Margaret Weis - The Second Generation

“Dougan!” Palin ran to the dwarf. “Do something!” the young mage shouted wildly, waving his arms at the dragon.

“I am, laddie, I am,” said Dougan calmly, his eyes on the Graygem.

Palin could see the black dragon’s eyes watching him hungrily. The black wings twitched.

I’ll cast a sleep spell, Palin decided in desperation, reaching into his pouches for sand. But as he drew it forth a horrible realization came to him.

His fingers went limp, the sand trickled from them, spilling down upon the floor. His magic was gone!

“No, please, no!” Palin moaned, looking up at the Gray-gem', which appeared to sparkle with a chaotic malevolence.

The wooden door to the room burst open, banging against the wall.

“We have come as you commanded us, Graygem!” cried a voice.

It was the voice of the dark-haired beauty. Behind her was the blonde, and behind them all the rest of the women, young and old alike. But gone were the diaphanous gowns and seductive smiles. The women were dressed in tiger skins. Feathers were tied in their hair, and they carried stone-tipped spears in their hands.

And now Tanin’s voice rang out loudly as a trumpet call, “My troops! To my side! Rally round!” Raising his arm, he gave a battle cry and the women answered with a wild shout.

“Bring me wine!” cried Sturm, executing an impromptu dance. “Let the revelry begin!”

The blonde’s eyes were on him and they burned with lust.

Unfortunately, it was lust of the wrong kind. She raised her spear, her eyes looking to her leader—Tanin—for the order to attack.

“You promise me?” said the black dragon eagerly, its forked tongue flicking in and out of its dripping mouth. “No more gully dwarves? I didn’t mind the rest so much, but I won’t be changed into a gully dwarf again!”

“The world’s gone mad!” Palin slumped back against the wall. He felt his strength and his sanity draining from him as the sand fell from his nerveless fingers. The chaos around him and the loss of his magic had overthrown his mind. He stared at the Staff of Magius and saw nothing more than a stick of wood, topped by a glistening bauble. He heard his brothers, one dispersing his troops for battle, the other calling for the pipers to strike up another tune. He heard the dragon’s great wings creak and the intake of breath that would be released in a stream of acid. Shutting his eyes, Palin cast the useless staff away from him and turned his face to the wall.

“Halt!” thundered a voice. “Halt, I command you!”

Chaos whirled wildly an instant longer, then it slowed and finally wound down until all was silence and stillness in the room where before had been a blur of noise and motion. Dougan stood on the pentagram in the center of the room, his black beard bristling in anger. Raising his arm, he cried out, “ Reorx Drach Kalahzar” and a gigantic warhammer materialized in the dwarf’s hand. The huge hammer glowed with a fierce red light that was reflected in Dougan’s dark, bright eyes.

“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 . . .”