David Cook - Beyong the Moons

Ilwar raised an eyebrow. “Your life is not our affair, Teldin Moore of Kalaman, so you will have to rebuild your farm on your own."

“Do you insist?” Snowball asked, crestfallen. The gnome’s dreams of fame and importance were fast fading.

“It seems such a shame-”

“There’s so much we could learn,” scientific-minded Niggil added, pushing to the front. “It really does not seem as if you have the proper appreciation of your importance to…"

Broz, as was his wont, said nothing.

Teldin ignored them and focused on Ilwar, the most realistic-seeming of the group. “Please, just answer the question. Can you get the cloak off and keep me intact?”

Ilwar looked thoughtful, Niggil avoided Teldin’s gaze, Broz stared back with sorrowful eyes, and Snowball fidgeted nervously. Finally the senior gnome said, “Of course, it is theoretically possible-”

“Theoretically, but you don’t know?” Teldin pressed for clarification. The gnome nodded slightly, stroking his thick beard. “So you can’t take it off right now?” The gnome nodded again.

“But if you were to accompany us aboard the Unquenchable ,” Snowball interrupted, hoping to revive his dreams of glory, “we are certain to find the solution, and then all we need to do is build the machinery needed-”

“A big machine!” Niggil added.

“-to remove the cloak, and then you can go back home just like you wanted as soon as we land back on Krynn from our voyage,” concluded Snowball, triumphant at the obvious simplicity of his plan.

Teldin retreated from the window and collapsed into a tiny chair, where he clutched his head in his hands. “Excuse me, good gnomes,” he mumbled toward the floor, “but I feel a terrible headache coming on. Can we continue this later?’’

Ilwar once again took command, pushing the other gnomes toward the door. “Of course, Teldin Moore of Kalaman. We will go set to work at once. Do not fear. We are certain to find an answer.” As the last of the other three left, Ilwar turned back toward the human. “I know it is hard to be so far from home,” the tinker sympathetically offered. “I traveled far in the wars, and there were many times when I only wanted to return to our mountain, so we will try very hard to help you go home if that is what you truly want.” The gnome ended his speech with a low bow and quickly left the chamber.

Feeling a little less exasperated, Teldin watched as Gomja closed the door and leaned against it. The farmer was exhausted by the day’s grueling examinations and disappointments.

“Peace, at last,” the lanky human sighed.

“Yes, sir,” Gomja rejoined slowly. He crossed to the window and stated down at the Unquenchable with a pained look on his face. He finally turned away and stood stiffly, almost at attention. Teldin ignored the giffs curious mood as he sprawled across the small chair.

Looking at the ceiling, his hands nervously twisting, Gomja finally ventured to speak. “Sir,” he began hesitantly, “what you told the gnomes, sir, about not going-did you really mean it?”

Teldin cocked his head toward Gomja and answered with a yawn, “If they can get this cloak off, then I’m free of all this. I’ll go home and try to start over. There’ll be a lot to do before winter.”

“But what will you do with the cloak, sir?” Gomja countered.

Teldin sat up a little straighter, noticing the giffs extreme nervousness. “Leave it for the gnomes to study, I suppose. I haven’t had time to think about that.” Unconsciously, Teldin’s fingers began to drum on the arm of the chair. “Just what are you getting at?”

Gomja swallowed. “Well, sir, it’s just like Astinus said. There are spelljammers here. And now, well, sir, I asked the gnomes for passage on the Unquenchable , for both of us, I mean.” Gomja’s voice stiffened, and he stood straighter. “I thought you would be coming along.”

“And now I’m not,” Teldin finished.

Gomja nodded affirmatively. “I have broken the chain of command, sir. Accordingly, you have the right to discipline me for this,” the giff said bravely.

“Discipline?” Teldin echoed, surprised that Gomja even thought he was upset.

“According to regulations, sir.” Gomja closed his eyes and recited from memory. “‘Unauthorized transfers shall be considered desertion of the third grade and are punishable by imprisonment not greater than 30 days, lashes not to exceed twenty-” Gomja’s voice shuddered-”and reduction in rank or grade, or such penalty as the commanding officer deems appropriate, not to exceed the severity of those listed.’”

“You’re saying I’m supposed to punish you for asking to go home?” Teldin rose to his feet.

“Yes, sir,” Gomja answered, his body still at attention. Teldin strolled to the window and rested his weathered hands on the sill. “And if I don’t?”

Startled by the suggestion, Gomja broke his rigid demeanor to steal a glance at the human, who stood with his back to the giff. “That’s the way it’s done, sir,” he explained, his voice filled with confusion.

“Hmmm,” Teldin mused, thinking over the curious request. Below him, a rope ferry towed a load of gnomes to the Unquenchable . Finally, Teldin turned back to the giff, who had resumed his rigid-backed and unmoving stance. “Private Herphan Gomja,” he began formally, “since you have admitted a minor infraction of regulations, I sentence you as follows: For the duration of our visit to Mount Nevermind, you are to prevent all gnomes in my presence from saying more than ten words at a single time unless I say otherwise.”

Gomja’s mouth dropped open, and his ears twitched. “‘What, sir?”

“Keep them from rattling on and on,” Teldin interpreted with a grin. “I think you’ll find it harder than it sounds. Now relax.”

“Yes, sir,” acknowledged the bewildered giff. His shoulders abruptly drooped, his big chest sagged, and, with the lapse of tension, he finally breathed again.

Teldin, prowling the room, stopped at a table and toyed with a gadget made of gears and pendulums suspended from a numbered dial. Accidentally touching a small switch, the cogs started to whir and the pendulums swung. The thing made an irregular ticking noise and, justifiably suspicious of any gnome invention, the farmer quickly set the device down. “You still want to leave, don’t you, Gomja?"

Once again the giff hesitated. “Sir,” the giff eventually began, searching for the words, “I request a transfer from our platoon to the crew of the Unquenchable . Will you approve it?”

Teldin looked to the table, where the gnomish device still rattled and clicked. “We’re saying good-bye,” he said slowly. The farmer found himself reluctant to let the giff leave, even felt a twinge of sorrow at the prospect.

“If you approve the transfer,” Gomja answered. “The gnomes will be leaving within the week. You’ve been a good commander, sir.” The giff offered gamely as he patted at his elven sword, “I’ve even earned a trophy or two.

I’ve grown to like the big fellow, Teldin thought. Still, he knew he couldn’t keep the giff from his own people. “Once you leave, you won’t have a commander, you know,” Teldin pointed out.

“There are the gnomes, sir.”

“For your own sake, I wouldn’t want to see you under the command of any gnome. Are you ready to assume command?”

Gomja’s face was solemn and concerned, and he answered, “If I must, sir, but I’ll only have myself to command.”

“It’s not much of a platoon,” Teldin commented. “No, sir, but I won’t have to worry about mutiny.” Teldin chuckled at the joke. “You’ve changed since we first met.” The farmer held out his hand as an equal. The giff took it in his own, which dwarfed the human’s. “Very well, I approve the transfer. And as my last official act as your commander, I promote you."