David Cook - Beyong the Moons

“What did you do?” Teldin demanded of Gomja.

“A demonstration, sir, as you requested. I shot him in the knee,” the giff answered innocently.

“Fine,” Teldin spat, still burning with rage. “Keep them covered. I’m going to get us some horses.”

“Sir,” Gomja said out the corner of his big mouth, “I am out of shots.”

Teldin kept his face impassive at this distressing news. Shots, he assumed, were the powers of the wand. “Look, just don’t tell them-bluff!”

“Yes, sir.” Gomja took a step closer to the mercenaries, glowering as fiercely as possible. An animalistic rumble came from deep in his chest. While he was occupied, Teldin caught the two strongest-looking horses and scattered the others with shouts and yells. For himself he chose Vandoorm’s stallion, exercising his desire for vengeance. Up in the saddle, he led the other back to Gomja.

“Pass me your pistols and mount up,’ Teldin ordered. Gomja handed over the pistols, one at a time. Teldin took care to keep them pointed directly at Vandoorm. “The wizard has shown me how to use his magic,” Teldin loudly announced to the glaring men.

“I’ve never ridden a beast like this before, sir,” Gomja pointed out as he looked at the horse.

Teldin steeled himself with a deep breath. “That’s all right, Gomja. It’s never had you ride it before either. Now, let’s go!” The farmer hissed the order through clenched teeth.

“Yes, sir.” After several awkward attempts, Gomja finally got himself situated in the saddle. Teldin gave the giffs horse a slap on the rump, sending it forward into the darkness.

“Don’t try to follow us, Vandoorm, or I’ll forget you once were my friend,” Teldin vehemently swore. Digging his heels into the stallion’s sides, Teldin galloped into the darkness after Gomja.

“I’ll find you, damn you, farmer!” cursed Vandoorm as Teldin disappeared into the darkness. “And I’ll make you pay in pain!”

Gomja clung to the saddle, his legs clamped firmly to the mounts sides, as his horse galloped through the darkness. Aside from being a novice rider, the giff simply wasn t suited to the task. His feet, with their great, round pads, could never fit into the stirrups, nor was his bulk comfortable in the narrow saddle, designed for a human posterior. To make matters worse, the steed labored under Gomja’s weight, barely able to keep up a bone-jarring trot.

Gomja endured this for what seemed like hours. Finally, he shouted to Teldin, who rode ahead, “Sir, requesting orders to dismount and walk!” The giffs words were punctuated by his mare’s jarring steps, each jolt pushing Gomja’s normally deep voice higher.

“Well, I think we’re far enough from Vandoorm to slow down the pace,” Teldin claimed for the sake of his companion. In truth, Teldin was not going to feel comfortable until he was safely within the walls of Palanthas. Vandoorm would catch his horses sooner or later and was bound to come after the cloak.

"If you think so, sir,” Gomja moaned while getting off his horse. Mindful of possible pursuit, though, Teldin rode on at a good pace, forcing Gomja to jog alongside. Still, the giff seemed happier than he ever had while riding.

As the pait continued toward Palanthas, the sky gradually lightened, causing the snowy mountain peaks to glow a rich cerulean. The hues faded and lightened into reds and yellows as the sun rose over the lip of the ridge.

The sun was an hour over the mountains when Palanthas finally came into view. At last feeling safe, Teldin reined in his horse to savor the view of the city from the top of the pass. Teldin had forgotten how — even during the war — Palanthas had been a majestic and inspiring sight.

Nestled in a bowl-shaped valley with its back pressed against the gleaming, blue-green Bay of Branchala, the city had the vague shape of a huge wheel. Concentric streets radiated from the heart, culminating in a massive walled ring pierced by great gates. The wall had long ago proven ineffective at containing Palanthas’s vibrant growth, and the city had tumbled from its confines to climb the surrounding hills and form the maze called the New City.

Teldin pointed to a cathedral-like building standing at the edge of the central square in the middle of the city. “That’s the palace of the lord of Palanthas," Teldin told the giff, indicating one of the sights. "See those low buildings, closer to us, along the road in? That’s the library where the sage Astinus is supposed to stay." Gomja showed only a minor interest in the architecture "The walls are dwarf-built,” Teldin explained tersely. He was slightly vexed that the giff wasn’t paying attention to his descriptions. “They say the walls are among the oldest in the world, built even before the Age of Might.”

“What is that dark tower that stands by itself?” Gomja asked, pointing toward a jet-black structure not far from the palace. The tower was actually one main edifice with two slender supporters, each topped by a blood-red minaret.

Teldiri shuddered as he looked toward where Gomja pointed. He had been unconsciously avoiding the structure. “It’s called the Tower of High Sorcery. Can’t you feel the evil?” The farmer marveled at the way the giff calmly looked at the dark structure.

Gomja shrugged, relatively untroubled by the palpable vileness the tower radiated. “Magic is not the giff way,” was all he could offer by way of explanation.

Teldin accepted the answer and turned his gaze back to Palanthas. He noted, with surprise, a new feature to the landscape. On the far side, outside the city walls, was a huge rock topped by a partial castle. The whole structure sat canted in a field at the edge of the New City. During the war that space had been a drill ground, he recalled. He pointed out the curious structure to the giff, but Gomja only nodded with disinterest.

“It is much like the Rock of Bral,” the giff observed, casually comparing the strange feature to a relic of his home, the void. He looked over the city’s radiating streets. What about inns? Do they have any that serve meals? I don’t think I’ve eaten for days, sir.” Even as he spoke, the blue- skinned alien looked sincerely up at the farmer.

Exasperated but amused, Teldin shook his head. “Yes, of course there’s food.” He rubbed his weary eyes. “To the city then, men!” Teldin finally said brightly, sitting up straight and playfully speaking as if to a thousand men. “First, a horse market to sell this fine steed. Second, breakfast!” Orders given, Teldin led his imaginary army toward the city of Palanthas.

By late morning, Teldin’s purse jingled and Gomja’s belly rumbled pleasantly once again. Vandoorm’s stallion had brought a fine price at the horse fair, though the sale was helped in great part by Teldin’s knowledge of horseflesh and the horse dealers of Palanthas. Years as a mule skinner among the Whitestone forces had not been a total waste, the farmer reflected. The sale provided enough steel for the pair to get by for several weeks, though Teldin was forced to lower the estimate by the time Gomja had finished breakfast. After overcoming their fear of the strange robed figure, the serving wenches had kept the trooper supplied with a seemingly endless flow of fruits and vegetables. Teldin could only take consolation in the fact that at least the giff spurned the more expensive roasts and sausages that were offered.

Teldin fretted as he and Gomja made their way through the streets of the Old City, bound for the Great Library of Palanthas. “How am I going to get in to see Astinus?” he asked himself. “We’re not exactly nobility-we’re not even bathed!”

“Sir?” inquired Gomja.

“Nothing.” Teldin looked up, startled. "I was just thinking. You see, this Astinus, the sage, well, he doesn’t have a reputation for hospitality, and I was just wondering how we were going to get in.”