David Cook - Beyong the Moons

“It’s neogi and umber hulks,” Teldin confirmed. Gomja nodded. “The big ones, umber hulks, are the fighters. The little spiders are neogi, the brains,” the human quickly explained, seeing the gnomes’ vacant looks. For safety’s sake, he made sure the cloak was at its smallest dimensions, a collar about his neck.

“Are you fighting or running?” the giff continued in his questioning.

“Well, the Weapons Guild wants to test its new inventions, but those in the Shipbuilder’s Guild do not, because they are worried about the Unquenchable , and the Glass-blower’s Guild is too busy trying to move its works out of the way in time," Snowball explained, pointing in a different direction to show where each group was working. Niggil grabbed his sleeve in violent disagreement. “No, the glassmakers are over there, not-”

“It’s as I feared, sir,” Gomja said, stepping over to Teldin and not even bothering to listen to two gnomes. “No proper organization, no one seems to be in charge. Even if they are outnumbered, the neogi are certain to capture the upper levels-maybe the entire mountain-if this is all the resistance they meet.”

Teldin, his nerves shaken by the neogi’s appearance, steered the giff away from their hosts. “What do you think we should do?”

The two fell into private conference, leaving the gnomes to argue. Neither group paid notice of the other. Gomja wanted to mount an immediate counterattack, arguing that attacking was the only way to win. Teldin glanced at the gnomes with their hodgepodge of weapons and overruled the giff. They needed to stall the attackers until the gnomes could recover from the surprise. A violent rumble from the central shaft brought Teldin and Gomja’s hurried discussion to an end. Before the gnomes would pay attention however, Teldin had to separate Snowball and Niggil, by now almost to blows.

“Listen to me!” the human shouted, infuriated with the dissension among the tinkers. “Listen! You’re going to lose Mount Nevermind if you keep arguing like you’ve been. You,” Teldin commanded, pointing at Broz, who stood in the back, “you find your leaders and tell them Mount Nevermind has been attacked by the neogi, who will kill every gnome in the place unless action is taken right away. Stress that all the guilds must work together to win. Now get going!” Cowed by the anger in Teldin’s voice, Broz nodded in understanding, his jaw slack. Still, the appointed messenger did not move until Teldin took a threatening step toward him. All at once, the fat, short gnome found his legs and darted away.

Teldin turned back to the rest of the gnomes, who were already beginning another argument, and laid his strong hands on the shoulders of Snowball and Niggil. The latter, terrified of the human, tried to squirm away. “Now the rest you, listen!” Teldin shouted over the noise. “Sergeant Gomja and I will try to set up some defense. Everyone in my half of the room stand with Snowball.” Teldin gave the gnome an encouraging shake. “The rest of you are to go with Niggil and Sergeant Gomja and do exactly as the sergeant tells you. Any questions?”

The mouth of every gnome opened to speak, and Teldin realized he had just made a serious tactical error.

“Good!” the giff bellowed in a parade-ground shout before a single word could be spoken.

“Then everyone’s in agreement!” the human continued with a nod toward his companion. “So let’s go!” That said, Teldin and Gomja hustled the gnomes into the hail, moving them along before any could think of even a single question or new idea.

Teldin nodded the giff aside. “Gomja, you know more about fighting than I do, so you’ll have to take whatever’s hardest.” The farmer felt some shame at the statement, feeling as though he were putting his friend at unnecessary risk.

“Thank you, sir,” the sergeant said brightly. “That would be the main shaft. Lots of ways for the enemy to get down. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it, sir.”

“I know you will,” Teldin agreed, though he lacked the giff s confidence in their situation. The neogi were coming for him, and a lot of people were going to get hurt because of it. The farmer felt like a plague carrier, involuntarily spreading death wherever he went. “Where should I go?”

The giff wrinkled his brow in thought, more used to following orders than making plans. “The staircases, I guess, sir. See if you can block those so the enemy can’t get down that way.

“All right,” the farmer agreed. He was not at all certain how he would accomplish it. “Good luck, Sergeant Gomja.” The giff was already beyond earshot, herding his unruly band down the hail.

Grabbing Snowball and his troops, Teldin set off to the left, toward the supposedly “improved” staircases. Teldin tried to formulate a plan. All that seemed to come to mind was to gather the gnomes in the area and organize a barricade. The human explained his simple idea to Snowball, playing on the gnome’s vanity for cooperation. With a promised rank of second-in-command, the gnome eagerly helped work out the plan.

At the staircase, Teldin saw the improvements added by the engineers to “make the stairs faster.” The width of each step had been cut in half and replaced by a smooth, semicircular groove. The curling, circular staircase was now half stairs, half slide. Pistons could be triggered at each level to divert the slide into the hallway, where the descendee shot across the floor and into a thick wall of mattresses, hopefully to come to a safe stop. Even as he worked to organize the barricade, gnomes from the upper levels shot by and disappeared, shrieking into the distance. Teldin didn’t know if their screams were caused by the neogi or their hair-raising method of transport. Stopping as many as he could, the human, with Snowball’s assistance, pressed the newcomers into service. Two of his crew, sent hustling off to look for an armory, came back with a mismatched assortment of weapons: swords, axes, hammers, and things Teldin could not identify. The farmer had to break up several arguments over who got to wield which weapon.

As he questioned Snowball, Teldin learned there were four staircases on this level. With only one barricaded and guarded, there was little time to waste. The farmer took a random guess and appointed the most sensible-looking gnome of the lot to command this station. After carefully explaining what he wanted done, the human assigned a few of his crew to remain on guard, then gathered the rest, some of whom already had managed to wander away, and hurried to the next stair. From somewhere above, the booms and crashes of battle seemed to grow louder.

At the second staircase, the task was complicated by the discovery of a bizarrely built catapult, a ballista designed to fire ten bolts at once, so that they went “around corners, too,” according to one of the crewmen who dragged the device through the halls. The engineers had been wheeling it toward the center when Snowball had found them. “It’s just what we need!” the doorkeeper shouted, and, before Teldin could stop him, the artillerists were drafted to their cause. At the staircase, the yeoman tried to arrange it so the ballista was as far from everyone as possible, but the gnomes insisted on placing the device in the front lines. With grave misgivings, Teldin continued to the third staircase.

While they were in the midst of setting up defenses at the next station, a gnome, riding the slide from above, suddenly diverted to their level and shot through their numbers. Skidding across the floor, he slammed into the wall of mattresses with a loud phlooph ! and a swirl of feathers. Once pulled from the padding, the refugee staggered back to the landing to inspect the slide. Teldin and the other gnomes, curious to see what the new arrival was looking at, packed themselves in the doorway. A trickle of water appeared from around the curve of the staircase and ran down the center of the slide.