“These things have belonged to the House of Olonaes for many centuries,” the captain softly said, looking toward his guests as he spoke. “It is said they were forged by the dwarves during the Age of Might and enchanted by my ancestors. They are named ‘Eversharp’-” Here he held out the spear-”and ‘Brilliance.'" The old elf stopped and let the evening light play over the half-drawn sword blade. The metal did more than reflect the sunlight; it radiated a dazzling spectrum of colors. The brilliance shone no less from the spearhead. Teldin squinted in amazement at the weapons’ magnificence.

“Take them. Each is given according to your skills,” Lunat abruptly urged, pressing the spear into Teldin’s hands and the sword into Gomja’s. “Accept these gifts as a sign of the friendship between my family and yours."

Holding the spear, Teldin was flabbergasted. This was a gift beyond value, certainly more than he deserved. The farmer rose from his stool and bowed clumsily to the elf. “I stowed away on board your ship, sir,” Teldin protested. “That doesn’t make me worthy of such a gift.” He held the spear out, offering it back to Luciar.

“You will take it,” the old elf said firmly as he looked into the human’s eyes. “I think shadows of death hover close to you, Teldin of Kalaman, and I fear you will need these weapons more than I.” The absolute look in Luciar’s eye persuaded Teldin that the captain would not relent.

Gomja rose also, as best he could in the tight quarters, and made a rigid giff bow, which meant he bent more at the neck than his big chest. “Thank you, sir,” he rumbled. “You have made the heart of this giff glad.” With a broad smile, he slid the elven sword into his sash.

“It is less than either of you deserve,” Luciar assured them, as he returned to his seat. “By the weapons you carry, each of you are welcome within the halls of the Olonaes of Silvamori. Now, I have a fine old wine I also intend to share. Cwelanas, I will fetch the glasses.” The captain departed the cabin, purposely leaving his daughter behind to entertain their two guests. Although Luciar was gone only for a moment, it was long enough for an awkward silence to fill the room. Teldin looked at Cwelanas, but she seemed to avoid his gaze. The farmer again felt the heart pain his grandfather had described, but he said nothing.

Gomja broke the spell, asking Cwelanas the history of his sword. The elf maiden welcomed the question, and when Luciar returned, daughter and giff were in earnest conversation. The bottle was uncorked, glasses filled, and toasts made and remade until gradually the atmosphere relaxed. Warmed by the wine and comforted by the night air, Luciar told stories of his youth and what little he knew of the gnomes. Teldin talked a bit of the war, but mostly listened and watched, as did Gomja, though every few moments the giff half-drew his new sword and admired the blade. Even though she had heard the stories before, Cwelanas listened intently as the tales were told once again.

Finally the old elf set his empty glass down. It was dark outside and starlight showed through the windows. “By the trees of the wood, you may be young, but for an old one such as me, it is late. Go to the deck and leave my stuffy cabin so I may sleep. Daughter, I will see you in the morning.” Luciar waved the three-Teldin Gomja, and Cwelanas-toward the door. Cwelanas feebly protested, though Teldin suspected her attempts to dissuade her father were more out of politeness. Once she relented, the farmer, feeling the wine, rose and escorted Luciar’s daughter onto the deck.

Adeep lungful of fresh salt air revived him and Teldin was about to return to the bow when a soft hand touched his sleeve. “Come, join me on the afterdeck. I, too, have much to thank you for.” Cwelanas smiled shyly, embarrassed by her own boldness, and yet, without waiting for an answer, she took Teldin’s hand and led him to the stern. There she rested against the railing, watching the waning Solinari cast a thousand glittering crescents over the dark waves. Teldin stood beside her, watching the same scene and uncertain just what he should do or say. His wine-dimmed mind could not guess the elf’s full intention. Her purpose could be innocent or it could be filled with meaning, the farmer thought.

Finally the elf maiden turned to him and said, almost humbly, “Teldin, when you were first aboard, I saw you only as a… human.” Her tone made humans sound like things. “You know, I never liked humans. I mean, that is until now.” She stumbled, trying to think of just the right words. “I mean, I-I misjudged you and I am… more than just sorry.” Cwelanas hesitantly turned and leaned forward until her silvery hair brushed against Teldin’s cheek, then her mouth lightly touched his. Her warm breath moistened his lips. The elf maid’s hand lightly held Teldin’s arm, almost fearful that he might pull away.

Their kiss lingered, then finally broke. Flustered, Cwelanas suddenly looked away, her face red; her hands were tightly knotted together. Teldin himself could barely look at her, his own feelings a mixture of amazement, wonder, befuddlement, and ardor. Solinari’s glow barely outlined her trembling features.

“I misjudged you, also,” Teldin whispered, touching his hand to Cwelanas’s shoulder. Her gown’s thin fabric seemed to hover just above her trembling skin.

“When you are done at Mount Nevermind, Teldin Moore, if you need passage back, the Silver Spray might stop there again,” Cwelanas softly speculated without facing the human. She pulled away from him just a little, suddenly afraid to let herself get too close. When at last she turned back, there was a small tear welling in her eye. “If you come back, there is another who will welcome you to the House of Olonaes.” Cwelanas bit her lower lip at the boldness of her own words, then turned and hurried off the deck, disappearing into the cabins below.

Teldin did not follow her. He was stunned by the elf maid’s rapidly changing moods and his own feelings for her. He remained at the stern and watched Solinari slip closer to the water while ruddy Lunitari crept higher in the west. The farmer was in no hurry to go to the bow and the solid company of the giff, but preferred to linger with his memories of these last few ethereal moments. To the port side hung the dark peaks of Sancrist and, though somewhere among them was his goal, Mount Nevermind, Teldin wondered, just a little, if all this effort to get rid of a cloak was really worthwhile. He could stay here, aboard the Silver Spray, and never go home again.

Until the neogi arrived, he grimly remembered. That dark thought anchored the farmer once again to the pain of the real world. Teldin knew that someday the neogi would find him. Curiously, it was not for himself that he feared, but the others who might be with him – like Liam. With a sad, painful shrug, he forced back his sorrow and fear and made for the bow, where the giff already snored.

The next morning, davits creaked as the ship’s dinghy was hoisted over the side. Gomja worked the bow line, easily handling the job that four elves were struggling with aft. After a few thumps and bumps against the hull, the boat hit the water with a soft splash. A rope ladder uncoiled, and Teldin and Gomja followed several sailors down to the small rowboat. The water rose ominously as the heavy giff settled into a rowing seat.

From the deck above, Luciar and Cwelanas watched as the little boat shoved off. “They will take you to a landing the gnomes use,” the balding captain shouted in his thin voice to Teldin. “From there you should find a road to Mount Nevermind-I think. May good fortune and the gods smile upon you.” Cwelanas was silent, her good-byes had already been said, so she simply lifted a hand in farewell. Teldin watched her wave as the boat slowly cut through the water toward shore.