“Is that meant to be a joke!” Drakis complained. “Just listen to him!”
Jugar stood, his thick arms raised above him, his head bent backward in the drama of his storytelling. The gnomes were leaning toward him now. “There Drakis stood, gazing upon the fabled crown of the dwarves-its jewels sparkling like all the stars of the winter sky-his mighty army arrayed about him, howling in their blood-crazed frenzy for more slaughter, more violence, more death to fill their empty souls! Drakis saw in that dwarven crown all the terrible sins of his elven masters-the pain of his fellow slaves, the loss of their dignity, and their life’s blood all sacrificed on the altar of Rhonas ambition to take one more jeweled crown into the already burgeoning coffers of the elven state! What was this crown weighed in the balance against the thousands of lives he had taken to obtain it? What was this crown weighed in the balance of his own soul!”
“That’s it,” Drakis grumbled, taking a step forward. “I’ve got to put a stop to this.”
“Just a moment,” Ethis said, reaching out with one of his left hands and restraining Drakis by the shoulder. “I think he’s nearly finished.”
Jugar’s voice dropped dramatically into hushed tones, drawing his eager audience even closer to him. “So what did Drakis do?”
The gnomes leaned closer still.
“He THREW the crown away from him!” Jugar shouted, reenacting the moment by swinging his arm in a wide arc over the heads of the nearest gnomes.
The gnomes gasped in astonishment.
“That’s the truth of it, and may the gods strike me down otherwise!” Jugar concluded. “Drakis tossed away the riches of the elven world-a crown whose wealth would have bought him power and position even among his evil elven masters-for he saw that wealth and power were meaningless if one pays for it with one’s own soul! And from that day to this, Drakis the Just, Drakis the Wise, Drakis of the Prophecy, has wandered the face of the world seeking to fulfill his destiny, destroy evil, and bring lasting peace to all!
“And now,” Jugar paused then pointed his finger directly toward the astonished Drakis. “Now he has come to YOU!”
The mud gnomes leaped up, cheering.
“Oh, no!” Drakis murmured, his eyes going wide. “No, no. .!”
The gnomes rushed toward Drakis in a riotous wave of approval, sweeping the human off his feet.
“DRAKIS! DRAKIS! DRAKIS!”
“Put me down!” he insisted to no avail. He managed to twist in the mud gnomes’ collective grasp as they lifted him over their heads. “Ethis! Where are they taking me?”
“I suspect back to the feast hall,” Ethis replied through a perplexing smile splitting his malleable face.
“Again?”
“That seems to be their preferred way of showing their appreciation for a good story,” Ethis replied, pushing gingerly away from the dried mud wall of the story-cavern. “Besides, we’re leaving with them in the morning, and we’d all rather do so on a full stomach. I don’t see the need for any complaint. The food here is quite good, and they seem perfectly content to share it with us.”
“But it’s a lie!”
“They don’t seem to care,” Ethis observed as the gnomes once again carried Drakis above their shoulders and down a ramp toward their common feast hall. “If anything, they seem to prefer it.”
Early the next morning, Drakis stood outside the great mud city of the Hak’kaarin mud gnomes and waited in the cool dawn with Jugar, Ethis, Belag, and RuuKag with their traveling packs filled to overflowing in preparation for their journey.
“What are we waiting for?” RuuKag grumbled. “The sooner we get moving, the quicker we’re out of this cursed plain.”