“Then there’ll be a new figurehead on whichever end of this stupid boat is the front!” Tanin hissed through clenched teeth. “And it’ll have a long, black beard!” Angrily, the big man stalked over to the lean—to and ducked inside. Sleepily, Sturm followed.
“If I were you, dwarf,” Palin added, hurrying after them, “I’d keep out of his way! He’s quite capable of doing what he says.”
“Is he, lad? I’ll keep that in mind,” the dwarf replied, tugging thoughtfully at his beard.
The shelter was crammed with the dwarf’s possessions—most of which appeared to be gaudy clothes. These Palin shoved unceremoniously out onto the deck with his foot. Tanin stretched out on the deck, Sturm collapsed next to him, and both were asleep almost as quickly as if their younger brother had cast a spell over them. Palin lay down in the small remaining space, hoping sleep would come to him as swiftly.
But he was not the campaigner his brothers were. Sturm could sleep in full armor on the sands of a desert while Tanin had been known to snore blissfully as lightning cut down a tree standing next to him. Soaked to the skin, shivering with cold, Palin lay on the deck and gave himself up to misery.
He was hungry, but every time he thought of food, his stomach lurched. His muscles ached from the sickness; the bitter taste of salt water filled his mouth. He thought with longing of his bed at home; of clean, sweet-smelling sheets; of hours of peaceful study, sitting beneath the sheltering limbs of the vallenwood, his spellbook in his lap.
Closing his eyes, Palin tried to keep back the tears of homesickness, but it engulfed him like a wave. Reaching out his hand, he touched the Staff of Magius. And suddenly the memory of his uncle came to him. From where? Palin had no idea. Raistlin had died long before Palin was born. Perhaps it was from the staff ... or maybe he was recalling some tale of his father’s, and it had become real to him now in his weakened state. Whatever the reason, Palin saw Raistlin clearly, lying on the ground in a dismal, rainswept forest.
Huddled in his red robes, the mage was coughing, coughing until it seemed he could never draw breath again. Palin saw blood upon the ashen lips, saw the frail body wracked by pain. But he heard him speak no word of com plaint. Softly, Palin approached his uncle. The coughing ceased; the spasm eased. Lifting his head, Raistlin looked directly into Palin’s eyes....
Bowing his head in shame, Palin drew the staff nearer to him, resting his cheek upon its cool, smooth wood and, relaxing, fell into sleep. But he thought he heard, in the final moment before he slipped over the edge of unconsciousness, the voice of the dwarf, and he thought he saw a head peering into the lean-to.
“I’ve a deck of cards here, lads... What do you say? High card sleeps here tonight?.."
Chapter Four
The Isle of Gargath
Tanin was quite capable of carrying out his threat to take over the ship, though just how he was going to force the gnomes to sail it was another matter entirely. During the night, the gnomes, just as firmly determined to continue the voyage, began to organize a supply of weapons. Since most of these weapons were of gnomish design, there was every possibility that they would do as much or more damage to the wielder as to the intended victim, and thus the outcome of the battle—two warriors and a mage against numerous gnomes and a dwarf—was open to question.
The question was, fortunately, never answered. The next morning the brothers were awakened by a tremendous crash, the heart-stopping sound of splintering wood, and the somewhat belated cry of “Land ho!”
Staggering to their feet, they made their way out of the lean-to and across the deck, not an easy task since it was listing steeply to port.
“What is it? What’s happened? Where are we?” demanded Tanin, rubbing his eyes.
“We’ve arrived!” announced Dougan, smoothing his beard in satisfaction. “Look!” He made a grand, sweeping gesture toward what was—at this time—the prow. “The Isle of Gargath.”
The brothers looked. At first all they could see was a con fused mass of split sail, dangled ropes, broken beams, and gnomes waving their hands, arguing furiously, and shoving each other about. The motion of the ship through the water had ceased, due, no doubt, to the presence of a cliff, which had bashed in the figurehead, part of the hull, and snapped the sail in two.
His face grim, Tanin made his way through the wreckage, followed by Sturm and Palin, several bickering gnomes, and the dwarf. Reaching the prow, he clung to the side and stared out past the cliff face toward the island. The sun was rising behind them, shedding its bright light upon a stretch of sandy beach that curved out of sight to the north, vanishing in a patch of gray fog. Strange-looking trees with thin, smooth trunks that erupted in a flourish of frondlike leaves at the top surrounded the beach. Beyond the wide, sandy strip, towering above the trees and the cliff face upon which the boat now rested, was a gigantic mountain. A cloud of gray smoke hung over it, casting a pall upon the beach, the water, and the ship.
“The Isle of Gargath,” Dougan repeated triumphantly.
“Gargath?” Palin gaped. “You mean—”
“Aye, laddie. The lord himself followed the Graygem, if you remember, when it escaped. He built a ship and sailed after it as it vanished over the western horizon, and that was the last anyone on Ansalon ever heard of him. His family figured he had dropped off the edge of the world. But, a few years back, I happened to be drinking with a group of minotaurs. One thing led to another, there was a game, as I recall, and I won this map off them.” Reaching into the pocket of his red velvet coat (now much the worse for wear and salt water), Dougan pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to Tanin.
“It’s a minotaur map, all right,” Tanin said, setting it down on the listing rail and smoothing it out, trying to keep his balance at the same time.
Sturm lurched over to see, and Palin crowded next to him, bracing himself on the Staff of Magius. Though it was written in the uncouth language of the man-beasts, the map was drawn with the precision and skill for which minotaurs are grudgingly renowned by the civilized races of Krynn. There was no mistaking the continent of Ansalon or, much farther to the west, a tiny island with the word “Gargath” written out to the side.
“What does that mean,” Sturm asked, pointing to an ominous-looking symbol next to the island, “that thing that looks like a bull’s head with a sword stuck through it?”
“That?” repeated Dougan, shrugging nonchalantly. Snatching the map from Tanin, he rolled it up hastily. “Some minotaur doodle, no doubt—”
“The minotaur 'doodle' for danger,” Palin said grimly. “Isn’t that right?”
Dougan flushed, thrusting the map back into his pocket. “Well, now, laddie, I believe you may be on to something there, although I personally don’t put much stock in what those savage creatures might take it into their heads to draw—”
“Those 'savage creatures' have marked this island with their strongest warning!” Palin interrupted. “No minotaur ship will land anywhere bearing that mark,” he added, turning to his brothers. “And there are few things in this world or the next that minotaurs fear,” Tanin said, staring at the island, his face dark.
“What more proof do you need?” asked Dougan in a soft voice, following Tanin’s gaze; the dwarf’s dark, bright eyes were filled with hunger. “The Graygem is here! It is its power the minotaurs feel and fear!”
“What do you think, Palin?” Tanin turned to his youngest brother. “You’re the magic-user. Surely you can sense it.”
Once again, Palin felt the thrill of pleasure, seeing his older brothers, the two people he looked up to in this world most with the exception of his father—or maybe even more than his father—looking at him respectfully, awaiting his judgment. Gripping the Staff of Magius, Palin closed his eyes and tried to concentrate and, as he did so, a chill feeling clutched his heart with fingers of ice, spreading its cold fear through his body. He shuddered and opened his eyes to find Tanin and Sturm regarding him anxiously.