Beyong the Moons

followed by the distant thuds of flesh on rock. “Gomja!” the human shouted in panic, dreading that his friend may have been among those lost.

“Still here, sir!” boomed the giff. The big brute had caught the bow railing just in time, but the lordservants facing him had not been so lucky. The other spider legs were clear of the gnomes’ vessel, and now the wooden beam was all that joined the two ships.

“Axes, quickly!” Teldin shouted, pushing the gnomes around him to action. There was no telling how long this opportunity might remain. “Chop that leg free!” The gnomes scrambled quickly to gather the necessary tools. Turning to Gomja, still on the beam, the farmer waved the big giff back. “Clear off, Gomja, we’re ready to go!”

“No, sir, I won’t!” Gomja shouted back. He stood unsteadily in the center of the boom, his sword and tunic splashed with blood. “First platoon, gather to me!” he bellowed, raising his elven blade as a rallying point. Already the fiercest of the gnomes scrambled to join him.

“Gomja, what’re you doing? Get back here. I order it!” Teldin cupped his hands and shouted to the giff over the freshening breeze.

“I’m sorry to disobey, but I’ve got to, sir. This tub-” Gomja waved his sword toward the Unquenchable- “can’t outrun a deathspider. The neogi ship’s got to be stopped from the inside. First platoon!” he bawled again.

“There’s got to be another way,” the human insisted as he forced his way onto the boom.

“No, sir,” Gomja answered firmly. He strode down the leg to meet his friend, balancing himself with his sword. “It’s time I took on a command, sir, a real command.” The giff held out his big hand to Teldin. “It really is good-bye this time, sir. Don’t worry, I’ll get back all right-maybe even aboard this deathspider.”

Teldin looked at the giffs offered hand and then, finally, took it in his own. They had been together long enough for Teldin to learn Gomja’s sense of honor. The farmer did not like it-did not even understand it-but he could not deny the giff his chance for glory. “Damn it, good luck, Sergeant Gomja. You’re going to be a famous giff someday. You’ll have a lot of stories to tell when you become a sire.” The wind whipped the cloak around Teldin’s arms.

“Thank you, sir. I’m sure you’ll be in them, too.” The giff shook the human’s hand firmly, but Teldin didn’t even notice the crushing pain. “Now, clear off, sir, so your gnomes can cut that plank.”

The cloakmaster nodded numbly and backed off the deathspider boom, signaling his axemen to their task as he did so. “First platoon, charge!” Gomja bawled. With a rush, the big giff led his handful of gnomes up the arching span of the leg, then straight down into the deathspider’s maw. The giff scrambled onto the hull and disappeared from sight. Over the wind, Teldin could barely hear the sounds of battle. That distant noise was drowned out by the sound of axes biting into wood.

Teldin stood back and watched, ready to order the gnomes to stop if there was any sign of the giff or his men, but none came. Finally, the last axe blows severed the deathspider’s leg and the Unquenchable lurched backward with a savage jolt. The splintered end of the wooden boom dragged across the bow with a grinding squeal, then swung out over emptiness. Without waiting to supervise the cleanup, Teldin turned and sprinted back to the bridge, barreling past any gnome who got in his way.

Bursting onto the bridge, the farmer found the three admirals and Captain Wysdor already hard at work, quarreling with each other. “Gomja’s bought us time, so use it!” he demanded without even bothering to learn what their argument was about. He was furious that the gnomes were wasting this precious opportunity. Amazingly Teldin’s fierce imprecations galvanized the commanders to function with a modicum of efficiency and brevity. “Hard up! Full speed!” the captain, who had the clearest head of the lot, ordered in a bewildering flurry of commands while the admirals pored over charts and log books. Bells rang and whistles blew from somewhere belowdecks. The Unquenchable lurched again and hauled upward, pulling fully out of the deathspider’s grasp. Teldin pushed his way to a porthole and waited fearfully for pursuit.

The deathspider angled upward, poised to follow. Its porthole eyes glared balefully at the gnomish tub, and the arching grappling arms swung slowly, as if blindly trying to grasp the fleeing prey. Teldin saw, in the ship itself, a look of pure, hateful evil.

The look was disrupted by a brilliant flare in the enemy ship’s bow. As Teldin watched, one of the great glass portholes exploded in a shower of smoke and flame, quickly followed by another. The vile ship shuddered and heaved, then rapidly fell away as the Unquenchable built up speed. Black clouds and bright flames poured from the enemy vessel. As the crater of Mount Nevermind receded with dizzying speed, the flaming neogi vessel nosed downward and plunged into the bowl. Too far away to hear any noise, Teldin’s view of the crash was quickly obscured by a billowing wave of white steam and gray smoke.

The gnomes watched the sight from their stations and let loose with a wild, enthusiastic cheer. Papers and charts flew as the bridge crew clapped and capered in celebration. Teldin, though, could only grip the porthole till his knuckles were white. “Good-bye, Gomja,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll see you in the void.” Teldin bitterly regretted every suspicion he had ever held against the big creature. The giffs sacrifice was another crime to lay at the neogis’ feet, though Teldin prayed that somehow, against all odds, the giff had survived the crash.

Epilogue

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Teldin lay resting in a large, overstuffed, and very comfortable bed the gnomes had managed to cobble together for him. It was the first real rest he had enjoyed in days, though it felt more like weeks to him. The cloakmaster’s physical sores and wounds were slowly knitting or fading. The days spent in Krynnspace since the Battle of Spiders, as the gnomes called his victory over the neogi mindspiders, had been quiet and restful.

For several days the Unquenchable had limped along, sailing on a single paddlewheel, which provided little motive power anyway. The gnomes had been working in the ship’s shops to build a new wheel-they were wizards at repairs-but it had been complicated by the usual desire to improve and enhance the basic design. The former farmer did not mind the delay. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed the empty beauty of space. Compared to his recent life on the planet below, the majestic darkness was blessed tranquility.

Now, though, the repairs, or at least a decent jury-rig, were finished, and Ilwar, Niggil, and Broz had come by Teldin’s cabin for a visit. Captain Wysdor was too busy with the repairs, they said.

The three admirals perched on a sea chest, looking at Teldin over the bed’s footboard and holding big mugs of ale with both hands. Finally Ilwar harrumphed importantly and wiped a bit of brew from his black beard.

“Honorary Captain Teldin Moore of Kalaman,” the square-bearded gnome began, using an honorific they had bestowed on the unwilling human, “we were wondering, since you might now want to go home-”

“If you were interested in hearing-” chimed in Niggil. Ilwar cleared his throat again, momentarily silencing his enthusiastic companion. “We though you might want to know our landing procedures. Of course, all our landing procedures are theoretical at this point, but I predict that by slowing the vertical rate of descent while maintaining forward motion, the Unquenchable should be able to land in a body of water, in theory, no less-”

“Posh and nonsense,” countered Niggil, clearly cherishing some pet theory of his own. “The proper method for landing the Unquenchable is to detach the forward hull section and power it separately with a minor helm, then use that part to bring the main hull of the ship down, which we think will float safely in-”

Broz snorted in a slow, lazy sort of way, finally deigning to speak. “In theory, the best method is to stop all forward motion and increase the vertical descent so that-”

Teldin cut them off them with a bemused, if somewhat nervous, laugh. “There’s no need to tell me all this. Tell me, what are your plans for the Unquenchable?”

Ilwar, as solemn as ever, wiggled his bushy eyebrows in surprise at such a question. “Why, the Unquenchable is a scientific vessel designed for exploration and collection of data-”

“And specimens,” Broz interrupted, being positively loquacious.

“And the performance of scientific tests,” Niggil insisted, not one to let scientific matters be disregarded.

“Ahem,” asserted Ilwar, regaining control, “and as such, we will journey the trade routes of the Flow until we