“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 it’s the true story?” Tanin 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 so
re 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.…”
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