David Cook - Beyong the Moons

That night, the group camped in the foothills of the Dargaard Mountains. Somewhere to the south, not too distant, was the ill-omened fortress of Dargaard Keep. Although well inside the borders of Solamnia, The man kept careful watch, mindful of the tales told of Lord Soth and his dark stronghold.

Finished with his soup of dried peas and herbs, Teldin sat close to the fire. The night sky was clear and the sun's warmth had quickly drained away, replaced by a cool breeze from the mountains. The campfire provided good protection from the unseasonable chill. Teldin considered producing the cloak but desided against it. He distrusted its powers, for while it was an inanimate thing, it seemed to have the knack of causing more trouble than it solved. Besides, he was just as happy not to be reminded of the cure he wore around his neck. Gomja, ever conscious of danger, sat farther from the fire, carefully positioned to watch the others as much as he could.

Vandoorm finished his rounds of the men and squatted beside Teldin. " I thought last night you had a cloak — a warm-looking one." The warrior yawned and picked at his beard.

"Yes," Teldin answered slowly. Although the question was innocent enough, any curiosity about the cloak made Teldin wary. His first instinct was to deny the cloak's existence, but logically he knew that was impossible.

"It is foolish to sit in the cold, that is all." Vandoorm smiled and spread his hands.

Teldin's blue eyes narrowed, nervously scanning the captain from head to toe. "It was a cousin's. I borrowed it and gave it back."

"Ah. Do you need a blanket? I have extras for an old friend," Vandoorm generously offered. When Teldin shook his head, the captain smiled and shrugged. " Always the same. My generosity you do not need." Vandoorm nodded toward Gomja. "The strange one — you met him in the war?"

"Sort of" Teldin lied. The tale of Gomja and the Dark Queen was not going to hold up if Vandoorm started asking too many questions. The veteran knew more about the War of the Lance than Teldin and certainly more than Gomja. The farmer did not want to risk their fraud being discovered. "He showed up on my farm, not long after the war. The poor thing doesn't really remember what happened."

"Much better that way," Vandoorm grunted. "You told him all about us, right? How I am like your father?"

Teldin chuckled at the captain's good-humored vanity. "Only a little, Vandoorm. Stories could never do you justice."

"Ah, maybe I'll tell him how I taught you to drink like a real soldier." the mercernary ribbed as he kicked a log farther into the small fire. "You remember, eh?"

"Oh, I still remember, Vandoorm. How could I ever forget your lessons?" That drink, a young farmer's first, was quite unforgettable in Teldin's mind. Then there were Vandoorm's lessons in avoiding guard duty, camp life, requisitioning supplies, and whoring. Vandoorm had been an excellent teacher in the practical business of soldiering.

"They were good times, the war," Vandoorm said as he stared at the fire. "Not like now — little work for this old soldier." The mercenary pulled a hair from his beard. "Maybe I'll become a farmer like you."

Teldin burst into laughter at the thought of his old friend trying to tend a field. "Hah!" he declared through snorts. "I can see you ordering chickens into the henhouse! Move, you lazy birds," the farmer bellowed, imitating his old friend. Teldin's impersonation brought a self-mocking smile to the captain's face. Soon the quiet night echoedwith their laughter.

At last Vandoorm rose, shaking out his stiff legs. "You do not change, Tel. I am glad I found you in Kalaman. Enjoy your sleep. Tomorrow we'll talk more about old times." Vandoorm shook hands with his old friend, then went back on his rounds.

After all the precautions taken in the camp, the night was peaceful. Awakening at dawn, Teldin saw Gomja's dark shape huddled near the fire. The giff was asleep, still sitting upright, as if on guard. The farmer stirred up the coals of the fire and made breakfast. Only them did he wake his companion. Not too much later, the war band broke camp, the men glad to leave the region of Dargaard Keep.

Once on the road, the ride quickly fell into the same simple routine of the day before. True to his word, Vandoorm rode with Teldin. Having given his orders yesterday, there was little more the captain needed to do. On occasion, he had Teldin check a load or clean a horse's hoof, but the ridr was generally quiet.

Their conversation drifted to many things. Vandoorm told of how he had drifted around since the war. It seemed that with groups of draconians still on the loose, there was sometimes work for mercenaries. Over the years Vandoorm had gone from just another hired sword to the leader of a small band. He'd made a fair share of money and, like a good soldier, had managed to squander most of it away.

For his part, Teldin described what had happened to his farm both over the years and recently, though he made no mention of flying ships, neogi, or his strange cloak. It was raiders, the farmer claimed, that had destroyed the farm, and now he was going to Palanthas to seek funds from distant cousins.

Talk wandered back to the old days. Vandoorm took delight in relating to Gomja embarrassing tales of Teldin's youth. "I had to talk him out of joining the lead troops,"Vandoorm incredulously explained. "When he came to Palanthas, Teldin was ready to fight draconians all alone." The captain smirked at the thought. "To keep him alive, I saw that he became a mule skinner. Is it not true, Tel?"

The giff looked up at Teldin to check the veracity of the mercenary's words. The yeoman nodded, his head bobbing in rhythm with the plodding of the horse. "It's true enough, but I hated him for it. He told the commander I was a farmer and skilled with mules."

"That man was a fool, easy to trick — but I did it for you. He was too young to be killed in the war — and had no stomach for soldiering," Vandoorm proudly cut in. "It was for the best. You see, you're alive today, eh?"

Teldin hated to admit that the captain was right, but he was. The mercenary was a good judge of character, even then. Teldin had come to Palanthas full of ideals but not much on realities. Vandoorm knew it and had arranged for the farm boy to learn. "Why did you do it, anyway? It's something I've always wanted to know."

Vandoorm swayed in the saddle for a time before answering. "I think maybe you reminded me of my sister's son," he eventally answered, flashing a wicked grin. "I liked you, didn't want to see you die, eh?"

Teldin did not argue. Their friendship was one of the things he had never really understood. True, they got along well enough, but, then or now, the farmer could not guess why Vandoorm had taken him under his wing.

Still, the friendship between Vandoorm and Teldin seemed to have little effect on the other men. It did not bother Teldin. As a rule, he found mercenaries to be an unpleasant and unlikable crew. Teldin remembered their sort of war, men who, upon seeing blood, first learned not to fear it, then grew to like it. They fought not because the cause was just, but because they enjoyed it. For the mercenaries, money settled all moral issues. More than once in the war, Teldin had met men who had fought on both sides, picking whichever side paid the best or was most expedient. They never understood or cared for which side was right. Revenge was their idea of justice.

The wild-maned, eye-patched rider, Brun One-Eye seemed particularly suspicious of Teldin and his companion. Three — maybr four — times an hour, Teldin would catch the man staring in their direction. Brun was never hostile and, indeed, was even friendly. Sometimes he rode alongside, asking questions about the giff, their destination, where they'd been, and what they had seen. But Teldin's answers were guarded; the one-eyed mercenary did not inspire a feeling of trust.