The Second Generation

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.