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

Dougan’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t miss the other so much, but I couldn’t do without my hat, now could I? So I bet all my money against the hat and—” He looked at Tanin wistfully.

“You lost that, too,” Tanin muttered.

“Snake eyes,” said the dwarf sadly.

“So now you’ve lost your money and your hat—”

“Not quite,” Dougan hedged. “You see, I just couldn’t do without my hat ... And I didn’t have anything left that the old boy wanted, my jacket not fitting him. And you did say we were comrades, share and share alike—”

“When did you say that?” Sturm demanded, glaring at Tanin.

“I don’t remember!” Tanin growled.

“So, I bet your armor,” said the dwarf.

“You what?” Tanin roared in fury.

“The chief had taken a liking to it when he saw it on you last evening,” continued Dougan rapidly. Even with five spears pointed directly at him, Tanin looked extremely formidable and extremely angry. “I bet your armor against my hat, and I won.” The dwarf was smug.

“Thank Paladine!” breathed Tanin, relaxing.

“Then—” said Dougan, looking uncomfortable, “since my luck was obviously turning, I decided to try for my money back. I bet the armor, my hat, and”—he pointed—“the magic staff against my money, the cows, and a goat.”

This time it was Palin who sat forward (oblivious of the spears), his face deathly pale, his lips ashen. “You bet ... my staff!” He could scarcely speak. Reaching out a trembling hand, he grasped hold of the staff which lay at his side even while he slept.

“Aye, lad,” said Dougan, regarding him with wide-eyed innocence. “We’re comrades. Share and share—”

“This staff,” said Palin in a low, shaking voice, “belonged to my uncle, Raistlin Majere! It was a gift from him—”

“Indeed?” Dougan appeared impressed. “I wish I had known that, lad,” he said wistfully, “I would have wagered more—”

“What happened?” Palin demanded feverishly.

“I lost.” Dougan heaved a sigh. “I’ve seen a man roll snake eyes twice in a game only once before and that was when I—Well, never mind.”

“You lost my staff!” Palin seemed near fainting.

“And our armor?” Sturm shouted, veins swelling in his neck.

“Wait!” Dougan held up his hand hastily. The warriors with the spears, despite their weapons and their obvious advantage, were beginning to look a little nervous. “I knew how upset you lads would be, losing all your possessions like this, so I did the only thing I could. I wagered your swords.”

This time the shock was so great that neither Tanin nor Sturm could speak, they simply stared at Dougan in stunned silence.

“I put up the swords and my battle-ax against the magic staff and my hat—I truly wish”—Dougan glanced at the shaken Palin—“that I’d known the staff belonged to Raistlin of the Black Robes. Even here, they’ve heard of him, and I likely could have gotten the chief to throw in the armor. As it was, he wasn’t all that impressed with what he’d seen of the staff—”

“Get on with it!” Palin cried in a choked voice, clutching the staff close.

“I won!” Dougan spread his hands, then sighed again, only this was a sigh of ecstasy. “Ah, what a throw that was..”

“So ... I have my staff?” Palin asked timidly, brightening.

“We have our swords?” Tanin and Sturm began to breathe.

“Finding that my luck had shifted,” the dwarf said, plunging the brothers into gloom once more, “I decided to try for the armor again. Figuring what good were swords without armor, I bet the weapons and—” He gestured bleakly toward the warriors with the spears.

“You lost,” Tanin said glumly.

“But I still have my staff?” Palin asked nervously.

“Aye, lad. I tried to use it to win back the swords, my axe, and the armor, but the chief didn’t want it.” Dougan shook his head, then gazed at Palin intently, a sudden, cunning expression twisting his face. “But if you were to tell him it belonged to the great Raistlin Majere, perhaps I could—”

“No!” snarled Palin, holding the staff close.

“But, lad,” pleaded the dwarf, “my luck’s bound to change. And we’re comrades, after all. Share and share alike ...”

“This is great!” said Sturm gloomily, watching the last of his armor being carried out of the hut. “Well, I guess there’s nothing left to do now but go back to the ship—”

“The ship?” Dougan appeared astonished. “When we’re so close! Why, Lord Gargath’s castle’s only a day’s march from here!”

“And what are we going to do when we get there?” Tanin demanded furiously. “Knock on the door in our underwear and ask him to lend us weapons so that we can fight him?”

“Look at it this way, Big Brother,” Sturm muttered, “he might drop over dead from laughter.”

“How can you joke at a time like this?” Tanin raged. “And I’m not certain I’m ready to leave yet.”

“Easy, my brothers,” Palin said softly. “If all we’ve lost from this fool quest is some weapons and armor, I’m beginning to think we can count ourselves lucky. I agree with Sturm, Tanin. We better head back for the ship before the day gets much hotter.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” Tanin retorted bitterly. “You’ve still got your precious staff!” He looked over to the chief’s hut, where the old man was happily decking himself out in the bright armor, putting most of it on upside down. Then he cast a dark glance at the contrite Dougan. “I suppose Palin’s right,” Tanin said grudgingly, glaring at the dwarf. “We should count ourselves lucky. We’ve had enough of this fool quest, dwarf. We’re getting out of here before we lose anything else—like our lives!”

Turning, Tanin found himself, once again, facing a ring of spears and this time his own sword, held by a grinning warrior.

“Wanna bet, lad?” Dougan said cheerfully, twirling his moustaches.

“I thought as much,” Palin remarked.

“You’re always thinking ‘as much’ when it’s too late to do anything about it!” Tanin snapped.

“It was too late when we first set eyes on the dwarf,” Palin said in low tones.

The three, plus Dougan, were being escorted down the jungle trail, spears at their backs, the castle of Lord Gargath looming ahead of them. They could see it quite clearly now—a huge, misshapen building made entirely of shining gray marble. All three brothers had visited the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest, and they had been impressed and overawed by the magical aura that surrounded it. They felt a similar awe approaching this strange castle, only it was an awe mingled with the wild desire to laugh hysterically.

None of them could tell afterward what Castle Gargath looked like, since the appearance of the castle shifted constantly. First it was a massive fortress with four tall, stalwart towers topped by battlements. As they watched in amazement, the towers swelled out and spiraled upward into graceful minarets. Then the towers melted together, forming one gigantic dome that separated into four square towers once more. While all this was going on, turrets sprouted from the walls like fungi, windows blinked open and shut, a drawbridge over a moat became a bower of gray roses over a still, gray pond.

“The power of the Graygem,” Dougan remarked. “‘The power of the Graygem,’” Tanin mimicked sarcastically. He shook his fist at the dwarf. “I’m getting so sick of hearing about that blasted rock that I—”

“I meant that I’ve figured out what’s going on!” Palin interrupted.

“Well, what?” Sturm asked miserably. “They don’t want us to go, apparently. Yet they threaten to kill us if we try to turn back! They take our clothes ...”