“But things like that don’t land on your farm!” Liam protested. “It’s not natural.”
Teldin mournfully looked at the remains of his cabin. The fires were finally starting to go out for lack of tinder. His house was a broken, smoking shell. Most of the larger logs were not split by the crash, but were charred black. The roof and everything else were gone. Most of the ship’s planking had burned or fallen away, leaving the framing ribs like black bones thrusting out of the earth. A few hunks of the deck clung precariously to the frame, giving some indication of the ship’s original form.
“It doesn’t matter whether they fly or not. This one did,” Teldin sadly commented.
“What’ll you do now, Teldin?” Liam asked, following Teldin’s gaze. “If you want, the valley folk could gather up and help you out.
The melon crop was destroyed, the house crushed, the chickens and geese lost. Even the goat had disappeared. Teldin tried not to sound defeated. “I do not know, Liam. I just do not know. Maybe I am not meant to be a farmer. Maybe it’s a sign from the gods.” Teldin rubbed at his short-cropped hair, brushing away a new layer of dirt and ash. “Damn it, Liam, things seemed to be going so well!” he burst out. “Crops were good. It was peaceful here. I thought, for once, maybe my life could be happy-after the war and all Teldin’s voice stopped in a knot of frustration and anger.
Liam awkwardly laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Look, we’ll just spread the word around. You’ve got friends here. The Stanish boys, the Harnweilers, even Lur Dal would come help. Things’ll be back to normal in no time. I’ve rebuilt from fires, too.” Teldin nodded numbly, letting Liam plan.
Behind the old farmer, the giff’s gray-blue bulk slowly stirred. He gave a deep rumbling groan, rolled to his side, and tried to get up. The creature flopped back to the ground, suddenly aware of his bindings. Teldin couldn’t be sure, but he had guessed from the sounds the thing made that it was male.
Liam scuttled away from the brute at its first movements. What’ll you do about that?” he whispered to Teldin, nodding toward the giff.
As an answer, Teldin stood with exaggerated care, moving his stiff muscles slowly. Taking the cutlass confiscated from the creature’s sash, Teldin stood over the giff and pointed the tip of the blade at the beast’s chest. The human was in no mood for subtlety. The giff stared up at him with small, deep-set eyes. “Who are you and why did you try to kill me?” Teldin demanded, trying to remember how the officers had interrogated prisoners during the war.
“Trooper Gomja, Red Grade, First Rank, Red Platoon,” the giff recited. Teldin was slightly taken aback by the giffs outburst. The creature spoke perfect common, though it was thickly accented. Teldin expected the giff to use some kind of foreign gibberish, like the female had the previous night. After all, hadn’t she used a spell to communicate with him?
“Fine, Gomja,” the farmer answered after regaining his composure. “I want to know why you attacked me and where, in all the god’s names, you came from!” Teldin’s voice became louder and higher until it was almost a hysterical shout. He pressed the blade against the giffs skin to emphasize his point.
The giff hesitated with his answer until a little more pressure from Teldin encouraged a response. “You killed and robbed my captain. It is my duty and honor to protect her. Therefore-”
“Walt-I killed your captain?” Teldin asked in disbelief. “And robbed her?”
“You wear her cloak,” the giff answered, as if that was all the proof needed.
“She gave it to me!” Teldin’s voice was rising to hysteria
again. Without dropping his guard on the giff, Teldin pointed to the body of the female he had pulled from the wreckage. “That’s your captain?”
The giff nodded.
Teldin stepped around and looked the giff straight in the eye. “Well, Trooper Gomja, you thick-headed lug,” he angrily informed his captive, “you had better know that your captain was dying when I found her. She gave me the cloak and told me to keep if from the neogi.” Teldin didn’t add that he had no idea who or what the neogi were.
As he listened, Gomja unflinchingly met the farmer’s glare. When the speech was over, the giff looked at his captain’s body, then back to Teldin. He did not speak, as if pondering the farmer’s words and his own situation. “You are a military man?” he finally asked.
Teldin was once again taken aback by the giff’s words. “No, I’m a farmer. Your ship ruined my farm.
“But you have served in the military,” Gomja insisted.
Teldin was amazed at the giff s perception. Cautiously, Teldin answered, “I was, sort of.” The farmer could not see what the creature’s point was.
“What was your rank?” the giff pressed.
Somewhat embarrassed and somewhat irked by the giffs questioning him, Teldin curtly replied. “1 was a mule skinner, if that is what you mean."
From behind the tree, Liam could not suppress a snort of surprise. “Mule skinner! I should’ve known, Teldin Moore!” Teldin glared at the older man, willing him to be quiet. The old farmer would probably hound him about his deception for years, Teldin figured, forgetting the giff for an instant.
The giffs jowls twitched and his jaw flexed as he considered the title. “Mule skinner,” he mouthed slowly, working over the words, which were obviously foreign to him. His little eyes met Teldin’s again, trying to look hard but not quite achieving that effect. “I have made an error,” Gomja conceded, his voice stiff with pride. “It was poor discipline for me to attack you. I give my oath that I will not attack you again. You can now release me safely.”
“Don’t do it, Teldin,” Liam shouted from behind the tree. “He’s probably a draconian’s misbegotten spawn!” The old farmer scurried over and grabbed one of the giffs knives from the pile, then quickly returned to the shelter of the tree trunk.
Teldin pondered. He studied the giff's face. The giff sat stiffly, his massive head held high, eyes pointedly staring at the wreckage. His uniform’s tattered remains completed the ludicrous appearance. In a way, the giff reminded Teldin of certain hard-nosed sergeants he had met or seen in the war.
“Don’t trust him, Teldin!” Liam shouted.
The younger farmer ignored his neighbor’s urging. As comical as the giff looked, there was something in his eyes that suggested honor. The giffs jaw was resolutely set and his gaze showed no signs of suspicion or betrayal. “Well, I can’t keep you tied up forever,” Teldin finally allowed. “I’ll release you, but that doesn’t mean I trust you- understand? Hold your hands out.” Teldin sawed away at the ropes with the cutlass. As the last strand popped, Teldin’s grip on the weapon tightened and he unconsciously braced for treachery. When the giff did not move, Teldin began cutting at the ropes around Gomja’s ankles.
Finally freed, Gomja awkwardly rose and loomed a good foot over Teldin. The giffs feet and hands were numb from the bindings, so he stood rubbing his wrists and stamping his feet. Each huge foot hit the ground with a solid thud. All three-Liam behind the tree, Teldin with the cutlass, and the towering giff-stared at each other. “I would like permission to search for the dead,” the giff finally asked.
Teldin almost expected the giff to add “sir” to the request, given the giffs tone. After looking at the captain’s body, its skin now a pale blue, he nodded his approval. “Liam,” he called, drawing his neighbor from behind the tree, “I found some bodies by the edge of the field last night. Take Trooper Gomja here out so he can bury them.” With that, Teldin handed the cutlass over to the skinny old man.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” Liam groused. His eyes flicked fearfully toward the giff, who stoically waited for permission to start.
“I’ve got my own things to do,” was Teldin’s tired response. “I’ll be searching the house. They’re his dead, so let him bury them.”