The Second Generation

“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.