“Just now you said ‘we’,' the gaunt farmer countered suspiciously. The lad at his side finally succeed in drawing back the crossbow’s string and fitting a bolt. He pointed the weapon unsteadily in Teldin’s direction, which only made Teldin fearful he’d be shot accidentally. “Which is it, I or we?’’
Teldin thought fast, trying to think of a good explanation for Gomja. “Well.. . uh… I have a companion, but… uh… but he suffered cruel misfortune during the war.'
“I don’t care if he’s crippled or scarred. Have him out, or my boy shoots!” The lad looked up to his father, waiting for a signal.
“It’s not quite like that. He’s-” Teldin tried to explain. The old man cut him off with a quiver of the whip. “Very well. Trooper Gomja,” Teldin called back over his shoulder, 'come on out-slowly.”
The branches of the thicket cracked as Gomja stepped into view. On the wagon, father and son gave a simultaneous gasp. The old man’s eyes widened while his boy almost dropped the crossbow again as he stood there stupidly, mouth agape.
“This is Trooper Gomja,” Teldin hastily said, before the wagon driver did something foolish. “He won’t hurt you. Please, let us ride with you.' The wagoneer nodded his head in stunned silence while the boy slowly lowered the crossbow. Human and giff quickly climbed aboard before the man had a chance to come to his senses.
For several hours they rode along in silence. The father and son were too terrified to speak to their passengers. The giff dozed off, basking in the sunshine. Teldin grew bored and clambered up to the front. “I apologize for our meeting,” he offered. “But why were you so frightened? You don’t seem to be carrying anything that valuable.”
“It’s true, all I have are oranges and almonds and such, but this road’s been dangerous ever since the war,” the farmer allowed. “Name’s Jacos, by the way.”
Teldin was puzzled. He had never heard of any trouble, but then, he had not been to Kalaman since he had left the army. ‘The war’s been over for years. I know, I was in it.”
“Maybe over for you, but there’s a lot of men who never learned how to put down the sword.” Jacos flicked the rump of his horses to keep them from straying after a nibble of grass. “A lot of soldiers didn’t want to go back home-or there wasn’t a home to go back to. Now they’ve found an easy life, robbing folks on the road.”
“What about the officials? What about the Knights of Solamnia? Couldn’t they to deal with that?'
“They did, for a while. I suppose it just wasn’t glamorous enough for them knights. Since they left, the local militia can’t keep up. Somebody gets robbed and the militia chases the bandits around for a while till things quiet down. Then everybody goes home.” There was an ominous tone in the old man s voice.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” said Jacos, changing the subject, “but what happened to your friend back there? You said it was something in the war.”
“What?” Teldin stalled. He’d been working up a story for just this question and now he had to remember all the details. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Oh, him. He doesn’t like to talk much about it. They-you know, the Highlords-did something to him. Tried to make him over, like they did with draconians.' Teldin’s blue eyes took on a mischievous gleam. “Only they got that”-He nodded back toward Gomja-” instead. They called him a giff. It was a terrible thing. He won’t talk about it at all. In fact, I don’t think he even remembers it.
Jacos and his son nodded, their eyes wide with wonder.
“The best thing to do,” Teldin continued, relishing their gullible reaction, “is just never mention it. I wouldn’t want him remembering anything about it. Sometimes he gets nightmares and he’ll just tear a place up in his sleep.” The farmer gulped nervously as he glanced back at the dozing giff.
“So why you stick with him, mister?” asked the boy. Jacos shot his son a dark glance.
“He’s a friend,” Teldin replied hesitantly. “You can’t just leave a friend.”
“That’s enough of that now, boy. Let’s not be rude.” The boy looked disappointed that the topic was closed.
After that the conversation shifted to safer subjects. Teldin told of his cousins in Kalaman and the time he’d been there during the war. The boy was eager for war stories, and Teldin spun him a few yarns filled with dragons, flying citadels, and battles, to pass the time. Teldin was only telling stories he’d heard from others, but it made no difference to the boy. For him, the tales were all exciting. The lad’s enthusiasm made everything seem clear and simple again-who was good, who was evil, the heroics that were performed. It hadn’t quite turned out that way, Teldin thought.
By the time Teldin had exhausted the last of his war stories, the day was slipping into dusk. The rugged valleys were long behind them and ahead the road drew a straight line across the plain that surrounded Kalaman. The way was dotted with small villages and fields. Even after five years, most places showed some sign of the ravages of the siege and liberation of Kalaman. Houses were still abandoned, their owners long since fled or slain. Trench lines, crumbling and overgrown, still cut across fields. The woodland patches that grew in the wastelands were struggling to recover. Teldin remembered that nearly all the trees had been cut by the two armies. Ruins of earthworks and palisades thrown up by besieger and besieged stood in broken lines across the landscape.
It was not all ruined land, though. Teldin was surprised how much had been accomplished in five years. The survivors had resourcefully applied themselves to the task of rebuilding. Many of the houses were repaired with timber taken from the deserted palisades, the sharpened log
points now forming the corners of cabins. Trenches were converted to irrigation channels. Passing a cluster of shanties, Teldin saw the remains of an old wooden tower converted into a dozen small shacks.
Afew leagues ahead, the familiar gray walls of Kalaman sat in a shadowy mass, small spires of the central fortress rising over the walls. Alongside was the glittering silver of the Vingaard River where it broadened into the great Vingaard Bay.
Teldin climbed into the back, where Trooper Gomja lay sprawled over a heap of orange peels. The giff had eaten a prodigious amount of fruit. Teldin had promised Jacos payment, but now he worried what the current price of oranges in Kalaman was. His purse was far from substantial. Still, given the recent events in his life, this was only a minor concern.
As the wagon neared the city gates, Teldin gently tried to rouse the sleeping giff. Grumblingly, Gomja batted away Teldin’s hand and tried to roll over, setting the whole cart creaking with his shifting weight. Not to be put off so easily, Teldin grabbed the giffs shoulder and shook hard. The alien groggily opened his eyes.
After haggling with Jacos, Teldin dug a few of his precious coins out of his small purse and paid the farmer. Fortunately, there must have been a surplus of oranges this year, because a few steel still clinked in the bottom of his purse. Climbing out the back of the cart, the pair approached the gate. Teldin caught himself worrying whether the giff would play his part correctly, then wondered briefly why he was even bothering to help the giff get through the gate. But he was.
It took an hour and another of Teldin’s precious coins to convince the guards that Gomja was not a dangerous spy from the draconian lands. The farmer described the horrors Trooper Gomja had suffered and, fortunately, the giff played his part, muttering a few ominous phrases of nonsense to back up Teldin’s tale. Though not completely convinced, the guards decided the pair was harmless enough-the steel pieces saw to that. “Sign your names. You-” The sergeant of the guard pointed to Teldin- “you are responsible for this creature. If he does anything, we’ll put you both under arrest. Understand?”
Teldin suppressed a groan of dismay and nodded. Given the trooper’s penchant for creating trouble, Teldin didn’t dare abandon the giff in the city as he had planned. It appeared the giff would be coming with him for a little longer.
“They are very cautious here,” Gomja scornfully remarked as they passed through the gate. “Do they have enemies, sir?’’
Teldin didn’t answer at first, concentrating on leading the giff through the crowd of hawkers that clustered around the gate, trying to ignore the stares his companion was getting. It would be nice if he could just disappear, Teldin thought, but there was no such luck. The path easily parted before them, no one very willing to come too close to the pair. “The people of Kalaman still remember the war,” Teldin explained. “The city is pretty close to the
