by David Cook
The need to act once again drove away his demons, and Teldin headed away from all the noise. Whatever was happening aft meant neogi were there, the fugitive reasoned, and he did not want to run into them. With wavering footsteps, the farmer ducked down a long, gray hallway lined with doors and stopped at each long enough to peer in. The first few he checked contained nothing but junk – old sails, spools of cable, buckets, and spare blocks. Just as he was closing the door on the third, a glint of metal caught his attention. Teldin looked closer and found that it was Eversharp, his spear, shoved into a pile of ethereal sailcloth. Eagerly, the farmer pulled the slender spear from the mass, working it free from a tangle of netting. Tapping the butt against the deck with a solid wooden thump made Teldin feel much better.
The ship shuddered with another explosion. Aware and alert once again, the farmer speculated about the cause. It was either outside or inside, and he guessed inside, probably caused by his escape. Perhaps the yrthni-ma’adi was still alive and rampaging in the hold; perhaps its maggot spawn were responsible. Teldin didn’t care, since whatever it was had apparently drawn the neogi and their lordservants aft.
The yeoman pressed on, steadying himself with one hand on the bulkheads at all times. The blasts became more violent, causing the ship to lurch with each thundering roar. “I must have done better than I thought,” mumbled Teldin in a daze. He continued the fruitless room-to-room search. While he found no one, nor, more importantly, an exit, each room was more imposing than the last.
Teldin drew up at another door, spear poised, hand on handle. “There meat is!” a voice behind him hissed. Teldin almost dropped the lance in surprise, but managed to maintain his composure enough to turn about. With a flick, the human unshuttered the lantern, flooding the hail with light. There at the back of the corridor, hiding its eyes from the unaccustomed brilliance, was the golden-skinned and tattooed overmaster. Its draped robe was tattered and stained, and yellow fluid seeped from cuts and scrapes up and down its neck. Behind it loomed the overmaster’s ferocious umber hulk lordservant. Teldin caught a glance of its swirling, multifaceted eyes, his knees suddenly buckled, and he remained standing only by sagging against the bulkhead. “Meat lordservant kill!” screeched the neogi, leaping aside for its slave’s rush.
The cloakmaster supported himself with one hand on the wall and braced the spear to receive the creature’s charge, certain that he was about to fall to the umber hulk’s crushing swipes. Nonetheless, Teldin was determined to fight to his last. The umber hulk steadily advanced, building speed with each step, claws sweeping the ground before it.
Aloud, explosive crack, followed immediately by another, brought the umber hulk’s menacing advance to an abrupt halt. The bone-plated beast jerked upright and let loose a chittering squeal as its mandibles ground and clattered in rage and surprise. The beast lurched forward for half a step, propelled by invisible blows from behind, then whirled about with its arms out-flung. The umber hulk’s huge talons gouged furrows through the metal bulkheads. Teldin saw a pair of splintered, bloody holes in the creature’s bony hide, just over the left shoulder.
“Second section – spears at ready!” boomed a familiar, deep voice from the far end of the hall. Teldin stood flabbergasted; it was Gomja. Over the umber hulk’s chittering roar the yeoman heard high-pitched voices launch into long tirades. “Belay the prattle!” the voice boomed again. Before any more could be said, the wounded umber hulk crashed into its attackers.
Screams of metal, beast, and gnomes sang through the corridor. In the dim light at the end, the umber hulk was a flailing shadow of rage as its claws rose and fell. A small body hurtled over its shoulder, splattering blood across the ceiling. The disemboweled projectile landed near the overmaster as the neogi crouched against the wall. “Lordservant kill!” the vile little fiend shrieked. “Hateful meat I will kill.” Malicious fire gleamed in its eyes as the neogi looked toward Teldin, who wobbled on his feet in the corridor. The umber hulk howled with renewed fury.
Warily scuttling closer on its spider legs, the overmaster bobbed and weaved its small head, looking for an opening to deliver a vicious bite. It moved its body like a fencer, head and neck like the sword. It feinted, then riposted when Teldin’s thrusts carried him past the mark, and the supple neck dodged Teldin’s strikes with artful ease.
Teldin’s every block and thrust grew weaker. The adrenaline and fear that had sustained his body for so long were fading, leaving only a hollow shell. The concentration it took to battle the overmaster simply was not there. With each strike, the neogi edged closer to Teldin, confident that soon it would make the kill.
“Meat, surrender,” the overmaster crooned confidently. “Only cloak I want. Failed your friends have. Most powerful my lordservant is. Help you they cannot. Their dying you hear.” The raging screams of battle still issued from the hallway. Teldin paused for a moment, listening to the neogi’s words, and the overmaster lunged at the opportunity. The tottering human barely beat back the attack. “Cloak you give me, human. Then kill you I will not – eat you I will not. With cloak offer generosity I can. Only slave you will be.”
Teeth clenched, Teldin lunged forward. Eversharp nipped the neogi’s shoulder and tore away the little spider-thing’s robe, revealing the brown-furred body underneath.
“No! I can still kill you!” The cloakmaster seethed, but his timing and speed were off. Before he could recover, the neogi darted in and struck. Rows of razored teeth clamped down of Teldin’s forearm, biting almost to the bone.
“Aaahh!” Teldin screamed as first pain, then numbness seized his arm. His fingers spasmed, releasing Eversharp, which clattered to the floor. The neogi clung on and, with a vicious tug, threw the farmer to his knees. The overmaster twisted the human’s arm, triumphantly forcing his prey to the floor until the little neogi towered over Teldin. The farmer stared up into the neogi’s face, its blood-soaked jaws still clamped on his arm and its little eyes gloating with victory.
“First section! Prepare to fire!” echoed Gomja’s voice over the din. Teldin had forgotten the giff, and a wild notion of rescuing Gomja leaped into his pain-racked mind. The human clung to it, refusing to surrender. His fingers touched his spear haft and weakly wrapped around it.
As Teldin struggled to strike a blow, the corridor erupted in a blast. A wind of steam and debris whipped past the battling pair, and the floor buckled, flinging the two apart. Teldin’s ears were numb, nearly deaf. As the vapor roiled away, the farmer looked down the corridor, searching for the overmaster or umber hulk. The neogi was huddled in a ball across the hallway; all that remained of the umber hulk was a black smear that covered the floor, walls, and ceiling. Something wet loosened from the ceiling and hit the floor with a plop.
The overmaster gaped at the carnage. “Dead – my lord-servant, the neogi said slowly. It almost sounded sorrowful. “Killed it meat did.”
Teldin didn’t wait for the distracted creature to recover, knowing he could not allow the risk. With a desperate lunge, the yeoman thrust Eversharp, catching the overmaster just below the head. The startled neogi gave a squawk of surprise as the human bore down with all his might, driving the spear cleanly through the gray flesh. The legs flailed madly while the overmaster futilely bit and snapped at the shaft. Teldin gripped the lance with both hands to keep the squirming neogi from tearing free. Slowly the death-struggles ceased, until only random spasms shook the dying form. His energy spent, the cloakmaster sagged beside the slain foe.
“Sir!” came Gomja’s voice, muted in Teldin’s ringing ears. The giff lumbered down the hall to where the human lay sprawled. “Sir, you’re alive!”
Teldin weakly pulled himself up as confirmation. “Gomja,” he mumbled with heart-felt relief, “what are you doing here?” The farmer slid back to the floor, and the giff gently eased Teldin to his feet.
“Counterattack, sir. We’ve cleared nearly all of Mount Nevermind.” Cradling Teldin in one big arm, Gomja paused to issue orders to the impatiently waiti
ng gnomes. A squad quickly hurried down the hail to the door at the other end and, with an amazing assemblage of tools and devices, set to work on cutting open the portal. Teldin vaguely wondered if any of them had tried the handle first.
“… attacked by surprise here. Nearly all the neogi were ashore, so there wasn’t much resistance,” Gomja was saying. The human had missed most of the explanation, but he really didn’t care. The giff guided his weakened companion forward. A cry of triumph rose from the gnomes as the door – the entire bulkhead, frame and all – fell in with a crash. Weapons brandished with reckless abandon, the pot-helmed little warriors rushed into the chamber, ignoring Gomja’s shouted commands for order and discipline.
Luck was with the gnomes, for the room was deserted. It appeared to be the bridge, for in the center of the room was a large chair that Teldin guessed was the captain’s. A long table, spread with charts, stood to one side, and three huge, round portholes dominated the wails, offering a broad view of the lake beneath the ship. Through a single porthole Teldin could see the deck of the Unquenchable not far below. A stream of gnomes scurried down the pier, carrying huge bundles on their backs, while another line hurried from the dreadnought to fetch another load.
Elsewhere on the crater floor Teldin saw the gleam of metal sparsely punctuated by sudden clouds of steam. A scattered line of neogi and their lordservants were being driven away from the gates of Nevermind. Teldin could barely distinguish the shiny forms of the gnome warriors in their pot-topped armor, though their absurd war engines – bizarre catapults and throwing devices – stood out clearly. The gnomes seemed to be winning, perhaps because of their sheer numbers, but the neogi were making an orderly retreat. The farmer weakly wondered why the invaders were retreating toward the far end of the crater.
Suddenly the deck lurched under Teldin’s feet, though not from an explosion, as he had first thought. “Aha!” cried the gnomes with glee. One of their number, nicknamed “Salaman” for Teldin’s benefit, who was an old, puffy-faced fellow with eyes more sagacious than most, who sat in the chair with a look of intense concentration on his face. The deck quivered again, causing the gnomes to cheer once more. Teldin stared back out the porthole for a clue.
At first Teldin could see nothing extraordinary, certainly nothing that would cause the tinkers to break into cheers. Then he noticed the ship’s shadow below them. It moved, rippling over the broken crater floor. The Unquenchable was no longer where it had been; the neogi ship had shifted to port, and the lake’s blue water was coming closer.
“Attention,” began one of the senior gnomes, or so Teldin judged from the little tinker’s wrinkled face, bushy, gray eyebrows, and incongruous gray braids, “upon making contact with the water, artifice engineers will begin dismantling the spelljamming helm and transfer it to the Unquenchable before this ship, which our naval engineers have determined is unseaworthy, sinks —”
“Sir,” Gomja called from across the room, “are you able to walk, sir, or would you like me to arrange a litter? We can’t stay on this ship too much longer.”
“I can walk,” Teldin insisted. Even though his legs felt like lead, his streak of familial stubbornness refused any aid. He took two steps and pitched forward as the ship jerkily lowered. Gomja quickly came to his side.
“Let me help you, sir. We have to hurry.” Teldin shot him a quizzical look, too fogged to understand Gomja’s meaning. “The gnomes plan to land this ship beside the Unquenchable, sir. I don’t think deathspiders float very well.” Lending support to Teldin, Gomja stopped near the crew of tinkers busily disassembling the captain’s chair. “How long will it take you to get the helm out?”
The gray-braided supervisor looked up and popped an oversized jeweler’s loupe out of his eye. “Well, the whole frame attachment is counter-buckled to the —”
“I asked how long, Section Three,” Gomja groused. The gnome paled and earnestly held up five fingers.
“Five minutes, Sergeant Gomja,” the gnome briskly said.
“Make it four.” Without waiting for a reply, Gomja guided his friend to the door.
“What was that all about?” Teldin asked in a shaky voice as the giff led him down the hall.
“Just a little discipline, sir,” Gomja cheerfully replied. “Oh,” Teldin commented, unconvinced. There was a loud splash and the deck bounced as the deathspider hit the water. Recovering from the jolt, Gomja hurriedly lifted the weakened human from the floor and urged him toward the gangway. The hull creaked and groaned as the water quickly seeped into the lower hold.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’d better hurry,” Gomja explained, scooping Teldin up before the human could protest. The giff cradled his frail friend in his massive arms and set out at a jarring sprint for the upper decks.
“What about the gnomes? What was that thing they were working on? The helm, you called it?” Teldin painfully asked as they bounced along.
“The helm? It’s the engine, the thing that makes a spelljammer go,” Gomja explained between pants.
“That thing? It was like a chair,” Teldin said.
“Well, sir, that’s what it is. Without it, this deathspider will never fly – and the gnomes can use it on the Unquenchable. I don’t really understand, but the tinkers do.” Gomja strode up a ramp to the upper deck. Bright sunlight assailed Teldin’s eyes as the giff stepped onto the weapons deck. A team of gnomes was swarming over a half-disassembled catapult, passing the pieces to a boat waiting over the side. Reaching the edge of the deck, Teldin could see bubbles rise as water rushed into the deathspider’s bowels. The human reveled in the thought of the great old master trapped in fast-flooding chambers.
“It’s time to leave, sir,” Gomja said, lowering Teldin, bleeding and bruised, to the outstretched hands below. A gnomish flotilla, rowboats that looked as if they couldn’t possibly float, waited alongside.
Chapter Twenty-four
Gomja was dozing at a small conference table, his head flat on the metal surface, when Teldin finally tottered onto the Unquenchable’s bridge. His cloak, prize of the neogi, flapped against his arms as the wind blew through the open doorway. Teldin tugged the door shut, listening to the creaks and groans as the counterweights and pulleys slid the valves into place. The door was definitely a piece of gnomish work.
The racket was even enough to rouse the normally hard to wake giff. With a tired lurch, the big alien pushed back the little chair he precariously perched on and brought himself to attention. “Good afternoon, sir!” Trooper Gomja hailed.
Teldin stared in wonderment, perhaps at the clutter of dials and levers on the tiny bridge, perhaps only in confusion over the missing hours. “What happened?” the cloakmaster finally asked, trying to get some bearing on where he was.
“We rescued you, sir, from the neogi,” Gomja carefully explained, suddenly concerned for his friend. “Do you remember the deathspider, getting on the rowboats?” Teldin nodded, and the giff continued, “You collapsed, sir, so I had them bring you over to the Unquenchable where I could keep an eye on you. I wouldn’t trust a gnome doctor unless I was around.”
“Thank you for that,” Teldin said paling slightly at the thought of what a tinker might do to his body. “But how did you rescue me, and with gnomes to boot?” Still somewhat wobbly, the farmer gently lowered himself onto one of the ridiculously small gnomish chairs.
Gomja smiled. “It wasn’t that hard, sir. After you left, I organized my gnomes into a proper platoon, as a sergeant should. The little fellows were quite taken by the idea and spread it around. At one point, the whole mountain was a single platoon, but I managed to get that straightened out!” Gomja cheerfully allowed, banging his fist on the table at the humor of the thought. Once they got the idea, the gnomes were just demons for fighting. They don’t like being kicked out of their mountain, I guess.”
“They drove the neogi out?” Teldin asked in disbelief. It was hard to imagine the gnomes resolute about anything.
“Just about, sir.” Gomja poi
nted with his big finger to the top of the cone of Mount Nevermind, clearly visible through the bridge windows. “The gnomes have pushed the neogi into those small spires. There’re only a few of the beasts in the uppermost towers, levels thirty-seven through thirty-nine. The neogi are trapped and can’t retreat. I’ve got six platoons up there trying to root them out. We’d have them out by now except for that other deathspider.”
Teldin sat up straight at the words, inducing a wave of pain through his stiff shoulders. “What other deathspider? I thought there was only one!”
“Not anymore, sir,” the giff grimly explained, pointing in the opposite direction. There, framed by the window, was the malevolent, black shape of a second spider-ship, hovering over the far end of the crater lake. “It showed up a few hours ago. It’s my fault, sir. I forgot these things travel in packs. So far, it hasn’t done anything. My guess is that they’re waiting for reinforcements.”
Teldin’s bandaged arm throbbed. “Then?” The answer was obvious, but fatigue was making it hard to think.
Gomja scanned the ground between the enemy ship and the crater wall. “Then I think the neogi will attack again, better organized and with more forces. The gnomes might not fare so well against a serious attack.”
“I thought we just had one,” Teldin remarked, not encouraged by the giff’s gloomy claim.
Gomja shook his big head. “No, sir. With only one ship, that was more like a raid. I imagine the neogi didn’t expect resistance, but now they’ll be prepared for a fight.”
“Until they get the cloak,” Teldin added as an unpleasant afterthought. The fabric hung on his shoulders like lead, the burden of death it carried suddenly crushing.
“I suppose so, sir.”
Teldin painfully ambled to a porthole window and looked out over the deck. From on board, the Unquenchable seemed more like a proper ship, though still strange in its design. Unlike the ocean-going Silver Spray, the gnomish vessel appeared to have the flat hull of a riverboat, with the decks stacked on the hull. Each deck was surrounded by a balcony that opened onto all the cabins for that level. A crazy assemblage of ladders and stairs manage to ruin the neat-seeming arrangement, but Teldin was certain the gnomes considered these an improvement.
