Afew of the riders stood out from the already distinctive group and Teldin took note of them. One, sporting an eyepatch and a mane of black hair, carried two great knives cross-belted over his chain mail shirt. Another, dressed only in simple browns, studied the newcomers as he waxed the string of his long bow. These two, in particular, seemed to stand out from the rest of the group.

Just as Teldin studied them, the score of riders carefully looked the farmer over. There was no hatred or rancor in their looks, only cool contempt bred by their survival instincts. Finally Vandoorm broke the spell. “We are ready to ride, Moore. Meschior will get a horse for you while you say good-bye to your . . . companion.” Vandoorm nodded toward the giff.

“He wants to come along,” Teldin answered tersely, stepping closer to the giff.

The mercenary captain stopped and looked at Teldin. “That’s not what you said last night,” Vandoorm replied in surprise.

“Things change,” Teldin answered with a shrug. “Now he wants to come with me.”

The shorter man puckered his mouth in thought, clearly a little skeptical of the new arrangement. “Come here,” he finally ordered the enormous, cloaked stranger facing him.

“Yes, sir!” Gomja boomed from within the folds that still covered his face. In true military manner, the giff briskly stepped forward and snapped rigidly to attention. “Trooper Gomja requesting permission to sign on, sir!”

Looking around the giff, Teldin smiled as Vandoorm arched an eyebrow in surprise. At five feet tall, the captain’s nose barely reached the middle of Gomja’s chest. “Can you use a sword?” Vandoorm finally asked.

‘‘Yes, sir!’’

“Have you fought in battle?”

Gomja hesitated for a moment, then decided the Penumbra's crash counted-sort of. “Yes, sir.”

“Have you kill a man?”

Looking dead ahead, avoiding Vandoorm’s gaze, Gomja answered, “No, sir.” The giff stood waiting for more questions, but Vandoorm just let him wait. Instead the captain slowly circled the giff, noting the pudgy, blue-gray hands, the thick legs, and the wide shoulders.

“I do not know, Teldin. For you I say yes, but first I will ask my lieutenants,” Vandoorm commented as he stopped beside his old friend. “Brun, Meschior, we talk.” Walking away from Teldin, Vandoorm motioned for his two aides to join him. Teldin, not too surprised, noticed that it was the one-eyed man and the archer who joined their captain. The three held a quiet conversation, punctuated by stares at the giff and Teldin and a few sharply pointed fingers. Teldin could not hear what they said, but he guessed from their expressions that it was not going well. When the discussion ended, all three came over, Vandoorm in the lead.

“Like me, my lieutenants do not like this,” the bearded captain announced, talking mainly to Teldin. “He looks strong, but why does he hide his face?”

“I told you last night what the Dark Queen did to him,” Teldin quickly offered before the giff might say something else. “It draws too much attention in town, so it’s better if he stays covered up.” Gomja, learning his part, nodded in agreement.

The answer wasn’t good enough for Vandoorm. “Show me your face,” he demanded, turning to the giff. Gomja turned to ask Teldin, but all the farmer could answer with was a shrug. Reluctantly, the giff slowly opened the folds of the blanket. As he pulled back the cloth just enough for them to see, Vandoorm, Brun, and Meschior pressed close like boys eager to peek into a tavern wench’s bedroom. Getting a view of Gomja’s face, Vandoorm’s eyes widened slightly. The gaze of the other two remained as hard and unreadable as before. Finally, the captain spoke in slow measure. "I see why you cover him up. He would draw attention in town." He glanced back at Gomja, sizing up the giff up in a new light. With hardly a look at his aides, Vandoorm casually added, "Good fighter, I think. He comes. Get the men ready to ride." This last was addressed to his lieutenants.

The mercernary leader turned to Teldin and clapped him on the back. "I do this because you are like a son, Tel. On the trip, you'll pay me back, I am sure." He broke into a laugh on seeing the puzzled, panicked look that crossed the farmer's face. "You take care of my horses, I take care of you. Come now, let's get you a horse." Grabbing Teldin by the elbow, Vandoorm led the farmer to the waiting company for instructions. Gomja, pleased with the results, trailed after the two.

They were quickly underway, but soon the ride became monotonous, just the steady plodding of horse hooves over the dusty road. Even walking alongside, Gomja was able to keep pace fairly well. Outside the city, the giff did away with the hot and stifling blanket over his face. The first appearance of the blue-gray monstrosity in their midst caused considerable consternation amoung the men at first, but they quicky concealed their surprise and curiosity, except for the occasional watchful glances from the corners of their eyes.

That night, the group camped in the foothills of the Dargaard Mountains. Somewhere to the south, not too distant, was the ill-omened fortress of Dargaard Keep. Although well inside the borders of Solamnia, The man kept careful watch, mindful of the tales told of Lord Soth and his dark stronghold.

Finished with his soup of dried peas and herbs, Teldin sat close to the fire. The night sky was clear and the sun's warmth had quickly drained away, replaced by a cool breeze from the mountains. The campfire provided good protection from the unseasonable chill. Teldin considered producing the cloak but desided against it. He distrusted its powers, for while it was an inanimate thing, it seemed to have the knack of causing more trouble than it solved. Besides, he was just as happy not to be reminded of the cure he wore around his neck. Gomja, ever conscious of danger, sat farther from the fire, carefully positioned to watch the others as much as he could.

Vandoorm finished his rounds of the men and squatted beside Teldin. " I thought last night you had a cloak – a warm-looking one." The warrior yawned and picked at his beard.

"Yes," Teldin answered slowly. Although the question was innocent enough, any curiosity about the cloak made Teldin wary. His first instinct was to deny the cloak's existence, but logically he knew that was impossible.

"It is foolish to sit in the cold, that is all." Vandoorm smiled and spread his hands.

Teldin's blue eyes narrowed, nervously scanning the captain from head to toe. "It was a cousin's. I borrowed it and gave it back."

"Ah. Do you need a blanket? I have extras for an old friend," Vandoorm generously offered. When Teldin shook his head, the captain smiled and shrugged. " Always the same. My generosity you do not need." Vandoorm nodded toward Gomja. "The strange one – you met him in the war?"

"Sort of" Teldin lied. The tale of Gomja and the Dark Queen was not going to hold up if Vandoorm started asking too many questions. The veteran knew more about the War of the Lance than Teldin and certainly more than Gomja. The farmer did not want to risk their fraud being discovered. "He showed up on my farm, not long after the war. The poor thing doesn't really remember what happened."

"Much better that way," Vandoorm grunted. "You told him all about us, right? How I am like your father?"

Teldin chuckled at the captain's good-humored vanity. "Only a little, Vandoorm. Stories could never do you justice."

"Ah, maybe I'll tell him how I taught you to drink like a real soldier." the mercernary ribbed as he kicked a log farther into the small fire. "You remember, eh?"

"Oh, I still remember, Vandoorm. How could I ever forget your lessons?" That drink, a young farmer's first, was quite unforgettable in Teldin's mind. Then there were Vandoorm's lessons in avoiding guard duty, camp life, requisitioning supplies, and whoring. Vandoorm had been an excellent teacher in the practical business of soldiering.