Beyond the Moons by David Cook Page A

for Teldin to pick the path. Night birds whispered through the branches, telling the secrets of the trees. Teldin wondered briefly if they sang of the neogi passing. A few crickets sawed out their songs, and the frogs from the stream answered, only to fall silent as the pair neared. Behind them, the frogs reluctantly resumed their chorus. The air over the stream was chill and damp, but Teldin barely noticed.
    “How far is it?” the giff asked, shattering Teldin’s growing anxiety. The giff seemed to march along with no appreciation of the world around him, the powers that surrounded them. He stomped along mechanically, easily avoiding the roots and tangles. The farmer guessed the giff was one of those blessed with the “elven-sight,” as his grandfather had called it, the superb night vision of that kind.
    “Across the ridge and then just a little farther,” Teldin answered, somewhat annoyed with his big companion. He kept his voice to a whisper.
    “What are you going to do?” Gomja asked.
    Teldin wondered if the giff was just dense. “Warn Liam, of course.”
    “And if he’s dead?”
    Teldin spun about in rage. “He won’t be.” He snapped out the words through clenched teeth. “Now quiet. You don’t know what’s nearby.”
    “Listen, human,” the giff pressed. “Give me a weapon – a dagger or one of the big knives. If we have to fight, I want to be ready.”
    Teldin turned away as he spoke. “Why should I trust you?” he challenged.
    “Because you’re a groundling farmer and I am a warrior of the giff,” Gomja answered plainly. Another might have made the words boastful, but from him it was a statement of fact. “If I meant to kill you, I could do it now. I could’ve killed you while you slept.”
    Teldin bit his lip. The giff was right, but knowing that did not make his decision any easier. Finally he stopped, undid one of the giff’s knives, and passed it over to the alien.
    Drawing the blade and inspecting it, Gomja pronounced, “Now I can fight. I only wish another of my people were here.”
    Teldin, already moving again grunted with irritation. The creature talked too much, as far as he was concerned.
    “If I fight valorously, who will know?” the giff explained, mistaking the exclamation for interest. “If we win, another giff could testify about my bravery. Then I could wear a tattoo of my victory with pride. If I lose, he could tell the others how I died gloriously in battle.” Gomja followed the smaller human, bulling his way through the underbrush. When Teldin did not answer, the giff at last gave up talking.
    Dawn’s light was brushing over the rooftops of the buildings just as they reached the farm. Liam’s place had been here for years and was by now a mismatched collection of a house and several outbuildings, all built of wood and stone and fine shingles. The fences were in good repair, and the stone walls were sturdy. A pigsty divided the barn from the main house, while to the other side of the house was a stone wall that marked the edge of the fields. Although not wise in the world, old Liam possessed a special knack for farming.
    The dark shape of Liam’s house was silent. Cautiously, the giff led the way into the farmyard. Teldin had fearfully expected the farmhouse and barn to be ablaze, the sty shattered, and the crops trampled. Instead, there was no sign of the neogi, or that they had yet arrived.
    Relieved, Teldin moved to step past the giff. Just as he was about to take the lead, Gomja grabbed Teldin’s shoulder and pulled him back. “Should the doors be open?” he asked softly.
    Teldin stopped short and scrutinized the outlines of the buildings. “Which doors?”
    “Over there, and there,” Gomja replied, first pointing to the barn and then the farmhouse.
    Teldin suddenly felt cold. Liam was a good farmer, too smart to let his livestock roam loose at night. “No. His cows would get out,” he said hoarsely, his throat choking up. Teldin stepped briskly