Free Beyond the Moons by David Cook Page B

remained, more sensations than images – those of a terrible pressure, then something tearing at his chest. Whatever he had dreamed, Teldin was thankful he did not fully remember it with the dawn.
    Sitting up on his bed of leaves and moss, the farmer brushed the dirt from his clothes and threw the cloak back over his shoulders. He looked ruefully at his shirt. The brown linen was scorched and stained, marked by large smears of dirt and blood. His cotton trousers were little better, marked by tatters and unraveling threads. Unfortunately, nearly all his other clothes had been lost in the blaze. The cloak, curiously enough, wasn’t stained at all.
    “Best to wash what I’ve got. Wouldn’t want my cousins to think me a beggar,” Teldin muttered.
    At the stream edge, Teldin kicked off his shoes and pulled down his trousers. His ankles and shins were scratched and scraped, and there were several new large bruises on his calves and thighs. No wonder he ached with every step. “Explains the bad sleep,” Teldin muttered crossly as he got ready to bathe.
    The cloak would have to come off before Teldin could remove his shirt, he reasoned. Up to now, he’d had no luck with the clasp, because it had jammed somehow. It was either that or it obviously didn’t work the way he thought. Sitting on a stone at the edge of the bank, Teldin pressed his chin down to his chest, trying to see the small silver chain that held the cloak around his neck. It was ornate workmanship. The fine links of chain ended in two small lion-headed clasps. At least, Teldin assumed they were lions. The silvery jaws gripped each other in an intricate death struggle, holding the chains shut.
    Teldin looked for a catch that would open the jaws. He tried pressing the eyes and nose, squeezing at the jaws, and pushing on the top of the head. Nothing happened. Stumped, he tried turning the heads. Perhaps they needed to be twisted in just some certain way, he thought.
    As Teldin fiddled with the clasp, a shadow fell over his shoulder. “Trouble, sir?” rumbled the giff, standing behind him.
    Teldin gave a sour look over his shoulder at the giff towering over him. Apparently the creature could move quietly. Teldin cautiously shifted around to put himself at less of a disadvantage. “It’s this clasp. I can’t seem to get it open, he grumbled. “Your captain ever take this off?”
    “She never wore it until the neogi appeared,” Gomja answered.
    “Hmm?” It wasn’t the answer Teldin had expected. He gave a yank on the chains, trying to pull the clasp apart. “How so?”
    Trooper Gomja unwound his filthy sash. “I remember the captain went below when the neogi first appeared. She said she needed to get her advantage. She came back wearing the cloak.” The giff began unbuttoning his blouse.
    “Advantage?” The more Teldin learned, the more puzzled he became.
    “That is what she said.” The giff peeled off his uniform. “Besides, she must have been able to remove it. She gave it to you, didn’t she? You jammed it, sir.”
    Teldin doubted that greatly. The clasp did not look broken. He stared at the little eyes of the animal heads. “Is this thing magical, maybe?”
    Trooper Gomja looked up from pulling off his trousers. His ears twitched warily. “I don’t know. Never had much use for magical stuff,” he muttered. In a louder voice the giff continued, “Could be, I suppose. The captain seemed to think wearing it would help.” Trooper Gomja’s words were carefully chosen and guarded.
    Teldin chewed at his lip, vexed with the problem. He tried wiggling a fang. Nothing happened. “Did she? What’s it supposed to do?”
    “I don’t know. sir. The captain never told me,” came the matter-of-fact answer. Naked, but unseen by Teldin’s occupied eyes, Trooper Gomja waded into the center of the stream and gingerly sat down in the cold water.
    “Well, did you see anything? Did your captain, or this cloak, do anything special?” Teldin stood, his