“During the war-the first one-I served at Palanthas. I was in the first relief column to reach the High Clerist’s Tower after Lord MarKenin’s victory over the dragonarmies.
Gomja looked up, his small eyes wide with interest. War stories were never boring and it sounded as if Teldin was about to begin one. “That must have been a magnificent thing, sir!” he said eagerly.
Teldin closed his eyes and repressed a shudder as he remembered the trek. “No, it wasn’t,” he finally responded. In his mind, Teldin could see the canyon as it had been back then. “It was wintertime and the pass was closed by snow. Our column marched just as the thaw began, and we had to break through the melting crust to reach the tower. The water was running high and the road was washed out more than once. Three men were swept away by that-” Teldin opened his eyes and pointed to the stream alongside them- and their bodies weren’t found until the spring. Half the men in my company were frostbitten by the time we reached the tower. And that’s where things got even worse.
“The Knights of Solamnia had just ‘won’ the battle of Westgate Pass a few days before. But they were knights, not soldiers." There was no mistaking the scorn in Teldin’s voice as he remembered the past. Gomja listened intently, forgetting even to chew. “The knights were too few-and too important-to take the field and claim it. All that time, while we were bashing through the drifts to reach the tower, the Knights of Solamnia stayed inside the keep and honored their fallen commanders. They left the rest of the dead for us to bury. Three days-they let them lie out there for three days.”
Teldin closed his eyes, trying to control his rising temper. The memories were painful, even now. When he opened them again, he noticed that Vandoorm had fallen in beside them. How long the captain had been listening, Teldin did not know. “It took us two days of solid work to bury them all. Some men stood guard while the rest of us dug in the freezing wind. We couldn’t burn the bodies-there wasn’t enough wood and pitch to do the job-so we had to use picks to dig out the frozen ground for graves. We stacked twenty or thirty bodies in a single pit. When we finished that, there were still the dragons in the keep.”
‘Dragons, sir?” Gomja asked, suddenly perking up. “And dragonlances?” In his mind, the giff was trophy collecting.
“Three dragons,” Teldin answered, continuing his story while ignoring Gomja’s curiosity. “The knights had lured them in somehow, killed the lot, and then left them there. When we got to the tower, the bodies were still in the courtyards. We couldn’t bury the dragons-they were way too big, even too big to drag out through the gates-so we had to butcher them on the spot. Then we carried the slabs of frozen meat out onto the plain and burned them with the little firewood we had.” Teldin stopped his tale, waiting for the images to fade from his mind.
“That’s what war was like,” Teldin finished, looking down at the giff.
On the other side of Teldin, Vandoorm nodded in agreement. “That and waiting,” he added. “Go places and wait. Tel, you learn well.”
Gomja said nothing, at first, just looked back at Teldin. Then, with a grotesquely cheerful smile and a touch of braggadocio, he said, “It is a good thing giff are known as good soldiers. My people are always put in the forefront of the battle.”
“That’s a great place to die,” Vandoorm observed. He spat on the ground, then wiped his beard on his sleeve.
Gomja stood stiffly upright. “It is the only place to gain honor,” he insisted.
“There’s not much honor in being dead, Gomja,” Teldin said. With a flick of the reins, he brushed a fly away from his mount’s golden mane.
“A bold death does great honor to the platoon.” Gomja double-timed his step to keep pace with Teldin’s horse. “When Commander Finlei lost half his command at Burgg’s Rock, his platoon became one of the most feared- and highest paid-in five spheres. Everyone wanted to join his command. They always had work.”
Vandoorm laughed a snorting chuckle. “Creature, you speak like a true mercenary!” He picked at something in his beard, then spurred his horse forward, trotting to the head of the column, where Brun One-Eye rode.
His old friend gone, Teldjn dropped off his saddle to walk beside Gomja. “So those in this platoon died because someone paid them to?” Teldin couldn’t imagine anyone volunteering for such a deed.
“To defend the Rock was an honor, sir. Isn’t that why everyone fights?” Gomja looked down at Teldin, now alongside him. “After all, why did you join the army, sir?”
Teldin tried to remember his motives while he steered around a puddle. “When the war broke out, I was young,” he answered slowly. “I heard stories about the cruelties of the dragonarmies. I was going to go out and right those wrongs, protect the world from their injustice.” The farmer looked to see if Gomja was paying attention to his meanings, not just listening to the words. The giffs ears were turned slightly his way, so Teldin continued. “The war showed me that things weren’t quite that way, weren’t that simple. Like Vandoorm said, I was ready to save Estwilde and wipe the draconians from the face of Ansalon all by myself. By the end of it, I was happy that we made a truce-even if there were still lands in draconian hands. I just wanted to go home.” Teldin abruptly stopped and looked to the top of the canyon walls. “Defeating injustice just wasn’t all that simple, Gornja.”
The giff, a little ahead, turned and looked back. “If you say so, sir,” he murmured. His ears lay flat as he spoke. Gomja waited for Teldin to join him, and the two walked on in silence.
Late that afternoon, Vandoorm called a halt for the day. A side canyon, somewhat broader at the bottom than their own valley, looked like a good site for their camp. The company turned off the main road and picked its way around the rubble field of an old landslide. Leading men and horses, the captain let his scouts find a good section of level, sheltered ground. There the troop pitched their bed- rolls under the boughs of the mountain pines.
In the deep cuts of the canyons, the darkness of shadowed night flowed swiftly over the bottom. The peaks and ridges shone in golden pinks and browns while the valleys were filled with deepening gloom. A peacefulness settled over the group, quieting their normally boisterous evening meal.
The days of hard riding were finally catching up with Teldin, especially since the pace had at last slowed down. He was too tired to supervise Gomja’s cooking, something he had carefully done up to now. The gift’s tastes were different, to say it nicely. While the giff fussed over the stew pot on the fire, Teldin watched the stars slowly emerge through the fading twilight. When dinner came, Teldin regretted his inattention; looking at a bowl of green shreds swimming in a yellow broth, Teldin couldn’t help but be suspicious. “What is this?” he asked.
“Yaneesh,” Gomja answered, proudly setting the pot back on the fire. “You will like it, sir.” He waited for Teldin’s approval.
Again, without knowing how, Teldin mentally translated yaneesh to mean something roughly equal to boiled, spiced grass. With a sigh of resignation, the human sipped a little of the stew. The broth was tolerable, though heavily flavored with pepper. The grass, however, was grass- stringy and unchewable. He tried gnawing at a piece while the giff looked expectantly on. “It is-unique. I’ve never had, uh, yaneesh so good,” Teldin said, chewing slowly. Smiling, the giff turned back to the fire. Teldin quickly spat wads of pulp into the weeds. Diligently, Teldin worked through the bowl, disposing of the grass whenever Gomja wasn’t looking.
The meal finished, Teldin hit the sack. Gomja, as was his habit, huddled near the fire and kept watch. Eventually the giff would trade shifts with Teldin, but the farmer suspected Gomja always let the human sleep a few hours longer than was arranged. Still, the mountain nights were cold and Teldin was more than happy to wrap himself in blankets. When Gomja wasn’t watching, Teldin dug into his pack for a strip of jerky. In the darkness, he gratefully gnawed on the tough, salty chunks of dried meat. A vegetarian he was not.