David Cook - Beyong the Moons

“Indeed. I’ll be at the west gate in the morning,” Vandoorm gruffly said. “If you need work, show up. I can always use a good hand like yours.” With that, he and his companions left for the night.

Rousing Gomja to his feet, Teldin led the sleepy-headed giff upstairs, talking excitedly as he went. "It’s a stroke of luck to meet Vandoorm like that. He’s a mercenary now, moving around from job to job. Tomorrow he’s off to Palanthas to look for work. People say there’s a sage, Astinus, by name, who lives in Palanthas. Maybe he can tell me what’s so special about this cloak. I’m damn well never going to find out here. Curse my cousins and all.”

“And maybe get me home, sir?” Gomja asked sleepily.

“I don’t know, Trooper Gomja. Look, I just want to get this cloak off and go back to my farm. Maybe it’s time you were on your own,” Teldin suggested as he reached the second floor landing.

Gomja looked confused. “But I don’t know were to go."

Teldin didn’t have an answer for that. Even though he knew otherwise, the farmer felt obligated to help the giff. The hours of drink swirled in his head and made it hard to think, until he regretted bringing the subject up. “Never mind. Forget about it. Right now you can get some sleep.” Without waiting for the giff, Teldin trudged into the room and collapsed for the night. Gomja was not far behind.

Teldin sat on the edge of the rumpled bed, his eyes closed in intense concentration. A ray of morning sunlight crept slowly across the dull wooden floor to play on the farmer’s leg. Across the small room, Gomja stood at the washstand, scrubbing his face in the cold water of the basin. The sound of water trickling and dripping mingled with the occasional cries of the vendors from the street below. Gomja began to hum an off-key march, the song droning mournfully. Before the giff had gotten more than a few notes into the song, Teldin flung himself back on the bed in exasperation.

“Damn! What am I supposed to do with this thing?” Teldin shouted toward the ceiling. He beat his palms in frustration on the moth-chewed blankets, raising a cloud of dust. “I can’t take this damned thing off. 1 can’t even get it to change size, and I know it can do that!” In a decidedly poor mood, Teldin rolled off the bed and paced over to the window, like a fox prowling along the edge of a chicken coop.

The giff watched the outburst wide-eyed but said nothing, since this had been going on all morning. As a trooper, it wasn’t his place to comment anyway. Keeping one wary eye on the farmer, the giff returned to his ablution.

“Again,” Teldin said with a forced sigh as he struggled to calm his temper. The human’s eyes closed, brows knitted, and teeth clenched as he translated mental concentration into physical effort. There was a tickle at the back of his neck like the pull of static from a woolen sweater. The tickle grew stronger and ran down his spine, raising the hairs ever so slightly. Teldin stopped and looked at the shimmery fabric that hung from his shoulders. There was no doubt that it was now shorter than before.

Teldin took a breath and tried again. “Shrink,” he ordered. In his mind, he imagined the cloak as a stubborn mule. The tickling sensation returned and then seemed to reverse, drawing in toward his neck. The cloak was once again a small collar around his neck. “Something’s finally worked right,” he sighed in triumph.

While the giff finished scrubbing and dressing, Teldin practiced his newfound control, at first hesitantly and then with greater and greater confidence. The cloak grew, shrank, grew, and shrank again. “It works! I think of it like a mule, and it seems to react!” The farmer chortled triumphantly. After so many disasters and disappointments, this small success was elevated to the status of a major victory. Reducing the cloak to little more than a curious necklace, Teldir grabbed his boots and prepared to go.

From somewhere Trooper Gomja had found an apple and was chewing on it noisily. “Where to now, sir?” the giff asked as he gulped down the last remains, core and all.

“Weren’t you listening? I’m leaving town, going to Palanthas,” Teldin answered, almost cheerily. “I made arrangements with Vandoorm to meet him at the west gate. There I’ll buy a horse and ride to Palanthas.” Teldin didn’t even bother to look at the giff while he spoke, but he stressed the singular nature of his plans. As soon as the second boot was pulled on, the human sprang to his feet and hurriedly began stuffing his few possessions into a small bundle.

Gomja began to mimic the human’s packing. He ducked his head under the ceiling beam and set his gear on the bed. With the precision that came from years of military training, the trooper began efficiently stowing his gear. "We, sir?” the giff asked hopefully as he folded the few charts salvaged from the Penumbra’s wreckage.

Teldin stopped in the midst of cramming his one spare shirt into the bottom of his bag. “Vandoorm and I,” the farmer said quite clearly.

“I see.” The giff continued packing. His face showed no sign of emotion or distress. “Vandoorm — he’s a mercenary, isn’t he?”

Teldin slowly resumed packing. “That he is,” was his wary answer. The farmer stowed his gear by touch, his eyes watching the tall giff.

“Then I will offer my services,” Gomja calmly announced without once looking away from his packing.

“You will what?”

“Hire on, sir. He is a mercenary and I am a soldier without a command.” Gomja finally stopped and looked toward Teldin as he calmly explained his own plan. The giff was casually confident in the success of the idea.

“You will do no such thing! You can just stop following me around and get out of my life,” Teldin sputtered. He grabbed his bundle and violently swung it over his shoulder.

“Of course, sir,” Gomja answered, still unperturbed by Teldin’s outbursts. The giff continued his methodical packing, tying off the bundle and swinging it over his shoulder. “I’m seeking gainful employment. It’s purely a coincidence that the only person who will hire me is your friend, Vandoorm. Giff are the finest bodyguards and enforcers in all the Known Spheres. Besides, I, too, have questions to ask this Astinus of Palanthas fellow. The sooner I find a way off this world, the farther ‘out of your life’ I’ll be.’ The giff gave a placid, almost serene smile. “I’ll see you at the west gate, sir.”

Teldin gave a scream, or more properly a bleat, of frustration and buried his face in his hands. “All right, you win! Let’s just go to the gate together.” Very deep down, the human felt a little quiver of relief. Was it because he was coming to like the big brute’s company? Or was it simply a release from the guilt of stranding the giff in Kalaman? Teldin could not tell for sure.

The pair left quietly, taking care not to disturb the sleeping innkeeper. The man had already been paid, so Teldin saw no need to rouse him. A cat followed them out the door, disappearing down an alley as they walked down the street. The clear sky and morning sun already made for a warm day, but the cool night breeze was still blowing in from the bay.

Teldin wasted no time making for the main thoroughfare. This broad avenue cut through the heart of Kalaman, straight from the castle to the west gate. Saplings lined the avenue and flowers bloomed down the parklike center. Just before the castle stood a great bronze statue of Lauralanthalasa, the Golden General and liberator of Kalaman, astride her horse. At the far end of the thoroughfare was the great tower of the west gate, looming over the small houses clustered around it. Statue and gate were easily visible anywhere along the length of the boulevard.