Teldin fled, blindly scrambling along the quay. Fear forced him into a hunched run; instinct somehow kept him behind the shelter of the fishermen’s nets and traps. Screams ended abruptly. Clacking mandibles and soft, fleshy rips faded and welcome darkness cloaked the terrified farmer. Teldin ran on, turning and twisting blindly. He gasped for breath, his throat raw and thick. Pain seared his heaving chest. He sprinted until, exhausted, he could run no more. Still he lurched on.

Dirty, sweaty, and blood-stained, talking fiercely to himself and staggering as he walked, Teldin gained a wide and fearsome berth amid the Palanthians he passed on his way back to the inn.

Given his blood-smeared and panicked state, Teldin had little difficulty persuading Gomja that it was well past time to leave Palanthas. Indeed, the giff gathered their belongs and strapped on his sword in a grimly satisfied mood. In his unspoken opinion, Vandoorm and his men had gotten only what they deserved. Still, Gomja wanted to stay and fight, but Teldin knew it was time to escape. The elves were sailing tomorrow and Teldin was determined to be on that ship when it left. Teldin and Gomja hurried out onto the night streets, leaving an awestruck and terrified innkeeper behind.

Somehow, the pair managed to reach the quay without incident. The Silver Spray was still moored there, riding higher in the water as the tide slowly came in. A lantern swung from the main boom, another over the aft companionway. The deck was deserted and the pair had little difficulty slipping aboard, though the gangplank groaned under the giffs weight. Relying on Gomja’s knowledge of ships, they found a hatch to the hold and dropped into the darkness below. There, by slowly groping their way, the two found what seemed a secure, if uncomfortable, nest.

Once they had settled in, all they could do was wait. Teldin periodically dozed until he had no idea what time it might be. At some point he was aware of a vaguely sickening motion as the whole world seemed to rise and fall at rhythmic intervals. This was accompanied by thin streams of sunlight around the edges of the hatch and planking above. Teldin ignored both these and Gomja’s voluminous snores, and drifted back to sleep.

“There! I told you I heard something,” cried a silvery voice muffled by the crates in the hold. “That way.”

The words roused the farmer from his sleep. The giff was already awake, trying to draw his sword while lurching to his feet. Teldin wriggled to avoid being crushed underfoot.

“Sir, I think we’ve been discovered,” the alien rumbled as he struggled to reach a good fighting position.

“Over there!” called an elven voice.

“Ahoy on deck, get the mate over here. Something’s going on!” another voice sang out.

Suddenly brilliant sunlight filled the hold as the main hatch cover was pulled away. Teldin and the giff shielded their eyes, unable to see clearly in the glare as three elves sprang forward. Lithe and lean, they held a menacing array of knives, gaffs, and spears pointed toward the two intruders.

“Stowaways, I told you!” announced one of the elves.

“A human!” breathed another.

“And a. . . what?” asked the third, jabbing at Gomja. The giff batted the gaff away with his sword. “Trooper Herphan Gomja, Red Grade, First Rank, Red Platoon.” he indignantly announced. “Stand back. groundlings. before a superior warrior of the giff descends upon you!

“Gomja,” Teldin snarled in an aside to his partner, “just shut up and surrender! I don’t think they mean to kill us.”

“Out of there, human, and your ogre friend, too,” ordered the tallest of the elves, who stood only up to Teldin’s nose. Still, the spear the elf waved added considerable impetus to his command.

“I am a giff,” Gomja proudly maintained as he and Teldin slowly clambered over the crates. The elves quickly took the pair’s swords and knives. They even took Gomja’s precious pistols, though not without eliciting a snarl from the defiant trooper. That done, the elves escorted their prisoners to the hatch, where more of their kin peered down from above. Even in the hold, Teldin could hear the elves on deck spreading the news.

“On deck, you two,” the spear-armed sailor ordered, pointing to the ladder. “Stand back,” he shouted to those waiting above, “stowaways coming up!” One section of the circle of elven heads parted and disappeared. “Now up!” the elf commanded, urging Teldin forward with the tip of his spear. For an instant, the farmer wanted to sink just one good punch into the elfs pale and delicate face. Perhaps seeing it in Teldin’s eyes, the elf quickly stepped back and repeated his command in less fearsome tones. “Up.”

Teldin climbed, but slowly, defiant at being herded. He knew that as a stowaway he had no right to expect better, but there was no way he was going to submit meekly to such treatment. When he reached the deck, the bright sunlight dazed Teldin, but, by shielding his eyes, he could make out the slim figures that made a broad ring about him. Somewhere overhead a gull squawked, and the rich salt bite of the air made his nose tingle.

“You? You are our hidden mouse?” a woman sneered. “I should have expected no less from your race.” There was no mistaking the sharply cutting words carried by the gentle chiming tones of her voice. His eyes adjusted, Teldin looked around until he saw Cwelanas standing across the hatch from him. With one bare foot on the lip of the opening, the elf maiden leaned forward. She wore different clothes from yesterday, simple trousers and a shirt bound with silk laces. Away from the port, she looked even less masculine than she had the day before. For some reason, she smiled, not an overly friendly smile, but a smile nonetheless. “You are determined to get to Sancrist, aren’t you?” She turned to one of the crew. “Fetch Captain Luciar.” The elf crewman hurried to obey.

A strangled shout followed by a crash and a thump ended Teldin’s need to reply. “Help!” screamed a voice, not Gomja’s, from the hold. That cry, too, ended in a series of wooden thuds as crates tumbled and barrels rolled loose in the hold. Teldin tore free of the hands that grabbed at him and lunged forward till his chest was pressing against the hatch rim, trying to see what was happening below. The farmer looked down to see the giff hunched warily in a fighter’s pose. In one hand he held a spear, the one Teldin recognized as belonging to the tall elf who’d found them. Of Gomja’s three captors, one half-sat, half-sprawled against a bulkhead with his head lolling from side to side, one lay half-buried under crates, and one was obviously laid out on the floor, his feet sticking out of the darkness. Teldin guessed they all were still alive.

The farmer was unable to suppress a cheer for his companion. Seeing their captors coldcocked gave Teldin particular satisfaction, a sense of victory he really enjoyed.

With a gasp of astonishment, Cwelanas drew the saber that hung at her side. Teldin looked up in time to see her legs tense. “Gomja, stop!” he bellowed before the elf could make her move. The giff whirled and looked up at Teldin, instantly relaxing upon seeing his commander unharmed. His eyes tracked to the other side of the hatch, where Cwelanas lurked. “Onto the deck,” Teldin ordered, content with the display the giff had made. He did not want to see his friend killed. With a rumble of disgust, Gomja threw down the spear and climbed out of the hold, each rung of the ladder creaking forbiddingly under his weight. Once he was on deck, all but Cwelanas warily backed away.

“No more fighting, Trooper Gomja,” Teldin ordered as the giff clambered on deck.

“It’s not the giff way to surrender without a fight, sir, the big, blue creature protested. “That would be without honor-but now I have beaten them, so there is no shame.”