Beyond the Moons (23 page)

“There is still time to put these two ashore,” Cwelanas mentioned, pointing to Teldin.

“I want us underway as soon as possible. We will not delay for them.” Luciar’s voice was firm and certain. ‘See to things, then bring our human guest up here.”

“Yes, Captain,” Cwelanas answered darkly but without argument. She turned to the elf sailors who gawked around her. “You heard the captain, crew. He wants us out of the bay now. Unfurl more sail. You four —” She pointed to a group of lean and hard-looking elves — “see to that —”

“Giff,” Teldin interjected.

“— thing does no more damage. When llfaras and his clumsy peers are able to walk, send them to the galley for tending. Now, you, to the captain.” Cwelanas grabbed Teldin roughly by the shirt and pulled him toward the stairs to the afterdeck. She was surprisingly strong for her size and easily jerked the surprised human off balance.

“I can walk, thank you,” Teldin insisted, upon recovering his footing. With an unconcerned shrug, she dropped her grip and let him go ahead of her, out of caution, not courtesy. Teldin lurched and almost fell as the ship caught the breeze and heeled slightly. Cwelanas made no attempt to help the human, but instead pushed him forward. He caught the banister, then climbed to meet Captain Luciar.

The old elf kept his face impassive as he stared gravely at Teldin. Cwelanas stood near the stair, her saber still unsheathed. “You came to me yesterday asking for passage to Sancrist,” Luciar intoned as if reminding himself of events. “I told you no. Today I find you – and a monster – smuggled aboard my ship. This violates law and custom.”

“Sir,” Teldin said, “my —”

“On human ships, I am told, stowaways are simply thrown overboard,” Luciar coldly continued, ignoring Teldin’s words for the moment. “If they are lucky, they swim to shore.” He turned to survey his crew’s progress.

“Maybe the big one could, but this one would never make it,” snorted Cwelanas.

“Quiet, my daughter,” Luciar chided. “The jib is going slack. It should be full in this wind. See to it, Cwelanas.”

“Yes, Father,” the elf maiden said quietly, sensing her father’s faint displeasure.

As his first mate descended, Luciar strolled to the aft railing. Teldin remained. “Young man, do you understand what you have done?” the ancient elf asked grimly.

“Stowed away, sir,” was the human’s answer, meekly said in spite of his determination. The captain’s imperious manner chilled the farmer’s spirit. Teldin was not proud of his act, since he knew it was little more than thievery.

“I am bound by the customs of the Silvamori to welcome any soul who sets foot on my ship, provided he draws no blade against me,” Luciar tersely explained. “That is why I would not let you aboard yesterday. Now I am stuck with you it would seem. Cwelanas would let tradition hang and throw you overboard.” The captain shook his head sadly at the thought. Teldin’s hopes brightened. Perhaps his luck was beginning to change. After all, he deserved a break in his fortunes, the farmer reasoned.

“This I will not allow,” the old elf captain continued, “but I will not allow you to steal free passage aboard my ship, either! You and your – thing – will work among the crew. Cwelanas is my first mate, and she will give you orders. You must do as she says.” The elf let a faint smile cross his lips. “I imagine you will regret stowing aboard long before we reach land.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Teldin said, somewhat crestfallen. Easy passage had been a vain hope, more than he had a right to expect. “Gomja and I will manage.” Even as he claimed so, Teldin was far from sure. He certainly knew the voyage would be anything but dull.

“Teldin Moore, report to Cwelanas for your duties.”

Chapter Fourteen

Teldin leaned against the bowsprit and gazed longingly at the distant land. The queasiness of his first night at sea had passed, but Teldin found sea-going life more difficult than he had expected. He was used to the open spaces of a farm; the ship was small and confining, even when he was on the main deck. Teldin was constantly and nervously aware of the limits of his fragile new home. It did not help to be constantly reminded of his ignorance about things nautical. Gomja at least, from his flying ships, had something of an advantage over Teldin in this.

Still, he was trying to learn quickly and had so far mastered some of the basics of sailing. Fortunately, Teldin was a quick study. He had always had the knack for picking up skills in a short time – farming, hunting, mule-skinning, army life, and now, apparently, sailing. Teldin fully expected to have a good understanding of the principles by the time the ship reached Sancrist. He certainly was getting enough work at it. By this, his second, morning aboard, Teldin was no longer looking about stupidly when Cwelanas ordered the crew onto the ratlines, the ladderlike ropes that ran from the top of the mast to the gun-wales – another new term he had learned. Indeed, Teldin was getting adept at watching the rest of the crew for clues as to just what Cwelanas’s orders meant, since her words were so full of nautical lingo.

With a tired sigh, Teldin leaned against the railing and gazed out over the water. To either side-port and starboard, he had learned from Gomja – were still – dark shapes of craggy peaks. Galwylin, one of the more out-going members of the elven crew, said they were the Gates of Paladine that marked the mouth of the Bay of Branchala. Beyond the cliffs was open sea. Sometime today the
Silver Spray
would pass beyond those mountainous walls and leave the shelter of land behind.

At Teldin’s back, the morning sun was slowly changing from the first orange-red of dawn to the rich yellow fire of the day. Although he had been awake for several hours, this was the first moment he had gained from Cwelanas for anything more than just working, only because there was finally nothing that needed doing.

“She’s determined to get every ounce of sweat out me, Teldin reflected, talking to the fish that shot by the bow in silver streaks. “Teach me to stow away. Wouldn’t recommend it.” The fish ignored his advice and plunged beneath an oncoming wave crest, their shining fins disappearing into the murky blue ocean.

Leaning out over the carved wave figurehead, Teldin let his thoughts wander to Cwelanas, comparing her to the young women he’d known back home. She was alluring despite – or perhaps because of – her fierce and proud demeanor. The elf maiden’s graceful form, exotic ferocity, even her fiery personality, Teldin allowed, this time not talking aloud to himself, attracted him – more than any of the local girls he had met. Watching the waves, he remembered Grandfather describing elves that the old man had seen. “How they look, it’s a way they cast a charm on your eye,” the patriarch had said. ‘Fair is not enough to describe them. They’ll make your heart pain.” Teldin had wondered at the time Just what his grandfather meant; now he felt he knew.

Teldin’s thoughts were interrupted by Gomja’s heavyfalling tread behind him. The foredeck’s creaking boards could herald only the giff’s approach, for there was no one else on board larger than Teldin. At a little over six feet tall, Teldin towered over the smaller, lighter elves. “Bare Tree” was the nickname they gave him, descriptive of his long, lean frame. Gomja they nicknamed “Boardbreaker.”

“You look troubled, sir,” Gomja commented as he joined the human. There was barely space for the two of them on the bow, so Teldin slid to the side, giving the giff some space along the jutting bowsprit.

Teldin was amused by the giffs interpretation of his mood. “Cwelanas’s doing, Gomja, that’s all. Wonder what else she’ll have us do today.” Teldin turned away from the breaking waves; his stomach was starting to roil and he was only now getting accustomed to the rolling of the ship.

“Sir I took the liberty of approaching the mate,” Gomja admitted somewhat guiltily, “and requested some time for you and I to drill – an hour or two a day.” Teldin shot the giff a curious look. Gomja continued hurriedly, “In Palanthas you said you wanted instruction in fighting. Now is a good time.”

Teldin looked at the giff with a tinge of mild suspicion. “Did I really say that?”

“Most assuredly, sir. I explained to the mate that it was to keep my skills up. We should practice. There may be neogi at Mount Nevermind.” Teldin blanched slightly at the mention of the creatures, but Gomja did not seem to notice the look. Instead the giff drew a sword, one of several that now hung at the muscular creature’s side or were thrust into his sash, and offered it to Teldin. Somehow, Gomja had been collecting weapons, until now he looked like a veritable sword dealer.

Teldin took the blade offered. It was surprisingly light and carefully balanced, far better than the heavy sword he had been using. Teldin made a few grandiose swipes through the air, trying to test the feel of the sword even though he had no idea what made one sword superior to another. Even though it was light to his grip, the blade swung heavier than he had expected. The farmer hauled back for another wild backswing, then stumbled off balance and teetered toward the rail. Spray from the bow splashed against his cheek as he caught a glimpse of the water slipping by below.

His perilous careen was abruptly halted as the giff lunged out and seized Teldin’s shirt. Gomja hauled the human to safety with ease.

“Excuse me, sir,” Gomja said politely once Teldin had regained his composure, “but I think it might be better if we started with a different weapon. Swords take more training than we have time for, I think.” The giff studied Teldin’s frame, briefly assessing the man’s potential. “You are familiar with staffs, sir?” he finally asked.

“From the farm, yes.”

“Well, I think a spear would be best then,” Gomja suggested. “That way we can work from what you already know. And a spear is a good weapon. Wait here, sir.” The giff headed aft and returned a short time later with a stout, metal-headed shaft. Teldin took it with both hands, this time more carefully checking the weapon’s balance.

So began the first lesson. Teldin felt like a child as Gomja taught the most basic maneuvers. For an hour Teldin lunged at shadows, thrust at air, and blocked to the calls of seagulls. Gomja took his role as instructor seriously, demonstrating, correcting, scolding, and praising. By the end of the lesson, Teldin was in a fine lather of sweat. “Cwelanas put you up to this, didn’t she?” Teldin panted as he collapsed on the deck.

“She did say she wanted the lessons to be useful, sir.” It was as close to an admission as Teldin was going to get. Looking out over the waves, the human did not notice the giffs conspiratorial grin.

The day wore on in uneventful doldrums, as did the following day and the day after that. Each day Cwelanas gave the landlubber a list of tasks, most fairly simple but backbreaking, to be completed before the evening meal, then she joined Luciar on the afterdeck. As Teldin worked, coiling rope, sewing sails, or whatever, he found he kept watching the elf maiden, watching her watch the crew at its tasks. The way she commanded the others and saw to the ship’s business, Teldin could almost forget her long, pale hair and slender figure – almost, but not quite. Then, embarrassed by what he was doing, he quickly looked away. Late one day, he caught her watching him. Their eyes met for an instant, then Cwelanas broke the spell, her eyes flashing with rage, though her face flushed a delicate shade of red.

The voyage fell into a pattern that wore on Teldin. In the morning was Gomja’s fencing lesson, then work for the rest of the day. His progress in nautical matters and close combat was rapid, though the human was still far from being either a captain or a duelist. On some days Cwelanas worked him hard; on others she barely assigned him any tasks. Teldin quickly discovered there was no predicting the elf mate’s moods, which, in a peculiar way, reminded Teldin of his father, before the youth had run off to fight in the war. Cwelanas was as difficult and hard to deal with as Amdar had seemed back then. The only difference was that, instead of lashing back in fiery but futile battles, Teldin quietly kept his peace.

With each evening came the bland and monotonous meal the galley cook prepared, usually boiled beans and herbs. Once or twice there was fish, but on the sea’s deep water the catch was small, and most of it went to the captain’s table. Teldin decided the Silvamori might be brilliant artisans, but their cooking left much to be desired. The farmer longed for the spicy pork sausages of home or even the fiery fish stews of Kalaman. Dinner was followed by sleep. Teldin’s ignorance of ships at least spared him the night watch, since Cwelanas did not trust the human when she was not on deck.

Conversely, Gomja’s spirits rose as the voyage continued, for the giff was far more comfortable on board. It was at least a ship, similar in that respect to the wrecked
Penumbra
. The elves, struck by his alienness and the sorrowful tale of Gomja’s creation at the hands of the Dark Queen, gave the “big heathen” greater latitude. His plight appealed to their romantic sense of melancholy, though Gomja’s great size also accounted for part of their awe. The slender ratlines of the shrouds, the rope ladders to the mastheads, were far too fragile for his weight, which kept him from working the yardarms.

At most, Gomja could haul on lines to trim the sails, but the elves quickly discovered the giff could handily do the work of several of them, freeing their hands for other tasks. When needed, Gomja laid into the ropes, lustily bellowing what Teldin could only assume were chanteys of the spelljammers, the sailors who, according to Gomja, plied the seas of space. At the end of the day, the giff cheerfully devoured the same meals that made Teldin dream of crisply seared roasts and thick stews.

After three days, the ship left sight of land and beat a westerly path, struggling against the ocean currents. The breeze was often against the small caravel, forcing the captain to tack back and forth rather than sail a direct route. Teldin and Gomja kept at their dueling, the human driven to improve by his memories of the neogi and his feelings of helplessness during the battle with Vandoorm. Gomja was pleased with the speed of Teldin’s training.