Teldin took a breath and tried again. “Shrink,” he ordered. In his mind, he imagined the cloak as a stubborn mule. The tickling sensation returned and then seemed to reverse, drawing in toward his neck. The cloak was once again a small collar around his neck. “Something’s finally worked right,” he sighed in triumph.
While the giff finished scrubbing and dressing, Teldin practiced his newfound control, at first hesitantly and then with greater and greater confidence. The cloak grew, shrank, grew, and shrank again. “It works! I think of it like a mule, and it seems to react!” The farmer chortled triumphantly. After so many disasters and disappointments, this small success was elevated to the status of a major victory. Reducing the cloak to little more than a curious necklace, Teldir grabbed his boots and prepared to go.
From somewhere Trooper Gomja had found an apple and was chewing on it noisily. “Where to now, sir?” the giff asked as he gulped down the last remains, core and all.
“Weren’t you listening? I’m leaving town, going to Palanthas,” Teldin answered, almost cheerily. “I made arrangements with Vandoorm to meet him at the west gate. There I’ll buy a horse and ride to Palanthas.” Teldin didn’t even bother to look at the giff while he spoke, but he stressed the singular nature of his plans. As soon as the second boot was pulled on, the human sprang to his feet and hurriedly began stuffing his few possessions into a small bundle.
Gomja began to mimic the human’s packing. He ducked his head under the ceiling beam and set his gear on the bed. With the precision that came from years of military training, the trooper began efficiently stowing his gear. 'We, sir?” the giff asked hopefully as he folded the few charts salvaged from the
Teldin stopped in the midst of cramming his one spare shirt into the bottom of his bag. “Vandoorm and I,” the farmer said quite clearly.
“I see.” The giff continued packing. His face showed no sign of emotion or distress. “Vandoorm – he’s a mercenary, isn’t he?”
Teldin slowly resumed packing. “That he is,” was his wary answer. The farmer stowed his gear by touch, his eyes watching the tall giff.
“Then I will offer my services,” Gomja calmly announced without once looking away from his packing.
“You will what?”
“Hire on, sir. He is a mercenary and I am a soldier without a command.” Gomja finally stopped and looked toward Teldin as he calmly explained his own plan. The giff was casually confident in the success of the idea.
“You will do no such thing! You can just stop following me around and get out of my life,” Teldin sputtered. He grabbed his bundle and violently swung it over his shoulder.
“Of course, sir,” Gomja answered, still unperturbed by Teldin’s outbursts. The giff continued his methodical packing, tying off the bundle and swinging it over his shoulder. “I’m seeking gainful employment. It’s purely a coincidence that the only person who will hire me is your friend, Vandoorm. Giff are the finest bodyguards and enforcers in all the Known Spheres. Besides, I, too, have questions to ask this Astinus of Palanthas fellow. The sooner I find a way off this world, the farther ‘out of your life’ I’ll be.’ The giff gave a placid, almost serene smile. “I’ll see you at the west gate, sir.”
Teldin gave a scream, or more properly a bleat, of frustration and buried his face in his hands. “All right, you win! Let’s just go to the gate together.” Very deep down, the human felt a little quiver of relief. Was it because he was coming to like the big brute’s company? Or was it simply a release from the guilt of stranding the giff in Kalaman? Teldin could not tell for sure.
The pair left quietly, taking care not to disturb the sleeping innkeeper. The man had already been paid, so Teldin saw no need to rouse him. A cat followed them out the door, disappearing down an alley as they walked down the street. The clear sky and morning sun already made for a warm day, but the cool night breeze was still blowing in from the bay.
Teldin wasted no time making for the main thoroughfare. This broad avenue cut through the heart of Kalaman, straight from the castle to the west gate. Saplings lined the avenue and flowers bloomed down the parklike center. Just before the castle stood a great bronze statue of Lauralanthalasa, the Golden General and liberator of Kalaman, astride her horse. At the far end of the thoroughfare was the great tower of the west gate, looming over the small houses clustered around it. Statue and gate were easily visible anywhere along the length of the boulevard.
Teldin remembered that when Kalaman was freed from the siege of the draconians, the avenue had been a bleak and cheerless swath, littered with the camps of troops and the homeless. In many ways, it had looked like the park he and Gomja had stumbled into two nights ago. There were the same collections of hovels, the same stripped trees. even the sad and desperate people. Teldin wondered how many in that park had once lived along this green avenue.
“Sir, who is this Vandoorm anyway?” Gomja asked as they hurried down the street. The giffs voice was muffled by the folds of cloth that covered his head. “Is he a brave commander? I should know before I sign on with him.'
The lanky farmer briefly considered not answering-or even lying to get the giff in trouble-but chose against it. The giff might be a nuisance, but he did not deserve that kind of treatment, ‘Vandoorm’s an old soldier, and brave enough, I imagine. I never served under him, so I wouldn’t really know.”
“Then how do you know him? I assumed you fought under him in the war.” Gomja struggled with the blanket trying to keep it from slipping off his ears.
Teldin reached up and helped readjust the cloth as they walked. “I met him during the war-at Palanthas when I first came to join up. I was a raw youth-” Teidin stopped to pick his words somewhat carefully, remembering that Trooper Gomja was only sixteen, “Anyway I met Vandoorm in Palanthas. He showed me the way things worked in the army-kept me out of trouble.”
“He sounds experienced,” the giff offered.
“That he certainly is-also profane, bawdy, and a few other things besides.” Teldin picked up the pace, worried that he might miss the morning rendezvous. The giff bustled to keep alongside the human, effectively ending their conversation
“Good morn, Moore!” called out a voice as they neared the gate. The brawny Vandoorm stepped free of the taller men and horses clustered around the fortress wall. “You finally made it. I always thought farmers got up early in the morning, but maybe farming makes you soft, eh?” The squat mercenary’s jibe was good-natured. Clapping Teldin on the shoulder, the shorter man turned back toward the riders and, with a wave of his hand, boastfully introduced them. This is my squadron, the toughest fighters in all of Solamnia.”
Teldin looked over the twenty or so men who formed Vandoorm’s war band. They were unmistakably mercenaries; some sat tall and proud, others slunk in their saddles, but all were marked by a hard edge in their stares, suspicious eyes chiseled out of stone. Each man was outfitted for battle. There were lances adorned with tattered pennons, shields painted with fanciful designs, and unmatched pieces of armor dyed in brilliant colors and gilt with silver and brass. Swords poked out from under cloaks, bows and quivers hung on the horses’ flanks, spears fit in sockets at the sides of saddles, while other implements of war gave each man an individual and unique armory.
Afew of the riders stood out from the already distinctive group and Teldin took note of them. One, sporting an eyepatch and a mane of black hair, carried two great knives cross-belted over his chain mail shirt. Another, dressed only in simple browns, studied the newcomers as he waxed the string of his long bow. These two, in particular, seemed to stand out from the rest of the group.
Just as Teldin studied them, the score of riders carefully looked the farmer over. There was no hatred or rancor in their looks, only cool contempt bred by their survival instincts. Finally Vandoorm broke the spell. “We are ready to ride, Moore. Meschior will get a horse for you while you say good-bye to your . . . companion.” Vandoorm nodded toward the giff.
“He wants to come along,” Teldin answered tersely, stepping closer to the giff.
The mercenary captain stopped and looked at Teldin. “That’s not what you said last night,” Vandoorm replied in surprise.
“Things change,” Teldin answered with a shrug. “Now he wants to come with me.”
The shorter man puckered his mouth in thought, clearly a little skeptical of the new arrangement. “Come here,” he finally ordered the enormous, cloaked stranger facing him.
“Yes, sir!” Gomja boomed from within the folds that still covered his face. In true military manner, the giff
