Margaret Weis - The Second Generation

“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.

He was in a room shaped like a cone—round at the bottom, it came to a point at the ceiling. The chamber was lit by oil lamps, placed at intervals around the circular floor, their flickering flames illuminating the room as brightly as day. Tanin was about to step through the door past Palin, when his brother stopped him.

“Wait!” Palin cautioned, catching hold of Tanin’s arm. “Look! On the floor!”

“Well, what is it?” Tanin asked. “Some sort of design—”

“It’s a pentagram, a magic symbol,” Palin said softly. “Don’t step within the circle of the lamps!”

“What’s it there for?” Sturm peered over Tanin’s broad shoulders, while Dougan jumped up and down in back, trying to see.

“I think... Yes!” Palin stared up into the very top of the ceiling. “It’s holding the Graygem! Look!” He pointed.

Everyone tilted back their heads, staring upward, except the dwarf, who was cursing loudly about not being able tosee. Dropping down to his hands and knees, Dougan finally managed to thrust his head in between Tanin’s and Sturm’s legs and peered upward, his beard trailing on the polished stone floor.

“Aye, laddie,” he said with a longing sigh. “That"s it! The Graygem of Gargath!”

Hovering in the air, below the very point of the cone, was a gray-colored jewel. Its shape was impossible to distinguish, as was its size, for it changed as they stared at it—first it was round and as big as a man’s fist; then it was a prism as large as a man himself; then it was a cube, no bigger than a lady’s bauble; then round again.... The jewel had been dark when they entered the room, not even reflecting the light from the lamps below. But now a soft gray light of its own began to beam from it.

Palin felt the magic tingle through him. Words to spells of unbelievable power flooded his mind. His uncle had been a weakling compared to him! He would rule the world, the heavens, the Abyss—“Steady, Little Brother,” came a distant voice.

“Hold onto me, Tanin!” Palin gasped, reaching out his hand to his brother. “Help me fight it!”

“If s no use,” came the voice they had heard through the door, this time sounding sad and resigned. “You can’t fight it. It will consume you in the end, as it did me.”

Wrenching his gaze from the gray light that was fast dazzling him with its brilliance, Palin peered around the conical room. Looking across from where he stood, he could make out a tall, high-backed chair placed against a tapestry-adorned wall. The chair’s back was carved with various runes and magical inscriptions, designed—apparently—to protect the mage who sat there from whatever beings he summoned forth to do his bidding. The voice seemed to be coming from the direction of the chair, but Palin could not see anyone sitting there.

Then, “Paladine have mercy!” the young man cried in horror.

“Too late, too late,” squeaked the voice. “Yes, I am Lord Gargath. The wretched Lord Gargath! Welcome to my home.”

Seated upon the chair’s soft cushion, making a graceful—if despairing—gesture with its paw, was a hedgehog.

“You may come closer,” said Lord Gargath, smoothing his whiskers with a trembling paw. “Just don’t step in the circle, as you said, young mage.”

Keeping carefully outside the boundaries of the flickering oil lamps, the brothers and Dougan edged their way along the wall. Above them, the Graygem gleamed softly, its light growing ever brighter.

“Lord Gargath,” Palin began hesitantly, approaching the hedgehog’s chair. Suddenly, he cried out in alarm and stumbled backward, bumping into Tanin.

“Sturm, to my side!” Tanin shouted, pushing Palin behind him and raising the spear.

The chair had vanished completely beneath the bulk of a gigantic black dragon! The creature stared at them with red, fiery eyes. Its great wings spanned the length of the wall. Its tail lashed the floor with a tremendous thud. When the dragon spoke, though, its voice held the same sorrow as had the hedgehog’s.

“You’re frightened,” said the dragon wistfully. “Thank you for the compliment, but you needn’t be. By the time I could attack you, I’d probably be a mouse or a cockroach.