by David Cook
The search was brief and, a short time later, Teldin set the final knot in place with a hard yank. Exhausted, the farmer looked down at his handiwork. The big giff, if that was what he was called, was trussed tighter than a pig on market day, his wrists and ankles firmly bound. Teldin really wanted to hog-tie the creature solidly, but there had been only so much rope in the ruins of his house. The whole thing had taken longer than he expected, but at least the murderous creature was safely restrained.
While Teldin was working, the wreck’s flames crept uncomfortably close. Since his opponent still lived, the farmer took it upon himself to drag the beast’s inert bulk away from the burning wreck. Whatever it-he-was, he was not light, Teldin quickly discovered. The gray-blue beast had to weigh at least as much as a good-sized sow, maybe four hundred pounds or more. It was only by half- rolling, half-dragging the creature that Teldin reached the shelter of the broken trees near the stream.
With a spent sigh, Teldin plopped onto the chest of his huge captive and looked back to the wreck, trying to decide what to do. The fires on the ship still blazed brightly and were slowly spreading, since there was plenty aboard the shattered ruin to feed the fiery tongues. Curiosity urged him forward to investigate the bizarre skyship. “No,” Teldin said to himself, shaking off the desire. “It’s too dangerous." Still, Teldin’s sense of decency demanded he try to get the body of the dead woman away from the fire. At least he could do that much.
After a quick check on his prisoner, Teldin approached the burning ship only to have a wave of heat drive him back. He unconsciously slipped the cloak off his arm and fastened the clasp about his neck. As the silver jaws clicked shut, the farmer suddenly realized just what he had donned. For a moment he expected strange and mysterious magic to burst forth. When nothing happened, Teldin plunged forward to where the dead alien lay. After dragging her body to safety, he returned to the ruin.
The wreck now burned brightly, lighting the torn-up field and even the trees beyond. The flames were enough to provide a clear view of the destruction. During the long siege of Kalaman, Teldin had seen quite a few ocean-going vessels, the army’s only lifeline to the outside. Although it was now broken into halves, the shattered hulk that lay across his house looked similar. The bow section was on its side amid the rubble of the cabin’s chimney and roof. The stern, supported under its keel by a tangle of logs and trees, canted upward toward the front, giving the impression that the stern had carved the ragged gouge through Teldin’s melons. It was in this half that the fiercest fires raged.
Teldin realized as he looked at the giff and the female that the crew had to be larger than these two. Ocean ships, he remembered, had crews of ten or more men. Teldin reluctantly pulled the damp cloak tight and headed back toward the crackling wreck. Although it was dangerous, perhaps even foolhardy, Teldin knew he had to search for more survivors, and that meant once more braving the flames.
He continued his circuit of the vessel. Although the hull planking was splintered or sprung all along the length to the stern, no safe opening presented itself. The few gaps that Teldin guessed he could wriggle through showed hellish flames leaping inside. That was more than enough to discourage any attempts to enter by those routes.
Near the stern, the way was blocked by the arch of the bizarre fin that stretched from the ship’s keel. Teldin could see that it was of a strange substance, almost flesh. The the enormous, bound prisoner and the slight corpse on the fin’s thick ribs quivered when he touched them, and the stench of roasted meat that rose from the charred membranes was nauseatingly heavy.
Skirting past the horrid appendage, Teldin climbed over the trunk of an uprooted tree and came around to the stern. He stood in the remains of the melon field, immature fruits, reduced to green pulp, squashed under his feet. As Teldin had suspected, the stern had a bay of windows marking a cabin. It was the same as the ships of Kalaman, and Teldin guessed that ships must be pretty much the same regardless of their ports of call.
The side of the stern angled downward, putting the cabin’s shattered windows just within reach. While smoke poured out from the top of each window, there was no sign of the hellish flames that consumed other parts of the ship. Teldin got his fingers on the sill, then pulled himself up to peer over the edge. The heat and smoke were noticeably greater even this small distance from the ground.
The farmer scanned the cabin through smoke-burned, watering eyes. Firelight from outside provided the only illumination, for no flames had yet found their way this far aft. Right beneath his nose was a narrow table, tipped on its side. A sea chest, flung loose in the crash, had broken one of the legs. Several other chests had been thrown with enough force to crack the fine wood paneling of the cabin’s walls. Strewn all around the floor were charts and logs, bent calipers, and instruments Teldin could not recognize. These might be valuable or useful, but, clinging to the sill, he could not reach them.
Oddly, there was an enormous chair, bulky and plain looking, sitting undisturbed in the center of the room.Just how it had survived, the farmer could not fathom, until he noticed that the heavy legs were bolted to the deck, a point that aroused his curiosity. The seat faced the bow, ignoring the view out the stern windows, and was hardly a position Teldin would have chosen.
Aglow around the edges of the cabin door heralded the blaze’s arrival. Almost immediately following the dim illumination, flames licked through the cracks of the jamb and tickled the cabin’s ceiling. The new fire lit the darker corners of the room. Huddled in one of these was a form, half- hidden under a welter of papers and junk.
“Are you all right? Can you move?” Teldin shouted, enthusiastically but mistakenly seeing the body as something alive. The expanding light quickly changed his hopes. The War of the Lance had given the farmer more than enough examples of death’s visage, and this was just another. The corpse was an old man’s, clearly human. Its pockmarked face was slack, but the fingers stiffly pointed with rigor mortis. The mouth hung open, the dead-blue tongue lolling out one side, and the clouded eyes stared to the ceiling. The corpse wore a long, dirty white robe of thin material, like a summer nightgown. On its feet were red velvet slippers, decorated with glass beads. A small pouch at the waist had spilled open, revealing little bundles of feathers, powders, small stones, prisms, dried leaves, and bits of bone. A wizard, Teldin guessed, probably one of the Order of White Robes, those whose moon was the silvery Solinari.
For a moment, while clinging to the window sill, Teldin debated climbing in and dragging the corpse out. The wizard deserved a proper burial. The crackling roar from the fire, however, quickly dissuaded him. The farmer saw a solid sheet of flame billow across the ceiling. Fingers of fire ran down the window frames. Fiery drops of pitch bubbled and oozed out of the wood and dropped to the floor. Dust from the melon field started to blow past as the growing fire sucked air into the room. A blast of heat assailed Teldin, and the wooden door panels split open. Smoke and fire roiled through the doorway.
“Paladine’s blood!” Teldin swore. He abandoned all thoughts of rescuing the corpse, then dropped back to the dirt. His move came not a moment too soon, for a gout of flame rushed through the shattered windows and played across the ship’s stern.
Teldin picked himself up and finished the little that remained of the circuit before returning to his camp. Along the way he found more bodies: men, apparently sailors, all dead. These dead were in no danger from the fire, soleldin hurried back to check on his prisoner.
The giff, or whatever it was, was still bound and apparently not conscious, but it stirred sluggishly. The burns and cuts on its face and hands did not seem too severe. There was a large lump on its temple, purplish green against the blue skin. Teldin guessed that a chunk of the exploding device had caused the bruise, laying the creature low.
“By all the gods, Teldin Moore! Are you alive, boy?” echoed Liam’s voice faintly over the rumble of the flames.
Teldin struggled to his feet, astonished to hear a friendly voice, any v
oice. “Liam! Over here!” he shouted through cupped hands. “Liam! By the creek!”
“Teldin,” Liam shouted back, “are you all right? What, by the gods, happened?” The skinny farmer scurried out of the darkness, pausing to climb over fallen timber. Panting he reached Teldin’s little camp. “Lords, you’re a mess!" Liam exclaimed between breaths. In the gloom of the trees the older man didn’t even notice the hog-tied giff or the dead female on the ground.
“Thank the gods you’re alive!” Liam rattled on, grabbing Teldin gratefully by the shoulders. “I thought for sure you’d been burned to cinders. The sky’s lit up clear on the other side of the ridge. When I saw it-well, that’s why I came. Are you all right, boy?”
“I’m fine, fine,” Teldin answered, almost breaking into laughter. Liam’s concern was touching, almost comical after the events of the night. “Oh, it’s good to see you, Liam!” Teldin burst out, grabbing his neighbor’s wiry arms.
Liam held Teldin’s shoulders as if he were afraid the young farmer would evaporate, then he sniffled back a tear of happiness. “What in all the Dark Queen’s Abyss happened-” Liam abruptly stopped, his eyes goggling at ground "-here?” he squeaked out at last. “And what, by the Queen herself, is that?” Liam stammered, pointing at Teldin’s hog-tied prisoner.
Teldin swallowed, his mouth parched. “That is a giff-I think. At least that’s what he said he was,” he answered hoarsely.
“A giff?” A dazed Liam mulled over the name, readily accepting Teldin’s answer. “But-but, what happened to your farm, boy?”
Teldin didn’t answer. He instead looked over Liam’s shoulder toward the blazing ruin that had been his cabin. Slowly he realized it was all gone-the cabin his grandfather had built, his father’s stone chimney, even the porch he’d built with his own hands.
“What’s going on here, Teldin? Draconians do this?” Liam asked in a gentler voice as he saw his young friend’s hollow stare.
Teldin snorted at the suggestion, Liam being so naively wrong. He shook his head. “I don’t really know, but…"
By the time Teldin finished his tale, the sun had cleared the eastern horizon. Liam sat cross-legged in the dirt, listening carefully the whole time. When Teldin got to the part describing the giffs attack, Liam shifted to where he could keep one eye on the prisoner. Teldin’s body sagged as he finished, and he noisily drank the water Liam offered.
“It’s quite a story, Tel. If I hadn’t seen it, I would’ve called you the damnedest liar in all the valley-by the Abyss, all of Kalaman. Flying ships, monsters, and dead wizards! I don’t think ships are meant to fly,” Liam offered sincerely.
“There were the flying citadels of the dragonarmies,” Teldin pointed out. “You never saw them, but those were big hunks of rock with castles on them. They weren’t supposed to fly either, but I saw one doing it at the battle of Kalaman.”
“But things like that don’t land on your farm!” Liam protested. “It’s not natural.”
Teldin mournfully looked at the remains of his cabin. The fires were finally starting to go out for lack of tinder. His house was a broken, smoking shell. Most of the larger logs were not split by the crash, but were charred black. The roof and everything else were gone. Most of the ship’s planking had burned or fallen away, leaving the framing ribs like black bones thrusting out of the earth. A few hunks of the deck clung precariously to the frame, giving some indication of the ship’s original form.
“It doesn’t matter whether they fly or not. This one did,” Teldin sadly commented.
“What’ll you do now, Teldin?” Liam asked, following Teldin’s gaze. “If you want, the valley folk could gather up and help you out.
The melon crop was destroyed, the house crushed, the chickens and geese lost. Even the goat had disappeared. Teldin tried not to sound defeated. “I do not know, Liam. I just do not know. Maybe I am not meant to be a farmer. Maybe it’s a sign from the gods.” Teldin rubbed at his short-cropped hair, brushing away a new layer of dirt and ash. “Damn it, Liam, things seemed to be going so well!” he burst out. “Crops were good. It was peaceful here. I thought, for once, maybe my life could be happy-after the war and all Teldin’s voice stopped in a knot of frustration and anger.
Liam awkwardly laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Look, we’ll just spread the word around. You’ve got friends here. The Stanish boys, the Harnweilers, even Lur Dal would come help. Things’ll be back to normal in no time. I’ve rebuilt from fires, too.” Teldin nodded numbly, letting Liam plan.
Behind the old farmer, the giff’s gray-blue bulk slowly stirred. He gave a deep rumbling groan, rolled to his side, and tried to get up. The creature flopped back to the ground, suddenly aware of his bindings. Teldin couldn’t be sure, but he had guessed from the sounds the thing made that it was male.
Liam scuttled away from the brute at its first movements. What’ll you do about that?” he whispered to Teldin, nodding toward the giff.
As an answer, Teldin stood with exaggerated care, moving his stiff muscles slowly. Taking the cutlass confiscated from the creature’s sash, Teldin stood over the giff and pointed the tip of the blade at the beast’s chest. The human was in no mood for subtlety. The giff stared up at him with small, deep-set eyes. “Who are you and why did you try to kill me?” Teldin demanded, trying to remember how the officers had interrogated prisoners during the war.
“Trooper Gomja, Red Grade, First Rank, Red Platoon,” the giff recited. Teldin was slightly taken aback by the giffs outburst. The creature spoke perfect common, though it was thickly accented. Teldin expected the giff to use some kind of foreign gibberish, like the female had the previous night. After all, hadn’t she used a spell to communicate with him?
“Fine, Gomja,” the farmer answered after regaining his composure. “I want to know why you attacked me and where, in all the god’s names, you came from!” Teldin’s voice became louder and higher until it was almost a hysterical shout. He pressed the blade against the giffs skin to emphasize his point.
The giff hesitated with his answer until a little more pressure from Teldin encouraged a response. “You killed and robbed my captain. It is my duty and honor to protect her. Therefore-”
“Walt-I killed your captain?” Teldin asked in disbelief. “And robbed her?”
“You wear her cloak,” the giff answered, as if that was all the proof needed.
“She gave it to me!” Teldin’s voice was rising to hysteria
again. Without dropping his guard on the giff, Teldin pointed to the body of the female he had pulled from the wreckage. “That’s your captain?”
The giff nodded.
Teldin stepped around and looked the giff straight in the eye. “Well, Trooper Gomja, you thick-headed lug,” he angrily informed his captive, “you had better know that your captain was dying when I found her. She gave me the cloak and told me to keep if from the neogi.” Teldin didn’t add that he had no idea who or what the neogi were.
As he listened, Gomja unflinchingly met the farmer’s glare. When the speech was over, the giff looked at his captain’s body, then back to Teldin. He did not speak, as if pondering the farmer’s words and his own situation. “You are a military man?” he finally asked.
Teldin was once again taken aback by the giff’s words. “No, I’m a farmer. Your ship ruined my farm.
“But you have served in the military,” Gomja insisted.
Teldin was amazed at the giff s perception. Cautiously, Teldin answered, “I was, sort of.” The farmer could not see what the creature’s point was.
“What was your rank?” the giff pressed.
Somewhat embarrassed and somewhat irked by the giffs questioning him, Teldin curtly replied. “1 was a mule skinner, if that is what you mean."
From behind the tree, Liam could not suppress a snort of surprise. “Mule skinner! I should’ve known, Teldin Moore!” Teldin glared at the older man, willing him to be quiet. The old farmer would probably hound him about his deception for years, T
eldin figured, forgetting the giff for an instant.
The giffs jowls twitched and his jaw flexed as he considered the title. “Mule skinner,” he mouthed slowly, working over the words, which were obviously foreign to him. His little eyes met Teldin’s again, trying to look hard but not quite achieving that effect. “I have made an error,” Gomja conceded, his voice stiff with pride. “It was poor discipline for me to attack you. I give my oath that I will not attack you again. You can now release me safely.”
“Don’t do it, Teldin,” Liam shouted from behind the tree. “He’s probably a draconian’s misbegotten spawn!” The old farmer scurried over and grabbed one of the giffs knives from the pile, then quickly returned to the shelter of the tree trunk.
Teldin pondered. He studied the giff's face. The giff sat stiffly, his massive head held high, eyes pointedly staring at the wreckage. His uniform’s tattered remains completed the ludicrous appearance. In a way, the giff reminded Teldin of certain hard-nosed sergeants he had met or seen in the war.
“Don’t trust him, Teldin!” Liam shouted.
The younger farmer ignored his neighbor’s urging. As comical as the giff looked, there was something in his eyes that suggested honor. The giffs jaw was resolutely set and his gaze showed no signs of suspicion or betrayal. “Well, I can’t keep you tied up forever,” Teldin finally allowed. “I’ll release you, but that doesn’t mean I trust you- understand? Hold your hands out.” Teldin sawed away at the ropes with the cutlass. As the last strand popped, Teldin’s grip on the weapon tightened and he unconsciously braced for treachery. When the giff did not move, Teldin began cutting at the ropes around Gomja’s ankles.
Finally freed, Gomja awkwardly rose and loomed a good foot over Teldin. The giffs feet and hands were numb from the bindings, so he stood rubbing his wrists and stamping his feet. Each huge foot hit the ground with a solid thud. All three-Liam behind the tree, Teldin with the cutlass, and the towering giff-stared at each other. “I would like permission to search for the dead,” the giff finally asked.