prepared to initiate a cruel inquisition, but Kali recognized
that these were merely his fellow inventors. The devices
were hastily-assembled inventions that would straighten a
leg, lance an infection, or immobilize a thrashing patient
(the last invention was a necessity for experimental
surgery). The gleam that seemed so evil was only the
heartfelt and honest lust that every gnome feels when one
of his inventions might prove useful.
To an outsider, though, the gleam would look
undoubtedly and understandably malicious, and the size
and number of sharp edges on the devices would tend to
intensify said doubt. Were the two outsiders healthy, they
would not walk into this apparently dangerous realm
without at least a dozen more of their kind, and with a
healthy reward promised on the other side.
Kali was dragging the large, plumper figure onto his
porch when he found his way blocked. The first outsider,
the armored one, had awakened and now stood tottering in
the doorway. She looked dangerous and tall, and while the
last word could be attributed to all humans by all gnomes,
this one looked taller still, swaying in her blood-colored
leather boots like an improperly planted pine in the first
windstorm of spring. The impressive nature of this
outsider was further enhanced by the mass of her armor,
and the great horns that rose from her helm like the
misplaced pincers of some irate beetle.
The gathered gnomes set up a sigh of disappointment.
Apparently, her injuries were not serious.
The woman unlatched the toggles on her helmet and
removed it, revealing a sharp, angry face cradled in a scarf
of blood-red hair. Swaying as though the ground were on
unsteady terms with her, she scowled, then bellowed in a
wavering voice, “You are all to surrender or – ”
She did not provide another option, for the weight of
her words unbalanced her and she crumbled neatly in the
doorway. It was obvious to all that she had suffered
greater damage than initially thought. She needed help.
The gathered gnomes were ecstatic.
The pair of humans – armored and unarmored, female
and male, soldier and well . . . the male was dressed like a
merchant, mage, or alchemist – rested in Kali’s house for
five feverish days. Neither was strong enough to wake,
take food, or make demands. The man-merchant slept the
dreamless sleep of the dead, while the woman-warrior
shuddered with fits that brought her half-waking into the
pain of this world. During this time, Kali was forced to
convince more than one of his gnomish compatriots that a
newly invented device – such as the one to bore a small
hole in the forehead to witness their dreams – was
unnecessary, and proceeded to work his own craft upon
them. Kali’s craft was healing, and he was quite good at
it… as gnomes go.
On the morning of the sixth day, Kali awoke to find
the tip of a sword at his throat. This was a surprise
because he normally kept such things as swords in a large
glass case marked “SWORDS” in the other room. Not
surprisingly, given the location of the sword, the woman-
warrior was at the opposite end. Kali had restrained the
pair in their sleep, so they would not hurt themselves in a
violent dream, but he had made their shackles of loose
cloth.
Too loose.
“Surrender or die,” she hissed.
Kali gave careful (and rapid) thought to his options,
and asked her what she wanted for breakfast.
The news of Kali’s surrender to the awakened outsider
moved through the village like the fiery results of a failed
chemical experiment.
(In Gnome Stories the outsider always declares [him-
or] herself master of the land, and the gnomes always
agree. Some uncharitable souls say this is because the
gnomes are stalling while they gleefully plan their
revenge. In reality, gnome tribes are truly interested in
learning as much as possible from newcomers, and will
try to make them happy. If surrendering is what the
outsider wants, it is a small price to pay as long as the
outsider remains. So it was in this case.)
Soon, a horde of short but passionate individuals
queued up outside Kali’s house, each seeking to surrender