Kender, Gully Dwarves And Gnomes

CHAPTER THREE

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, 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. The fact that 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. They know that nothing is perfect. (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 gnome's 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 it 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 either side of the ship and one down the middle. Huge cables, running the length of the ship and driven by steam generated in a giant boiler down below operated this miracle of modem 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 prow at the rear… (There WAS one tiny problem. It was impossible to turn the ship around. Therefore the stem 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 either 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 prow

at the rear, it rolled itself up neatly and traveled under the ship through the water until it reached the prow at the front. Here it leaped 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 either side of the hull, these were kept filled with air by giant, steam-driven bellows. Letting the air out of one or the other allowed the ship to be whooshed along on a different tack. (We have 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 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 during the mercifully short voyage. This, then, was the miracle witha crew of gnomes, a dwarf for its captain, and three sea sick, hung-over adventurers (though Dougan assured them solemnly that they should thank their respective gods for it!).

Night was falling. The sun sank down 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. 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 1 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 — leaped 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 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 took parts of it to rule, 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 later 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.

"Getonwiththegoodpart!" shouted the gnomes, who always speak extremely fast and jamtheirwordstogether. Deciding that this was good 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, they 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, this would drive their Invention."

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

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

"A band of gnomes followed the Graygem across the sea, hoping still to catch it and claim it for their own. But it was a human, a man named Gargath, who trapped the stone and held it in his castle by certain 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 colossal, 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 breech 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 at a glower from Dougan.

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

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

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

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

"What?" asked Palin, leaning forward.

"Helostit," muttered the dwarf.

"I still didn't hear — »

"He lost the damn gem in a game of bones!" Dougan roared angrily, lifting his face and glaring around him. Terrified, the gnomes immediately scattered in all directions, more than a few getting clonked on the head by the sail as it whizzed past. "Morgion, God of decay and disease, tricked Reorx into making the gem. Morgion knew 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 bone 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 moustaches. "And, with his help, I've managed after all these years to locate the Graygem. With the assistance of these lads here" — he smote a passing gnome on the shoulder, completely bowling the little fellow over — "and with the help of you three fine young men, we'll recover it and… and…" Dougan stopped, seeming confused.

"And?"

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

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

"Ijustwantedtolookatit!" whined the gnome, cringing. "Iwasgoingtogiveitbackhonest. You see," he said, talking more slowly as Tanin released his grip, "we have developed a revolutionary new design in helms. There's 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 dry," 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 which ever 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, Dougan," Palin muttered, 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 floor, 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, he realized bitterly. 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, he saw the frail body wracked by pain. But he heard him speak no word of complaint. Softly, Palin approached his uncle. The coughing ceased, the spasm eased. Lifting his head, Raistlin looked directly into Palin's eyes…

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

"I've a deck of cards here, lads… What do you say? High card sleeps here tonight?…"