Beyong the Moons

Chapter Twelve

Teldin found a niche in the shade, away from the afternoon sun and away from the elf ship. The distraught farmer folded his lanky body and settled into a quiet doorway to brood. Sitting on the stoop, his chin resting in his hands, he watched the legs of pedrestrians go by, not even making the effort to look up to see the faces that connected to the boots, shoes, and sandals that clicked across the cobblestones before him.

Teldin must have made an appropriately pathetic sight, for several of the passersby stopped long anough to toss a coin from the purses at his feet. In his dejection, Teldin barely noticed the small coins that grew before him.

Behind the huddled farmer the door creaked open. "Go away! Get out of my door, you worthless beggar!" A hail of swats came down on Teldin's head. Scrambling up from where he sat, the yeoman escaped the wrath of a plump woman standing in the doorway. "And take your filthy money, too!" she screamed, kicking the coins at his feet.

"And to think I protected your kind in the war!" Teldin viciously shouted at the shrewish woman. Her face, previously flushed with indignation, drained pale as she felt the rage that boiled out of the lanky beggar on her stoop. "Damn you all to the Abyss!" the farmer snarled, baring his teeth in an animalistic grimace. He took a shaking step toward and towered over the short woman. The terrified woman trembled before his assault, then slammed the door in Teldin's face before he might spring to the attack.

As he stood in the street, Teldin realized he was far from alone, for circle of gawkers had gathered behind him. Embarrassed by the outburst, he scooped up the scattered of money, then became embarrassed by that, too. He had not come to Palanthas to beg. Pride in honor said to throw the money away; common sense urged them to keep it. Common sense won, and Teldin hurriedly but the money into his purse, all the time muttering, "I'll never get to Mount Nevermind," as he counted the coins. The onlookers unconsciously drew back lest the beggar be a madman.

Such was Teldin's mood that he forsook what little caution he had exercised all day, little caring to note any suspicious characters. Thus, as he left the side street, he failed to notice Brun One-Eye and another of Vandoorm's mercenaries watching from among the small crowd gathered at the homemaker's door. With a nod, Brun and his companion began to follow Teldin at a sfae distance, stepping into a merchant's stall or a shadowed doorway each time Teldin even casually looked about.

It wasn't until Teldin had reached the smaller back streets where the foot traffic thinned out, that he sensed something odd. There, between the half-timbered houses that jutted over the street. Teldin became aware of strangers behind him. He turned in an attempt to catch whoever followed him, but the yeoman'sonly reward was a shadow disappearing down a side street and a thunk of a door quickly closing. A cat came out of the alley and quickly padded across the road. Still suspicious, Teldin continued on, turning the corner and out of sight.

Stepping out of the shadows of a doorway, Brun hissed softly for his companion. The man poked his head out of the alley and, seeing that it was all clear, hurriedly joined the eye-patched warrior. The two fell into a huddled discussion, Reaching the corner, Brun carefully peered around it, then urgently waved the other forward. Down the lane, Teldin was nowhere in sight.

With his back pressed against the rough stone of a courtyard wall, Teldin watched Brun and his companion still at the corner. The farmer, suspecting he ws being followed, had slipped through an open gate into a small courtyard beyond. The early evening sun gave long shadows to the high walls, and it was from this deep gloom that Teldin watched, peering carefully through the barely ajar gate. Teldin instantly recognized Brun; the man's wild hair and eye-patch were absolutely distinctive. The other man he vaguely knew as one of Vandoorm's men. Their faces showed puzzlement as the pair cursorily scanned the street, not noticing the slightly open gate. Brun gave a sharp command, then led the other man down the way. The farmer shifted and watched them go.

After waiting for a minute or more, Teldin finally ventured back into the street. He looked both directions as he decided which way to go. "Always better to swing the first punch," Teldin mused aloud, remembering the advice grandfather had given him when he was young. Grandfather had also said, 'Don't be fool, boy,' advice that made sense right now. "I can go back to the inn, or I can follow them," Teldin whispered to himself, weighing his choices. Common sense said to go back to Gomja — he had already made another close escape — but that choice did not satisfy him. Another part of him urged him to follow Brun. After all, Teldin thought, how much longer could he keep getting away? It would be a great advantage knowing where Vandoorm was; it would make the deceitful captain that much easier to avoid.

Teldin let his curiosity overrule his good judgement. He would follow Brun back to the spider's web, just to know what and where to avoid. That desided, the long-legged farmer sprinted down the lane brfore his newfound quarry escaped.

At first, Teldin thought the chase was getting him nowhere. Brun and his stooge seemed to wander almost aimlessly, casting about like hunters searching for a lost deer trail. It was all Teldin could do to keep from losing them and still stay hidden. The pair constantly doubled back or separated, forcing Teldin to move quickly to keep his plans from failing. After more than an hour of searching, as the narrow streets descended into darkness, the pair seemed to give it up. They moved purposefully, no longer taking the time to peer up every alley or circle around blocks. Emboldened by hiss success and the increased darkness, Teldin followed closer, Finally, well into dusk, he was close enough to hear small bits of the pair's wind-borne conversation.

"Vandoorm won't like…" spoke the smaller of the two.

"I don't care… Vandoorm can go…" came bits of Brun's snarling reply. "…whole thing isn't…" The two rounded a house and Teldin lost the conversation.

When he finally peeked around the corner, Teldin found that the pair had reached an old, run-down section of the harbor. They were headed along a deserted quay with a tumble-down collection of abandoned storehouses and drafty shanties to one side and crumbling piers to the other. Small fishing dories, some barely seaworthy, bobbed on the black, sewage-rich water and thumped against rotting pilings. Teldin ignored the thick smell of dead fish and waste, slipped behind a row of old lobster pots, and crept close enough to hear more.

"Why does Vandoorm… meet here anyway?" griped the nameless mercenary. The two were standing just on the other side of the wooden traps, their backs to Teldin's hiding place.

"Shut up, and don't… questions," snapped Brun. "It's where… our employers. My guess… they want to know…" The rest of Brun's words were drowned out by other voices. In the dim light from the nearby shanties, Teldin could barely see the short, swaggering figure of Vandoorm leading a small band of men, no more than ten of his original score. The farmer noted with no small satisfaction that more than a few hobbled painfully. Confident that he couldn't be seen, Teldin pressed himself forward against the damp traps, trying to hear as much as possible.

"Hail, Brun," called Vandoorm. "What luck?"

"We saw him, but he lost us," Brun answered glumly. "He was down here, by the waterfront." Vandoorm swore, naming Brun's ancestors in a blistering tirade.

The one-eyed mercenary bristled. His hand went to his sword and he took a step forward, only to be restrained by his companion. "I don't remember you holding him well, either." Brun sneered. The words brought Vandoorm's rant to a halt. The lame men behind the captain tensed, their eyes hard and narrow.

"Do not speak about thing you don't know," Vandoorm icily reminded Brun. "Good men die — you do not." The captain slowly circled Brun, never taking his eyes off his lieutenant. Brun, under Vandoorm's and the others' withering gazes, seemed to shrink.

"We've learned something at least," the one-eyed warrior boasted in defense. "Our goat said he was going to Mount Nevermind — on Sancrist!" Brun, puffed up with his tidbit of information, strutted toward Vandoorm.

"Sancrisssst?" a new voice spoke with prolonged syllables. The speaker's whispery call echoed through the dark waterfront. "Gone to Sancrissst he hasss?"

All the mercenaries save one wheeled to face the mysterious speaker. Swords flashed as battle-instincts seized the men. Only Vandoorm turned calmly, surprised but unruffled by the new appearance. "So I report, noble — uh — one.” The captain hesitated slightly, searching for the right word with which to address the mysterious speaker.

A small, horrific shape moved to the edge of the shadows. Though it was still half-veiled in darkness, Teldin, peering through the slats of the lobster pots, Instantly recognized the creature. He had seen it before, though only vaguely then. It was a neogi, like the ones he had glimpsed that dreadful night on his farm.

In the shadows, the creature seemed no larger than a child and there was no sign of the hulking brutes Teldin had seen in his last encounter with these hateful beings. The monster took a few clicking steps forward, its spider- like legs moving it in strange rhythms, ever more into the light. The furry, boulder-shaped body was cloaked in a silken wrap. The gloom was too heavy for Teldin to tell what color the creature might be. Its head, supported by a long, snaking neck, weaved in and out of the light. The little face was a cross between an evil serpent’s and a raving dog’s, with a rigorous smile, all fangs and thin lips.

“Ssancrisst iss where, sservant-sslave?” demanded the neogi. Its eight legs clicked with impatience on the cobblestone pavement

"Information costs money, creature-sir," Vandoorm shot back. His men, quickly recovering from their shock, warily formed into a line behind their captain. With small gestures, Brun marshalled them into position, past differences already forgotten. From his hiding place Teldin found it harder to see what was going on. Vandoorm and the neogi-the alliance filled Teldin with even greater contempt for his ex-friend and mentor.

"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. “Quasroth, 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.