The farmer leaned on the porthole sill and contemplated. He had come a long way since his adventure had begun. The farm seemed like something far distant, even though it was only a few weeks’ journey away. Going back now would feel very different, even more than when he had rejoined his father after the war. At least then there had been something to go back to, Teldin ruefully realized.

“Did you wish to speak with me, sir?” asked Gomja.

“Right, right,” Teldin finally said distractedly. He turned away from the porthole, his jaw set with determination. “What’s it like out there?” the human finally asked after several false starts.

“Sir?” Gomja dropped his stiff stance.

“Out there, beyond this world, what’s it like?”

Gomja cocked his head and didn’t answer for a long time. “I don’t know, sir. I mean, I can’t explain. It’s

quiet and dark, sir.” The giff fingered his knives nervously.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Teldin broke in. “I mean, are there people out there, humans, or is everyone-well, something else? I guess I want to know, would I be alone?”

Ears wiggling in surprise, the giff answered, “You will never be alone, sir. I’ll be with you.” Teldin shook his head, realizing Gomja didn’t understand. The big alien tried again. “There are humans, yes,” he cautiously offered.

“Oh” Teldin said in disappointment, hoping for something more poetic. He didn’t really know what he expected the giff to say. “I wish I knew what’s so special about this cloak, Gomja. Why do the neogi want it?”

The giff pursed his big lips. “As I have told you, sir, I don’t know. Perhaps you should rest some more.

The injured farmer ignored the giffs suggestion. “But the neogi do want it, and if they don’t get it this time, they’ll try again, won’t they?” Teldin looked at the opalescent fabric for the thousandth time, trying to fathom its mystery.

“Yes, sir, that seems certain.” All this was obvious, and Gomja could not see what the human was getting at. “The neogi are a determined race,” he offered.

Teldin paced the little bridge, looking from the giff to the neogi ship. Unconsciously, the farmer’s fist drummed against his leg. “Would I like it?” Teldin blurted.

“Like what, sir?” Gomja asked, by now very confused.

“You know, out there. Would I like it out there?” Teldin demanded, a little irritated that the giff had not followed his thoughts.

Gomja sputtered with his mouth agape. “Well, sir, I suppose you might. I mean, I don’t know, sir.” Gomja realized he was gawking and closed his big mouth.

Teldin shook his head, cutting the hapless giff off. “Damn the gods, Gomja, I can’t let them have it!” the farmer proclaimed. “Look, I don’t know what this thing does, but, by the Abyss, I’m not going to hand it over to the neogi, not after-” His voice dropped to a whisper- “not after what they did to me.” Teldin’s eyes were hard and grim and blood flushed into his cheeks. He stopped pacing and planted himself in the center of the bridge. “I’m going with you.”

The giff's ears twitched. “But, you said you didn’t want to leave the land, sir. We said good-bye and you made me a sergeant and everything.” The giff peered closely at Teldin’s face. “Are you sure, sir, that you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” Teldin avowed, though he felt far from it. The poultice caused his cuts to itch and burn while his shoulder sockets still throbbed from the lordservants’ wrenching. “I am going with you,” he stated again, almost as if to convince himself.

“Why, sir? Space isn’t your home. What about your farm, sir?”

Teldin looked back out the porthole toward the hovering deathspider. “As I said, Gomja, because I’ll be damned if the neogi are going to get this cloak.” Teldin’s face was cold and stony as he nodded toward the neogi ship. “When I was a prisoner, there was something one of them said, about using the cloak to enslave worlds. Maybe I didn’t get it then, but now I do.” Teldin turned back to face the giff. “Look, Gomja, if I stay here, the neogi will just keep coming, hunting for the cloak. How many have they killed already? You’re saying Mount Nevermind might fall. If that happens, what then? Can you imagine it-fleets of neogi floating over Krynn? I’ve seen enough fighting. This whole land has seen enough war.” Teldin turned away and quickly brushed a tear from his eye. “The farm’s gone anyway- Grandfather, Amdar, Liam-all the people who meant anything. If I stay, the neogi will just hurt someone else close to me. This way there’s no more killing.”

“But fighting the neogi is a great honor, sir. They are friends to no one.” Gomja’s earnest face confirmed the truth of what he spoke.

“No, Gomja, I’m not you and I’m not a Solamnic knight. The war taught me a long time ago that there’s no honor in fighting. Look what happened to Vandoorm, or the gnomes here. Do you think they felt honored?” Teldin’s fingers clenched the porthole. “I can’t-I won’t be responsible for bringing the neogi to Krynn-so I’m leaving.”

Gomja scowled, his voice dark and ominous. “Running away? A giff shouldn’t serve under a cowardly captain.”

Teldin turned slowly, pulling the cloak tightly around himself, biting back a surge of anger. “You don’t understand! Whatever this cloak is, the neogi want it badly. I’m not running away. I’m drawing them away. I want them to follow me, to leave Krynn alone. Besides, out there maybe I can learn what this cloak does.” Teldin’s voice grew soft. “If it’s as powerful as the neogi think, then maybe I can pay them back in kind.” The farmer’s eyes looked past the giff and toward something only the human could see. Never before had Gomja seen the human show such coldblooded fire.

Teldin jerked his finger toward the deck, snapping out of the spell. “When this ship leaves, I’m going to be out there waving this damn cloak right under neogi noses if I have to.” The mule skinner glared defiantly at the giff, challenging the alien to protest.

Gomja’s ears slowly rose and his little eyes widened. The giff now saw the dangerous sense of Teldin’s plan. “I understand now, Commander. I was.. . wrong.” Fumbling at his sash, the giff drew one of his pistols and held it, stock first, for the human to take. Teldin hesitated, the farmer in him unwilling to accept the commitment the pistol implied. “Please take this,” Gomja urged. “You would have been a noble giff, sir. You have a hero’s soul.”

Teldin reddened at the big alien’s compliment. Gingerly, he took the pistol by the stock. Made for a giffs big, clumsy fingers, the weapon was huge in his own hand. As Teldin looked it over, Gomja drew the pouches from his sash and set them on the table. Dividing the bags of powder, wadding, and shot, the giff motioned for Teldin to join him.

“It works like so…"

The pistol lesson went quickly, though, despite Gomja’s assurances, it seemed like so much magic to Teldin. The rattle of eager footsteps toward the bridge signaled the lesson’s end. The giff, knowing the gnomes would dearly love to dismantle and analyze his precious weapons, hastily scraped everything back into the pouches.

The clanking door’s valves parted and Captain Wysdor, the braid-bedecked gnome from their earlier meeting, rushed onto the bridge. Gone was the jeweler’s loupe, but the gray braids remained. He wore practical, ordinary shirt and trousers. His leather apron, standard dress for a working gnome, was scratched and cracking with age. The captain’s arms were covered with grease up to the elbows. “It’s done, sir!” he shouted, breathless from his hurried trip from the depths of the engine hold to the bridge. “Wefinishedthe-modificationstothespelljammerhelm-”

“What’s done?” Teldin demanded. The rapid gnomish speech was adding to his already throbbing headache. Gomja, his brows knitted as he tried to figure out what had been said, towered over the gnome.