Last autumn, before Flint had left for the winter, Litanas and Ulthen had appeared to be vying for wealthy Lady Selena's hand. The elven lady adored the attention, of course, but the situation chipped away at the friendship between Litanas and Ulthen.
As Tanis worked at the bellows, Flint fed chunk after chunk of coal into the fire and wondered how the latest development would affect either elf's suit for Lady Selena. Litanas had wealth, good bloodlines, and the position with Lord Xenoth. But Xenoth could easily destroy an assistant's standing at court if he felt moved to do so.
Ulthen, on the other hand, boasted a fine old Qualinost family, but he-and it-were perennially broke; years ago, tight finances had forced the elf to take on the job of teaching weaponry to Gilthanas, Porthios's younger brother.
At any rate, Flint wouldn't want to be on the bad side of the irascible old adviser-though it seemed that the dwarf perpetually was, anyway. Lord Xenoth, whose age and tenure gave him protection of sorts for his criticism of some of the Speaker's policies, was vocal in his condemnation of allowing any outsiders into the court.
But as Flint took his favorite wooden-handled hammer from a selection in his bench, he had another thought.
"Have you heard of the Graystone?"
From his position at the bellows, Tanis looked surprised at the turn of the conversation. "The Graystone of Gargath? Of course. Every elf child has to memorize the tale."
"Miral mentioned it to me just today." Flint's voice was distracted, most of his attention on the forge. "Tell me the story as the elves know it," Flint urged.
Tanis cast his friend a curious glance, but-careful to keep the bellows operating regularly-launched into the tale that Miral had made him learn by rote years earlier.
"Before the neutral god Reorx forged the world, the gods fought over the various races' spirits, which at that time were still dancing among the stars." He repositioned his hands on the wooden handles of the bellows.
Flint nodded, as if that checked out with the story the dwarves told. From a pile on a table next to the forge, he drew out a rod of iron about as long as a man's hand and as thick as a little finger, and heated the rod in the coals.
The half-elf continued to recite. "The gods of good wanted the races to have power over the physical world. The gods of evil wanted to make the races slaves. And the gods of neutrality wanted the races to have physical power over the world plus the freedom to choose between good and evil-which was the course eventually decided upon."
"Reorx thump you, lad, keep pumping that bellows!" the dwarf ordered. Tanis, stepping up the tempo, watched as Flint used iron tongs to retrieve the piece of metal from the coals and pound it into a rectangle with the hammer.
"Three races were born: elves, ogres, and humans-in that order, according to the elves," Tanis said with a wouldn't-you-know-it glance at the ceiling, his shoulder-length hair swinging as he kept pace with the bellows. "And so Reorx forged the world with the help of some human volunteers. But four thousand years before the Cataclysm, the humans angered Reorx by becoming proud of the skills Reorx had taught them and using them for their own ends. The god took back their skills but left their desire to tinker, and the gnomish race was born."
The half-elf drew in a breath almost as great as the one the bellows was forcing across the coals. "Eventually, Reorx forged a gem to anchor neutrality to the world of Krynn. It would hold and radiate the essence of Lunitari, the red- neutral-moon. Reorx placed the Graystone on Lunitari.
Tanis broke off. "Does that match what you know?" Flint nodded, concentrating on placing the rectangle against the edge of the anvil and using the hammer to draw out a small finger at one end of the metal. Deftly, he rapped against the metal finger to make it cylindrical again. Then he turned it over and fashioned the finger into a ring at the end of the rectangle. As usual, Flint felt himself get caught up in the rhythm of the process: four raps on the metal, one on the anvil, four on metal, one on anvil.
Tanis broke in. "Why do you do that?"
"What?"
"Pound the hammer on the anvil," the half-elf said, pausing the bellows to look more closely. "It seems intentional- not as though you've missed the metal."
"Keep pumping! Reorx above, lad, am I going to have to hire a gully dwarf to take your place?" Flint complained. "Of course I'm intentionally hitting the anvil. The metal of the hammer picks up heat as I tap it against this gate latch I'm making for Fleetfoot's stall. Banging the hammer against the anvil every so often cools the hammer. See?" He demonstrated. "Now, go on."
Tanis grinned at his friend. "The gnomes built a mechanical ladder that reached to the red moon, and they captured the Graystone, which some call the Graygem."
Flint quickly rapped the other end of the rod into a point, and forced it perpendicular to the rod.
"But the gem escaped and floated away." Tanis's voice lost its recitation note and took on more enthusiasm. "The stone caused havoc on Krynn. As it passed by, it caused new animals and plants to spring up; old ones changed form."
Flint reheated the rod, which was now recognizable as a gate latch with a loop at one end and a catch at the other.
"Finally," Tanis said, "the gnomes split into two armies to search for the gem. They found it in the high tower of a barbarian prince named Gargath."
Holding a pair of strong tongs at each end of the squared-off rod, the dwarf put his considerable strength into the operation and twisted the latch one full turn. The four edges of the rod swirled into a four-lined decoration at the middle of the latch. Flint thrust the latch into a half-barrel of cool water and then held it up for Tanis to see.
The half-elf raised his eyebrows, but kept pumping and talking. "The prince refused to hand over the stone, and the two groups declared war on him. When they finally penetrated the fortress, the stone's light exploded through the area. And when the gnomes could see again, the two factions had changed."
Flint was looking proudly at the latch. "I could sell this for a good price in Solace," he told the half-elf.
"The curious gnomes," Tanis said, "became kender. The ones who lusted for wealth became… uh… became…" Tanis stopped and blushed.
"Became…?" Flint prompted, still displaying the latch.
"… dwarves," Tanis concluded, a bit shamefacedly.
"Ah," said the dwarf. "You can stop the bellows now."
Tanis bit his lower lip and studied the dwarf. "Is it the same story you knew?" he asked.
Flint smiled and nodded. "Same old story," he said.
That night, Miral tossed on his pallet and drifted in and out of the same dream that had plagued him almost nightly since reports of the tylor had come in from the countryside.
He was very small, the size of a child, cowering in a crevice of an enormous cave. He knew that he was far underground, yet light from somewhere provided dim illumination.
Enough light penetrated the murk of the chamber that the tiny Miral could see the beaklike, open maw of the tylor that ranged this way and that as though seeking his scent.
"Come out," the creature boomed. "I will not hurt you."
Miral shuddered and pulled still farther into the opening, knowing he was dreaming and knowing, also, that he could do nothing to stop what was coming in this nightmare.
The dragonlike beast thrust one clawed foreleg into the crevice. Miral the child cringed back as far as he could go and, to his embarrassment, cried for his mother. He moved sideways and pressed his right side farther back, against the converging walls of the crevice.
Once again, as always in this dream, he felt cool air against his right arm-where there should have been nothing but dead, unmoving air. Miral knew that the worst part of the nightmare was ahead, the part that shocked him into wakefulness and the realization that he'd sleep no more.