The Second Generation

“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.

“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... lost​theGraygeminagameofbones.”

“What?” asked Palin, leaning forward.

“He​lost​it,” 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 conked on the head by the sail as it whizzed past. “Morgion, god of decay and disease, tricked Reorx into making the gem, knowing 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 bones 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 moustache. “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.

“I​just​wanted​to​look​at​it!” 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 are 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,” 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.