Beyond the Moons (37 page)

Teldin stared in wonderment, perhaps at the clutter of dials and levers on the tiny bridge, perhaps only in confusion over the missing hours. “What happened?” the cloakmaster finally asked, trying to get some bearing on where he was.

“We rescued you, sir, from the neogi,” Gomja carefully explained, suddenly concerned for his friend. “Do you remember the deathspider, getting on the rowboats?” Teldin nodded, and the giff continued, “You collapsed, sir, so I had them bring you over to the
Unquenchable
where I could keep an eye on you. I wouldn’t trust a gnome doctor unless I was around.”

“Thank you for that,” Teldin said paling slightly at the thought of what a tinker might do to his body. “But how did you rescue me, and with gnomes to boot?” Still somewhat wobbly, the farmer gently lowered himself onto one of the ridiculously small gnomish chairs.

Gomja smiled. “It wasn’t that hard, sir. After you left, I organized my gnomes into a proper platoon, as a sergeant should. The little fellows were quite taken by the idea and spread it around. At one point, the whole mountain was a single platoon, but I managed to get that straightened out!” Gomja cheerfully allowed, banging his fist on the table at the humor of the thought. Once they got the idea, the gnomes were just demons for fighting. They don’t like being kicked out of their mountain, I guess.”

“They drove the neogi out?” Teldin asked in disbelief. It was hard to imagine the gnomes resolute about anything.

“Just about, sir.” Gomja pointed with his big finger to the top of the cone of Mount Nevermind, clearly visible through the bridge windows. “The gnomes have pushed the neogi into those small spires. There’re only a few of the beasts in the uppermost towers, levels thirty-seven through thirty-nine. The neogi are trapped and can’t retreat. I’ve got six platoons up there trying to root them out. We’d have them out by now except for that other deathspider.”

Teldin sat up straight at the words, inducing a wave of pain through his stiff shoulders. “What other deathspider? I thought there was only one!”

“Not anymore, sir,” the giff grimly explained, pointing in the opposite direction. There, framed by the window, was the malevolent, black shape of a second spider-ship, hovering over the far end of the crater lake. “It showed up a few hours ago. It’s my fault, sir. I forgot these things travel in packs. So far, it hasn’t done anything. My guess is that they’re waiting for reinforcements.”

Teldin’s bandaged arm throbbed. “Then?” The answer was obvious, but fatigue was making it hard to think.

Gomja scanned the ground between the enemy ship and the crater wall. “Then I think the neogi will attack again, better organized and with more forces. The gnomes might not fare so well against a serious attack.”

“I thought we just had one,” Teldin remarked, not encouraged by the giff’s gloomy claim.

Gomja shook his big head. “No, sir. With only one ship, that was more like a raid. I imagine the neogi didn’t expect resistance, but now they’ll be prepared for a fight.”

“Until they get the cloak,” Teldin added as an unpleasant afterthought. The fabric hung on his shoulders like lead, the burden of death it carried suddenly crushing.

“I suppose so, sir.”

Teldin painfully ambled to a porthole window and looked out over the deck. From on board, the
Unquenchable
seemed more like a proper ship, though still strange in its design. Unlike the ocean-going
Silver Spray
, the gnomish vessel appeared to have the flat hull of a riverboat, with the decks stacked on the hull. Each deck was surrounded by a balcony that opened onto all the cabins for that level. A crazy assemblage of ladders and stairs manage to ruin the neat-seeming arrangement, but Teldin was certain the gnomes considered these an improvement.

The farmer leaned on the porthole sill and contemplated. He had come a long way since his adventure had begun. The farm seemed like something far distant, even though it was only a few weeks’ journey away. Going back now would feel very different, even more than when he had rejoined his father after the war. At least then there had been something to go back to, Teldin ruefully realized.

“Did you wish to speak with me, sir?” asked Gomja.

“Right, right,” Teldin finally said distractedly. He turned away from the porthole, his jaw set with determination. “What’s it like out there?” the human finally asked after several false starts.

“Sir?” Gomja dropped his stiff stance.

“Out there, beyond this world, what’s it like?”

Gomja cocked his head and didn’t answer for a long time. “I don’t know, sir. I mean, I can’t explain. It’s

quiet and dark, sir.” The giff fingered his knives nervously.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Teldin broke in. “I mean, are there people out there, humans, or is everyone – well, something else? I guess I want to know, would I be alone?”

Ears wiggling in surprise, the giff answered, “You will never be alone, sir. I’ll be with you.” Teldin shook his head, realizing Gomja didn’t understand. The big alien tried again. “There are humans, yes,” he cautiously offered.

“Oh” Teldin said in disappointment, hoping for something more poetic. He didn’t really know what he expected the giff to say. “I wish I knew what’s so special about this cloak, Gomja. Why do the neogi want it?”

The giff pursed his big lips. “As I have told you, sir, I don’t know. Perhaps you should rest some more.

The injured farmer ignored the giffs suggestion. “But the neogi do want it, and if they don’t get it this time, they’ll try again, won’t they?” Teldin looked at the opalescent fabric for the thousandth time, trying to fathom its mystery.

“Yes, sir, that seems certain.” All this was obvious, and Gomja could not see what the human was getting at. “The neogi are a determined race,” he offered.

Teldin paced the little bridge, looking from the giff to the neogi ship. Unconsciously, the farmer’s fist drummed against his leg. “Would I like it?” Teldin blurted.

“Like what, sir?” Gomja asked, by now very confused.

“You know, out there. Would I like it out there?” Teldin demanded, a little irritated that the giff had not followed his thoughts.

Gomja sputtered with his mouth agape. “Well, sir, I suppose you might. I mean, I don’t know, sir.” Gomja realized he was gawking and closed his big mouth.

Teldin shook his head, cutting the hapless giff off. “Damn the gods, Gomja, I can’t let them have it!” the farmer proclaimed. “Look, I don’t know what this thing does, but, by the Abyss, I’m not going to hand it over to the neogi, not after —” His voice dropped to a whisper — “not after what they did to me.” Teldin’s eyes were hard and grim and blood flushed into his cheeks. He stopped pacing and planted himself in the center of the bridge. “I’m going with you.”

The giff’s ears twitched. “But, you said you didn’t want to leave the land, sir. We said good-bye and you made me a sergeant and everything.” The giff peered closely at Teldin’s face. “Are you sure, sir, that you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” Teldin avowed, though he felt far from it. The poultice caused his cuts to itch and burn while his shoulder sockets still throbbed from the lordservants’ wrenching. “I am going with you,” he stated again, almost as if to convince himself.

“Why, sir? Space isn’t your home. What about your farm, sir?”

Teldin looked back out the porthole toward the hovering deathspider. “As I said, Gomja, because I’ll be damned if the neogi are going to get this cloak.” Teldin’s face was cold and stony as he nodded toward the neogi ship. “When I was a prisoner, there was something one of them said, about using the cloak to enslave worlds. Maybe I didn’t get it then, but now I do.” Teldin turned back to face the giff. “Look, Gomja, if I stay here, the neogi will just keep coming, hunting for the cloak. How many have they killed already? You’re saying Mount Nevermind might fall. If that happens, what then? Can you imagine it – fleets of neogi floating over Krynn? I’ve seen enough fighting. This whole land has seen enough war.” Teldin turned away and quickly brushed a tear from his eye. “The farm’s gone anyway – Grandfather, Amdar, Liam – all the people who meant anything. If I stay, the neogi will just hurt someone else close to me. This way there’s no more killing.”

“But fighting the neogi is a great honor, sir. They are friends to no one.” Gomja’s earnest face confirmed the truth of what he spoke.

“No, Gomja, I’m not you and I’m not a Solamnic knight. The war taught me a long time ago that there’s no honor in fighting. Look what happened to Vandoorm, or the gnomes here. Do you think they felt honored?” Teldin’s fingers clenched the porthole. “I can’t – I won’t be responsible for bringing the neogi to Krynn – so I’m leaving.”

Gomja scowled, his voice dark and ominous. “Running away? A giff shouldn’t serve under a cowardly captain.”

Teldin turned slowly, pulling the cloak tightly around himself, biting back a surge of anger. “You don’t understand! Whatever this cloak is, the neogi want it badly. I’m not running away. I’m drawing them away. I want them to follow me, to leave Krynn alone. Besides, out there maybe I can learn what this cloak does.” Teldin’s voice grew soft. “If it’s as powerful as the neogi think, then maybe I can pay them back in kind.” The farmer’s eyes looked past the giff and toward something only the human could see. Never before had Gomja seen the human show such coldblooded fire.

Teldin jerked his finger toward the deck, snapping out of the spell. “When this ship leaves, I’m going to be out there waving this damn cloak right under neogi noses if I have to.” The mule skinner glared defiantly at the giff, challenging the alien to protest.

Gomja’s ears slowly rose and his little eyes widened. The giff now saw the dangerous sense of Teldin’s plan. “I understand now, Commander. I was... wrong.” Fumbling at his sash, the giff drew one of his pistols and held it, stock first, for the human to take. Teldin hesitated, the farmer in him unwilling to accept the commitment the pistol implied. “Please take this,” Gomja urged. “You would have been a noble giff, sir. You have a hero’s soul.”

Teldin reddened at the big alien’s compliment. Gingerly, he took the pistol by the stock. Made for a giffs big, clumsy fingers, the weapon was huge in his own hand. As Teldin looked it over, Gomja drew the pouches from his sash and set them on the table. Dividing the bags of powder, wadding, and shot, the giff motioned for Teldin to join him.

“It works like so …”

Chapter Twenty-five

The pistol lesson went quickly, though, despite Gomja’s assurances, it seemed like so much magic to Teldin. The rattle of eager footsteps toward the bridge signaled the lesson’s end. The giff, knowing the gnomes would dearly love to dismantle and analyze his precious weapons, hastily scraped everything back into the pouches.

The clanking door’s valves parted and Captain Wysdor, the braid-bedecked gnome from their earlier meeting, rushed onto the bridge. Gone was the jeweler’s loupe, but the gray braids remained. He wore practical, ordinary shirt and trousers. His leather apron, standard dress for a working gnome, was scratched and cracking with age. The captain’s arms were covered with grease up to the elbows. “It’s done, sir!” he shouted, breathless from his hurried trip from the depths of the engine hold to the bridge. “Wefinishedthe-modificationstothespelljammerhelm —”

“What’s done?” Teldin demanded. The rapid gnomish speech was adding to his already throbbing headache. Gomja, his brows knitted as he tried to figure out what had been said, towered over the gnome.

Even the normally professional captain found it difficult to suppress his natural pride in the
Unquenchable
. “The spelljammer helm has been mounted, as instructed by the large, blue-skinned stranger who calls himself Gomja —”

“You told us that already,” Teldin snapped. “Well, yes,” Captain Wysdor said, catching his breath and slowing down, “but now we have finished all the modifications to the helm —”

“Does this mean the ship can leave?” Teldin asked, ignoring the gnome’s wordy barrage.

“— yes – and furthermore we have made several improvements on the design, which, though untested, should enhance the overall performance of the spelljammer engine, assuming, of course, various assumptions about the physical properties of space made by Master Alphonlongrutadinatachruvinuscadilmastrki —”

“We can leave, right?” Teldin demanded again, laying one hand on the captain’s shoulder. He wanted to be absolutely certain that the gnome had answered his question. Teldin suppressed the urge to shout in the little fellow’s face.

The captain stopped, pointedly removed Teldin’s hand, and carefully straightened his braid. “Yes,” he answered icily, glaring up at the human with impressive dignity, the mantle of professionalism restored.

Teldin stared just as fiercely back, unintimidated by the gnome’s posturing. “Is everything else ready?” He kept his finger poised to cut off any long-winded speeches.

“The
Unquenchable
will be ready to depart as soon as the admiralty reaches the bridge and gives the necessary —”

“Excellent,” Teldin interrupted. Human patience with gnomes and their ways was wearing thin.

Gomja, poking his head out the door, called back to those inside. “The admirals are coming, sir. I don’t think you’re going to like it, though.”

“Admirals?” Teldin echoed.

“Admirals, sir. Three of them,” Gomja explained as he stepped back into the room. Captain Wysdor hastily stepped out of the way.

Marching in lockstep, the three admirals – neatly groomed Ilwar, wild-haired Niggil, and paunchy Broz – strode onto the bridge. The three were dressed in comical blue-and-green uniforms, overloaded with gold braid and heraldic symbols. Behind them came a jostling gaggle of technicians, toting unruly boxes of charts and papers. Gomja unconsciously stiffened to attention and snapped off a salute. “Admirals on the bridge, sir!” he bawled in proper military fashion.

With a groan Teldin collapsed into one of the gnome-sized chairs. Spotting him, the three admirals burst into congratulations at his escape, and shook his hands until Teldin though his miserable joints would be wrenched free once again. Finally Ilwar srpoothed his square, black beard and asserted control. “Officer of the Day, prepare a boat to carry Teldin Moore of Kalaman back to shore,” Ilwar ordered. Captain Wysdor moved toward the door.