21

Dougan Redhammer.

The Graygem. Minions Of Chaos.

hat’s more like it,” said Tasslehoff, watching Palin and Usha. “They have each other now, and so, of course, everything will be all right. At least everything deserves to be all right for them. I’ve often found, though,” he added with a sigh, “that deserving and happening don’t necessarily go together.”

He stood watching the two, long enough to see them find solace and comfort in each other’s arms. True love-if you’re not in it, just happen to be standing there watching it-does tend to be a bit boring. Tas yawned, sneezed violently when some ash flew up his nose, and looked around for something to do.

There, stretching before him among the stumps of burned trees, was a path.

“All paths lead somewhere,” is an old kender adage. Combine this with “Every path is the right path except when it’s the left fork,” and that pretty well sums up kender philosophy.

“And perhaps this path will lead me to the Graygem,” he said, on consideration.

Tas was going to tell Palin and Usha he was leaving, then he thought that perhaps they wouldn’t want to be disturbed, so he slipped very softly away, following the path he had discovered.

As he walked, moving along very quietly, so as not to bother anyone, he considered what he knew about the Graygem.

“I suppose it’s a jewel like any other, except that it’s broken, of course, which is a very good thing,” Tas said thoughtfully, “because now I don’t have to go to the trouble of breaking it.”

He recalled Raistlin saying something about the Graygem being guarded, but Tas hadn’t paid too much attention to that part. Gems were always guarded, in his experience, and since the guards always tended to be people with a most unreasoning prejudice against kender, Tas really couldn’t see why this should be any different. He continued down the path, climbing over burned-out stumps and thinking that the mounds of black ashes were a lot like drifted snow, except for being black and being ashes and smelling kind of putrid, when he suddenly came upon a dwarf, crouched behind a tree.

“My goodness,” Tas said, stopping short. “How very strange.”

The dwarf was exceedingly well dressed, especially to be hiding behind a flame-ravaged tree in a charred and devastated forest. The dwarf’s fine clothes were covered with soot, as was his beard and long hair. The plume of his hat was bedraggled and dirty. He was watching something very intently; his back was half-turned to the path, which meant his back was half-turned to the kender on the path.

“I do believe... yes, I’m positive,” Tas muttered. “It’s Dougan Redhammer.”

Tas followed the dwarf’s line of sight, tried to see what Dougan was watching so closely, but he couldn’t, due to another large pine tree-or what was left of it-that was in the way.

The dwarf seemed very intent on his watch. Tas didn’t want to disturb Dougan, so he crept forward silently, gliding across the scorched ground as still as a mouse, of which he had firsthand knowledge, having accidentally turned himself into a mouse once. Stealing up on the dwarf, Tas reached out and tapped Dougan on the shoulder.

It was amazing, considering his stoutness, how high the dwarf could jump. And to jump that high, without losing his broad-brimmed hat, was also quite remarkable.

Dougan’s jumping up in that sudden manner startled Tas so that he fell back, tumbled over a burned-out log, and landed on the ground. The rotund dwarf, breathing heavily and turning the same red as the sky, pounced on the kender and clapped his hand over Tas’s mouth.

“Who in Reorx’s name are you?” Dougan demanded in a hoarse whisper. “And what are you doing here?”

Tas replied as best he could, being somewhat hampered in answering due to the hand over his mouth.

“Xrinxmaggle Yurfuuz?” repeated the dwarf. “Never heard of you. Still, you do look kind of familiar.”

Tas shook his head violently, squeaked and squirmed and indicated by pointing that they might carry on this conversation more pleasantly if he could talk.

Dougan eyed him a moment, then removed his hand from Tas’s mouth. The dwarf sat back on his heels. “Be quiet!” he warned. “They’re close. Over there. And though I’m not certain whether or not they can hear, it’s best not to take chances.”

Tasslehoff nodded, rubbed his head where he’d banged it on a rock, and sat up. “Who’s ‘they’?” he whispered.

“Who are you?” Dougan whispered testily back.

“Sorry. Forgot to introduce myself.” Tas scrambled to his feet. Dougan heaved himself to his feet-which he probably hadn’t seen in the past few centuries, or so Tas figured, noting the dwarf’s immense girth. The kender extended his hand. “I’m Tasslehoff Burrfoot.”

“Oh.” Dougan grunted. “So that’s where I know you from. I’m- “

“I know. Reorx,” Tas said in a loud whisper. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone,” he added hastily, noting the scowl on Dougan’s face.

“Nothing to tell,” the dwarf snarled, glaring straight into Tas’s eyes. “The name’s Dougan Redhammer. Understand?”

“No,” Tas replied, after a moment’s thought. “But then there’s lots I don’t understand. Death, for one thing. And sheriffs for another. Both seem to take a lot of the fun out of life. And while we’re at it, there’s the matter of hiccups. Why hiccups, if you take my meaning? And I was also wondering if you could explain- “

Dougan said something about the Abyss becoming an ice-skating pond first, which Tas found rather curious, and he was about to ask the dwarf to explain that, but Dougan’s hand was over his mouth again.

“Why did you come? What are you doing here?”

He moved his hand slightly, enough for Tas could squeak past an answer. “Raistlin Majere sent me,” the kender replied proudly. “I’m to pick up the Graygem.”

“You?”

The dwarf forgot his own prohibition and spoke this word quite loudly. Cringing, he hunkered down behind the tree, pulled Tas down with him.

“You?” Dougan repeated, apparently quite shocked. “He sent you?”

Tas wasn’t sure he liked the nasty way Dougan kept saying you. It didn’t sound very complimentary to Raistlin.

“I am a Hero of the Lance,” Tas pointed out. “I’ve fought dragons before, and I captured a prisoner once, no matter what Flint might have said to the contrary. I rescued Sestun from a red dragon, and I’ve been to the Abyss and back twice, and- “

“Enough!” the dwarf howled quietly-an interesting feat, and one Tas would have said offhand a person couldn’t do, if he hadn’t just seen Dougan do it.

“You’re here, so I guess I’ll have to make the best of it,” Dougan grumbled, adding something about why hadn’t the mage sent along a party of gnomes, too, just to make his- Dougan’s-misery complete. “Come here,” he finished, hauling Tas over to the tree. “I want to show you something. And keep your mouth shut!”

Tas looked, keeping quiet, as ordered, not because he’d been ordered, but because what he was seeing made him want to keep quiet-very, very quiet for a long time.

Seven dead pine trees stood in a circle. The pines had all been ravaged by fire, but-unlike the other trees that had been reduced to blackened and withered stumps-these pines were still whole. Now they stood, like ghastly skeletons, their peeling limbs twisted and contorted in agonizing death.

A whimper-in sympathy for the once magnificent trees- tried to slip out, but Tas managed to swallow it back. In the middle of the ring of dead pines stood a heap of wood. Marvelously and inexplicably, the wood had not been consumed by the terrible blaze that had burned everything else on the island. Something sparkled near the bottom of the woodpile, sparkled red, reflecting the blaze of the fierce and stubborn sun, which was still refusing to properly set.

Tas put his hand to Dougan’s ear, leaned over, and said softly, “Is that the Graygem?”

“Split in twain,” the dwarf answered back, his face dark, his expression grim. “Its two halves lie upon what is left of the altar. I hid them from Himself. He could not find them, though he searched long and hard. And that made me stop and think.”

“Think what?”

“Never you mind,” Dougan said severely, looking very serious. “The first thing we have to do is recover the gem.”

“Then let’s go get it. What’s stopping us?”

“They are.” Dougan gave a gloomy nod in the direction of the altar.

Tas looked back. He didn’t see a dragon. He didn’t see draconians. He didn’t see hordes of goblins or ogres or kobolds or death knights or banshees or skeletal warriors or any other of the usual guardians of magical gemstones. There wasn’t even a sheriff. There wasn’t anything-a fact he pointed out.

“Been hitting the dwarf spirits again, eh?” Tas said with sympathy.

“I’m not drunk!” Dougan returned indignantly. “The guardians! They’re there, between the trees.”

“There’s nothing but dark shadows between the trees,” Tas observed.

“That’s them,” Dougan whispered. “Only they are not shadows. They are shadow-wights, fearful warriors of Chaos.”

“They’re made out of shadows?” Tas asked, impressed.

“They are made of holes in the fabric of mortal being. You do not look at them, but through them, into their realm, which is the plane of nonexistence. If they touch you, you become as they are: nothing. That is the doom Chaos prepares for this world and every person, every animal, every rock, tree, and plant, every river, stream, and ocean. All, all will be nothing.”

Tas experienced a sudden hollow, unhappy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He thought of himself being nothing, of everything around him being nothing, of everyone being nothing ... all disappearing into the darkness of oblivion, with no one anywhere ever knowing that it had all once been something.

“Are ... are you sure, Dougan?” Tas asked, gulping and rubbing his hand over his stomach, to try to convince the unhappy feeling to leave.

“Aye, Laddie. I’m sure. It’s what Himself promised, and he’ll keep that promise. It’ll be all he keeps,” Dougan added ominously.

“But if we get hold of the Graygem, we can stop him?”

“I’m thinking so, Lad. Mind you, I’m not sure. It’s just a bit of an idea I had.” He sighed. “It’s the only idea anyone’s had, so far. And so we thought we’d give it a try.”

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Tas said, peering back at the shattered altar beneath which lay the two halves of the Graygem. “We have to get those broken halves away from those shadows?”

“Shadow-wights,” said Dougan in a low voice.

“Yes. Well, this shouldn’t be too difficult. I have”- Tas plunked himself down on the ground, began to rummage through his pouches- “this very powerful magical artifact....”

“You do?” Dougan squatted on his heels, tried to see into the pouch.

“Yes, I do. It was given me by my Uncle Trapspringer- “

“Of course. Who else?” Dougan muttered sourly. “Would that be it now?”

“No, that’s a dried-up lizard. At least, I think it’s a dried-up lizard ...”

“What about that?”

“A handkerchief with the initials ‘FB.’ Hmm. Who do I know with the initials FB? Oh, well. . . No, that’s not it, either. Aha!” Tas cried.

“Shhhh!” Dougan gestured frantically.

“Aha!” Tas whispered. “This is it! The Kender Spoon’of Turning.”

Dougan eyed the spoon, snorted in disgust. “It might be of some use, if the shadow-wights all turn into shadow soup, which I don’t think likely.” Getting to his feet, he stomped about in irritation, groaning and tearing at his beard. “Why me? Why is it always me?”

“This,” said Tas, drawing himself up with dignity, which put him taller than the dwarf, not counting the hat, “is a very famous kender artifact. You watch. You’ll see how it works.”

Tasslehoff walked out from behind the tree, headed toward the altar, holding out in front of him Dalamar’s silver teaspoon.