s hand. He even made a speech. Fast friends . . . firm friends, like his father and his father’s friend . . . old Flint, the dwarf . . . He went back to his chair, only there seemed to be four chairs now, instead of just one. Picking one, Palin sat down, missed and would have ended up on the floor if Tanin hadn’t caught him. He drank another mug, watching his brothers and his new friend with tears of affection streaming down his face.

“I tell you, lads”—Dougan’s voice seemed to Palin to come from a long distance away—“I love you like my own sons. And I must say, I think you’ve had a wee bit more to drink than you can handle.”

“Naw!” Sturm cried indignantly, pounding his hand on the table.

“We can keep up with you,” Tanin muttered, breathing heavily, his face beefy red.

“Damn right',” said Palin, striking the table—or he would have if the table hadn’t suddenly and unaccountably leapt out of the way.

And then Palin was lying on the floor, thinking this was an interesting place to be, much safer than up there in four chairs, with tables jumping around. . . . Glancing around Wearily, he saw his staff on the floor beside him. He reached out, caressed it lovingly.

“Shirak!” he slurred, and the crystal atop the staff burst into light. He heard some commotion at this; high, shrill voices jabbering and chattering somewhere in the background. Palin giggled and couldn’t quit giggling.

From high above, Dougan’s voice came floating down to him. “Here’s to our beds,” said the dwarf, “and a sound night"s sleep!” And if there was a sinister note in the gruff voice or more than a trace of triumphant laughter, Palin discounted it. The dwarf was his friend, a brother to him. He loved him like a brother, his dear brothers . . .

Palin laid his head on the floor, resting his cheek on the staff’s cool wood. Shutting his eyes, he slipped away into another world—a world of small creatures in brown robes, who lifted him up and ran away with him....

Chapter Two A Realty Bad Hangover

The world heaved and shivered, and Palin’s stomach heaved and his skin shivered in agreement, misery loving company. Rolling over on his side, he was violently sick, and he wondered as he lay on whatever it was he was lying on—he couldn’t open his eyes to see; they felt all gummed together—how long it would take him to die and end this suffering.

When he could be sick no more and when it seemed that his insides might actually stay inside, Palin lay back with a groan. His head was beginning to clear a little, and he realized suddenly, when he tried to move, that his hands were tied behind his back. Fear shot through his muzzy brain, its cold surge blowing away the mists of the dwarf spirits. He couldn’t feel his feet, and he dimly realized that cords tied around his ankles had cut off his circulation. Gritting his teeth, he shifted his position slightly and wiggled his toes inside his soft leather boots, wincing as he felt the tingling of returning blood.

He was lying on a wooden plank, he noticed, feeling it beneath him with his hands. And there was a peculiar motion to the plank, it was rocking back and forth in a manner most unsettling to Palin’s aching head and churning stomach. There were strange noises and smells, too—wood creaking, an odd whooshing and gurgling, and, every so often, a tremendous roaring and thudding and flapping above his head that sounded like a stampede of horses or, Palin thought with a catch in his throat, his father’s description of attacking dragons. Cautiously, the young mage opened his eyes.

Almost instantly, he shut them again. Sunlight streaming through a small, round window pierced his brain like an arrow, sending white-hot pain bouncing around the backs of his eyeballs. The plank rocked him this way and that, and Palin was sick again.

When he recovered sufficiently to think he might not die in the next ten seconds—a matter of extreme regret—Palin braced himself to open his eyes and keep them open.

He managed, but at the cost of being sick again. Fortunately or unfortunately, there was nothing left inside him to lose, and it wasn’t long before he was able to look around. He was on a plank, as he had surmised.

The plank had been built into a curved wooden wall of a small room and was obviously intended as a crude bed. Several other planks lined the walls of the oddly shaped room, and Palin saw his two brothers lying unconscious on these, bound hand and foot as he was. There was no other furniture in the room, nothing but a few wooden chests, which were sliding along the wooden floor.

Palin had only to look out the small, round window on the wall across from him to confirm his worst fears. At first, he saw nothing but blue sky and white clouds and bright sunlight. Then the plank on which he was lying dropped—it seemed—into a chasm. The wooden chests scraped across the floor, running away past him. Blue sky and clouds vanished, to be replaced by green water.

Shutting his eyes once more, Palin rolled over to ease his cramped muscles, pressing his aching head against the cool, damp wood of the crude bed.

Or perhaps he should say “berth.” That’s the nautical term, isn’t it? he thought to himself bitterly. That’s what you call a bed on a ship. And what will they call us on the ship? Galley slaves? Chained to the oars, subject to the overmaster with his whip, flaying the flesh from our backs....

The motion of the ship changed, the sea chests skittered along the floor in the opposite direction, sky and clouds leapt back into the window, and Palin knew he was going to be sick again.

“Palin ... Palin, are you all right?”

There was an anguished tone in the voice that brought Palin to consciousness. Painfully, he once again opened his eyes. He must have slept, he realized, though how he could have done so with this throbbing in his head and the queasy state of his stomach he had no idea.

“Palin!” The voice was urgent.

“Yes,” said Palin thickly. It took an effort to talk; his tongue felt and tasted as though gully dwarves had taken up residence in his mouth. The thought made his stomach lurch, and he abandoned it hurriedly. “Yes,” he said again, “I’m ... all right....”

“Thank Paladine!” groaned the voice, which Palin recognized now as Tanin’s. “By the gods, you looked so pale, lying there, I thought you were dead!”

“I wish I was,” Palin said feelingly.

“We know what you mean,” said Sturm—a very subdued and miserable Sturm, to judge by the sound.

Twisting around, Palin was able to see his brothers. If I look as bad as they do, he thought, no wonder Tanin believed I was dead. Both young men were pale beneath their tan skin, their pallor had a faint greenish tinge, and there was ample evidence on the deck below that both had been extremely sick. Their red curls were tangled and wet and matted, their clothes soaked. Both lay on their backs, their hands and feet tied with rough leather thongs. Tanin had a large bruise on his forehead and, in addition, his wrists were cut and bleeding. He had obviously been trying to free himself and failed.

“This is all my fault,” said Tanin glumly, with another groan as nausea welled up inside of him. “What a fool I was, not to see this coming!”

“Don’t give yourself all the credit, Big Brother,” said Sturm. “I went right along with you. We should have listened to Palin—”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Palin mumbled, closing his eyes against the sight of the sea and sky constantly shifting places in the porthole. “I was being a superior, self-righteous twit, as both of you tried to point out.” He was silent a moment, trying to decide if he was going to be sick or not. Finally, he thought he wasn’t and added, “We’re in this together now, anyway. Either of you know where we are and what's going on?”

“We’re in the hold of a ship,” Tanin said. “And, from the sounds of it, they’ve got some great beast chained up there.”

“A dragon?” Palin asked quietly.

“Could be,” Tanin answered. “I remember Tanis describing the black dragon that attacked them in Xak Tsaroth. He heard a gurgling noise and a hissing, like water boiling in a kettle....”

“But why would anyone chain up a dragon on a ship?” argued Sturm weakly.

“All kinds of reasons,” Palin muttered, “most of them nasty.”

“Probably keeps slaves like us in line. Palin,” said Tanin in a low voice, “can you do anything? To free us, I mean? You know, your magic?”

“No,” said Palin bitterly. “My spell components are gone—not that I could get to them if I had them, since my hands are tied. My staff—My staff!” he recalled with a pang. Fearfully, he struggled to sit up, glanced around, then breathed a sigh of relief. The Staff of Magius stood in a corner, leaning up against the hull of the ship. For some reason, it did not move when the ship listed, but remained standing perfectly still, seemingly unaffected by the laws of nature.

“My staff might help, but the only thing I know how to make it do,” he admitted shamefacedly, “is give light. Besides,” he added, lying wearily back down, “my head aches so I can barely remember my name, much less a magic spell.”

The young men were silent, each thinking. Tanin struggled against his bonds once more, then gave it up. The leather had been soaked with water and had tightened when it dried so that it was impossible for the big man to escape.

“So, it looks like we’re prisoners in this wretched hole—”

“Prisoners?” called a booming voice. “Losers, maybe. But prisoners, never!”

A trapdoor in the ceiling opened, and a short, stocky figure in bright red velvet with black curling hair and beard poked his head through. “My guests you are!” cried Dougan Redhammer lustily, peering at them through the hatch. “And fortunate beyond all humans, because I have chosen you to accompany me on my grand quest! A quest that will make you famous throughout the world! A quest that will make that minor adventure your parents were involved in seem like a kender scavenger hunt!” Dougan leaned so far through the hatch that his face became quite red with the exertion and he almost rumbled through upside down.

“We’re not going on any quest of yours, dwarf!” Tanin said with an oath.

And, for once, both Palin and Sturm were in full agreement.

Leering down at them through the hatch, Dougan grinned. “Wanna bet?”

“You see, lads, it’s a matter of honor.”

Throwing down a rope ladder, Dougan—somewhat perilously—climbed down into the hold of the ship, his journey being hampered by the fact that he couldn’t see his feet for his great belly. Reaching the deck, he rested a moment from his labors, removing a lace-covered handkerchief from the sleeve of his coat and using it to mop his perspiring face.

“I tell you, lads,” he said solemnly, “I’m feeling a bit under myself. By Reorx, but you can drink! Just like you said.” Stumbling slightly as the deck listed beneath him, the dwarf pointed at Sturm. “You, especially! I swear by my beard”—he stroked it—“that I saw two of yourself, lad, and I was workin' on four before your eyes rolled back in your head and you crashed to the floor. Shook the foundations of the inn, you did. I had to pay damages.”

“You said you were going to cut us loose,” Tanin snarled.

“That I did,” Dougan muttered, drawing a sharp knife from his belt.

Making his way around the sea chests, he began to saw away industriously at the leather thongs that bound Tanin’s wrists.

“If we aren’t prisoners,” Palin asked, “then why are we bound hand and foot?”

“Why, laddie,” said the dwarf, looking around at Palin with an injured air, “it was for your own safety! I had only your welfare at heart! You were so enthusiastic when you saw we were carrying you aboard this fine vessel, that we had to restrain your enthusiasm—”

“Enthusiasm!” Tanin snorted. “We were out cold!”

“Well, no, actually, you weren’t,” Dougan admitted. “Oh, he was.” The dwarf jerked his head back at Palin. “Sleeping like he was in his mother’s arms. But you two, as I saw the moment I clapped eyes on you, lads, are grand fighters. Perhaps you were wondering how you got that bit of a clout on your head—”

Tanin said nothing, simply glared at the dwarf. Sitting up, the young man gingerly put his hand to his forehead, where there was a lump the size of an egg.

“Enthusiasm,” said the dwarf solemnly, going over to cut Sturm loose.

“That's one reason I chose you for my quest.”

“The only quest I’d consider going on with you is to see you in the Abyss!” Tanin retorted stubbornly.

Lying back, Palin sighed. “My dear brother,” he said wearily, “has it occurred to you that we have little choice in the matter? We’re on a ship, miles away from land”—he glanced at Dougan, who nodded assent—“and completely at the mercy of this dwarf and his crew of cutthroats. Do you think he would release us from our bonds if we had the slightest chance of escaping?”

“Intelligent lad,” said the dwarf approvingly, cutting Palin’s ropes as Sturm sat up stiffly, rubbing his wrists. “But then, he’s a mage. And they’re all intelligent, at least so’s I’ve heard. So intelligent,” continued Dougan cunningly, “that I’m certain he’ll think twice about casting any spells that might come to mind. A sleep spell, for example, might be very effective and give my cutthroat crew a rest, but can you three sail the ship? Besides,” he continued, seeing Palin’s grim expression, “as I said before—it’s a matter of honor. You lost the bet, fair and square. I kept my part, I put you to bed. Now you must keep yours.” Dougan’s grin made the ends of his moustache curl upward. He stroked his beard in satisfaction. “You must pay the tab.”

“I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay!” Tanin snarled. “I’ll yank your black beard out by its roots!”

Tanin’s voice literally shook with anger, and Palin cringed, watching helplessly as his hot-tempered brother made a lunge for the grinning dwarf—and fell flat on his face in the muck and filth.

“There, there, lad,” said Dougan, helping Tanin stagger to his feet.

“Get your sea legs first, then you can yank out my beard—if you refuse to honor your bet. But from what I’ve heard of Caramon Majere, I’d be disappointed indeed to see his sons turn out to be welshers.”

“We’re no welshers!” said Tanin sulkily, leaning weakly against the berth and clinging to it with both hands as the ship rocked out from underneath him. “Though some might say the bet was rigged, we’ll pay it just the same! What do you want of us?”

“To accompany me on my quest,” said the dwarf. “Where we’re bound is perilous in the extreme! I need two strong, skilled fighters, and a wizard always comes in handy.”

“What about your crew?” Sturm asked. Carefully, he edged himself off his berth and dropped to the deck just as the ship listed, sending him crashing backward into the hull.

Dougan’s grinning face went abruptly sober. He glanced up above, where the strange roaring sound could be heard again, mingled this time, Palin noted, with shrieks and cries. “Ah, my ... um ... crew,” said the dwarf, shaking his head sadly. “They’re ... well, best you come see for yourselves, lads.”

Turning on the heel of his fancy shoes, Dougan made for the rope ladder, stumbling awkwardly as the ship canted off in the other direction. “Ouch! That reminds me,” he said, cursing and rubbing his leg where he had come up against one of the roving sea chests. “We stowed your equipment in here."

He thumped on the lid. “Swords, shield, armor, and such like. You’ll be needing them where we’re headed!” he added cheerfully.

Catching hold of the swinging rope ladder, the dwarf scrambled up it and pulled himself through the hatch. “Don’t be long!” they heard him shout.

“Well, what do we do now?” Sturm asked, standing up cautiously, only to fall forward with the motion of the ship. The young man’s face was decidedly green; beads of sweat stood on his forehead.

“We get our swords,” Tanin said grimly, stumbling toward the sea chests.

“And we get out of this foul place,” said Palin. He covered his nose and mouth with the hem of his sleeve. “We need fresh air, and I for one want to see what's going on up there.”

“Wanna bet?” Tanin mocked.

Smiling ruefully, Palin managed to make his way to the Staff of Magius, which was still standing up against the hull. Whether it was any magical property of the staff, or whether just holding it gave him confidence, the young mage felt better the moment his hand wrapped around the smooth wood.

“Think of the danger this staff has seen and led its masters through safely,” Palin whispered to himself. “Magius held it as he fought at Huma’s side. My uncle held it as he entered the Abyss to face the Dark Queen. This situation probably doesn’t bother it at all.”

Gripping the staff in his hand, Palin started up the rope ladder.

“Hold on there, Little Brother,” Tanin said, catching Palin’s sleeve.

“You don’t know what’s up there. You admitted yourself you weren’t feeling up to spellcasting. Why don’t you let Sturm and me go ahead?”

Palin stopped, looking at Tanin in pleased astonishment. His older brother had not ordered him, as he would have done earlier. He could almost hear him, “Palin, you fool! You wait below. Sturm and I will go first.” Tanin had spoken to him respectfully, presented his argument logically, and then left it up to Palin to decide.

“You’re right, Tanin,” Palin said, stepping back away from the ladder—only it was back a little farther than he had intended as the swaying ship threw him off balance once again. Sturm caught hold of him and the three stood, waiting for the ship to right itself. Then, one by one, they climbed up the rope ladder.

Sturm’s strong hand hauled Palin up on deck. Thankfully, the young mage breathed the fresh air, blinking in the bright sunlight and doing his best to ignore the throbbing in his head. His eyes were just adjusting to the glare when he heard the roaring behind him—a frightful sound, a combination of howling, shrieking, creaking, and hissing. The deck below his feet thrummed and shivered. Alarmed, he started to turn and face whatever horrible beast was attacking when he heard Tanin cry, “Palin, look out!”

His brother’s weight struck Palin, knocking him off his feet and onto the deck just as something dark and awful thundered overhead with a wild flapping noise.

“You all right?” Tanin asked anxiously. Standing up, he offered Palin his hand. “I didn’t mean to hit you quite so hard.”

“I think you broke every bone in my body!” Palin wheezed, trying to catch his breath. He stared at the prow of the ship, where the thing was disappearing over the edge. “What in the name of the Abyss was that?” He looked at Dougan. The dwarf was also, somewhat shamefacedly, picking himself up off the deck.

His face as red as his velvet breeches, Dougan was brushing off bits of wood, strands of rope, and sea foam when he was suddenly surrounded by a horde of jabbering, small creatures endeavoring to help him.

“Ahoy there!” Dougan roared irritably, flapping his hands at the creatures. “Stand off! Stand off, I say! Get back to your tasks!”

Obediently, the creatures ran off, though more than a few took a second or two to eye the three brothers. One even approached Palin, an eager hand stretched out to touch the Staff of Magius.

“Get back!” Palin cried, clutching the staff to him.

Sniffing, the creature retreated, but its bright eyes lingered hungrily on the staff as it returned to whatever it was it had been doing.

“Gnomes!” said Sturm in awe, lowering his sword.

“Uh, yes,” muttered Dougan, embarrassed. “My... um... crew of cutthroats.”

“The gods help us!” Tanin prayed fervently. “We’re on a gnome ship.”

“And that thing that makes such a terrible racket?” Palin was almost afraid to ask.

“That’s the . . . uh . . . sail,” Dougan mumbled, wringing water out of his beard. He made a vague gesture with his hand. “It’ll be back again in a few minutes, so . . . um. . . be prepared.”

“What in the Abyss is a dwarf doing on a gnome ship?” Tanin demanded.

Dougan’s embarrassment increased. “Ah, well, now,” he muttered, twirling his long moustache around his index finger. “That's a bit of a story, now. Perhaps I’ll have time to tell you—”

Balancing himself on the heaving deck with the aid of the staff, Palin looked out to sea. An idea had occurred to him, and his heart was beginning to sink at about the same rate it appeared this vessel was sinking. The sun was behind them, they were heading west, riding on a gnome ship with a dwarf captain....

“The Graygem!” Palin murmured.

“Aye, laddie!” Dougan cried, clapping the young mage on the back.

“You’ve womped the lizard in the gullet, as the gully dwarves say. That is the reason I’m on this ... um . .. somewhat unique vessel and that” continued Dougan, rocking back on his feet, his belly thrust out in front of him, “is my quest!”

“What is?” asked Tanin suspiciously.

“My brothers,” said Palin, “it appears we are bound on a voyage in search of the legendary lost Graygem of Gargath.”

“Not 'in search of,” Dougan corrected. “I have found it! We are on a quest to end all quests! We’re going to recover the Graygem and—ahoy, lads, look out.” Casting an uneasy glance behind him, Dougan threw himself down on the deck.

“Here comes the sail,” he grunted.

Chapter Three The Miracle

The gnomish sailing vessel was a true technological wonder. (The wonder being, as Sturm said, that it managed to stay afloat, much less actually sail!) Years in design (longer years in committee) and centuries of craftsmanship later, the gnome ship was the terror of the high seas. (This was quite true. Most ships fled in terror at the sight of the gnome flag—a golden screw on a field of puce—but this was because the steam-generating boilers had an unfortunate habit of exploding. The gnomes claimed to have once attacked and sunk a minotaur pirate ship. The truth of the matter was that the minotaurs, rendered helpless by laughter, had negligently allowed their ship to drift too close to the gnomes who, in panic, released the pressurized air stored in casks used to steer the vessel. The resulting blast blew the minotaurs out of the water and the gnomes off course by about twenty miles.)

Let other races mock them, the gnomes knew that their ship was years ahead of its time in practicality, economy, and design. Just because it was slower than anything on the water—averaging about half a knot on a good day with a strong wind—didn’t bother the gnomes. (A committee is currently working on this problem and is confidently expected to come up with a solution sometime in the next millennium.)

The gnomes knew that all ships had sails. This was requisite, in their opinion, of a ship being a ship. The gnomes' ship had a sail, therefore. But the gnomes, upon studying vessels built by other, less intelligent races, considered it a waste of space to clutter the deck with masts and ropes and canvas and an additional waste of energy hoisting sails up and down in an effort to catch the wind. The gnome ship, therefore, used one gigantic sail that not only caught the wind but, in essence, dragged the wind along with it.

It was this sail that gave the ship its revolutionary design. An enormous affair of billowing canvas with a beam the size of ten stout oaks, the sail rested upon three greased wooden rails, one on each side of the ship and one down the middle. Huge cables, running the length of the ship and driven by steam generated by a giant boiler down below, operated this miracle of modern naval technology, pulling the sail along the greased wooden rail at a high rate of speed. The sail, moving from front to back, manufactured its own wind as it roared along and thus propelled the ship on its course.

When the sail had completed its impressive sweep across the deck and reached the ship’s stern... (There was one tiny problem. It was impossible to turn the ship around. Therefore the stern looked just like the prow. The gnomes had solved this slight hitch in design by fixing the sail so that it could go either forward or backward, as needed, and had given the ship two figureheads—buxom gnome maidens, one on each end, each holding screws in their hands and staring out to sea with resolute intensity.).... Where were we? Ah yes. When the sail reached the stern, it rolled itself up neatly and traveled under the ship through the water until it reached the prow. Here it leapt out of the water, unfurled itself, and thundered along the deck once more.

At least, that is what the sail did on the drawing board and in numerous gnomish bathtubs. In actuality, the gears that controlled the winding-up mechanism rusted almost immediately in the salt water, and the sail often hit the water either completely or partially open. In this manner it swept under the ship, creating a tremendous drag that occasionally pulled the vessel back farther than it had gone forward. This small inconvenience was considered to be fully outweighed, however, by an unlooked-for bonus. When the open sail came up from the sea, it acted as a net, hauling in schools of fish. As the sail lifted up over the prow, fish rained down upon the deck, providing lunch, dinner, and the occasional concussion if one had the misfortune to be struck by a falling tuna.

The ship had no tiller, there being nowhere for a tiller to go, since the boat had, in essence, two prows and no stern. Nothing daunted, the gnomes designed their vessel to be steered by the use of the aforementioned pressurized air casks. Located at each side of the hull, these were kept filled with air by giant, steam-driven bellows. (We said earlier that it was impossible to turn the ship around. We were in error. The gnomes had discovered that the ship could be turned by means of releasing the air in both casks simultaneously. This caused the ship to revolve, but at such an alarming rate that most of the crew was flung overboard and those that remained could never afterward walk a straight line. These unfortunates were promptly hired by the gnome Street Designers Guild.)

The name of this remarkable vessel was The Great Gnome Ship of Exploration and Questing Made of Wooden Planks Held Together by the Miracle of Gnome Glue (of which the less said the better) Instead of that Paltry Human Invention the Nail Which We Have Designed More Efficiently Anyway and Driven by Steam Created by Bringing Water to a Rapid Boil and so forth and so on, the full name taking up several volumes of text in the gnomes' library. This name, or rather a shortened version, was carved upon the hull and, when the gnomes ran out of room, the deck as well.

Needless to say, traveling upon the Miracle (the shorter human version of the name) was not conducive to either peace of mind or keeping one’s dinner down. The ship wallowed in the water like a drunken sea elf when the sail was underneath it, surged forward with a stomach-wrenching jolt when the sail was sweeping along the deck, and rocked sickeningly when the sail hit the water from behind. The bilge pumps were at work constantly (due to the wonders of gnome glue). Fortunately, the gnomes were heading in a straight direction—due west—so that it was not necessary to turn the ship, thus avoiding the need to open the air casks (a thrill akin to being caught in a cyclone)—a blessing rather lost upon Tanin, Sturm, and Palin (though Dougan assured them solemnly that they should thank their respective gods for it!).

Night was falling. The sun sank into the sea in a blaze of red, as though trying to outshine the gaudily dressed dwarf. Crouching miserably on the foredeck, the brothers were glad to see night come. They had spent a wretched day, forced to duck every time the sail raced overhead. In addition, they were pelted by fish and drenched with water streaming down from the sail. Seasick and hung over, there was little for them to eat except fish (plenty of that) and some sort of gnome biscuit that looked suspiciously like the miracle glue. To take their minds off their troubles and prepare them for the quest ahead, Dougan proposed to tell them the story of the Graygem of Gargath.

“I know that story,” Tanin said sullenly. “Everyone on Krynn knows that story! I’ve heard it since I was a child.”

“Ah, but do you know the true story?” Dougan asked, gazing at them intently with his bright, dark eyes.

No one replied, being unable to hear themselves think as the sail—with much flapping of canvas and creaking of winches—leapt out of the water and hurtled along the deck. Fish flopped about their feet, the gnomes hopping here and there after them. The sail’s traversal along the deck was punctuated by shrieks and screams as certain unlucky gnomes forgot to duck and were swept overboard by the beam. Since this happened almost every time the sail made a pass, several gnomes were stationed permanently along the sides of the ship to yell “Gnome overboard!” (which they did with great gusto) and heave their floundering fellows life-saving devices (which also doubled as anchors when in port).

“How should we know whether or not if s the true story?” Tan in said grumpily when he could be heard again.

“I know that there are differing accounts depending on whether one hears the tale from a dwarf or any other race,” Palin added.

Dougan appeared extremely uncomfortable. “Aye, lad,” he said, “and there you’ve touched on a sore point. But, for now, you go ahead and tell it, young mage. Tell it as you heard it. I assume you’ve studied it, since it involves the bringing of magic into the world.”

“Very well,” said Palin, rather pleased and flattered at being the center of attention. Hearing that the human was going to tell their favorite story, many gnomes left their duties (and fish chasing) to settle down around Palin, regarding the mage with varying expressions ranging from eager assurance that he was going to get it wrong to downright suspicion that he might accidentally get it right.

“When the gods awakened from chaos and gained control over chaos, the Balance of the Universe was established and chaos subdued. The pendulum of time swung between good and evil, with neutrality watching to see that neither grew stronger. It was at this time that the spirits of the races first began to dance among the stars, and the gods decided to create a world for these races to inhabit. “The world was forged, but now the gods fought over the spirits of the races. The gods of good wanted to give the races power over the physical world, nurturing them toward good. The gods of evil wanted to enslave the races, forcing them to do their evil bidding. The gods of neutrality wanted to give the races physical power over the world, but with the freedom to choose between evil and good. Eventually, the latter course was decided upon, the gods of evil believing that they would have little trouble gaining the upper hand.

“Three races were born, then—the elves, beloved of the gods of good; the ogres, willing slaves of the gods of evil; and the humans, the neutrals, who—of all the races—had the shortest life span and therefore were easily drawn to one side or the other. When these races were created, the god Reorx was given the task of forging the world. He chose some humans to help him in this task, since they were the most willing workers. But Reorx soon grew angry at the humans. Many were greedy and worked only to gain wealth, taking little pride in what they created. Some sought to cheat/others stole. Furious, Reorx cursed his followers, turning them into gnomes—small creatures doomed—I don’t really mean doomed,” Palin interrupted himself hastily, seeing the gnomes begin to frown—“I mean... uh... blessed to be tinkers”—the gnomes smiled—“and to spend their entire lives tinkering with mechanical devices that would never, er, I mean, rarely work ”

The sail rumbled overhead, and Palin paused thankfully.

“Get​on​with​the​good​part!” shouted the gnomes, who always speak extremely fast and jam their words together. 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 chcr~

“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... lost​theGraygeminagameofbones.”

“What?” asked Palin, leaning forward.

“He​lost​it,” 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.

“I​just​wanted​to​look​at​it!” 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 it’ll 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 com plaint. 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 Gargath

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 con fused 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,” Palin 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—”

“The power of the gem,” Dougan said. “You felt it, young mage! And now you know why it must be captured and returned to the gods for safekeeping. It escaped man’s care before; it will escape again. The gods only know,” the dwarf added sorrowfully, “what mischief it has wreaked upon the inhabitants of this wretched island.”

Wagging his black beard, Dougan held out a trembling hand to Tanin.

“You’ll help me, lads, won’t you?” he asked in heartfelt, pleading tones, so different from his usual braggadocio that Tanin was caught off guard, his anger punctured. “If you say no,” continued Dougan, hanging his head, “I’ll understand. Though I did win the wager, I guess it was wrong of me to get you drunk and take you prisoner when you were weak and helpless.”

Tanin chewed his lip, obviously not welcoming this reminder.

“And I swear by my beard,” said the dwarf solemnly, stroking it, “that if you say the word, I’ll have the gnomes take you back to Ansalon. As soon as they get the ship repaired, that is.”

“If they get the ship repaired!” Tanin growled at last. (This appeared unlikely. The gnomes were paying no attention whatsoever to the ship, but were arguing among themselves about who was supposed to have been on watch, who was supposed to be reading the gnomes' own map, and the committee that had drawn up the map in the first place. It was later decided that, since the cliff hadn’t been marked on the map, it wasn’t there. Having reached this conclusion, the gnomes were able to get to work.)

“Well, what do you two say?” Tanin turned to his brothers.

“I say that since we’re here, we ought to at least take a look around,"

Sturm said in low tones. “If the dwarf is right and we could retrieve the Graygem, our admittance into the knighthood would be assured! As he said, we’d be heroes!”

“To say nothing of the wealth we might obtain,” Tanin mu ttered.

“Palin?”

The young mage’s heart beat fast. Who knows what magical powers the Graygem possesses? he thought suddenly. It could enhance my power, and I wouldn’t need any great archmage to teach me! I might become a great arch-mage myself, just by touching it or ... Palin shook his head. Raising his eyes, he saw his brothers' faces. Tanin’s was ugly with greed, Sturm’s twisted with ambition. My own face—Palin put his hand on it—what must it look like to them? He glanced down at his robes, and saw their white color faded to dirty gray. It might just be from the salt water, but it might be from something else....

“My brothers,” he said urgently, “listen to us! Think what you just said! Tanin, since when did you ever go in search of wealth and not adventure!”

Tanin blinked, as if waking from a dream. “You’re right! Wealth! What am I talking about? I never cared that much for money—”

“The power of the Graygem is speaking,” Dougan cried. “It’s beginning to corrupt you, as it corrupted others.” His gaze went to the gnomes. The shoving and pushing had escalated into punching and tossing one another overboard.

“I say we should at least investigate this island,” Palin said in a low voice so that the dwarf would not overhear. He drew his brothers closer. “If for no other reason than to find out if Dougan’s telling the truth. If he is, and if the Graygem is here, and if we could be the ones to bring it back...”

“Oh, it’s here!” Dougan said, eagerly poking his black-bearded face into their midst. “And when you bring it back, lads, why, the stories they tell of your famous father will be nothing compared to the legends they’ll sing of you! And you’ll be rescuing the poor people of this island from their sad fate,” continued the dwarf in solemn tones.

“People?” Tanin said, startled. “You mean this place is inhabited?”

“Yes, there are people here,” the dwarf said with a gusty sigh, though he was eyeing the brothers shrewdly.

“He’s right,” said Sturm, staring intently at the beach. “There are people on Gargath. And it doesn’t look to me, Dougan Redhammer, like they want to be rescued!”

Tanin, Palin, Sturm, and the dwarf were ferried across the water from the Miracle by a party of gnomes in a dinghy. Bringing along the dinghy on board the Miracle had been the dwarf’s idea, and the gnomes were enchanted with something so practical and simple. The gnomes had themselves designed a lifeboat to be attached to the Miracle. Roughly the same weight and dimensions as the ship itself, the lifeboat had been left behind, to be studied by a committee.

As the boat drew nearer to shore, surging forward with the waves and the incoming tide, the brothers could see the welcoming party. The rising sun glinted off spears and shields carried by a crowd of men who were awaiting their arrival on the beach. Tall and muscular, the men wore little clothing in the balmy clime of the island. Their skin was a rich, glistening brown, their bodies adorned with bright beads and feathers, their faces stern and resolute. The shields they carried were made of wood and painted with garish designs, the spears handmade as well-wooden with stone tips.

“Honed nice and sharp, you can believe me,” said Sturm gloomily. “They’ll go through flesh like a knife through butter.”

“We’re outnumbered at least twenty to one,” Tanin pointed out to Dougan, who was sitting in the prow of the boat, fingering a battle-axe that was nearly the size of the dwarf.

“Bah! Primitives!” said Dougan contemptuously, though Palin noted the dwarf’s face was a bit pale. “First sight of steel, they’ll bow down and worship us as gods.”

The “gods' ” arrival on the beach was something less than majestic.

Tanin and Sturm did look quite magnificent in their bright steel armor of elven make and design—a gift from Porthios and Alhana of the United Elven Kingdoms. The breastplates glittered in the morning sun; their helms gleamed brightly. Climbing out of the boat, they sank to their shins in the sand and, within minutes, were both firmly mired.

Dougan, dressed in his suit of red velvet, demanded that the gnomes take him in to shore, so he would not ruin his clothes. The dwarf had added to his costume a wide-brimmed hat decorated with a white plume that fluttered in the ocean breeze, and he was truly a wonderful sight, standing proudly in the prow of the boat with his axe at his side, glaring sternly at the warriors drawn up in battle formation on the beach. The gnomes obeyed his injunction to the letter, running the boat aground on the beach with such force that Dougan tumbled out headfirst, narrowly missing slicing himself in two with his great battle-axe.

Palin had often imagined his first battle—fighting at the side of his brothers, combining steel and magic. He had spent the journey to shore committing the few spells he knew to memory. As they drew toward land, his pulse raced with what he told himself was excitement, not fear. He was prepared for almost any eventuality ... with the exception of helping a cursing, sputtering, irate dwarf to his feet; trying to dislodge his brothers from the wet sand; and facing an army of silent, grim, half-naked men.

“Why don’t they attack us?” Sturm muttered, floundering about in the water, trying to keep his balance. “They could cut us to ribbons!”

“Maybe they have a law that prohibits them from harming idiots!” snapped Tanin irritably.

Dougan had managed, with Palin’s help, to stagger to his feet.

Shaking his fist, he sent the gnomes on their way back to the ship with a parting curse, then turned and, with as much dignity as he could bluster, stomped across the beach toward the warriors. Tanin and Sturm followed more slowly, hands on the hilts of their swords. Palin came after his brothers more slowly still, his white robes wet and bedraggled, the hem caked with sand.

The warriors waited for them in silence, unmoving, their faces expressionless as they watched the strangers approach. But Palin noticed, as he drew near, that occasionally one of the men would glance uneasily back into the nearby jungle. Observing this happening more than once, Palin turned his attention to the trees. After watching and listening intently for a moment, he drew nearer Tanin.

“There’s something in those trees,” he said in an undertone.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Tanin growled. “Probably another fifty or so warriors.”

“I don’t know,” Palin said thoughtfully, shaking his head. “The warriors appear to be nervous about it, maybe even—”

“Shush!” Tanin ordered sharply. “This is no time to talk, Palin! Now keep behind Sturm and me, like you’re supposed to!”

“But—” Palin began.

Tanin flashed him a look of anger meant to remind the young man who was in charge. With a sigh, Palin took up his position behind his brothers. But his eyes went to the jungle and he again noticed that more than one of the warriors allowed his gaze to stray in that direction as well.

“Hail!” cried Dougan, stumping through the sand to stand in front of the warrior who, by standing out slightly in front of his fellows, appeared to be the chief. “Us gods!” proclaimed the dwarf, thumping himself on the chest. “Come from Land of Rising Sun to give greeting to our subjects on Isle of Gargath.”

“You’re a dwarf,” said the warrior glumly, speaking excellent Common “You’ve come from Ansalon, and you’re probably after the Graygem.”

“Well... uh... now...” Dougan appeared flustered. “That’s... uh... a good guess, lad. We are, as it happens, mildly interested in ... uh ... the Graygem. If you’d be so good as to tell us where we might find it—”

“You can’t have it,” said the warrior, sounding depressed. He raised his spear. “We’re here to stop you.”

The warriors behind him nodded unenthusiastically, fumbling with their spears and clumsily falling into some sort of ragged battle formation.

Again, Palin noticed many of them looking into the jungle with that same nervous, preoccupied expression.

“Well, we’re going to take it!” Tanin shouted fiercely, apparently trying to drum up some enthusiasm for the conflict. “You’ll have to fight us to stop us.”

“I guess we will,” mumbled the chief, hefting his spear in halfhearted fashion.

Somewhat confused, Tanin and Sturm nevertheless drew their swords, as Dougan, his face grim, lifted his axe. The words to a spell chant were on Palin’s lips, and the Staff of Magius seemed to tremble with eagerness in his hand. But Palin hesitated. From all he’d heard, battles weren’t supposed to be like this! Where was the hot blood? The ferocious hatred? The bitter determination to die where one stood rather than give an inch of ground?

The warriors shuffled forward, prodding each other along. Tanin closed on them, his sword flashing in the sun, Sturm at his back. Suddenly, a cry came from the jungle. There was movement and a rustling sound, more cries, and then a yelp of pain. A small figure dashed out of the trees, running headlong across the sand.

“Wait!” Palin yelled. “It’s a child!”

The warriors turned at the sound. “Damn!” muttered the chief, tossing his shield and spear into the sand in disgust. The child—a little girl of about five—ran to the warrior and threw her arms around his legs. At that moment, another child, older than the first, came running out of the woods in pursuit.

“I thought I told you to keep her with you!” the chief said to the older child, a boy, who came dashing up.

“She bit me!” said the boy accusingly, exhibiting bloody marks on his arm.

“You’re not going to hurt my daddy, are you?” the little girl asked Tanin, glaring at him with dark eyes.

“N-no,” stuttered Tanin, taken aback. He lowered his sword. “We’re just”—he shrugged, flushing scarlet—“talking. You know, man talk.”

“Bless my beard!” exclaimed the dwarf in awe. More children were running from the jungle—children of all ages, from toddlers who could barely make their way across the sand to older boys and girls of about ten or eleven. The air was filled with their shrill voices.

“I’m bored. Can we go home?”

“Lemme hold the spear!”

“No, if s my turn! Dad said—”

“Apu said a bad word!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Look, Daddy! That short, fat man with the hair on his face! Isn’t he ugly?”

Glancing at the strangers in deep embarrassment, the warriors turned from their battle formation to argue with their children.

“Listen, Blossom, Daddy’s just going to be a little longer. You go back and play—”

“Apu, take your brothers back with you and don’t let me hear you using language like that or I’ll—”

“No, dear, Daddy needs the spear right now. You can carry it on the way home—”

“Halt!” roared the dwarf. Dougan’s thunderous shout cut through the confusion, silencing warrior and child alike.

“Look,” said Tanin, sheathing his sword, his own face flushed with embarrassment, “we don’t want to fight you, especially in front of your kids.”

“I know,” the chief said, chagrined. “It’s always like that. We haven’t had a good battle in two years! Have you ever”—he gave Tanin a pained look—“tried to fight with a toddler underfoot?”

Profoundly perplexed, Tanin shook his head.

“Takes all the fun out of it,” added another warrior as one child swarmed up his back and another bashed him in the shins with his shield.

“Leave them at home with their mothers, then, where they belong,” said Dougan gruffly.

The warriors' expression grew grimmer still. At the mention of their mothers, several of the children began to cry.

“We can’t,” stated a warrior.

“Why not?” demanded Dougan.

“Because their mothers are gone!”

“It all started two years ago,” said the chief, walking with Dougan and the brothers back to the village. “Lord Gargath sent a messenger to us, demanding ten maidens be paid him in tribute or he’d unleash the power of the Graygem.” The warrior’s gaze went to the volcano in the distance, its jagged top barely visible amid the shifting gray clouds that surrounded it. Forked lightning streaked from the cloud, and thunder rumbled. The chief shivered and shook his head. “What could we do? We paid him his tribute. But it didn’t stop there. The next month, here came the messenger again. Ten more maidens, and more the month following. Soon, we ran out of maidens, and then the lord demanded our wives. Then he sent for our mothers! Now”—the chief sighed—“there isn’t a woman left in the village!”

“All of them!” Sturm gaped. “He’s taken all of them!”

The chief nodded in despair, and the child in his arms wailed in grief.

“And not only us. It happened to every tribe on the island. We used to be a fierce, proud people,” the chief added, his dark eyes flashing. “Our tribes were constantly at war. To win honor and glory in battle was what we lived for. To die fighting was the noblest death a man could find! Now, we lead lives of drudgery—”

“Our hands in dishwater instead of blood,” said another, “mending clothes instead of cracking skulls.”

“To say nothing of what else we’re missing, without the women,” added a third with a meaningful look.

“Well, why don’t you go get them back!” Tanin demanded.

The warriors, to a man, looked at him with undisguised horror, many glancing over their shoulders at the smoking volcano, expressions of terror on their faces, as if fearing they might be overheard.

“Attack the powerful Lord Gargath?” asked the chief in what was practically a whisper. “Face the wrath of the Graygem’s master? No!” He shuddered, holding his child close. “At least now our children have one parent.”

“But if all the tribes fought together,” Sturm argued, “that would be... how many men? Hundreds? Thousands?”

“If there were millions, we would not go up against the Master of the Graygem,” said the chief.

“Well, then,” said Dougan sharply, “why did you try to stop us back there on the beach? Seems to me you would be only too glad to rid yourselves of the thing!”

“Lord Gargath ordered us to fight any who tried to take it,” said the chief simply.

Reaching their village—a scattering of thatched huts that had seen better days—the warriors dispersed, some taking children to bed, others hurrying to look into steaming pots, still others heading for a stream with baskets loaded with clothes.

“Dougan,” said Tanin, watching all this in astonishment almost too great for words, “this doesn’t make any sense! What's going on?”

“The power of the Graygem, lad,” said the dwarf solemnly. “They’re deep under its spell and can no longer see anything rationally. I’ll lay ten to one that if s the Graygem keeping them from attacking Lord Gargath. But us, now”—the dwarf looked at the brothers cunningly—“we’re not under its spell.”

“Not yet,” mentioned Palin.

“And therefore we stand a chance of defeating him! After all, how powerful can he be?”

“Oh, he could have an army of a couple thousand men or so,” said Sturm.

“No, no,” said Dougan hastily. “If he did, he would have just sent the army to attack the villages, kill the men, and carry off the women. Lord Gargath is using the power of the Graygem because that’s all he’s got! We must act quickly, though, lads, because its power will grow on us the longer we stay near its influence.”

Tanin frowned, considering. “How do we get the Graygem, then?” he asked abruptly. “And what do we do with it after we’ve got it? It seems to me, we’ll be in worse danger than ever!”

“Ah, leave that to me!” said Dougan, rubbing his hands. “Just help me to get it, lads.”

Tanin kept on frowning.

“And think of the women—poor things,” the dwarf continued sadly, “held in thrall by this wicked lord, forced to submit to his evil will. They’ll undoubtedly be grateful to the brave men who rescue them ”

“He’s right,” said Sturm in sudden resolve. “It is our duty, Tanin, as future Knights of Solamnia, to rescue the women.”

“What do you say, Little Brother?” asked Tanin.

“It is my duty as a mage of the White Robes to help these people,” Palin said, feeling extremely self-righteous. "All these people,” he added.

“Plus if s a matter of honor, lad,” Dougan said solemnly. “You did lose the bet. And it will be a few days before the gnomes have the ship repaired....”

“And the women will probably be very grateful!” struck in Sturm.

“All right, we’ll go!” said Tanin. “Though I’d rather face a dragon than fight the power of some sort of weird rock.”

“Ha, ha, dragon!” repeated the dwarf, with a sickly grin that Tanin was too preoccupied to notice.

The brothers and the dwarf walked up to the chief, who was hanging laundry out to dry and keeping an anxious eye on the stew pot to see that it didn’t boil over.

“Listen to me, men!” Tanin called loudly, motioning the warriors of the village to gather around him. “My brothers and the dwarf and I are going to go to the castle of this Lord Gargath to take the Graygem. Would any of you like to come along?”

Glancing at each other, the warriors shook their heads.

“Well, then,” Tanin continued in exasperation, “will any of you go with us as our guide? You can come back when we reach the castle.”

Again, the warriors shook their heads.

“Then we’ll go alone!” Tanin said fiercely. “And we will return with the Graygem or leave our lives in that castle!”

Spinning on his heel, the big man stalked out of the camp, his brothers and the dwarf marching behind. As they left, however, they encountered dark looks from the warriors and heard muttered comments. More than a few shook their fists at them.

“They certainly don’t look pleased,” Tanin said. “Especially since we’re the ones facing all the danger. What is it they’re saying?”

“I think it’s just occurred to them that the women will probably be very grateful,” Dougan answered in a low voice.

Chapter Five A Matter of Honor

Sturm later maintained that Tanin should have realized what was going on and kept the dwarf out of the game that night. Tanin retorted that Sturm should keep his mouth shut since he slept through the whole thing. But Palin reminded them both that they were all under the influence of the Graygem at the time, so it probably wouldn’t have made any difference anyway.

They had walked all day, moving easily through the thick jungle, following a trail that had obviously been there for years. The major problem was the heat, which was intense. Sturm and Tanin soon took off their armor and packed it away and finally convinced Palin to strip off his white robes, though he protested long against wandering the wilderness clad only in his undergarments.

“Look,” said Tanin, finally, after Palin was on the verge of collapse, his robes dripping with sweat, “there aren’t any women to see you, that much we know. Hang your spell bags around your waist. We can always get dressed again before we reach the next village.” Palin reluctantly agreed and, other than taking some ribbing from Sturm about his skinny legs, was thankful he did so. The jungle grew steamier as the sun rose higher. Intermittent rain showers cooled the brothers and the dwarf occasionally, but in the end served only to increase the humidity.

Dougan, however, steadfastly refused to shed so much as his broad-brimmed hat, maintaining that the heat was nothing to a dwarf and ridiculing the humans for their weakness. This he did with perspiration streaming down his face until it dripped off the ends of his moustache. He marched along with a defiant air, as if daring one of them to say something, and often grumbled that they were slowing him down. Yet Palin saw Dougan more than once, when he thought no one was looking, slump down on a rock, fan himself with his hat, and mop his face with his beard.

By the time they arrived at the next village, which was about a day’s walk through the jungle, all of them—even the dwarf—were so limp and tired that they barely had the strength to put their clothes and their armor back on in order to make an impressive show. Word of their coming must have traveled in some mysterious way (Palin thought he knew, then, the reason for the strange drumbeats they’d been hearing), for they were met by the men of the village and the children. The men regarded them coldly (though more than a few eyes flashed at the sight of the elven armor), gave them food and drink, and indicated a hut where they could spend the night. Tanin made a stirring speech about storming Gargath Castle and asked for volunteers.

The only responses were dark looks, shuffling feet, and a muttered comment, “I can’t. I’ve got a chicken stewing ”

This being no more than they had expected, the brothers stripped off their armor and their clothes and went to bed. Their night’s rest was unbroken, save for slapping at some sort of winged, carnivorous insect that apparently had a craving for human flesh, and one other incident.

Around midnight, Tanin was wakened by the dwarf, shaking his shoulder and loudly calling his name.

“Whasit?” mumbled Tanin sleepily, fumbling for his sword.

“Nay, lad, put your weapon away,” said Dougan, hurriedly. “I just need to know something, lad. You and me and your brothers, we’re comrades, aren’t we?”

Tanin recalled, as well as he could recall anything, that the dwarf had seemed particularly anxious about this and had repeated the question several times.

“Yeah, comrades,” Tanin muttered, rolling over.

“What’s mine is yours, yours is mine?” persisted the dwarf, leaning over to look the young man in the face.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tanin waved a hand, brushing away a feeding insect and the dwarf’s beard at the same time.

“Thank you, lad! Thank you,” said Dougan gratefully. “You won’t regret it.”

Tanin said later that the dwarf’s last words, “You won’t regret it,” lingered ominously in his dreams, but he was too tired to wake up and ponder the situation.

As it was, he had plenty of time for pondering the next morning when he woke to find a spear point at his throat and several tall warriors standing over him. A quick glance showed him his brothers in similar circumstances.

“Sturm!” Tanin called, not daring to move and keeping his hands in plain sight. “Palin, wake up!”

His brothers woke quickly at the sound of alarm in his voice, and stared at their captors in sleepy surprise.

“Tanin,” said Palin, keeping his voice even, “what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out!” Tanin angrily thrust the spear point aside. “What is this nonsense?” he asked, starting to stand up. The spear point was at his throat again, joined, this time, by two more—one at his chest, the other jabbing him in the back.

“Tell them that no matter how grateful the women are, it won’t matter to us!” said Sturm, swallowing and trying in vain to inch backward. The spear followed him. “We’re going to be knights! We’ve taken vows of celibacy....”

“It’s... uh ... not the women, lad,” muttered a shamefaced Dougan, entering the hut and thrusting his head in between the warriors. “It’s... uh... a matter of honor... so to speak. The truth of it is, lads,” the dwarf continued with a heart-rending sigh, “I got into a wee bit of a game last night.”

“So?” grunted Tanin. “What has that got to do with us?”

“I’ll explain,” Dougan began, licking his lips, his eyes darting from one to the other of the brothers. “I threw the bones well the first hour or two. Won the chief’s feather headdress and two cows. I was going to quit then, I swear it, but the old boy was upset and so what could I do but let him try to win them back? My luck was going that good, I bet it all on one toss, plus threw in my axe and my own hat as well.”

Tanin looked at the dwarf’s bare head. “You lost.”

Dougan’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t miss the other so much, but I couldn’t do without my hat, now could I? So I bet all my money against the hat and—” He looked at Tanin wistfully.

“You lost that, too,” Tanin muttered.

“Snake eyes,” said the dwarf sadly.

“So now you’ve lost your money, your axe, and your hat.”

“Not quite,” Dougan hedged. “You see, I just couldn’t do without my hat... And I didn’t have anything left that the old boy wanted, my jacket not fitting him. And you did say we were comrades, share and share alike—”

“When did you say that?” Sturm demanded, glaring at Tanin.

“I don’t remember!” Tanin growled.

“So, I bet your armor,” said the dwarf.

“You what?” Tanin roared in fury.

“The chief had taken a liking to it when he saw it on you last evening,” continued Dougan rapidly. Even with five spears pointed directly at him, Tanin looked extremely formidable and extremely angry. “I bet your armor against my axe and hat, and I won.” The dwarf looked smug.

“Thank Paladine!” breathed Tanin, relaxing.

“Then,” said Dougan, looking uncomfortable, “since my luck was obviously turning, I decided to try for my money back. I bet the armor, my hat, and”—he pointed—“the magic staff against my money, the cows, and the axe.”

This time it was Palin who, oblivious of the spears, sat forward, his face deathly pale, his lips ashen. “You bet... my staff!” He could scarcely speak.

Reaching out a trembling hand, he grasped hold of the staff, which lay at his side even while he slept.

“Aye, lad,” said Dougan, regarding him with wide-eyed innocence.

“We’re comrades. Share and share—”

“This staff,” said Palin in a low, shaking voice, “belonged to my uncle, Raistlin Majere! It was a gift from him.”

“Indeed?” Dougan appeared impressed. “I wish I had known that, lad,” he said wistfully, “I would have wagered more—”

“What happened?” Palin demanded feverishly.

“I lost.” Dougan heaved a sigh. “I’ve seen a man roll snake eyes twice in a game only once before and that was when I—Well, never mind.”

“You lost my staff!” Palin seemed near fainting.

“And our armor?” Sturm shouted, veins swelling in his neck.

“Wait!” Dougan held up his hand hastily. The warriors with the spears, despite their weapons and their obvious advantage, were beginning to look a little nervous. “I knew how upset you lads would be, losing all your possessions like this, so I did the only thing I could. I wagered your swords.”

This time the shock was so great that neither Tanin nor Sturm could speak, they simply stared at Dougan in stunned silence.

“I put up the swords and my battle-axe against the magic staff and my hat. I truly wish”—Dougan glanced at the shaken Palin—“that I’d known the staff belonged to Raistlin of the Black Robes. Even here, they’ve heard of him, and I likely could have gotten the chief to throw in the armor. As it was, he wasn’t all that impressed with what he’d seen of the staff—”

“Get on with it!” Palin cried in a choked voice, clutching the staff close.

“I won!” Dougan spread his hands, then sighed again, only this was a sigh of ecstasy. “Ah, what a throw that was....”

“So... I have my staff?” Palin asked timidly, brightening.

“We have our swords?” Tanin and Sturm began to breathe.

“Finding that my luck had shifted,” the dwarf continued, plunging the brothers into gloom once more, “I decided to try for the armor again. Figuring what good were swords without armor, I bet the weapons and—” He gestured bleakly toward the warriors with the spears.

“You lost,” Tanin said glumly.

“But I still have my staff?” Palin asked nervously.

“Aye, lad. I tried to use it to win back the swords, my axe, and the armor, but the chief didn’t want it.” Dougan shook his head, then gazed at Palin intently, a sudden, cunning expression twisting his face. “But if you were to tell him it belonged to the great Raistlin Majere, perhaps I could—”

“No!” snarled Palin, holding the staff close.

“But, lad,” pleaded the dwarf, “my luck’s bound to change. And we’re comrades, after all. Share and share alike ...”

“This is great!” said Sturm gloomily, watching the last of his armor being carried out of the hut. “Well, I guess there’s nothing left to do now but go back to the ship.”

“The ship?” Dougan appeared astonished. “When we’re so close? Why, Lord Gargath’s castle’s only a day’s march from here!”

“And what are we going to do when we get there?” Tanin demanded furiously. “Knock on the door in our underwear and ask him to lend us weapons so that we can fight him?”

“Look at it this way, Big Brother,” Sturm pointed out, “he might drop over dead from laughter.”

“How can you joke at a time like this?” Tanin raged. “And I’m not certain I’m ready to leave yet.”

“Easy, my brothers,” Palin said softly. “If all we lose from this fool quest is some weapons and armor, I’m beginning to think we can count ourselves lucky. I agree with Sturm, Tanin. We’d better head back for the ship before the day gets much hotter.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” Tanin retorted bitterly. “You’ve still got your precious staff!” He looked over to the chief’s hut, where the old man was happily decking himself out in the bright armor, putting most of it on upside down. Then he cast a dark glance at the contrite Dougan. “I suppose Palin’s right,” Tanin said grudgingly, glaring at the dwarf. “We should count ourselves lucky. We’ve had enough of this fool quest, dwarf. We’re getting out of here before we lose anything else—like our lives!”

Turning, Tanin found himself, once again, facing a ring of spears and this time his own sword, held by a grinning warrior.

“Wanna bet, lad?” Dougan said cheerfully, twirling his moustache.

“I thought as much,” Palin remarked.

“You’re always thinking 'as much' when it’s too late to do anything about it!” Tanin snapped.

“It was too late when we first set eyes on the dwarf,” Palin said in low tones.

The three, plus Dougan, were being escorted down the jungle trail, spears at their backs. The castle of Lord Gargath loomed ahead of them.

They could see it quite clearly now—a huge, misshapen building made entirely of shining gray marble. All three brothers had visited the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest, and they had been impressed and overawed by the magical aura that surrounded it. They felt a similar awe approaching this strange castle, only it was an awe mingled with the wild desire to laugh hysterically.

None of them could tell afterward describe Castle Gargath, since the appearance of the castle shifted constantly. First it was a massive fortress with four tall, stalwart towers topped by battlements. As they watched in amazement, the towers swelled out and spiraled upward into graceful minarets.

Then the minarets melted together, forming one gigantic dome that separated into four square towers once more. While all this was going on, turrets sprouted from the walls like fungi, windows blinked open and shut, a drawbridge over a moat became a bower of gray roses over a still, gray pond.

“The power of the Graygem,” Dougan remarked.

“ The power of the Graygem,' ” Tanin mimicked sarcastically. He shook his fist at the dwarf. “I’m getting so sick of hearing about that blasted rock that I—”

“I think I figured out what’s going on,” Palin interrupted.

“Well, what?” Sturm asked miserably. “They don’t want us to go, apparently. Yet they threaten to kill us if we try to turn back! They take our clothes...” In addition to losing their armor and their weapons, he and Tanin had been stripped of their clothes; the chief having discovered that the armor chafed without anything underneath it. Sturm and Tanin, therefore, were now approaching Gargath Castle clad only in loincloths (having coldly refused the offer of breastplates made of bone).

Palin and Dougan had been more fortunate, the mage having kept his robes and the dwarf his red velvet jacket and breeches (minus the hat). The reason for this leniency on the chief’s part was, Palin suspected, Dougan’s whispered remarks to the chief concerning the staff. Contrary to what the dwarf had anticipated, the fact that the staff had belonged to Raistlin Majere caused the chief to open his eyes wide in terror. Palin also suspected Dougan of continuing to try to drum up a game (the dwarf wanted his hat back badly), but the chief obviously wanted no part of an object of such evil.

The members of the tribe kept a respectful distance from Palin after that, some waving chickens' feet in his direction when they thought he wasn’t watching.

That didn’t stop the warriors from marching him off down the trail at spear-point toward the castle with his brothers and the chagrined Dougan, however.

“Put yourself in the place of one of these warriors,” said Palin, sweating in his hot robes but not daring to take them off for fear the warriors would grab them, too. “You are under the influence of the Graygem, which is literally chaos incarnate. You hate the Graygem more than anything, yet you are ordered to guard it with your life. Because of the Graygem, you’ve lost your women. Strangers come to take the Graygem and rescue your women, who will undoubtedly be grateful to their saviors. You don’t want strangers saving your womenfolk, but you’d give anything to have your women back. You must guard the Graygem, but you’d do anything to get rid of it. Are you following me?”

“Sort of,” Tanin said cautiously. “Go on.”

“So you take the strangers,” Palin finished, “and send them to the castle naked and weaponless, knowing they’re bound to lose, yet hoping in your heart they’ll win.”

“That makes sense, in a weird sort of way,” Sturm admitted, looking at Palin with undisguised admiration. “So, what do we do now?”

“Yes, Palin,” Tanin said gravely. “I can fight minotaurs and draconians... I’d rather be fighting minotaurs and draconians,” he added, breathing heavily, the heat and humidity taking their toll on the big man, “but I’m lost here. I can’t fight chaos. I don’t understand what’s going on. If we’re going to get out of this, it’s up to you and your magic, Little Brother.”

Palin’s eyes stung with sudden tears. It had been worth it, he thought. It had been worth this whole insane adventure to know that he had finally won his brothers' respect and admiration and trust. It was something a man might willingly die to achieve... For a moment, he did not trust himself to speak, but walked on in silence, leaning on the Staff of Magius, which felt oddly cool and dry in the hot, humid jungle.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said after a moment when he had his voice back. “But if we’re going to get out of this, if s up to all of us.” Reaching out to his brothers, Palin hugged each of them unashamedly. “We’re together, and that counts for much. Somehow, we’ll make this come out right!”

Glancing over at the dwarf, Palin was disconcerted to find Dougan regarding him with a wolfish leer on the black-bearded face. The dwarf didn’t say anything aloud but, giving Palin a wink, he formed words with his lips.

“Wanna bet?"

Chapter Six Castle Gargath

It was nearing sundown when they reached the outer walls of Castle Gargath. The walls shifted aspect just like the castle. Sometimes they appeared to be built of bricks. When the group looked again, however, they were hedges, then iron bars. The change was so rapid that it made one dizzy to watch.

On reaching the base of the shifting walls, the warriors left them, despite another recruiting speech from Tanin. The speech was a halfhearted attempt at best. The fact that he was giving it practically naked lessened his enthusiasm, plus he was fairly certain it was bound to fail. Nonetheless, he made the attempt.

“Come with us! Show this evil lord that you are men! That you intend to stand up to him and fight! Show him you are willing to risk your lives in defense of your homes!”

Sure enough, the speech had not worked. The moment the shadow of the shifting castle walls fell over them, the warriors backed away, looking up at it in terror. Shaking their heads and muttering, they fled back into the jungle.

“At least leave us your spears?” Sturm pleaded.

That didn’t work either.

“They need their spears,” Tanin said, “to make certain we don’t hightail it back to the ship.”

“Aye, you’re right, lad,” said Dougan, peering into the trees. “They’re out there, watching us. And there they’ll stay until—” He stopped.

“Until what?” Palin demanded coldly. He could still see the dwarf’s leer and hear the unspoken words, and he shivered in the jungle heat.

“Until they’re certain we’re not coming back. Right?” Sturm said.

“Now, laddie, we’ll be coming back,” Dougan said soothingly, stroking his beard. “After all, you have me with you. And we’re comrades—”

“Share and share alike,” Tanin and Sturm both said grumpily.

“The first thing we have to do is make some weapons,” Tanin continued. Thick jungle vegetation grew all around them. Strange-looking trees of various types, festooned with hanging vines and brightly colored flowers, grew right up to within a foot of the wall. And there the vegetation stopped. “Not even plants come near this place,” he muttered. “Palin, give me your knife.”

“Good idea,” said the young mage. “I’d forgotten about it.” Rolling up his white sleeve, Palin fumbled at the dagger in its cunning leather thong, which held it to his forearm and was supposed to—at a flick of its owner’s wrist—release the dagger and allow it to drop into Palin’s hand. But the cunning thong was apparently more cunning that its master, for Palin couldn’t get the dagger loose.

“Here,” he said, flushing in embarrassment and holding out his arm to Tanin, “you get it.”

Keeping his smile carefully concealed, Tanin managed to free the dagger, which he and Sturm used to cut off tree branches. These they honed into crude spears, working rapidly. Day was dying a lingering death, the light fading from the sky, leaving it a sickly gray color.

“Do you know anything of this Lord Gargath?” Tanin asked Dougan as he worked, whittling the point of the green stick sharp.

“No,” said the dwarf, watching in disapproval. He refused to either make or carry a wooden spear. “A fine sight I’d look if I’m killed, standing before Reorx with a stick in my hand! Naw, I need no weapon but my bare hands!” the dwarf snarled. Now he was rubbing his chin, pacing back and forth beneath the strange walls that were now made of shining black marble. “I know nothing of this present Lord Gargath, save what I could find out from those cowards."

Dougan waved his hand contemptuously at the long-gone warriors.

“What do they say?”

“That he is what you might expect of someone who has been under the influence of the Graygem for years!” Dougan said, eyeing Tanin irritably.

“He is a wild man! Capable of great good or great evil, as the mood—or the gem—sways him. Some say,” the dwarf added in low tones, switching his gaze to Palin, “that he is a wizard, a renegade, granting his allegiance to neither white, nor black, nor red. He lives only for himself—and the gem.”

Shivering, Palin gripped his staff more tightly. Renegade mages refused to follow the laws and judgments of the Conclave of Wizards, laws that had been handed down through the centuries in order to keep magic alive in a world where it was despised and distrusted. All wizards, those who fol lowed both the paths of good and of evil, subscribed to these laws.

Renegades were a threat to everyone and, as such, their lives were forfeit.

It would be Palin’s duty, as a mage of the White Robes, to try to reclaim the renegade or, if that failed, to trap him and bring him to the conclave for justice. It would be a difficult task for a powerful wizard of the White Robes, much less an apprentice mage. Those of the Black Robes had it easier. “You, my uncle, would have simply killed him,” Palin murmured in a low voice, leaning his cheek against his staff.

“What do you think he’s done with the women?” Sturm asked anxiously.

The dwarf shrugged. “Used them for his pleasure, tossed them into the volcano, sacrificed them in some unholy magic rite. How should I know?”

“Well, we’re about as ready as we’ll ever be, I guess,” Tanin said heavily, gathering up a handful of spears. “These look like toys,” he muttered. “Maybe the dwarf’s right. If we’re facing an evil wizard gone berserk, we might as well die fighting with dignity instead of like some kid playing at knights and goblins.”

“A weapon’s a weapon, Tanin,” Sturm said matter-of-factly, taking a spear in his hand. “At least it gives us some advantage ”

The three brothers and the dwarf approached the wall that was still changing its aspect so often it made them dizzy to watch it.

“I don’t suppose there’s any point trying to find a secret way in,” Tanin said.

“By the time we found it, if d likely be turning into the front door,” Dougan agreed. “If we wait here long enough, there’s bound to be an opening.”

Sure enough, but not exactly the opening any of them anticipated.

One moment they were looking at a wall of solid stone (“Dwarvish make,” remarked Dougan, admiringly), then it changed to a wall of water, thundering down around them out of nowhere, soaking them with its spray.

“We can get through this, I think!” Sturm cried above the noise of the waterfall. “I can see through it! The castle’s on the other side!”

“Yes, and there’s likely to be a chasm on the other side as well!” Tanin returned.

“Wait,” said Palin. "Shirak!” He spoke the magic word to the staff and instantly the faceted crystal globe on top burst into light.

“Ah, I wish the chief had seen that!” said the dwarf wistfully.

Palin thrust the staff into the water, simply with the idea of being able to see something beyond it. To his amazement, however, the water parted the instant the staff touched it. Flowing down around the staff, it formed an archway that they could walk through, safe and dry.

“I’ll be damned!” Tanin said in awe. “Did you know it would do that, Little Brother?”

“No,” Palin admitted shakily, wondering what other powers Raistlin had invested into the staff.

“Well, thank Paladine it did,” Sturm said, peering through the hole in the water. “All safe over here,” he reported, stepping through. “In fact,” he added as Palin and Tanin and Dougan—with a wide-eyed gaze of longing at the staff—followed, “if s grass!” Sturm, in wonderment, looked around in the gray gloom by the light of the staff. Behind them, the water changed again, this time to a wall of bamboo. Ahead of them stretched a long, smooth sward that rose up a gentle slope, leading to the castle itself.

“Now it’s grass, but it’s liable to change into a lava pit any moment,"

Palin pointed out.

“You’re right, Little Brother,” Tanin grunted. “We’d better run for it.”

Run they did, Palin hiking up his white robes, the stout dwarf huffing and puffing along about three steps behind. Whether they truly made their destination before the sward had time to change into something more sinister or whether the sward was always a sward, they never knew. At any rate, they reached the castle wall just as night's black shadows closed in on them, and they were still standing on smooth, soft grass.

“Now all we need,” said Sturm, “is a way inside—”

The blank wall of gray marble shimmered in the staff’s light, and a small wooden door appeared, complete with iron hinges and an iron lock.

Hurrying forward, Tanin tugged at the lock.

“Bolted fast,” he reported.

“Just when a kender would come in handy,” Sturm said with a sigh.

“Kender! Bite your tongue!” Dougan muttered in disgust.

“Palin, try the staff,” Tanin ordered, standing aside.

Hesitantly, Palin touched the brilliantly glowing crystal of the staff to the lock. The lock not only gave way, but it actually melted, forming a puddle of iron at Palin’s feet.

“Lad,” said the dwarf, swallowing, “your uncle must have been a remarkable man. That’s all I can say.”

“I wonder what else it can do?” Palin stared at the staff with a mixture of awe, pride, and frustration.

“We’ll have to worry about that later! Inside,” said Tanin, yanking open the door. “Sturm, you go first. Palin follow him. We’ll use your staff for light. The dwarf and I’ll be right behind you.”

They found themselves crowded together on a flight of narrow, winding stairs that spiraled upward. Walls surrounded them on all sides, and they could see nothing save the stairs vanishing into darkness.

“You realize,” said Palin suddenly, “that the door will—” Whirling around, he shone the light of the staff on a blank wall.

“Disappear,” finished Tanin grimly.

“There goes our way out!” Shuddering, Sturm looked around. “These stairs could change! Any moment, we could be encased in solid rock!”

“Keep moving!” ordered Tanin urgently.

Running up the steep stairs as fast as they could, expecting to find themselves walking on anything from hot coals to a swinging bridge, they climbed up and up until, at last, the stout dwarf could go no farther.

“I’ve got to rest, lads,” Dougan said, panting, leaning against a stone wall that was, unaccountably, remaining a stone wall.

“Nothing inside seems to be changing,” Palin gasped, weary himself from the unaccustomed exercise. He looked with envy at his brothers. Their bronze-skinned, muscular bodies gleamed in the staff’s light. Neither was even breathing hard.

“Palin, shine the light up here!” Sturm ordered, peering ahead.

His legs aching so that he thought he could never move them again, Palin forced himself to take another step, shining the staff’s light around a corner of the stairwell.

“There’s a door!” Sturm said softly, in triumph. “We’ve reached the top!”

“I wonder what's beyond it,” Tanin said darkly.

He was interrupted by, of all things, a giggle. “Why don’t you open it and find out?” called a laughing voice from the other side of the door. “It’s not locked.”

The brothers looked at each other. Dougan frowned. Palin forgot his aching body, forcing himself to concentrate on his spellcasting. Tanin’s face tightened and his jaw muscles clenched. Gripping his spear, he thrust his way past Dougan and Palin to stand beside Sturm.

Cautiously, both warriors put their hands on the door.

“One, two, three,” Sturm counted in a whisper.

On the count of three, he and Tanin threw their combined weight against the door, knocking it open and leaping through, spears at the ready.

Palin ran after them, his hands extended, a spell of fire on his lips. Behind him, he could hear the dwarf roaring.

They were greeted with peals of merry laughter.

“Did you ever see,” came the giggling voice, “such cute legs?”

The mist of battle rage clearing from his eyes, Palin stared around blankly. He was surrounded, literally, by what must have been hundreds of women. Beside him, he heard Sturm’s sharp intake of breath, and he saw, dimly, Tanin lower his spear in confusion. From somewhere on the floor at his feet, he heard Dougan swearing, the dwarf having tripped over the stoop in his charge and fallen flat on his face. But Palin was too stunned, staring at his captors, to pay any attention to him.

An incredibly gorgeous, dark-haired and dark-eyed beauty approached Tanin. Putting her hand on his spear, she gently pushed it to one side. Her eyes lingered appreciatively on the young man’s strong body, most of which—due to the loincloth—was on exhibit.

“My, my,” said the young woman in a sultry voice, “did you know it was my birthday?”

More laughter sounded through the vast stone hall like the chiming of many bells.

“Just—just stay back,” Tanin ordered gruffly, raising his spear and keeping the woman at bay.

“Well, of course,” she said, raising her hands in mock terror. “If that's what you really want.”

Tanin, his eyes still on the dark-haired beauty, fell back a pace to stand beside Palin. “Little Brother,” he whispered, beads of sweat on his upper lip and trickling down his forehead, “are these women enchanted? Under some sort of spell?”

“N—no,” stammered Palin, staring around him. “They ... they don’t appear to be. I don’t sense any kind of magic, other than the force of the Graygem. It’s much stronger here, but that’s because we’re closer to it.”

“Lads,” said the dwarf urgently, scrambling to his feet and thrusting himself between them, “we’re in big trouble.”

“We are?” Tanin asked dubiously, still holding the spear in front of him and noticing that Sturm was doing likewise. “Explain yourself, dwarf!” he growled. “What do you know about these women? They certainly don’t appear to be prisoners! Are they banshees, vampires? What?”

“Worse,” gasped the dwarf, mopping his face with his beard, his eyes staring wildly at the laughing, pointing females. “Lads, think! We’re the first to enter this castle! These women probably haven’t seen a man in two years!"

Chapter Seven Our Heroes

Surrounded by hundreds of admiring women reaching out to touch them and fondle them, the confused and embarrassed “rescuers” were captured by kindness. Laughing and teasing them, the women led the brothers and the dwarf from the vast entry hall to a smaller room in the castle, a room filled with silken wall hangings and large, comfortable silk-covered couches. Before they knew quite what was happening, the men were being shoved down among the cushions by soft hands, the women offering them wine, sumptuous food, and delicacies of all sorts . ..all sorts.

“I think it’s sweet, you came all this way to rescue us,” purred one of the women, leaning against Sturm and running her hand over his shoulder.

Long blonde hair fell down her bare arm. She wore it tucked behind one ear, held back by a flower. Her gown, made of something gray and filmy, left very little to the imagination.

“All in a day’s work,” said Sturm, smiling. “We’re going to be made Knights of Solamnia, you know,” he added conversationally. “Probably for doing this very deed.”

“Really? Tell me more.”

But the blonde wasn’t the least bit interested in the knights. She wasn’t even listening to Sturm, Palin realized, watching his brother with growing irritation. The big warrior was rambling on somewhat incoherently about the Oath and the Measure, all the while fondling the silky blonde hair and gazing into blue eyes.

Palin was ill at ease. The young mage felt a burning in his blood; his head buzzed—not an unusual sensation around such lovely, seductive females. He felt no desire for these women, however. They were strangely repulsive to him. It was the magic he sensed, burning within him. He wanted to concentrate on it, on his feeling of growing power. Thrusting aside a doe-eyed beauty who was trying to feed him grapes, Palin inched his way among the cushions to get nearer to Sturm, who was enjoying the attentions of the attractive blonde to the fullest.

“Sturm, what are you doing? This could be a trap, an ambush!” Palin said in an undertone.

“Lighten up for once, Little Brother,” Sturm said mildly, putting his arm around the blonde and drawing her close. “Here, I’ll put your mind at ease. Tell me,” he said, kissing the blonde’s rosy lips, “is this an ambush?”

“Yes!” She giggled, wriggling closer. “You’re under attack, right now.”

“There you are, Palin. No help for it. We’re surrounded.” Sturm kissed the girl’s neck. “I surrender,” he said softly, “unconditionally.”

“Tanin?” Alarmed, Palin looked to his oldest brother for help, and was relieved to see the serious young man getting to his feet, despite all efforts of the dark-haired beauty to drag him back down beside her. The dwarf, too, was doing his best to escape.

“Get away! Leave me be, woman!” Dougan roared, slapping at the hands of a lithesome girl. Struggling up from among the cushions, the red-faced dwarf turned to face the women.

“What about Lord Gargath? Where is he?” the dwarf demanded.

“Using you women to seduce us, then capture us, no doubt?”

“Lord Gargath? Hardly!” The dark-haired beauty who had been making much of Tanin laughed, as did the other women in the room. Shrugging her lovely shoulders, she glanced at the ceiling. “He’s up there... somewhere,” she said without interest, caressing Tanin’s bare chest. The big man shoved her away, glancing nervously about the room.

“For once, you’ve made sense, dwarf. We better find this Gargath before he finds us. Come on.” Tanin took a step toward a door at the end of the perfumed, candlelit chamber, but the dark-haired beauty caught hold of his arm.

“Relax, warrior,” she whispered. “You don’t need to worry about Lord Gargath. He won’t bother you or anybody.” She ran her fingers admiringly through Tanin’s thick red curls.

“I’ll see for myself,” Tanin returned, but he sounded less enthusiastic.

“Very well, if you must.” The woman sighed languorously, nestling her body against Tanin’s. “But it’s a waste of time—time that could be spent in much more pleasant pursuits. The dried up old wizard’s been our prisoner now for two years.”

“He’s your prisoner?” Tanin gaped.

“Well, yes,” said the blonde, looking up from nibbling at Sturm’s ear.

“He was such a boring old thing. Talking about pentagrams and wanting to know which of us were virgins and asking a lot of other personal questions. So we locked him in his old tower with his stupid rock.” She kissed Sturm’s muscular shoulder.

“Then who’s been taking the women hostage all these months?” Palin demanded.

“Well, we did, of course,” said the dark-haired beauty.

“You?” Palin said, stunned. He put his hand to his fore head and noticed his skin felt abnormally hot. He was dizzy, and his head ached. The room and everything in it seemed to be just slightly out of focus.

“This is a wonderful life!” said the blonde, sitting back and teasingly rebuffing Sturm’s attempts to pull her down. “The Graygem provides all we need. We live in luxury. There is no work, no cooking and mending—”

“No children screaming—”

“No husbands coming back from battle, bleeding and dirty—”

“No washing clothes in the stream day after day—”

“No endless talks of war and bragging about great deeds—”

“We read books,” said the dark-haired beauty. “The wizard has many in his library. We became educated, and we found out we didn’t have to live that kind of life anymore. We wanted our sisters and our mothers to share our comfortable surroundings with us, so we kept up the ruse, demanding that hostages be brought to the castle until all of us were here.”

“Bless my beard!” exclaimed the dwarf in awe.

“All we lack are some nice men, to keep us from being lonely at night,” said the blonde, smiling at Sturm. “And now that’s been taken care of, thanks to the Graygem ”

“I’m going to go find Lord Gargath,” said Palin, standing up abruptly. But he was so dizzy that he staggered, scattering cushions over the floor. “Are the rest of you coming?” he asked, fighting this strange weakness and wondering why his brothers didn’t seem afflicted.

“Yes,” said Tanin, extricating himself with difficulty from the dark—haired beauty’s embrace.

“Count on me, lad,” said Dougan grimly.

“Sturm?” said Palin.

“Just leave me here,” said Sturm. “I’ll act as . . . rear guard....”

The women broke into laughter.

“Sturm!” Tanin repeated angrily.

Sturm waved his hand. “Go ahead, if you’re so keen on talking to some moldy old wizard, when you could be here, enjoying...”

Tanin opened his mouth again, his brows coming together in anger. But Palin stopped him. “Leave this to me,” the young mage said with a twisted smile. Setting the staff down carefully among the cushions, Palin lifted both hands and held them out, pointing at Sturm. Then he began to chant.

“Hey! What are you doing? Stop!” Sturm gasped.

But Palin continued chanting and began raising his hands. As he did so, Sturm’s prone body rose into the air, too, until soon the young man was floating a good six feet off the floor.

“Wonderful trick! Show us some more!” called out the women, applauding.

Palin spoke again, snapped his fingers, and ropes appeared out of nowhere, snaking up from the floor to wrap themselves around Sturm’s arms and legs. The women squealed in glee, many of them transferring their admiring gazes from the muscular Sturm—now bound hand and foot—to the mage who could perform such feats.

“G—good trick, Palin. Now put me down!” Sturm said, licking his lips and glancing beneath him nervously. There was nothing between him and the floor but air.

Pleased with himself, Palin left Sturm in the air and turned to Tanin.

“Shall I bring him along?” he asked casually, expecting to see Tanin also regarding him with awe.

Instead, Palin found his older brother’s brows furrowed in concern.

“Palin,” said Tanin in a low voice, “how did you do that?”

“Magic, my dear brother,” Palin said, thinking suddenly how unaccountably stupid Tanin was.

“I know it was magic,” Tanin said sharply. “And I admit I don’t know much about magic. But I do know that only a powerful wizard could perform such a feat as that. Not one who just recently passed his test!”

Looking back at the levitated Sturm hovering helplessly in the air, Palin nodded. “You’re right,” he said proudly. “I performed a very advanced spell, without any assistance or aid! Not even the Staff of Magius helped me!"

Reaching out, he took hold of the staff. The wood was cold to the touch, icy cold, almost painful. Palin gasped, almost dropping it. But then he noticed that the dizziness was easing. He felt his skin grow cool; the buzzing in his head diminished. “My magic!” he murmured. “The Graygem must be enhancing it! I’ve only been here a short while, and look what I can do! I have the power of an archmage. If I had the gem, I’d be as strong as my uncle! Maybe stronger!” His eyes glistened; his body began to tremble. “I’d use my power for good, of course. I would seize the tower at Palanthas from Dalamar and cleanse it of its evil. I would lift the curse from the Shoikan Grove, enter my uncle’s laboratory.” Thoughts and visions of the future came to him in a swirl of wild colors, so real and vivid he literally reeled at the sight.

Strong hands held him. Blinking, clearing the mist from his eyes, Palin looked down to see himself reflected in the bright, dark, cunning eyes of the dwarf. “Steady, laddie,” said Dougan, “you’re flying high, too high for one whose wings have just sprouted.”

“Leave me alone!” Palin cried, pulling away from the dwarf’s grip. “You want the gem yourself!”

“Aye, laddie,” said Dougan softly, stroking his black beard. “And I have a right to it. I’m the only one who has a right to it, in fact!”

“Might makes right, dwarf,” Palin said with a sneer. Picking up his staff, he started to walk toward the door. “Coming?” he asked Tanin coldly, “or must I bring you along as I’m carrying that great oaf!” Gesturing toward Sturm, he drew the young man toward him with a motion of his hand. Twisting his head, Sturm gazed back at Tanin in fear, and alarm as he drifted through the air.

“Oh, no! Don’t leave! Do some more tricks!” cried the women in dismay.

“Stop, young mage!” Dougan cried. “You’re falling under the spell!”

“Palin!” Tanin’s quiet voice cut through the buzzing in Palin’s head and the laughter of the women and the shouts of the dwarf. “Don’t listen to Dougan or me or anyone for a moment. Just listen to yourself.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, my brother?” Palin scoffed. “Something wise that suddenly struck you? Did a brain finally make an appearance through all that muscle?”

He leered mockingly at Tanin, expecting—no, hoping that his brother would become angry and try to stop him. Then I’ll really show him a trick or two! Palin thought.

But Tanin just stood there, regarding him gravely.

And then it was his uncle—Raistlin—regarding the young mage gravely...

sadly, in disappointment.

“I—I—Name of the gods!” Palin faltered, putting his hand to his head. His cruel words came back to him. 'Tanin, I’m sorry! I don’t know what’s come over me.” Turning, he saw Sturm, hanging helplessly in the air. “Sturm!” Palin held out his hands. “I’m sorry! I’ll let you go—”

“Palin, don’t—!” Sturm began wildly, but it was too late.

The spell broken, the young man fell to the floor with a yell and a crash, to be instantly surrounded by the cooing and clucking women. It was a few moments before Sturm made his appearance again, his red hair tousled, his face flushed. Getting to his feet, he pushed the women aside and limped toward his brothers.

“I was wrong,” Palin said, shivering. “I understand now. These women are being held in thrall...”

“Aye, lad,” said Dougan. “Just as you were yourself. If s the power of the Graygem, trying to take hold of you, exploiting your weaknesses as it did theirs.”

“By giving us what we want,” Palin said thoughtfully.

“That’s what we’ll turn into, the longer we stay here,” Tanin added.

“Slaves of the Graygem. Don’t you see, these women are guarding it just as effectively inside this castle as their men are outside. That’s why nothing shifts in here. The Graygem’s keeping it stable for them!”

The women began sidling nearer, reaching out their hands once more.

“How boring ... don’t go... don’t leave us . . . stupid rock...”

“Well, let’s go find this Lord Gargath then,” Sturm muttered, shamefaced. Try as he might, his gaze still strayed toward the blonde, who was blowing kisses at him.

“Take your spears,” said Tanin, shoving aside the soft hands that were clinging to him. “These women might or might not be telling us the truth. That old wizard could be laughing at us right now.”

“They said he was 'up there.' ” Palin gazed at the ceiling. “But where? How do we get there?”

“Uh, I believe I know the way, laddie,” Dougan said. “Just a hunch, mind you,” he added hastily, seeing Tanin’s dark look. “That door, there, leads upstairs ... I think ”

“Humpf.” Tanin growled, but went to investigate the door, his brothers and the dwarf following behind.

“What did you mean, you’re the only one who has a right to the Graygem?” Palin asked Dougan in an undertone.

“Did I say that?” The dwarf looked at him shrewdly. “Must have been the gem talking....”

“Oh, please don’t go!” cried the women.

“Never mind. They’ll be coming back soon,” predicted the dark—haired beauty.

“And when you do come back, maybe you can show us some more of those cute magic tricks,” called the blonde to Palin politely.

Chapter Eight Lord Gargath

Dougan was right. The door led to another flight of narrow stairs, carved out of the stone walls of the castle. It was pitch dark; the only light was the burning crystal atop the Staff of Magius. After another leg-aching climb, they came to a large wooden door.

“Would you look at that!” Sturm said, stunned.

“What in the name of the Abyss is it?” Tanin wondered.

It was a fantastic mechanism, sitting in front of the door. Barely visible in the shadows, it was made of iron and had all sorts of iron arms and gears and rope pulleys and winches extending from the stone floor up to the ceiling.

“Hold the light closer, Palin,” Tanin said, stooping down beside it. 'There’s something in the center, surrounded by a bunch of ... mirrors.”

Cautiously, Palin held the light down near the device and the room was suddenly illuminated as if by a hundred suns. Tanin shrieked and covered his eyes with his hands. “I can’t see a thing!” he cried, staggering back against the wall. “Move the staff! Move the staff!”

“It’s a sundial!” Palin reported, holding the staff back and staring at the device in astonishment. “Surrounded by mirrors . . .”

“Ah,” said Dougan triumphantly, “a gnome timelock.”

“A timelock?”

“Aye, lad. You wait until the dial casts the shadow of the sun on the correct time, and the lock will open.”

“But,” pointed out Palin in confusion, “the way the mirrors are fixed, there could never be a shadow! It’s always noon.”

“Not to mention,” added Tanin bitterly, rubbing his eyes, “that this place is pitch dark. There're no windows! How’s the sun supposed to hit it?”

“Small design flaws,” said the dwarf. “I’m sure it’s in committee—”

“Meanwhile, how do we open the door?” Sturm asked, slumping back wearily against the wall.

“Too bad Tas isn’t here,” said Palin, with a smile.

“Tas?” Dougan scowled, whirling around. “You don’t mean Tasslehoff Burrfoot? The kender?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“No,” the dwarf growled, “but a friend of mine does. This crazy dwarf sits under a tree near my for— near where I work, day in, day out, whittling his endless wood and muttering 'doorknob of a kender' this and 'doorknob of a kender' that.”

“A friend?” Palin said, mystified. “Why that sounds like a story our father told about Flint—”

“Never you mind!” Dougan snapped irritably. “And quit talking about kender! We’re in enough trouble as it is. Brrrrr.” He shivered. “Makes my skin crawl...”

The faintest glimmering of understanding lit the confused darkness of Palin’s mind. Dimly he began to see the truth. But though the light shone on his thoughts, they were such a confused jumble that he couldn’t sort them out or even decide whether he should feel relieved or more terrified.

“Maybe we could break the mirrors,” Tanin suggested, blinking in the darkness, trying to see beyond the sea of bright blue spots that filled his vision.

“I wouldn’t,” Dougan warned. “The thing’s likely to blow up.”

“You mean it’s trapped?” Sturm asked nervously, backing away.

“No!” Dougan snapped irritably. “I mean it’s made by gnomes. If s likely to blow up.”

“If it did”—Tanin scratched his chin thoughtfully—“it would probably blow a hole in the door.”

“And us with it,” Palin pointed out.

“Just you, Little Brother,” Sturm said helpfully. “We’ll be down at the bottom of the stairs.”

“We have to try, Palin,” Tanin decided. “We have no idea how long before the power of the Graygem takes hold of us again. It probably won’t be a big explosion,” he added soothingly. “It isn’t a very big device, after all.”

“No, it just takes up the whole door. Oh, very well,” Palin grumbled.

“Stand back.”

The warning was unnecessary. Dougan was already clambering down the stairs, Sturm behind him. Tanin rounded the corner of the wall, but stopped where he could see Palin.

Edging up cautiously on the device, Palin raised the end of the staff over the first mirror, averting his face and shutting his eyes as he did so. At that moment, however, a voice came from the other side of the door.

“I believe all you have to do is turn the handle.”

Palin arrested his downward jab. “Who said that?” he shouted, backing up.

“Me,” said the voice again in meek tones. “Just turn the handle.”

“You mean, the door’s not locked?” Palin asked in amazement.

“Nobody’s perfect,” said the voice defensively.

Gingerly, Palin reached out his hand and, after removing several connecting arms and undoing a rope or two, he turned the door handle.

There was a click, and the door swung open on creaking hinges.

Entering the chamber with some difficulty, his robes having caught on a gear, Palin looked around in awe.

He was in a room shaped like a cone—round at the bottom, it came to a point at the ceiling. The chamber was lit by oil lamps, placed at intervals around the circular floor, their flickering flames illuminating the room as brightly as day. Tanin was about to step through the door past Palin, when his brother stopped him.

“Wait!” Palin cautioned, catching hold of Tanin’s arm. “Look! On the floor!”

“Well, what is it?” Tanin asked. “Some sort of design—”

“It’s a pentagram, a magic symbol,” Palin said softly. “Don’t step within the circle of the lamps!”

“What’s it there for?” Sturm peered over Tanin’s broad shoulders, while Dougan jumped up and down in back, trying to see.

“I think... Yes!” Palin stared up into the very top of the ceiling. “It’s holding the Graygem! Look!” He pointed.

Everyone tilted back their heads, staring upward, except the dwarf, who was cursing loudly about not being able tosee. Dropping down to his hands and knees, Dougan finally managed to thrust his head in between Tanin’s and Sturm’s legs and peered upward, his beard trailing on the polished stone floor.

“Aye, laddie,” he said with a longing sigh. “That"s it! The Graygem of Gargath!”

Hovering in the air, below the very point of the cone, was a gray-colored jewel. Its shape was impossible to distinguish, as was its size, for it changed as they stared at it—first it was round and as big as a man’s fist; then it was a prism as large as a man himself; then it was a cube, no bigger than a lady’s bauble; then round again.... The jewel had been dark when they entered the room, not even reflecting the light from the lamps below. But now a soft gray light of its own began to beam from it.

Palin felt the magic tingle through him. Words to spells of unbelievable power flooded his mind. His uncle had been a weakling compared to him! He would rule the world, the heavens, the Abyss—“Steady, Little Brother,” came a distant voice.

“Hold onto me, Tanin!” Palin gasped, reaching out his hand to his brother. “Help me fight it!”

“If s no use,” came the voice they had heard through the door, this time sounding sad and resigned. “You can’t fight it. It will consume you in the end, as it did me.”

Wrenching his gaze from the gray light that was fast dazzling him with its brilliance, Palin peered around the conical room. Looking across from where he stood, he could make out a tall, high-backed chair placed against a tapestry-adorned wall. The chair’s back was carved with various runes and magical inscriptions, designed—apparently—to protect the mage who sat there from whatever beings he summoned forth to do his bidding. The voice seemed to be coming from the direction of the chair, but Palin could not see anyone sitting there.

Then, “Paladine have mercy!” the young man cried in horror.

“Too late, too late,” squeaked the voice. “Yes, I am Lord Gargath. The wretched Lord Gargath! Welcome to my home.”

Seated upon the chair’s soft cushion, making a graceful—if despairing—gesture with its paw, was a hedgehog.

“You may come closer,” said Lord Gargath, smoothing his whiskers with a trembling paw. “Just don’t step in the circle, as you said, young mage.”

Keeping carefully outside the boundaries of the flickering oil lamps, the brothers and Dougan edged their way along the wall. Above them, the Graygem gleamed softly, its light growing ever brighter.

“Lord Gargath,” Palin began hesitantly, approaching the hedgehog’s chair. Suddenly, he cried out in alarm and stumbled backward, bumping into Tanin.

“Sturm, to my side!” Tanin shouted, pushing Palin behind him and raising the spear.

The chair had vanished completely beneath the bulk of a gigantic black dragon! The creature stared at them with red, fiery eyes. Its great wings spanned the length of the wall. Its tail lashed the floor with a tremendous thud. When the dragon spoke, though, its voice held the same sorrow as had the hedgehog’s.

“You’re frightened,” said the dragon wistfully. “Thank you for the compliment, but you needn’t be. By the time I could attack you, I’d probably be a mouse or a cockroach.

“Ah, there! You see how it is,” continued Lord Gargath in the form of a lovely young maiden, who put her head in her hands and wept dismally.

“I’m constantly changing, constantly shifting. I never know from one moment to the next,” snarled a ferocious minotaur, snorting in anger, “what I’m going to be.”

“The Graygem has done this to you?”

“Yessssss,” hissed a snake, coiling around upon itself on the cushion in agony. “Once I wasssss a wizzzzard like you, young one. Once I wassss... powerful and wealthy. This island and its people were mine,” continued a dapper young man, sitting in the chair, a cold drink in his hand. “Care for some? Tropical fruit punch. Not bad, I assure you. Where was I?”

“The Graygem,” Palin ventured. His brothers could only stare in silence.

“Ah, yes,” burbled a toad unhappily. “My great-great-great-well, you get the picture-grandfather followed the damn thing, centuries ago, in hopes of retrieving it. He did, for a time. But his power failed as he grew old and the Graygem escaped. I don’t know where it went, spreading chaos throughout the world. But / always knew that. .. someday . . . it would come within my grasp. And I’d be ready for it!” A rabbit, sitting up on its hind feet, clenched its paw with a stern look of resolve.

“Long years I study,” said a gully dwarf, holding up a grubby hand.

“Two years. I think two years.” The gully dwarf frowned. “I make pretty design on floor. I wait. Two years. Not more than two. Big rock come! I catch...

“And I’d trapped the Graygem!” shrieked an old, wizened man with a wild cackle. “It couldn’t escape me! At last, all the magic in the world would be mine, at my fingertips! And so it was, so it was,” squeaked a red-eyed rat, chewing nervously on its tail. “I could have anything I wanted. I demanded ten maidens—Well, I was lonely,” said a spider, curling its legs defensively. “You don’t get a chance to meet nice girls when you’re an evil mage, you know.”

“And the Graygem took control of the women!” said Palin, growing dizzy again, watching the transformations of the wizard. “And used them against you.”

“Yes,” whinnied a horse, pacing back and forth restlessly in front of the chair. “It educated them and gave them this palace. My palace! It gives them everything! They never have to work. Food appears when they’re hungry. Wine, whatever they want.... All they do is lounge around all day, reading elven poetry and arguing philosophy. God, I hate elven poetry!” groaned a middle-aged bald man. “I tried to talk to them, told them to make something of their lives! And what did they do? They shut me in here, with that!” He gestured helplessly at the stone.

“But the women are getting restless,” Palin said, his thoughts suddenly falling into order.

“One can only take so much elven poetry,” remarked a walrus, gloomily waving its flippers. “They want diversion—”

“Men ... and not their husbands. No, that wouldn’t suit the Graygem at all. It needs the warriors to guard the gem from the outside while the women guard it from inside. So, to keep the women happy, it brought—”

“Us!” said Tanin, rounding upon the dwarf in fury.

“Now, don’t be hasty,” Dougan said with a cunning grin. He glanced at Palin out of the corner of his eye. “You’re very clever, laddie. You take after your uncle, yes, you do. Who was it guarding itself from, if you’re so smart? What would it have to fear?”

“The one person who’d been searching for it for thousands and thousands of years,” said Palin softly. Everything was suddenly very, very clear. “The one who made it and gambled it away. It has kept away from you, all these centuries, staying in one place until you got too dose, then disappearing again. But now it is trapped by the wizard. No matter what it does, it can’t escape. So it set these guards around itself. But you knew the women were unhappy. You knew the Graygem had to allow them to have what they wanted—”

“Good-looking men. They’d let no one else in the castle,” said Dougan, twirling his moustache. “And, if I do say so myself, we fill the bill,” he added proudly.

“But who is he?” said Sturm, staring from Palin to the dwarf in confusion. "Not Dougan Redhammer, I gather—”

“I know! I know!” shouted Lord Gargath, now a kender, who was jumping on the cushion of the chair. “Let me tell! Let me tell!” Leaping down, the kender ran over to embrace the dwarf.

“Great Reorx! Keep away from me!” roared Dougan, clutching his empty money pouch.

“You told!” The kender pouted.

“My god!” whispered Tanin.

“That about sums it up,” Palin remarked.

Chapter Nine Wanna Bet?

“Yes!” roared Dougan Redhammer in a thunderous voice. “I am Reorx, the Forger of the World, and I have come back to claim what is mine!”

Suddenly aware of the presence of the god, aware, now, of the danger it was in, the Graygem flared with brilliant gray light. Trapped by the magic of the wizard’s symbol on the floor, it could not move, but it began to spin frantically, changing shape so fast that it was nothing more than a blur of motion to the eye.

The aspect of the wizard changed too. Once again, the black dragon burst into being, its great body obliterating the chair, its vast wingspan filling the cone-shaped room.

Palin glanced at it without interest, being much more absorbed in his own internal struggles. The Graygem was exerting all its energy, trying to protect itself. It was offering Palin anything, everything he wanted. Images flashed into his head. He saw himself as head of the Order of White Robes, he saw himself ruling the Conclave of Wizards. He was driving the evil dragons back into the Abyss! He was doing battle with the Dark Queen. All he had to do was kill the dwarf Kill a god? he asked in disbelief.

I will grant you the power! the Graygem answered.

Looking around, Palin saw Sturm’s body bathed in sweat, his eyes wild, his fists clenched. Even Tanin, so strong and unbending, was staring straight ahead, his skin pale, his lips tight, seeing some vision of glory visible only to himself.

Dougan stood in the center of the pentagram, watching them, not saying a word.

Palin held fast to the staff, nearly sobbing in his torment. Pressing his cheek against the cool wood, he heard words forming in his mind. All my life, I was my own person. The choices I made, I made of my own free will. I was never held in thrall by anyone or anything; not even the Queen of Darkness herself! Bow to others in reverence and respect, but never in slavery, Nephew!

Palin blinked, looking around as though awaking from a daze. He wasn’t conscious of having heard the words, but they were in his heart, and he had the strength now to know their worth. No! he was able to tell the Graygem firmly, and it was then that he realized the black dragon behind him was undergoing similar torture.

“But I don’t want to flay the skin from their bones!” the dragon whimpered. “Well, yes, I wouldn’t mind having my island back the way it was. And ten maidens who would act like maidens and not turn into poets.”

Looking at the dragon in alarm, Palin saw its red eyes gleaming feverishly. Acid dripped from its forked tongue, burning holes in the polished floor; its claws glistened. Spreading its wings, the dragon lifted itself into the air.

“Tanin! Sturm!” Palin cried, grasping hold of the nearest brother and shaking him. It was Tanin. Slowly the big man turned his eyes to his little brother, but there was no recognition in them.

“Help me, wizard!” Tanin hissed at him. “Help me slay the dwarf! I’ll be the leader of armies”

“Dougan!” Palin ran to the dwarf. “Do something!” the young mage shouted wildly, waving his arms at the dragon.

“I am, laddie, I am,” said Dougan calmly, his eyes on the Graygem.

Palin could see the black dragon’s eyes watching him hungrily. The black wings twitched.

I’ll cast a sleep spell, Palin decided in desperation, reaching into his pouches for sand. But as he drew it forth a horrible realization came to him.

His fingers went limp, the sand trickled from them, spilling down upon the floor. His magic was gone!

“No, please, no!” Palin moaned, looking up at the Gray-gem', which appeared to sparkle with a chaotic malevolence.

The wooden door to the room burst open, banging against the wall.

“We have come as you commanded us, Graygem!” cried a voice.

It was the voice of the dark-haired beauty. Behind her was the blonde, and behind them all the rest of the women, young and old alike. But gone were the diaphanous gowns and seductive smiles. The women were dressed in tiger skins. Feathers were tied in their hair, and they carried stone-tipped spears in their hands.

And now Tanin’s voice rang out loudly as a trumpet call, “My troops! To my side! Rally round!” Raising his arm, he gave a battle cry and the women answered with a wild shout.

“Bring me wine!” cried Sturm, executing an impromptu dance. “Let the revelry begin!”

The blonde’s eyes were on him and they burned with lust.

Unfortunately, it was lust of the wrong kind. She raised her spear, her eyes looking to her leader—Tanin—for the order to attack.

“You promise me?” said the black dragon eagerly, its forked tongue flicking in and out of its dripping mouth. “No more gully dwarves? I didn’t mind the rest so much, but I won’t be changed into a gully dwarf again!”

“The world’s gone mad!” Palin slumped back against the wall. He felt his strength and his sanity draining from him as the sand fell from his nerveless fingers. The chaos around him and the loss of his magic had overthrown his mind. He stared at the Staff of Magius and saw nothing more than a stick of wood, topped by a glistening bauble. He heard his brothers, one dispersing his troops for battle, the other calling for the pipers to strike up another tune. He heard the dragon’s great wings creak and the intake of breath that would be released in a stream of acid. Shutting his eyes, Palin cast the useless staff away from him and turned his face to the wall.

“Halt!” thundered a voice. “Halt, I command you!”

Chaos whirled wildly an instant longer, then it slowed and finally wound down until all was silence and stillness in the room where before had been a blur of noise and motion. Dougan stood on the pentagram in the center of the room, his black beard bristling in anger. Raising his arm, he cried out, “Reorx Drach Kalahzar” and a gigantic warhammer materialized in the dwarf’s hand. The huge hammer glowed with a fierce red light that was reflected in Dougan’s dark, bright eyes.

“Yes!” shouted the dwarf, staring up at the flaring Gray-gem. “I know your power! None better! After all, you are my creation! You can keep this chaos going eternally and you know that I cannot stop you. But you are trapped eternally yourself! You will never be free!”

The Graygem’s light flickered an instant, as though considering Dougan’s words. Then it began to pulse, brighter than before, and Palin’s heart sank in despair.

“Wait!” Dougan cried, raising one hand, the other grasping the handle of the burning red warhammer. “I say we leave everything up to chance. I offer you ... a wager!”

The Graygem appeared to consider; its light pulsed more slowly, thoughtfully.

“A wager?” the women murmured, lowering their spears.

“A wager,” said the dragon in pleased tones, settling back down to the floor once more.

“A wager!” Palin muttered, wiping his sleeve across his sweating brow. “My god, that’s what started all this!”

“We agree to it, ” said the dark-haired beauty, striding forward, the shaft of her spear thumping against the floor as she walked. “What will be the stakes?”

Dougan stroked his beard. “These young men,” he said finally, pointing at Tanin, Sturm, and Palin, “for yourselves. Freedom for the Graygem.”

“What?” Both Tanin and Sturm came back to reality, staring around the room as though seeing it for the first time.

“You can’t do this to us, dwarf!” Tanin shouted, lunging forward, but two of the larger and stronger women caught him and, with strength given them by the brightly burning Graygem, bound the struggling man’s arms behind him. Two more took care of Sturm. No one bothered with Palin.

“If I lose the wager,” Dougan continued imperturbably, “these young men will stay with you as your slaves. I’ll break the magic spell that holds the gem trapped here and it will be free once more to roam the world. If I win, the Gray-gem is mine and these men will be released.”

“We agree to the stakes,” said the dark-haired beauty, after a glance at the Graygem. “And now what is the wager?”

Dougan appeared to consider, twirling his moustache round and round his finger. His gaze happened to rest on Palin, and he grinned. “That this young man”—he pointed at the mage—“will throw my hammer in the air and it will hang suspended, never falling to the floor.”

Everyone stared at the dwarf in silence, considering. What was the angle? ...

Then, “No! Dougan!” Palin cried frantically, pushing himself away from the wall. One of the women shoved him back.

“This young man?” The dark-haired beauty suddenly caught on. “But he is a magic-user—”

“Only a very young one,” Dougan said hastily. “And he won’t use his magic, will you, Palin?” the dwarf asked, winking at the young mage when the women weren’t looking.

“Dougan!” Palin wrenched himself free from the woman’s grasp and lurched across the floor, his knees so weak he could barely walk. “I can’t! My magic—”

“Never say 'can’t,' laddie,” Dougan said severely. “Didn’t your uncle teach you anything?” Once again, he winked at Palin.

It seemed the dark-haired beauty suddenly realized Palin’s weakness, for she glanced about at her fellows and smiled in pleased fashion. “We accept your wager,” she said.

“Dougan!” Palin cried desperately, grabbing hold of the dwarf, who was looking up at him with a sly grin. “Dougan! I can’t use my magic! I don’t have any! The Graygem drained it!” he whispered urgently in the dwarf’s ear.

Dougan’s face crumpled. “You don’t say now, laddie,” he muttered, glancing at the women and rubbing his bearded chin. “That's a shame, now,” he said sadly, shaking his head. “A real shame. Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Palin snapped.

“Well, give it your best shot, lad!” the dwarf said, clapping Palin on the arm with his hand. “Here you go!” He thrust the handle of the warhammer into Palin’s hands. Feeling the unfamiliar touch, the hammer’s red glow faded, turning an ugly, leaden gray.

Palin looked around helplessly at his brothers. Tanin regarded him gravely, his expression grim. Sturm averted his head, his big shoulders heaving in a sigh.

Swallowing, licking his dry lips, Palin wrapped his hands around the handle of the hammer, uncertain, even, how to hold the weapon. He tried to lift it. A groan escaped his lips—a groan echoed by his brothers.

“By Paladine!” Palin gasped. “I can barely move this thing, Dougan! How can I throw it?” Leaning closer, staring into the dwarf’s eyes, the young man murmured, “You’re a god. ... I don’t suppose . . .”

“Of course not, laddie!” The dwarf looked shocked. “It’s a matter of honor! You understand...”

“Sure,” Palin grunted bitterly.

“Look, lad,” Dougan said, positioning Palin’s hands. “If s not that difficult. You just hold the hammer like this . . . there. . . . Now, you pick it up and began spinning round and round in a circle. Your momentum will help you lift the hammer and, when you’re going good, just give it a heave, like so. Nature will do the rest.”

“Nature?” Palin appeared dubious.

“Yes,” answered the dwarf gravely, smoothing his beard. “It’s called Centrifug’s Force or some such thing. The gnomes explained it to me.”

“Great!” Palin muttered. “Gnomes!”

Drawing a deep breath, the young man lifted the hammer. A groan of pain escaped his lips, sweat stood out on his forehead from the strain, and he heard several of the women giggle. Gritting his teeth, certain that he had ruptured something inside him, Palin began to turn in a circle, the hammer in his hands. He was startled to notice that Dougan was right.

The momentum of his motion made the hammer seem lighter. He was able to lift it higher and higher. But the handle began to slip in his sweaty palms....

“He’s losing it! Get down! Everyone!” Tanin called out, falling flat on his face. There was a clattering of spears as the women followed suit.

Even the black dragon—seeing Palin spinning about in the center of the room, out of control, the hammer starting to glow a fiery red—crouched on the floor with a whimper, attempting to fold its wings over its head. Only the dwarf remained standing, his face split in a broad grin.

“I... can’t... hold ... it!” Palin cried and, with a gasp, he let the hammer fly.

The young mage fell to his knees, in too much pain and exhaustion to even bother looking to see what happened. But everyone else in the room, lying flat on the floor, raised their heads to watch the hammer.

Round and round it whizzed, flying over the heads of the women, buzzing over Tanin and Sturm, whisking past the cowering dragon. Round and round it flew and, as it flew, it began to rise into the air. Dougan watched it placidly, his hands laced across his great belly.

Glowing now a fiery red, the hammer circled higher and higher and, as it rose, the Graygem’s light began to waver in sudden fear. The hammer was aiming straight for it!

“Yes, my beauty,” murmured Dougan, watching the hammer in satisfaction. “You forged it. Now, bring it home.”

Desperately the Graygem sought to dim its light, realizing, perhaps, mat it—was its own power that was drawing the hammer to it. But it was too late. The hammer flew to the Graygem it had helped create as a lass flies to her lover’s arms. There was a shattering sound and a blinding flare of red and gray light, so brilliant that even Dougan was forced to shade his eyes, and no one else could see anything for the dazzling radiance.

The two energies seemed to strive together, the red light and the gray, and then the gray began to dim. Peering upward, tears streaming from his eyes in the bright light, Palin thought he caught a glimpse of a gray, sparkling jewel tumbling from the air to land in Dougan’s hand. But he couldn’t be certain because, at that moment, the red glowing hammer fell from the air as well, plummeting straight down on top of them!

Clasping his aching arms over his head, Palin hugged the floor, visions of his head being split open and his brains splattering everywhere coming to him with vivid clarity. He heard a resounding clang. Timidly raising his head, he saw the hammer, glowing red in triumph, lying on the floor at Dougan’s feet.

Slowly, trembling, Palin stood up, as did everyone else in the room. He was hurting and exhausted; Tanin had to come help him or he would have collapsed. But Palin smiled up at him as his big brother clasped him in his arms.

“My magic’s returned!” he whispered. “If s back!”

“I’m back, too,” said a voice. Glancing around, Palin saw the dragon was gone. In its place, crouched on the floor, his hands over his head, was a thin, middle-aged wizard dressed in black robes. The wizard sat up, staring around him as if he couldn’t believe it. “I’m back!” he cried out joy fully, patting his head and his neck and his shoulders with his hands. “No rabbit ears! No dragon’s breath! No minotaur muscles! I’m me again!” He burst into tears.

“And you lost the bet, dwarf!” the dark-haired beauty cried out suddenly, getting to her feet. “The hammer fell!”

“Yes!” shouted the women. “You lost the bet! The men are ours!”

“Dougan . . .” growled Tanin ominously.

The women were closing in on them, eyes burning with the fire of love instead of the fire of battle.

Raising the hammer over his head, Dougan held up his arms. His face stem, his black eyes flashed as red as the glowing hammer. The voice that spoke was no longer the voice of the dwarf with the flashy clothes, but a voice as ancient as the mountains it had carved, as deep as the oceans it had poured.

“Women!” the god called out in stern tones. “Listen to me! The power of the Graygem over you is broken. Remember now your children and your husbands. Remember your brothers and your fathers! Remember your homes and those who love you and need you!”

One by one, the women looked around in dazed fashion, some putting their hands to their heads, some blinking in confusion.

“Where are we?” asked one.

“Why are we dressed like this?” asked another, staring at the tiger skin.

“How dare you?” cried the blonde, slapping Sturm across the face.

Only the dark-haired beauty seemed sad. Shaking her head, she said with a sigh, “I miss my family. And I remember the man I love and am betrothed to marry. But it will start all over again. The eternal wars. The fighting, the bleeding, the dying....”

She turned to the god, only to find no one but a flashily dressed dwarf, who smiled at her in understanding.

“Think a moment, lassie,” said Dougan kindly, patting her hand. “You’ve read the books, remember? And so have they.” He pointed at the others. “You have knowledge now. No one can take that from you. Use it wisely, and you can stop the senseless wars. You and the others, with the help of your menfolk and your children, can make this island a paradise.”

“I don’t know who you are,” the dark-haired beauty said, gazing at the dwarf in wonder, “but you are wise. We will do as you say. And we will honor you always, in our hearts and our prayers.” (And so the islanders did, becoming the only humans, as far as anyone knows, to once again worship Reorx, the Forger of the World.)

Bending down, she kissed Dougan on his cheek. The dwarf’s face flamed as red as his hammer.

“Go along with you now!” he said gruffly.

Arms linked around each other’s waists, the women ran, laughing merrily, from the room, and the brothers soon heard their joyful voices outside the castle walls.

“As for you—” Dougan turned upon the black-robed wizard.

“Don’t scold me!” begged Lord Gargath meekly. “I’ve learned my lesson. Truly. I will never have anything to do with gems as long as I live. You can believe me!” he said, glancing up at the empty ceiling with a shudder.

“And we’ll expect to see you at the conclave,” said Palin severely, retrieving the Staff of Magius. “You’ll be a renegade no longer?”

“I’m looking forward to the next meeting!” Lord Gargath said eagerly. “Is there anything I can bring? A cake, perhaps? I make a marvelous devil’s food...."

Afterword (This Time For Real)

Dougan and the brothers returned to the gnome ship without incident. In fact, the warriors were so happy to have their women back with them, their families once more united, that they gave back the armor and the swords. (The chief had decided the armor was too hot anyway, and he thought the sword a primitive weapon, compared to a spear.) The gnomes had repaired the damage to the ship. Indeed, they discovered that having one end smashed in improved the steering immeasurably and they were quite excited at the prospect of returning home to Mount Nevermind and smashing in the prows (or sterns) of the remainder of the gnomish fleet.

One small incident marred an otherwise idyllic cruise (not counting constantly ducking the sail, being hit by falling fish, and wondering whether or not they were going to sink before they reached land, due to the leaking of the smashed-in prow ... or stern ...).

Dougan was lounging on the deck one night, contemplating the heavens (the planet Reorx was missing) when suddenly he was accosted by the three brothers.

“Sturm, get his arms!” Tanin ordered, leaping on the dwarf from behind. “Palin, if his beard so much as twitches, send him to sleep!”

“What is this outrage! How dare you?” Dougan roared, struggling in Sturm’s strong grasp.

“We risked our lives for that rock,” Tanin said grimly, glaring down at the red-faced dwarf. “And I want to see it.”

“You’ve been putting us off for days,” added Palin, standing beside his brother. “We at least want a look at it before you take it back to your forge or wherever.”

“Let me loose!” Dougan swore an oath. “Or you’ll see nothing ever again!”

Sturm, at a nod from Tanin, let go of the dwarf’s arms. Dougan glanced around at them uncomfortably.

“The Graygem?” the brothers said, gathering around.

“Well, now, lads.” The dwarf appeared highly uncomfortable. “That’s going to be a bit of a problem.”

“What do you mean?” Palin asked nervously, not liking the expression on the dwarf’s face. “Is it so powerful that we can’t look at it?”

“Nooo ...” said Dougan slowly, his face flushing in the red light of Lunitari. “That's not it, exactly....”

“Well, then, let's see it!” Tanin demanded.

“The... uh... the fact is, lads,” stammered Dougan, winding his black beard around his finger, “that I’ve... I’ve misplaced it ”

“Misplaced it!” Sturm said in amazement.

“The Graygem?” Palin glanced around the boat in alarm, fearing to see its gray light beaming out at them.

“Perhaps, 'misplaced' isn’t quite the word,” the dwarf mumbled. “You see, I got into this bones game, the night before we left the island and...” His voice trailed off miserably.

“You lost it!” Tanin groaned.

Palin and Sturm stared at the dwarf, too stunned to speak.

“Aye, lad.” Dougan sighed heavily. “It was a sure thing, too....”

“So the Graygem’s loose in the world again,” Palin murmured.

“I’m afraid so. After all, I did lose the original wager, if you will remember. But don’t worry, laddie,” said the dwarf, laying his hand on Palin’s arm. “We’ll get it back! Someday, we’ll get it back!”

“What do you mean we? ” Tanin growled.

“I swear by Paladine and by Gilean and by the Dark Queen and by all the gods in the heavens that if I ever in my life see you even looking my direction, dwarf, I will turn around and walk—no, run—the opposite way!"

Sturm vowed devoutly.

“The same goes for me,” said Palin.

“And me!” said Tanin.

Dougan looked at them, downcast for a moment. Then, a grin split the dwarf’s face. His beady eyes glittered.

“Wanna bet?"