Beyond the Moons (22 page)

“Sservant-sslavess do not Nyeasta defy!” threatened the neogi. “Your ansswer worth more than money iss.” The neogi whipped its head about and barked a quick command. By their faces Teldin could tell the tongue was foreign to Vandoorm and his men. Teldin, probably through some power of the cloak, vaguely understood it, though parts did not translate perfectly. “
Quastoth
, kinsmen-slaves-your lordservants bring. Nyeasta, your captain-owner, demands it.”

The response was an immediate movement from the shadows on three sides of Vandoorm’s men. With a loud clattering, giant creatures closed on the mercenaries. “These my umber hulks are. As I bid, they do,” Nyeasta intoned.

As with the neogi, Teldin had seen these larger creatures before. The plated bodies rose out of the shadows, glistening like June beetles’ backs. Their giant mandibles clacked and grated as the beasts lumbered forward, claws almost dragging on the ground. Teldin took care not to look at the creatures’ outermost eyes, remembering the violently disorienting effect their gaze had had on him before.

At that point, one-eyed Brun, overstrung with bravado, rushed forward with his sword raised and charged the nearest creature. “Restrain!” Nyeasta barked. The umber hulk closest to the lunging mercenary swept an arm out and effortlessly seized the lieutenant in its great claws. Even so, Brun tried to complete his slash, but the warrior’s sword skittered off the bony plates that covered the beast’s body and barely left a mark. With a violent twist, the umber hulk pinned its quarry to the ground. There was a soft pop and grunt of agony from Brun. The lieutenant’s sword arm flopped loosely at his side, the shoulder wrenched free from its socket. His teeth clenched to grind hack the pain, Brun squirmed helplessly under the brute’s unyielding grip.

Nyeasta returned its attention to Vandoorm. “Ssancrissst iss where?” the neogi demanded once more.

“Release Brun or I say nothing!” Vandoorm countered, defying the neogi. The little creature turned to its monstrous servant and Vandoorm took a deep breath of relief, confident that the neogi had relented.

Smiling a gruesome smile, the neogi calmly told the lordservant, “Meat kill.” Vandoorm’s triumphant look turned to horror when the umber hulk slashed downward with its arm at the wriggling Brun. The outthrust talons struck in concert with a single wild shriek from the doomed man’s mouth. Before the cry had begun to echo, there was the hard grinding of rock as the beasts’s claws speared Brun’s body and drove into the flagstones of the quay, gouging a huge fistful of bloody rock. Its talons dripping, the umber hulk threw the one-eyed lieutenant’s torso into the center of Vandoorm’s company. Blood spattered the legs of the stunned men.

“Now, servant-slave, Ssancrissst Isle iss where? Answer and you and your slaves spared will be.” Here Nyeasta motioned with a tiny claw to Vandoorm’s mercenaries.

Teldin, horrified but locked in place by grotesque fascination, struggled to see clearly without revealing himself. Small tremors palsied the leg and arms of the wrought-up mercenaries, their swords clenched rigid, the tips vibrating with tension. Teldin was hardly surprised to see that even the cool Vandoorm shook, spasms rippling across his back. The captain’s gaze turned from Nyeasta to Brun’s bloody remains and back again. The umber hulks, of which Teldin had counted five, took a step closer to the mass of men.

“West!” blurted Vandoorm, desperate to forestall an unprofitable fight. “West, beyond the isles of Ergoth, at the mouth of the strait that divides north and south.” It all tumbled out at once. “I trained an army of Whitestone there in the war. Nevermind is a peak somewhere in the mountains. Only gnomes live in that part of Sancrist.” The bearded warrior shook, as if speaking had released the tension coiled within him.

“Gnomesss?” hissed Nyeasta. “Gnomess shipss build – there, of course, the cloakmaster will go. Him the spheres call.” The neogi stared toward the sky, rapt in its thoughts.

“Then my information is good, is worth something, creature-sir?” Vandoorm probed, his nerve and his mercenary instincts returning. “We’ll take our pay and go.”

“No promisesss to ssslaves there are,” Nyeasta said in cool, slippery tones. “Kill them,” the neogi ordered in the harsh tongue of its hulking servants.

“To swords and break out right!” Vandoorm shouted as the umber hulks lumbered forward. The order was hardly necessary, for the mercenaries had already sprung futilely into action, but the umber hulks’ strange, multifaceted eyes swirled in hypnotic colors and the seasoned warriors staggered back, dazed and confused. Some struck out blindly while others, hopelessly outmatched for the first time in their careers, cried for mercy, but there was no mercy coming. The broad-bodied, gigantic umber hulks waded among the random, raging mass of mercenaries, tearing the warriors apart with impunity. Only a few, Vandoorm among them, seemed to retain their sanity.

Teldin suddenly realized that he was too close to the massacre when a hapless mercenary crashed through the lobster pots just to the right. The body landed by Teldin’s feet, its head dangling toward the harbor below. Half the man’s shoulder had been torn away and the blood flowed quickly into the greasy water. The man’s legs kicked feebly in dying throes at the splintered wood of the traps. Another shriek, along with a splash of blood and gore across his cheek, tore Teldin’s attention away.

Beyond the shelter of the pots, the umber hulks gruesomely thinned the ranks of Vandoorm’s few remaining men. The short, bearded captain hewed at the beasts with his broad sword, his most furious blows hacking gashes through the horrors’ bony armor. Blood and flesh soaked the pavement under Vandoorm’s feet. Reeling back for a swing, the captain’s foot suddenly slipped beneath him. He dropped to one knee and weakly tried to beat the monsters off, then suddenly the mercenary was swarmed by the creatures. Vandoorm’s screams were drowned by the umber hulks’ rending claws, their blood-stained talons flailing down upon the prostrate captain.

Teldin fled, blindly scrambling along the quay. Fear forced him into a hunched run; instinct somehow kept him behind the shelter of the fishermen’s nets and traps. Screams ended abruptly. Clacking mandibles and soft, fleshy rips faded and welcome darkness cloaked the terrified farmer. Teldin ran on, turning and twisting blindly. He gasped for breath, his throat raw and thick. Pain seared his heaving chest. He sprinted until, exhausted, he could run no more. Still he lurched on.

Dirty, sweaty, and blood-stained, talking fiercely to himself and staggering as he walked, Teldin gained a wide and fearsome berth amid the Palanthians he passed on his way back to the inn.

Chapter Thirteen

Given his blood-smeared and panicked state, Teldin had little difficulty persuading Gomja that it was well past time to leave Palanthas. Indeed, the giff gathered their belongs and strapped on his sword in a grimly satisfied mood. In his unspoken opinion, Vandoorm and his men had gotten only what they deserved. Still, Gomja wanted to stay and fight, but Teldin knew it was time to escape. The elves were sailing tomorrow and Teldin was determined to be on that ship when it left. Teldin and Gomja hurried out onto the night streets, leaving an awestruck and terrified innkeeper behind.

Somehow, the pair managed to reach the quay without incident. The
Silver Spray
was still moored there, riding higher in the water as the tide slowly came in. A lantern swung from the main boom, another over the aft companionway. The deck was deserted and the pair had little difficulty slipping aboard, though the gangplank groaned under the giffs weight. Relying on Gomja’s knowledge of ships, they found a hatch to the hold and dropped into the darkness below. There, by slowly groping their way, the two found what seemed a secure, if uncomfortable, nest.

Once they had settled in, all they could do was wait. Teldin periodically dozed until he had no idea what time it might be. At some point he was aware of a vaguely sickening motion as the whole world seemed to rise and fall at rhythmic intervals. This was accompanied by thin streams of sunlight around the edges of the hatch and planking above. Teldin ignored both these and Gomja’s voluminous snores, and drifted back to sleep.

“There! I told you I heard something,” cried a silvery voice muffled by the crates in the hold. “That way.”

The words roused the farmer from his sleep. The giff was already awake, trying to draw his sword while lurching to his feet. Teldin wriggled to avoid being crushed underfoot.

“Sir, I think we’ve been discovered,” the alien rumbled as he struggled to reach a good fighting position.

“Over there!” called an elven voice.

“Ahoy on deck, get the mate over here. Something’s going on!” another voice sang out.

Suddenly brilliant sunlight filled the hold as the main hatch cover was pulled away. Teldin and the giff shielded their eyes, unable to see clearly in the glare as three elves sprang forward. Lithe and lean, they held a menacing array of knives, gaffs, and spears pointed toward the two intruders.

“Stowaways, I told you!” announced one of the elves.

“A human!” breathed another.

“And a... what?” asked the third, jabbing at Gomja. The giff batted the gaff away with his sword. “Trooper Herphan Gomja, Red Grade, First Rank, Red Platoon.” he indignantly announced. “Stand back. groundlings. before a superior warrior of the giff descends upon you!

“Gomja,” Teldin snarled in an aside to his partner, “just shut up and surrender! I don’t think they mean to kill us.”

“Out of there, human, and your ogre friend, too,” ordered the tallest of the elves, who stood only up to Teldin’s nose. Still, the spear the elf waved added considerable impetus to his command.

“I am a giff,” Gomja proudly maintained as he and Teldin slowly clambered over the crates. The elves quickly took the pair’s swords and knives. They even took Gomja’s precious pistols, though not without eliciting a snarl from the defiant trooper. That done, the elves escorted their prisoners to the hatch, where more of their kin peered down from above. Even in the hold, Teldin could hear the elves on deck spreading the news.

“On deck, you two,” the spear-armed sailor ordered, pointing to the ladder. “Stand back,” he shouted to those waiting above, “stowaways coming up!” One section of the circle of elven heads parted and disappeared. “Now up!” the elf commanded, urging Teldin forward with the tip of his spear. For an instant, the farmer wanted to sink just one good punch into the elfs pale and delicate face. Perhaps seeing it in Teldin’s eyes, the elf quickly stepped back and repeated his command in less fearsome tones. “Up.”

Teldin climbed, but slowly, defiant at being herded. He knew that as a stowaway he had no right to expect better, but there was no way he was going to submit meekly to such treatment. When he reached the deck, the bright sunlight dazed Teldin, but, by shielding his eyes, he could make out the slim figures that made a broad ring about him. Somewhere overhead a gull squawked, and the rich salt bite of the air made his nose tingle.

“You? You are our hidden mouse?” a woman sneered. “I should have expected no less from your race.” There was no mistaking the sharply cutting words carried by the gentle chiming tones of her voice. His eyes adjusted, Teldin looked around until he saw Cwelanas standing across the hatch from him. With one bare foot on the lip of the opening, the elf maiden leaned forward. She wore different clothes from yesterday, simple trousers and a shirt bound with silk laces. Away from the port, she looked even less masculine than she had the day before. For some reason, she smiled, not an overly friendly smile, but a smile nonetheless. “You are determined to get to Sancrist, aren’t you?” She turned to one of the crew. “Fetch Captain Luciar.” The elf crewman hurried to obey.

A strangled shout followed by a crash and a thump ended Teldin’s need to reply. “Help!” screamed a voice, not Gomja’s, from the hold. That cry, too, ended in a series of wooden thuds as crates tumbled and barrels rolled loose in the hold. Teldin tore free of the hands that grabbed at him and lunged forward till his chest was pressing against the hatch rim, trying to see what was happening below. The farmer looked down to see the giff hunched warily in a fighter’s pose. In one hand he held a spear, the one Teldin recognized as belonging to the tall elf who’d found them. Of Gomja’s three captors, one half-sat, half-sprawled against a bulkhead with his head lolling from side to side, one lay half-buried under crates, and one was obviously laid out on the floor, his feet sticking out of the darkness. Teldin guessed they all were still alive.

The farmer was unable to suppress a cheer for his companion. Seeing their captors coldcocked gave Teldin particular satisfaction, a sense of victory he really enjoyed.

With a gasp of astonishment, Cwelanas drew the saber that hung at her side. Teldin looked up in time to see her legs tense. “Gomja, stop!” he bellowed before the elf could make her move. The giff whirled and looked up at Teldin, instantly relaxing upon seeing his commander unharmed. His eyes tracked to the other side of the hatch, where Cwelanas lurked. “Onto the deck,” Teldin ordered, content with the display the giff had made. He did not want to see his friend killed. With a rumble of disgust, Gomja threw down the spear and climbed out of the hold, each rung of the ladder creaking forbiddingly under his weight. Once he was on deck, all but Cwelanas warily backed away.

“No more fighting, Trooper Gomja,” Teldin ordered as the giff clambered on deck.

“It’s not the giff way to surrender without a fight, sir, the big, blue creature protested. “That would be without honor – but now I have beaten them, so there is no shame.”

Cwelanas cocked her head in disbelief at the giff’s words, trying to understand his strange ways. “You will not fight anymore?” she asked. When the giff nodded, she curtly ordered. “Take him!” A gaggle of elves swarmed over the unresisting giff. Satisfied, Cwelanas turned back to Teldin. “Now, what are we going to do with you, human?”

“I have a name, elf – Teldin Moore,” Teldin firmly replied, refusing to be cowed.

“Nonetheless, Teldin Moore, you are on my ship,” sounded Luciar’s much older voice. He stood on the afterdeck, his drawn face dour and imperious. The freshening breeze whipped blue and white robes around his thin frame. “Mate, do not let the crew lose this breeze.”