“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 frontier. Kalaman citizens are not naturally trusting-or courageous. The guards, I suppose, make them feel safe.”
Gomja snorted contemptuously. “They’d be a lot better off to hire some muscle to go out and solve their problems, if you know what I mean, sir.” Before Teldin could answer, a vendor carrying a basket of pastries distracted the giff. The trooper’s nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply and started to follow the scent. The vendor quickened her pace, fearful of the hungry look in the strange creature’s eyes. As she disappeared into the crowd, a fruit stand caught Gomja’s attention and he veered toward that.
Teldin grabbed the giff’s sleeve. He could guess the trooper’s intentions and was determined to stop him before Gomja ate his way through every last steel in their purse. “Not now,” he snapped, steering his companion away. “We’ll go to my cousin’s. There I’m sure you’ll be fed. Probably have a nice roast or something,” Teldin pointed out as he turned them down a side street.
“Ugh-meat.” Gomja gave a slight shudder. Seeing Teldin’s puzzled look, the giff explained. “Our kind aren’t carrion eaters . . . I mean, not that you are, sir,” Gomja added hastily. “It’s just that fruits and vegetables are much better. These keep us strong, which is why we giff are such good soldiers.” For emphasis, Gomja slapped his chest, which boomed with a hollow thud. Teldin only nodded, filled with silent wonderment at this latest revelation of his companion.
Finding his cousin’s home took some time. It had been five years since Teldin was last in Kalaman. He had been in the tail end of the great victory parade, well after the siege of Kalaman, and there hadn’t been much time for visiting distant cousins. He had a vague idea of where the house lay, but since the war it seemed as if every street had been rebuilt or renamed. Teldin eventually gave up and accosted strangers, asking for directions. These were mostly fruitless, clipped denials punctuated by fearful glances toward the creature that stood behind Teldin. Finally, after making Gomja wait in the dark shadows of an alley, Teldin found someone who knew the way and was not ready to bolt like a rabbit at the approach of a stranger.