of saying. As far he was concerned, nothing more needed to be said.
“What about the neogi?” Trooper Gomja quietly asked. The giffs words broke Teldin’s trance. Without acknowledging Gomja’s presence, the farmer turned back to the house. “There, beneath Abyssal gates, I choose my way,” Teldin whispered, remembering a snatch of verse his grandfather had taught him. He didn’t know why the thought came to him now, but he could clearly remember Grandfather teaching him the words as they walked through the fields. Teldin couldn’t have been more than ten at the time.
“What will you do now?” Gomja asked again. The giff plodded to where Teldin stood, a spade still in his hand.
Teldin was tired, too tired to plan. “I don’t know. I don’t care,” he bitterly answered. “Go back to the …”
Teldin stopped. He had been about to say his farm, but he didn’t have one anymore, or at least not much of one. He needed money to buy supplies for rebuilding. Trooper Gomja’s expectant expression, turned attentively toward Teldin, forced the farmer to think, and he suddenly knew where to go. He had cousins in Kalaman, and they could help him. At any rate, it was better than staying around here – but the giff was not part of this plan.
“Sir?”
“Back to the farm,” Teldin hastily said. That was all the giff needed to know.
“And then what, sir?” Gomja pressed.
Then I leave you behind, Teldin thought with a shake of his head. He began to feel the strains of the last two nights. Labor, pain, terror, and rage had worn the threads of his mind thin. “I want to go home.” The giff nodded in understanding, his broad muzzle bobbing up and down. “Now, let’s get out of here before the valley folk show up.”
“Or the neogi return,” Trooper Gomja grimly added.
Teldin let the giff lead the way back through the forest, occasionally pointing out the right path. The morning birds were already falling silent in the midday heat. Squirrels chattered at their passage. In the clearings Teldin could look back and see the lonely buildings of Liam’s farm in the bright light. He was glad to be away from the site.
Once across the ridge, Teldin felt a weight lift off him. The terrors of the night were still firmly fixed in his mind, but he had left Liam’s farm behind. Both the fear of discovery and the shame that he felt eased. His brain became numbed, focusing only on the simple task of walking.
When they reached the edge of Teldin’s melon field, Trooper Gomja reverted to his old caution, halting their march in the bushes. The giff carefully picked his way to the edge of the field and knelt in the cover of some brambles. The big creature patiently scanned the shattered farmyard.
As he stood near the kneeling giff, Teldin wondered, too, if the neogi were really gone. Trying to watch with the same vigilance, Teldin looked over his farm’s broken remains. The destruction seemed less from this angle than he actually feared. The cabin was a complete loss, as were most of the melons, but the other fields seemed unharmed. I can recover, he thought optimistically, with a little money and time. All I need is money, from somewhere.
“It looks very quiet,” the giff announced. Teldin could already see that, and he moved to head down the trail. The farmer was brought up short when Gomja laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “But there might be hidden scouts. Shall I go out and see?” The giff stood, ready to go.
Teldin checked his first impulse to give approval. It was his farm, he decided, and he wasn’t going to hide behind a seven-foot-tall walking hippopotamus. It grated against his pride. Besides, as he looked up into the big creature’s dark eyes, Teldin again didn’t trust his companion. The problem was that he still didn’t trust the giff at his back either. Maybe the giff had saved his life, but the yeoman still remembered how they had met. “You stay,” Teldin ultimately chose, letting
“What about the neogi?” Trooper Gomja quietly asked. The giffs words broke Teldin’s trance. Without acknowledging Gomja’s presence, the farmer turned back to the house. “There, beneath Abyssal gates, I choose my way,” Teldin whispered, remembering a snatch of verse his grandfather had taught him. He didn’t know why the thought came to him now, but he could clearly remember Grandfather teaching him the words as they walked through the fields. Teldin couldn’t have been more than ten at the time.
“What will you do now?” Gomja asked again. The giff plodded to where Teldin stood, a spade still in his hand.
Teldin was tired, too tired to plan. “I don’t know. I don’t care,” he bitterly answered. “Go back to the …”
Teldin stopped. He had been about to say his farm, but he didn’t have one anymore, or at least not much of one. He needed money to buy supplies for rebuilding. Trooper Gomja’s expectant expression, turned attentively toward Teldin, forced the farmer to think, and he suddenly knew where to go. He had cousins in Kalaman, and they could help him. At any rate, it was better than staying around here – but the giff was not part of this plan.
“Sir?”
“Back to the farm,” Teldin hastily said. That was all the giff needed to know.
“And then what, sir?” Gomja pressed.
Then I leave you behind, Teldin thought with a shake of his head. He began to feel the strains of the last two nights. Labor, pain, terror, and rage had worn the threads of his mind thin. “I want to go home.” The giff nodded in understanding, his broad muzzle bobbing up and down. “Now, let’s get out of here before the valley folk show up.”
“Or the neogi return,” Trooper Gomja grimly added.
Teldin let the giff lead the way back through the forest, occasionally pointing out the right path. The morning birds were already falling silent in the midday heat. Squirrels chattered at their passage. In the clearings Teldin could look back and see the lonely buildings of Liam’s farm in the bright light. He was glad to be away from the site.
Once across the ridge, Teldin felt a weight lift off him. The terrors of the night were still firmly fixed in his mind, but he had left Liam’s farm behind. Both the fear of discovery and the shame that he felt eased. His brain became numbed, focusing only on the simple task of walking.
When they reached the edge of Teldin’s melon field, Trooper Gomja reverted to his old caution, halting their march in the bushes. The giff carefully picked his way to the edge of the field and knelt in the cover of some brambles. The big creature patiently scanned the shattered farmyard.
As he stood near the kneeling giff, Teldin wondered, too, if the neogi were really gone. Trying to watch with the same vigilance, Teldin looked over his farm’s broken remains. The destruction seemed less from this angle than he actually feared. The cabin was a complete loss, as were most of the melons, but the other fields seemed unharmed. I can recover, he thought optimistically, with a little money and time. All I need is money, from somewhere.
“It looks very quiet,” the giff announced. Teldin could already see that, and he moved to head down the trail. The farmer was brought up short when Gomja laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “But there might be hidden scouts. Shall I go out and see?” The giff stood, ready to go.
Teldin checked his first impulse to give approval. It was his farm, he decided, and he wasn’t going to hide behind a seven-foot-tall walking hippopotamus. It grated against his pride. Besides, as he looked up into the big creature’s dark eyes, Teldin again didn’t trust his companion. The problem was that he still didn’t trust the giff at his back either. Maybe the giff had saved his life, but the yeoman still remembered how they had met. “You stay,” Teldin ultimately chose, letting
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