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.

Teldin woke to the sound of hoofbeats drumming away into the distance. Spitting out an oath under his breath, the farmer struggled up out of his blankets, certain that he had overslept. It would be just like Vandoorm to take off and force Teldin to hurry and catch up, the captain’s idea of a great joke. “Gomja!” he cried, not shouting but loud enough for the giff to hear.

“Quiet, sir!” a bass voice answered, vibrating with urgency. Suddenly Teldin realized it was still dark. It was not morning and Vandoorm had not broken camp yet. It’s me-Gomja, sir,” the giff explained in a whisper. His huge form loomed up out of the blackness.

Teldin lay still, completely confused. “What? What’s happening?” he whispered back.

The giff stood to, reacting to his commander. “It’s Vandoorm and Brun, sir. While I was on guard, they took their horses and rode out of camp. They were talking about something, and I heard our names.

“What-huh?” Teldin sputtered. He turned to look toward the main camp. There was flickering movement before the dull light of the fires and in seeing it Teldin had a flash of panic. He relaxed almost as quickly when he realized it was only the movement of a sleeping man rolling over. ‘So?”

“1 don’t like it, sir,” the giff stated flatly. “It would be better if we knew what they were doing.”

For a moment, Teldin considered telling Gomja to go back to sleep. There was a tone, though, in the giffs voice that suggested the creature might, just possibly, be right. Rubbing at the sleep in his eyes, Teldin finally agreed.

“OK, how do we follow them?”

The giff looked up toward the starlit sky. “It’s dark, so they can’t ride fast, sir. And I can see well in this light, so, if we hurry, we should be able to catch up with them."

Realizing the urgency, Teidin pulled on his shirt and jacket, then snatched up his hanger and fastened the cutlass around his waist. The metal buckles clinked and Teldin cursed the noise under his breath, hoping the other men didn’t hear anything unusual. “What about my horse?”

“I have already scouted the area, sir,” Gomja continued. "I do not think we can take it without waking the others.”

“Well, we don’t want that,” Teldin agreed as he hopped about, trying to pull a boot on. “Gather up our gear, just in case.” The pair hastily stowed what little was easily available. “Leave the rest,” Teldin ordered. Looking toward the other side of the camp, he could see the shadowed silhouettes of the sleeping men. “Ready to go?”

Gomja nodded. “I will take the lead, sir, if it is all right with you.” The giff shrugged the larger pack onto his shoulder. In one hand he carried a knife, the blade rubbed with dirt to keep it from glinting in the dim light. “Your sword, sir,” Gomja reminded the human.

“What? Oh, yes.” Teldin pulled his cutlass from its scabbard, a little embarrassed that he had forgotten all about it. “Now, let’s go.”

In the narrow canyon, the night was intense. The brilliant silver of Solinari was nearly gone, leaving only the red gleam of Lunitari, partially blocked by the high ridges, and weak starlight to see by. Gomja led slowly, circling the darkness at the edge of the camp, working toward the trail that led to the main canyon.

Once on that trail, the giff set the pace at a slow lope, taking care not to move too far ahead of the night-blind human. Where necessary Gomja hissed out warnings of roots, rocks, or holes in the trail. Trying to slip away as quietly as he could, Teldin winced every time a stone clattered underfoot.

Just as they neared the intersection with the main road, Gomja came to a stop and held one hand behind to warn the human of his move, not that Teldin could really see it. “What-” Teldin began.

“Quiet, sir,” Gomja cautioned in the softest whisper possible. “There are voices ahead.” Teldin strained to listen but could not hear anything. Undoubtedly the gills adjustable ears were more sensitive than his.

“I can’t hear a thing,” Teldin protested. “Who is it? What are they saying?” Gomja did not answer but, after a pause, carefully led the way forward. Gradually Teldin could hear murmurs, then distinct voices. His eyes adjusting to the dark, the human could see shapes that might be people-or rocks

“Brun, take the creature. I want Tel alive, but you kill the other one.” The voice was unmistakably Vandoorm’s accented tone.

“It’s about time. We waited too long already,” snarled another voice. Probably Brun, Teldin guessed. “Should have done it when we had the thing chained.”

“And if the big one broke loose, what then?” was Vandoorm’s reply. “I want no mistakes. Do this and we are well paid in Palanthas.”

“Sir,” Gomja’s bass whispered in Teldin’s ear, “give me my pistols. The enemy commander has foolishly revealed his position. If I have my pistols, I can put a ball in him from here. This would give us the element of surprise.”

“No,” Teldin hissed back. He still didn’t understand what Vandoorm was doing. The man was his friend, after all. Whatever was going one, Teldin refused to believe that Vandoorm was a willing part of it.

“But, sir, we are defenseless,” the giff pleaded. “At least give me my weapons!”

Teldin felt for the strange sticks he carried in his bundle, remembering how Gomja had once threatened him with one like them. Considering the effect then, Teldin could not understand why the giff wanted them now. “Are they that useful?”

“Yes, sir, and I swear I will not use them against you,” Gomja earnestly offered.

“Or Vandoorm,” Teldin insisted after brief consideration.