The Second Generation

Twisting around, Palin was able to see his brothers. If I look as bad as they do, he thought, no wonder Tanin believed I was dead. Both young men were pale beneath their tan skin, their pallor had a faint greenish tinge, and there was ample evidence on the deck below that both had been extremely sick. Their red curls were tangled and wet and matted, their clothes soaked. Both lay on their backs, their hands and feet tied with rough leather thongs. Tanin had a large bruise on his forehead and, in addition, his wrists were cut and bleeding. He had obviously been trying to free himself and failed.

“This is all my fault,” said Tanin glumly, with another groan as nausea welled up inside of him. “What a fool I was, not to see this coming!”

“Don’t give yourself all the credit, Big Brother,” said Sturm. “I went right along with you. We should have listened to Palin—”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Palin mumbled, closing his eyes against the sight of the sea and sky constantly shifting places in the porthole. “I was being a superior, self-righteous twit, as both of you tried to point out.” He was silent a moment, trying to decide if he was going to be sick or not. Finally, he thought he wasn’t and added, “We’re in this together now, anyway. Either of you know where we are and what's going on?”

“We’re in the hold of a ship,” Tanin said. “And, from the sounds of it, they’ve got some great beast chained up there.”

“A dragon?” Palin asked quietly.

“Could be,” Tanin answered. “I remember Tanis describing the black dragon that attacked them in Xak Tsaroth. He heard a gurgling noise and a hissing, like water boiling in a kettle....”

“But why would anyone chain up a dragon on a ship?” argued Sturm weakly.

“All kinds of reasons,” Palin muttered, “most of them nasty.”

“Probably keeps slaves like us in line. Palin,” said Tanin in a low voice, “can you do anything? To free us, I mean? You know, your magic?”

“No,” said Palin bitterly. “My spell components are gone—not that I could get to them if I had them, since my hands are tied. My staff—My staff!” he recalled with a pang. Fearfully, he struggled to sit up, glanced around, then breathed a sigh of relief. The Staff of Magius stood in a corner, leaning up against the hull of the ship. For some reason, it did not move when the ship listed, but remained standing perfectly still, seemingly unaffected by the laws of nature.

“My staff might help, but the only thing I know how to make it do,” he admitted shamefacedly, “is give light. Besides,” he added, lying wearily back down, “my head aches so I can barely remember my name, much less a magic spell.”

The young men were silent, each thinking. Tanin struggled against his bonds once more, then gave it up. The leather had been soaked with water and had tightened when it dried so that it was impossible for the big man to escape.

“So, it looks like we’re prisoners in this wretched hole—”

“Prisoners?” called a booming voice. “Losers, maybe. But prisoners, never!”

A trapdoor in the ceiling opened, and a short, stocky figure in bright red velvet with black curling hair and beard poked his head through. “My guests you are!” cried Dougan Redhammer lustily, peering at them through the hatch. “And fortunate beyond all humans, because I have chosen you to accompany me on my grand quest! A quest that will make you famous throughout the world! A quest that will make that minor adventure your parents were involved in seem like a kender scavenger hunt!” Dougan leaned so far through the hatch that his face became quite red with the exertion and he almost rumbled through upside down.

“We’re not going on any quest of yours, dwarf!” Tanin said with an oath.

And, for once, both Palin and Sturm were in full agreement.

Leering down at them through the hatch, Dougan grinned. “Wanna bet?”

“You see, lads, it’s a matter of honor.”

Throwing down a rope ladder, Dougan—somewhat perilously—climbed down into the hold of the ship, his journey being hampered by the fact that he couldn’t see his feet for his great belly. Reaching the deck, he rested a moment from his labors, removing a lace-covered handkerchief from the sleeve of his coat and using it to mop his perspiring face.

“I tell you, lads,” he said solemnly, “I’m feeling a bit under myself. By Reorx, but you can drink! Just like you said.” Stumbling slightly as the deck listed beneath him, the dwarf pointed at Sturm. “You, especially! I swear by my beard”—he stroked it—“that I saw two of yourself, lad, and I was workin' on four before your eyes rolled back in your head and you crashed to the floor. Shook the foundations of the inn, you did. I had to pay damages.”

“You said you were going to cut us loose,” Tanin snarled.

“That I did,” Dougan muttered, drawing a sharp knife from his belt.

Making his way around the sea chests, he began to saw away industriously at the leather thongs that bound Tanin’s wrists.

“If we aren’t prisoners,” Palin asked, “then why are we bound hand and foot?”