Ник О'Донохью - Kender, Gully Dwarves, and Gnomes

“Hey, guys,” began Sturm in mollifying tones.

“Oh, shut up!” Both brothers turned to face him. “It was you who took that stupid bet!”

The three brothers stood glaring at each other; the salt breeze blowing the red curling hair of the two elder into their eyes and whipping the white robes of the younger about his thin legs.

A ringing shout, sounding over the dancing waters, interrupted them.

“Farewell, lads! Farewell! It was a nice try. Perhaps we’ll do it again some day!”

“Over my dead body!” all three brothers muttered fervently, raising their hands and waving halfheartedly, sickly grins on their faces.

“That’s one thing we can all agree on,” said Sturm, beginning to chuckle. “And I know another.” The brothers turned thankfully away from the sight of the sailing vessel lumbering through the waters.

“And that is ...?”

“That we never tell another living soul about this, as long as we live!” Sturm’s voice was low. The other two brothers glanced about at the spectators standing on the docks. They were looking at the ship, laughing. Several, glancing at the brothers, pointed at them with stifled giggles.

Grinning ruefully, Tanin held his right hand out in front of him. Sturm placed his right hand on his brother’s, and Palin put his right hand over the other two.

“Agreed,” each said solemnly.

“Adventures always start in such places as this,” said Tanin, regarding the inn with a satisfied air.

“You can’t be serious!” Palin said, horrified. “I wouldn’t stable my horse in this filthy place, let alone stay here myself!”

“Actually,” reported Sturm, rounding the corner of the building after an inspection tour, “the stables are clean compared to the inn, and they smell a damn sight better. I say we sleep there and send the horses inside.”

The inn, located on the docks of the seaside town of Sancrist, was every bit as mean and ill-favored in appearance as those few patrons the young men saw slouching into it. The windows facing the docks were small as though staring out to sea too long had given them a perpetual squint. Light from inside could barely filter through the dirt. The building itself was weather—and sand blasted and crouched in the shadows at the end of the alley like a cutpurse waiting for his next victim. Even the name, The Spliced Jib, had an ominous sound.

“I expected Little Brother to complain,” Tanin remarked sourly, dismounting and glaring at Sturm over the pommel of his saddle. “He misses his white linen sheets and mama tucking him in at night. But I expected better of you, Sturm Majere.”

“Oh, I’ve no objection,” Sturm said easily, sliding off his horse and beginning to untie his pack. “I was just making an observation. We don’t have much choice anyway,” he added, withdrawing a small leather pouch and shaking it. Where there should have been the ring of steel coins, there was only a dismal clunk. “No linen sheets tonight, Palin,” he said, grinning at his younger brother, who remained seated disconsolately upon his horse. “Think of tomorrow night, though—staying at Castle Uth Wistan, the guests of Lord Gunthar. Not only white linen but probably rose petals strewn about the bed as well.”

“I don’t expect white linen,” Palin returned, nettled. “In fact, bed sheets at all would be a pleasant change! And I’d prefer sleeping in a bed where the mattress wasn’t alive!” Irritably, he scratched himself under the white robes.

“A warrior must get used to such things,” Tanin said in his worldly wise Elder Brother voice that made Palin long to toss him in the horse trough. “If you are attacked by nothing worse than bedbugs on your first quest, you may count yourself lucky.”

“Quest?” Palin muttered bitterly, sliding down off his horse. “Accompanying you and Sturm to Castle Uth Wistan so that you can join the knighthood. This isn’t a quest! It’s been like a kender outing, and both you and Father knew it would be when you decided I could go! Why, the most danger we’ve been in since we left home was from that serving wench who tried to cut off Sturm’s ears with a butcher knife!”

“It was a mistake anyone could make,” Sturm muttered, flushing. “I keep telling you!—I intended to grab her mugs. She was what you might call a buxom girl and, when she leaned over me, holding the tray, I wasn’t exactly paying attention to what I was doing—”

“Oh, you were paying attention, all right!” Palin said grimly. “Even when she came at you with a knife, we had to drag you out of there! And your eyes were the size of your shield.”

“Well, at least I’m interested in such things,” Sturm said irritably. “Not like some people I could mention, who seem to think themselves too good—”

“I have high standards!” retorted Palin. “I don’t tumble for every ‘buxom’ blonde who jiggles in my direction—”

“Stop it, both of you!” Tanin ordered tiredly. “Sturm, take the horses around and see that they’re brushed down and fed. Palin, come with me.”

Palin and Sturm both looked rebellious, and Tanin’s tone grew stern. “Remember what Father said.”

The brothers remembered. Sturm, still grumbling, grabbed the horses’ reins in his hand and led them to the stables. Palin swallowed a barbed comment and followed his brother.

Although quick-tempered like his mother, Tanin appeared to have inherited few other qualities from his parents. Instead, he was in temperament more like the man in whose honor he had been named—his parent’s dearest friend, Tanis Half-Elven. Tanin idolized his name-father and did his best to emulate his hero. Consequently, the twenty-four-year-old young man took his role as leader and elder brother quite seriously. This was fine with one younger brother. The fun-loving Sturm was almost the epitome of his father, having inherited Caramon’s jovial, easy-going nature. Disliking to take responsibility himself, Sturm generally obeyed Tanin without question. But Palin, just twenty-one, possessed the keen mind and intellect of his uncle, the powerful, tragic archmage Raistlin. Palin loved his brothers, but he chafed under what he considered Tanin’s overbearing leadership and was irritated beyond measure by Sturm’s less than serious outlook on life.

This was, however, Palin’s “first quest”—as Tanin never failed to remind him at least once an hour. A month had gone by since the young mage took the grueling Test in the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas. He was now an accepted member of the Order of Wizards on Krynn. But somehow that didn’t satisfy him. He felt let down and depressed. For years, his greatest goal had been passing the Test, a goal that, once attained, would open countless doors.

It hadn’t opened one. Oh, admittedly Palin was a young mage. He had little power yet, being able to cast only minor spells. Ideally, he would apprentice himself to some skilled archmage, who would take over his tutelage. But no archmage had requested his services, and Palin was shrewd enough to know why.

His uncle, Raistlin, had been the greatest wizard ever to have lived. He had taken the Black Robes of Evil and challenged the Queen of Darkness herself, intending to rule the world. An attempt that ended in his death. Though Palin wore the White Robes of Good, he knew that there were those in the Order who did not trust him and who, perhaps, never would. He carried his uncle’s staff—the powerful Staff of Magius, given to him under mysterious circumstances in the Tower of High Sorcery at Palanthas. Rumors were already buzzing among the Conclave as to how Palin could have acquired the Staff. It had, after all, been locked in a room sealed with a powerful curse. No, whatever he accomplished, Palin knew deep within himself, he would accomplish as his uncle had—studying, working, and fighting alone.