Eventually, exhaustion overtook the farmer, though even in slumber there was no rest. Neogi, perhaps stirred by the turmoil of the mountain, lurked in Teldin’s dreams. The eel-like monsters paraded through Nevermind’s dark and unending halls, bloody trophies in the arms of their brutish umber hulk slaves; behind these came more of their malicious kind clutching vile treasures in their ridiculously tiny claws. Each neogi appeared before Teldin’s dream self, laying gruesome spoils at his feet. Struggling, the farmer tried to rise with the exaggerated care of a nightmare, but all his efforts came to naught.
The charnel mound grew before him: Vandoorm’s bloodless, blue head, Liam’s body gutted and bound, a necklace made from Gomja’s hands and ears, and a bundle of gnome-skin cloaks. Old memories of flesh were added to the new: blubbery sheets of butchered dragon flesh, Knights of Solamnia frozen on the battle plain, their icy limbs thrust out at odd angles. Finally, the pyre of dead was taller than Teldin’s cabin, even in a dream. At its apex was the hacked and burned head of a dragon, again from the High Clerist’s Tower.
Teldin’s dream irresistibly panned upward, lingering over each monstrosity of the bloody heap. Perched precariously atop the macabre pyre was a golden-skinned neogi, it’s loathsome, bulbous body covered with tattoos. The spiderlike legs gripped the fleshy mound. The creature glared malevolently down at Teldin. “Give me the cloak,” it hissed. A slender, snapping claw reached out and slowly grew longer, stretching toward the paralyzed human.
Teldin awoke with a choked scream and his body tangled in the blankets. He shook his head, trying to drive the monstrous apparitions from the shadows of his mind. Breath came in quick pants as the farmer nervously unwound himself from the sweat-dampened covers.
After straightening the blankets and fluffing his pillow, Teldin experimentally closed his eyes. Almost immediately the bloody procession filled his thoughts again, forcing the human to snap his eyes open once more. “No sleep for me,” he mumbled, trying to rub away the pressure building on his temples. The single wavering candle transformed the room into a dreary cavern. Gomja’s shadow became a hibernating bear. Teldin sat up, and he debated getting dressed. Unable to face sleep again, there was really nothing else to do.
From beyond their room came a distant boom, like a peal of thunder, even deeper and more resonant than Gomja’s snores. Whatever it was, Teldin realized, it had triggered a whole clamor of alarms and whistles. Another invention gone wrong, the farmer concluded as he pulled his worn trousers over his long, lean legs.
Teldin was fumbling with his shoes when frantic knocking began rattling their door. “Open up! Open up! Hurry! Wake up! We're under attack!" shouted a high-pitched voice from the other side. Teldin could hear the scratching and jangling sound of someone fumbling with the lock. All at once, the tumblers caught and the door burst open.
“Attackers have invaded the upper levels!” a frantic gnome shouted in a single breath as he charged into the room. Almost as fast as he had entered, the gnome hurried out, joining the stream of his fellows rushing through the hail, carrying an ad hoc collection of weapons. Teldin, half-dressed, sat stunned on the edge of his bed.
The previously gloomy passage was awash with torchlight. A din of bells and whistles reverberated through the air while thundering booms rocked the floor. A delegation of gnomes, led by Snowball and Niggil, rushed through the open doorway. “We are under attack! Invaders in the upper levels! It is terrible! Come on, we have to go fight them!” shouted Snowball. Gomja practically sprang bolt upright on his bed at all the noise.
“Slow down! What’s happening? Who’s invading and where?” Teldin demanded. He tried to pull on his shirt and buckle his belt at the same time. Gomja had already grabbed his weapons, ignoring his clothes for the moment.
The doorkeeper began, his hands flying as he tried to pantomime the scene. “I do not know how many, but there seem to be quite a few, and they are killing people-”
“Quiet,” rumbled the giffs deep voice, authoritative in all the confusion. “Answer the commander’s question. "Where? Keep it short, gnome.” The dark, warlike look on Gomja’s face chilled any argument from the assembled tinkers. Teldin nodded his approval to Gomja.
“Level thirty. They’re hovering over the lake in a big ship-”
“Who’s attacking?” Gomja pressed, trying to extract precious information from the skittish lot. Teldin grabbed his spear and was ready.
Snowball, Niggil, and the others looked at each other, confusion clear on their faces. “We do not know, but Thromvangilherskisl-” Snowball began a fellow gnome’s endless name, only to be cut short by Gomja’s growl. The gnome gulped and tried again. “He says there are big creatures with funny eyes and little, talking spiders with the heads of snakes, and they-”
“It’s neogi and umber hulks,” Teldin confirmed. Gomja nodded. “The big ones, umber hulks, are the fighters. The little spiders are neogi, the brains,” the human quickly explained, seeing the gnomes’ vacant looks. For safety’s sake, he made sure the cloak was at its smallest dimensions, a collar about his neck.
“Are you fighting or running?” the giff continued in his questioning.
“Well, the Weapons Guild wants to test its new inventions, but those in the Shipbuilder’s Guild do not, because they are worried about the Unquenchable, and the Glass-blower’s Guild is too busy trying to move its works out of the way in time," Snowball explained, pointing in a different direction to show where each group was working. Niggil grabbed his sleeve in violent disagreement. “No, the glassmakers are over there, not-”
“It’s as I feared, sir,” Gomja said, stepping over to Teldin and not even bothering to listen to two gnomes. “No proper organization, no one seems to be in charge. Even if they are outnumbered, the neogi are certain to capture the upper levels-maybe the entire mountain-if this is all the resistance they meet.”
Teldin, his nerves shaken by the neogi’s appearance, steered the giff away from their hosts. “What do you think we should do?”
The two fell into private conference, leaving the gnomes to argue. Neither group paid notice of the other. Gomja wanted to mount an immediate counterattack, arguing that attacking was the only way to win. Teldin glanced at the gnomes with their hodgepodge of weapons and overruled the giff. They needed to stall the attackers until the gnomes could recover from the surprise. A violent rumble from the central shaft brought Teldin and Gomja’s hurried discussion to an end. Before the gnomes would pay attention however, Teldin had to separate Snowball and Niggil, by now almost to blows.
“Listen to me!” the human shouted, infuriated with the dissension among the tinkers. “Listen! You’re going to lose Mount Nevermind if you keep arguing like you’ve been. You,” Teldin commanded, pointing at Broz, who stood in the back, “you find your leaders and tell them Mount Nevermind has been attacked by the neogi, who will kill every gnome in the place unless action is taken right away. Stress that all the guilds must work together to win. Now get going!” Cowed by the anger in Teldin’s voice, Broz nodded in understanding, his jaw slack. Still, the appointed messenger did not move until Teldin took a threatening step toward him. All at once, the fat, short gnome found his legs and darted away.
Teldin turned back to the rest of the gnomes, who were already beginning another argument, and laid his strong hands on the shoulders of Snowball and Niggil. The latter, terrified of the human, tried to squirm away. “Now the rest you, listen!” Teldin shouted over the noise. “Sergeant Gomja and I will try to set up some defense. Everyone in my half of the room stand with Snowball.” Teldin gave the gnome an encouraging shake. “The rest of you are to go with Niggil and Sergeant Gomja and do exactly as the sergeant tells you. Any questions?”