The Second Generation

“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.