Gomja, having assiduously worked all day to restore his tattered uniform, lumbered aft in a pair of deep blue trousers fixed with patches scrounged from the crew. Closer inspection showed the thick stitches of sail-cord that held each square in place. The giff's orange sash was carefully pleated to hide the smudges he could not wash out. Peeking through the folds of his brilliant cummerbund were the butts of his two pistols and five knives that somehow just seemed to end up in Gomja’s possession. A cutlass was tucked completely through the sash, and a rapier swung in the hanger at his side. To add the final touch, the giff's smooth, blue-gray skin was lightly oiled, so that it glistened in the evening light.

The captain’s cabin was at the bottom of the narrow stair to the aft companionway and, for a moment, Teldin was not sure the broad-shouldered giff would fit into the tight passage. Finally, stooped and hunched, Gomja squeezed down the little staircase, though the risers creaked ominously with every shift of his substantial weight.

Thus, with their arrival well-announced ahead of them, Cwelanas was on hand to open the door to her father’s cabin before Teldin had any chance to knock. The farmer barely remembered his manners upon seeing her, stopping a surprised gasp half-completed and hoping his eyes were not too wide. The elf maiden once again had forgone her manly attire and wore a gown made of material like none Teldin had ever seen, an ice-blue gauze that floated on the slightest breeze. It swirled over her arms in the delicate breeze of the opening door. The cloth was sheer, no heavier than the dust-coated cobwebs Teldin used to find in his chicken coop. Cwelanas’s gown was fashioned from layers of the material, cunningly laid on to look like haphazard piecework or the trembling leaves of a frost-kissed tree. The pale skin of her legs, arms, and bosom were barely covered by the thinnest layers. Ends and edges trailed and flowed off her shoulders and hips. Her silvery hair was tied up in careful braids and from somewhere the elf maid had gotten a circlet of small daisies for her brow. Cwelanas’s eyes sparkled and glowed, filled with a mischievous light.

Standing by the door, the maiden said nothing, but waited for Teldin to speak. Finally a wry smile crept onto her narrow lips. “Will you come in?” she asked pointedly. Cwelanas could not disguise the relish she felt at Teldin’s stupefaction, and Teldin, for his part, could not tell if it was due to feminity or her elven nature.

“We would be delighted, wouldn’t we, sir?” Gomja swiftly intervened. The giff was apparently immune to Cwelanas’s significant charms.

Teldin clapped his mouth shut, realizing he was gawking like a fool. “Yes, of course,” the human mumbled. This time, Teldin could feel his face flush, which only made him more self-conscious.

At the back of the cabin, Luciar rose from his stool like a fragile bird rising from its perch. “Do come in, my friends.” The invitation bore no trace of Luciar’s customary formality. Teldin stepped inside, trying desperately not to trip over his own feet. “I fear my ceilings are too low for one as tall as you,” the captain remarked as Gomja ducked through the doorway. The captain wore robes of slippery, red silk, girdled with a belt of intricately tooled leather dyed subtle shades of green.

The cabin was a spartan affair, which surprised Teldin somewhat. During the afternoon Teldin had tried to guess its appearance, imagining an exotic lair of carved beams cleverly done to look like a forest grove or a dark den filled with the arcane hardware that must be a wizard’s stock in trade. In truth, the room held little more than a few stools, three tables, and a pair of chests. The silver-wood ceiling gleamed brightly in the fading sunlight reflected from the waves, dispelling all gloomy shadows from the chamber. A pile of neatly folded blankets, the captain’s bedding, was stacked in one corner, ready for the night. All in all, Teldin found himself just a little bit disappointed at the severity of the surroundings.

“A seat at my table is what I extend,” Luciar said graciously. The words were apparently a ritualistic greeting, for neither the old captain nor his daughter made a move to sit, but waited for their guests to act.

Gomja dubiously eyed the slender stools placed around the table. “I don’t mind sitting on the floor, sir’ the giff offered. “I fear my weight may be too much for your furniture, and I wouldn’t want to break anything.” The alien eased himself gently to the deck.

“Indeed, we are a small people compared to one as large as you,” Cwelanas apologetically offered as she floated to her father’s side. Her bare feet padded lightly over the wood. Seeing that the human was still standing, she assumed the tone of a woman tending to her family. “Everyone to your seats, before our dinner grows cold.”

“Cwelanas has prepared this meal for us, so we would all be wise to heed her.” Captain Luciar smiled mockingly at his daughter, the first smile Teldin had seen the captain make during the entire voyage. Luciar offered a stool to Teldin, waiting for the human to sit before taking his own place, which was framed by the sterncastle windows. Teldin sat opposite the captain and could look past the old elf to the sea beyond. Gomja sat crosslegged on the floor, and the table still came only partway up his chest.

Once everyone was settled, Cwelanas set small platters in front of her guests, then took her own seat at the end of the table. From there she passed covered bowls around the table. Lifting the first lid, Teldin found the dish was nothing like what he ate with the rest of the crew. Here the interminable diet of boiled beans, dried vegetables, hardtack, and pickles was replaced by fresh vegetables floating in boiled, spiced wine, steamed breads, fresh fruits, and sweets of sticky grains and candied dates. Though it still lacked meat, the farmer was not about to complain and savored the rich smells that rose from the small pots.

As the food was served, neither Luciar nor his daughter spoke and Teldin quickly guessed the meal was to be eaten in silence, apparently another type of elven custom. Observing the delicate care his hosts used in selecting their

small portions, Teldin contained his hunger and slowly relished each small piece. Gomja tried to practice restraint, though his “small” servings were still large enough for everyone else at the table.

After the candied fruits were passed for the last time and everyone had swallowed their last bites, Luciar rose from his stool, signaling the meal’s end. It was just as well, for not a scrap remained on Teldin’s or Gomja’s plates. Placing his hands on the table, the captain looked toward both Teldin and Gomja. “Teldin Moore, there are many things about you I do not know-why you want to go to Mount Nevermind, who you run from, what your companion truly is, or how you came by the wondrous cloak you wear.” Teldin’s eyebrows shot up at that statement. Luciar smiled, bemused at Teldin’s reaction. “I knew. I am a wizard of the Red Robes. Magic like yours is not so easily hidden. Do not fear. The secret will remain unspoken.

“Most of all, I do not know why my ship was chosen to bear you, but for that I am grateful.” The old elf paused to take a long breath. As he stood before the cabin windows, Luciar clasped his hands. “When you first asked for passage, I said there was nothing you could offer me. I was wrong, Teldin Moore. You rescued that which is most dear to me, and there is no treasure that will show my gratitude.” Luciar stopped, his voice trembling with emotion. “And you, our gigantic friend,” the captain finally continued, “fought for my ship, which I hold almost as dear.” His shoulders square and firm once again, the captain walked across the cabin to where an assortment of weapons hung on pegs. Luciar took down a slim-shafted spear and a razor- edged sword, then studied each weapon with loving respect for the craftsmanship.