forged specifically to slay beholders did nothing to
diminish his prestige. Oster was well-loved by the
gnomes, never more so than when he rescued the
Kastonopolintar sisters when their alchemy shop decided
to blow up on Solstice Eve.
Yet most of the time when he was not out adventuring
or attending this dinner or that test in his honor, Oster sat
by the bedside of the lady, now known in the community
as Oster’s Lady, waiting for her to recover, watching her
passive, quiet face in the moonlight as her coverlets rose
and fell with each breath. The gnomes respected Oster,
and in turn respected his sleeping lady, so none of them
mentioned her erratic behavior when she had first arrived,
or that Kali seemed less effective than normal in working
a cure. They did not want to worry the human needlessly.
Kali was miserable, of course. He knew the truth,
more than any of his comrades, and it hurt him to see that
he himself was responsible for Oster’s heartache. It was
clear that the human had built up an imagined image for
his lady, a lady who, once awake, would undoubtedly
shred Oster limb from limb. On more than one occasion,
Kali screwed up his courage to the point where he decided
to confront Oster with the truth. The gnome mentally
rehearsed his lines and thought of every reason or
argument why he should tell the human the truth. And
each time he attempted the truth, the following would
happen:
Kali would say, “Oster, we must talk.”
Oster would sigh, clutching the hand of his beloved, and
say, “Yes, I know I spend all my time here when I am not
elsewhere. You think it unhealthy.”
Kali would say, “Well yes, but …”
And Oster would break in with, “I just worry that
some time when I am not here, the thrice-damned
Highlord will return and hurt you and my friends and my
lady.” And here would be another room-filling sigh as he
would add, “Is she not beautiful?”
At this point, Kali, hating himself every step of the
way, would always remember a project that was half
finished and leave the sighing Oster with his lady. The
plate mail of the Clockwork Hero fit better as he got more
exercise, and old skills he thought long-forgotten returned
to him. He gathered many weapons and strange items in
his travels around the valley, keeping for himself a clutch
of silver daggers worn at the belt and a magical cape, but
giving the rest to friends. Kali sent the hero out on none-
such missions for unneeded materials, while he and
Organathoran the painter – whom Kali had bonded to
silence – set about their craft.
Each day, when Oster was gone, they would mix
plaster and make a mold of some part of the lady – her
hand or her arm or foot. The molds would then be filled
with hot wax. It took several weeks of work to finally get
adequate casts of the hands, and longer for the legs, torso,
and face. The poor castings were melted in the hearth, as
were a few good molds that had to be jettisoned when
Oster returned in triumph too early.
Once, when taking the mold of the woman’s head,
Kali thought for a moment of covering her fully with
plaster, of letting her perish. It would solve the problem,
and make everything so much easier. Even if it did break
Oster’s heart.
But as the thoughts crossed his mind, Kali’s hands
began to shake, and he had to step outside to compose
himself. They were unworthy thoughts, for both a healer
and a gnome. Humans may take the easy route, but a little
complexity never stopped a gnome. He would proceed as
he had planned.
When the model was finished, Kali stored it in a hidden
back room next to the Highlord armor. Using the hair of a
long-haired fox, Kali fashioned a suitable wig, and Or
ganathoran worked on duplicating the looks of a sick but
living human being.
As the work completed, Kali placed an order with his
fellow gnomes for a stonework mausoleum and a
sepulchre. In true gnome fashion, the work took several