Indeed, as the gnome brought the rock near the insectoid automaton its antenna pivoted and the chirps became a clatter of clicks, finally melding into a dull, humming buzz that rattled Moros’s teeth and drove spikes into his already-aching brain. He motioned for the gnome to cease the demonstration.
The nervous gnome smiled a lopsided grin and shoved the insect-device back into his pocket. It continued to click eagerly. Boom slapped his pocket, hard, and the chirping ceased.
Moros harrumphed. “So you have an unstable rock and an eager counter of atomies. How does this make a weapon?”
The gnome drained the remainder of his third mug and smiled. “These stray atomies act like a sword of amazing sharpness, cutting off more atomies from unstable surfaces. The refined Gnomite metal, Plus-Gnomium, is oozing with stray atomies which, if brought into contact with more refined Plus-Gnomium, find more stray atomies, until the entire pile of material ignites from all these atomies bouncing around and-”
“Boom,” finished Moros.
“Like links in a chain, the reaction continues until the atomie pile is consumed in a fireball.” The gnome glowed, as if lit from within by stray atomies.
Moros scowled, picked up the rock again, and said, “How big? The blast, I mean? Let’s say we take a pound of your refined Plus-Gnomium and set it off outside the inn, here…”
He stopped because the gnome was giggling. “If we set it off right outside, this entire building would be vaporized by the blast, reduced to its component atomies and scattered to the edges of the world. There would not be enough of you left to fill a snuffbox.”
Moros fought the pounding in his head and said, “All right, then at the creek at the bottom of the hill…”
“The inn would still be caught in the crater from the force of the blast. Your bones would be mixed with the flaming earth, and turned to steam by the power of the blast.”
“Well, then, across the creek, near the gnomish settlement.”
“The firestorm sweeping outward from the blast would fry the inn and all its inhabitants about one second after detonation,” said the gnome matter-of-factly. “There would be ninety-eight percent fatalities among the gnomes in the first seconds of the blast.”
“Fine. At the far end of the valley, then.”
The gnome tapped a pudgy digit against his lips for a moment, then said, “You might avoid the firestorm, but the wind from the blast would level this place, reducing the timbers to kindling. And, of course, if you were watching it, it would be like looking at the sun. Your eyes would be reduced to molten pools in their sockets.”
Moros was suddenly aware that the innkeep was standing next to him, with another ale for the gnome. The man’s knuckles gripping the mug’s handle were white.
“Thank you,” said the wing captain pointedly. The barkeep set the ale down sharply, then retreated. “How big a blast are you talking about?” Moros asked the gnome, trying to get down to specifics.
“Given a pound of material, I’d estimate about a half-mile across for the crater itself, with the firestorm spreading up to four to six miles across. And, of course, the land itself would be blasted and barren for a few human generations to come.”
“A few… generations,” said the wing captain slowly, taking in what the gnome was proposing. This was no wizardly fireball, no cunning battlefield tactic, no simple siege engine. This was pulling a piece of the sun to Krynn in a single second and letting it blaze its way across the surface of the land. If true, Plus-Gnomium was a weapon that could bring the last rebellious elves and humans into line.
If true.
But who would detonate the bomb? Gnomish timers were horribly unreliable. Perhaps a suicide unit? No one could hope to outrun the effects of the blast. Even a dragon would be unlikely to outfly the fireball, or survive the effects Boom was describing. Involuntarily Moros looked toward the door, toward the stables that billeted Shalebreak. Could he bear to see his mount incinerated, even if it meant defeating an enemy army? Could any Dragon Highlord?