David Cook - Cloakmaster 01 - Beyond the Moons

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THE CLOAKMASTER CYCLE

Book 1:

BEYOND

THE MOONS

David Cook

Prologue

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"Jettison away!"

"Aye, Captain, jettison away!" The mate's words were almost swallowed by a

shrieking crash. The flying ship's deck shuddered as a section of the

sterncastle shattered in a rain of wood and iron splinters. An agonized howl

echoed from below, somewhere along the catapult ball's destructive path. The

captain and mate, both staggered by the hit, grabbed the rail.

"Damn my eyes! Hard to port, helmsman," bawled the captain. "Get us out of

their fire, now! Mister Yandars, see to the damage below!"

"Aye, sir," the helmsman and the mate responded simultaneously. The captain

hardly took notice, certain that her orders were being carried out. Already

she was striding to the sterncastle, her long, fine cloak billowing behind

her. She found the ballista crew frantically struggling with its weapon. Two

men were just giving the last turns to the winch that bent back the powerful

bow, while a third laid a massive bolt into place.

"Take your aim carefully, lads," the captain intoned, trying to soothe her

artillerists' shaken nerves. "We'll be coming about in a moment. They'll steer

to port to avoid our jettison. When they do, take aim for an eye. If you can

hit her square, you should cause those villains some grief." She laid a

soothing hand on the loader and watched over the firer's shoulder as the man

adjusted the aiming screws, laying in the shot.

Finally satisfied, the artillerist jerked the weapon's lanyard, pulling the

trigger. The battista's great bow reteased its burden with an off-key twang

that hung in the air as the bolt shot away toward the enemy. At first, the

shaft arced straight and true, only to skitter off the enemy ship's rounded

hull just yards from the bulging, domed porthole.

"Faster, boys! Load and fire again!" The captain thumped the loader on the

back to get him moving. "Keep our course steady," she shouted to the helmsman,

"till we fire again, then bring-"

The whistling whine of an incoming projectile interrupted the captain's words.

Before anyone could react, another catapult stone struck, ripping through the

ship just aft of where the captain stood. The deck buckled under her feet,

shearing the ballista from its mountings. The gigantic crossbow heaved over,

one end of the metal bow savagely impaling the loader, pinning the writhing

man to the deck. Another of the artillerists was pitched against the rail. The

decorative spindles shattered under the man's weight and he plunged over the

side into the darkness with a pleading scream. The captain was flung backward

against a bulkhead, wood splinters bloodying her arm and face. She slid to the

deck, dazed by the blow.

Before the officer could recover, she was gently scooped up in the massive

arms of her cabin boy. Head still groggy, the captain felt herself being

carried toward the forecastle. "Private Gomja is here for you, Captain," the

cabin boy offered in a deep, rolling voice.

"Captain, are you injured?" the first mate frantically inquired when he met

the pair while coming up from below.

The captain waved off the mate's question while ignoring her cabin boy's

ministrations. "Report on the damage below." Instinctively, she knew the

information would be bad. The last two shots from the enemy had been too well

aimed for the Penumbra to escape lightly.

"Captain, Mister Tyreen reports the helm was cracked by that last shot. The

wizard's trying to hold it together, but he says we'll have to cut our speed

if we want to keep it from breaking up." The first mate looked worriedly

toward the stern, where their pursuers followed.

"Blast and damn!" sputtered the captain, pushing herself out of the cabin

boy's arms. "Well, we can't run anymore. Get below and tell Tyreen I want

every drop of speed he can get out of her, and I don't give a damn about his

helm. We're going to run for the cloud bank and make for land."

"But the helm-"

"Mister Yandars, this is our only chance, so just do as you're ordered!

Unless, of course, you're willing to trust your fate to them." The captain

pointed emphatically toward the dark shapes astern, three hulking ships slowly

closing on the small, crippled merchantman. "Tyreen's got to hold it together

till then. If my rudders are right, that'll be Krynn below us. There's a

fair-sized continent down there-Ansalon it's called on the charts. We'll make

to land on it. Once we're down, Tyreen can make his repairs."

Mister Yandars fearfully glanced back at their pursuers, his face pale. "Aye,

Captain," he said weakly, "I'll see your orders are carried out."

"Very good, mister. Helmsman, take us into the clouds," commanded the bloodied

captain. The rigging creaked slightly as the Penumbra nosed downward.

Chapter One

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'Dragon!"

Teldin Moore stopped in midswing, and the hoe he held almost flew from his

grasp. Liam's excited shout, practically in Teldin's ear, was as startling as

the word itself. "Liam, by the returned gods," Teldin snapped as he dug the

hoe into the ground, "I'm right here!" The tall farmer swung around to give an

icy, blue-eyed glare at his shorter, older neighbor, but a dribble of sweat,

brought out by the setting sun, dripped down his forehead. Teldin blinked as

it dropped into his eyelashes, ruining the reproachful glare he hoped to

achieve.

The pair were standing in the middle of the melon field, which filled one

small corner of Teldin's land. The farmer's property extended from his cabin

to a wooded ridge an acre away, beyond which lay Liam's farm. Teldin scanned

the horizon as he tried to guess just what had gotten his neighbor so excited.

To the west, the yellow-red glare of the setting sun burned through the thin

clouds to dazzle his eyes. Blinking, Teldin let his gaze follow the

cottonwoods that ran past the edge of the field. There was no sign of a dragon

above the stream where the cottonwoods grew. Teldin turned almost completely

about and faced northeast, where his simple cabin stood. The wavering branches

of an apple orchard behind the house rose above the roofline, but even there

Teldin saw no sign of anything that looked like a dragon. Neither did the

chickens in the yard show any sign of alarm. Instead they lazily scratched the

ground outside their coop. The young farmer threw one last glance around the

small dale that enclosed his land. "Where?" Teldin skeptically demanded.

Liam Shal, with his worn, ill-fitting clothes flapping like a scarecrow's,

bobbed nervously and excused himself with a grimace of embarrassment. The

scrawny old farmer practlcally hopped from foot to foot, one hand jabbing at

the sky, the other balancing against his own hoe, firmly set in the broken

dirt. The scrawny melon plants' yellowing leaves scratched at Liam's bare

legs. "Teldin, look up in the sky! It must a be dragon, right? You saw them in

the wars right? That's a dragon, isn't it?"

Teldin leaned against his hoe, dubiously scanning the horizon where Liam

pointed. The older man was a good farmer, but Teldin knew his neighbor had

never seen much of the real world. Even at dusk, weeding out the melon field

was hot work, and the farmer wondered if his neigh bor had conjured up an

imaginary dragon as an excuse for a break. Not that he really cared, for his

own taut muscles suddenly motionless after a day's worth of hoeing, ached

agonizingly. Stiffly flexing his shoulders, Teldin brushed back trickles of

sweat into his stubby, light brown hair, and, shading his eyes, peered into

the reddish western sky. This time he took care not to gaze into the setting

sun, but looked more toward the faint image of Solinari, the Moon - of Silver,

as it hid behind wispy clouds.

At first there was nothing to see. Teldin looked toward his neighbor. "Liam,

you've been in the sun too long," he declared with a snort.

"No, look over the big oak on the ridge, just below the clouds!" Liam thrust

his arm under Teldin's nose, his finger pointing toward a distant spot in the

sky.

Teldin barely noticed the rich, salty tang of sweat and dirt emanating from

Liam's grimy skin. Instead he squinted and tried to sight on Liam's

outstretched fingertip without luck. Then a sparkle, hanging over the top of

the big oak that Liam had named, caught his eye. A familiar childhood landmark

at the end of the field, the tree stood above most of the others. Teldin

squeezed his eyes down to wrinkled slits against the glare, then saw a series

of brilliant, red-gold flashes that seemed to shoot from the oak's topmost

branches. Before the two farmers could say another word, though, it was gone

into the wispy tails of a glowing cloud bank.

"Dragon fire, I bet, just like you saw in the war," Liam blurted, obviously

confident in his identification. The older man nevertheless looked eagerly to

Teldin for evidence that he had guessed right. Although half again Teldin's

age, Liam had the bubbling enthusiasm of a child.

"Could be," Teldin cautiously allowed, not letting the old man influence him.

With such scant evidence, Teldin reserved his judgment, pointedly avoiding the

faults of his late father. Amdar's fierce opinions had been one of the reasons

Teldin had run away to become a soldier in the first place.

The few dragons Teldin had seen as a youth during the War of the Lance were

always at rest and never fighting. The truth, which Teldin had never broached

with Liam, was that in his years as a soldier, the young farmer had been

little more than a mule skinner. The older farmer was pleased to know a "war

hero" and Teldin just could not disillusion him.

The fact was that he had never been in anything but a few minor skirmishes,

let alone seen a dragon fight in earnest, using its fearsome breath to scorch

men to cinders. Coming after the warriors, though, he'd seen the results. At

the Battle of the High Clerist 's Tower, Teldin had buried men-and things that

weren't men-all roasted by dragon fire, blasted by lightning, or eaten away by

corrosive spittle. It was an awful memory that filled him with horror, and he

quickly shut it out of his mind, but not before his neck instinctively tensed

and strained already stiff muscles even more.

Liam, still prancing about from foot to foot, thought of dragons only as

exciting. The grizzled neighbor finally despaired that the thing he had seen

would return. The lustrous evening sky was already darkening. Both Solinari,

with its smooth, silver disk, and Lunitari, Krynn's other, blood-red, moon,

were well up into the heavens. Stars were faintly visible in the east,

opposite the setting sun.

"Well, it's gone," Liam said dejectedly, after spitting at a gob of dirt

between the melon vines. Teldin blinked, trying to get the sun's dazzle and

sweat out of his eyes.

Teldin walked over beside his neighbor. "All for the best, Liam," he consoled.

"Dragons are bad business." Taking up the hoe, the young farmer hefted it for

another try at the weeds that lay thick among the melon hills at his feet. His

shoulders, barely rested, ached so that Teldin let out a surprised grunt, and

he let the hoe fall. "Oh, gods, that's enough for today."

Teldin stiffly clapped his friend on the shoulder. "No more today, Liam. You

should be getting home. I can finish the field tomorrow." The pair had worked

all day and, i even if they were not done, Teldin was content with their

progress.

Liam stood firm. "Teldin, these melons have got to get weeded, and you've been

letting it slip for a week now. Those weeds are going to choke off your vines

real soon. If this were my field, I'd be out here hoeing by torchlight."

Teldin shrugged somewhat painfully, ignored the older man, and began to march

off toward his cabin. "It's not your field," he called back upon reaching the

porch. "There are more than enough melons hoed for me. Who else is going to

eat them?" Teldin set the hoe against the cabin's log wall and disappeared

inside. The cabin was old and small but well cared for. Teldin's grandfather

had cut the timber back when he first had claimed the land. He had dressed out

the logs and cut the joints to fit them together. Teldin's father had replaced

the thatch roof with hand- split shingles and built the stone chimney that

thrust up through the center of the roof, replacing his father's original

smokehole. After returning from the war, Teldin, grateful to be home, added

the porch that wrapped around the front, and whitewashed the logs until the

place looked like the village houses found in other parts of Estwilde. The

whitewash gave the cabin a cozy, speckled gray look that Teldin liked. The

house seemed to blend in with the trunks of the few trees around it. Although

he had lived alone ever since his father had died, Teldin kept the house neat

and in good condition. It was home, and now he was proud of it. He had run

away once, but now he was staying.

When Liam didn't come out of the field, where he still stubbornly swung his

hoe, Teldin stepped back onto the porch and held up a pair of wooden cups.

"You can stay and hoe if you want, but I've got a fine cheese and a fat skin

of wine cooling in the stream. Join me for a swim and a drink!" he yelled. "Or

are you too old to remember how to do that?" Teldin grinned at his neighbor's

determination, trying to get in a few more moments of work by the last rays of

the setting sun. Old Liam lived for nothing but farming, but Teldin preferred

a balance of work and relaxation.

Still, the offer was enough for the old farmer. With a higgledy step, scrawny

Liam picked his way through the melon hills to the house. He followed Teldin

across the yard, all the while chiding in mock irritation, to where the stream

ran close by the house. The pair sat on a rock and let their feet soak in the

coo1 water. Not bothering to pull off his shirt, Teldin slid down into the

stream and let the water play over his tortured shoulders. Liam stayed on the

rock and dabbled in the water with his feet.

"Liam, thanks for helping with the melons. I know you're busy with your own

place and everything," Teldin said sitting up, "but I'm grateful for the

help."

The older man kicked up some water in mock disgust. "Your father and I helped

each other for years while you were soldiering. Just because he's passed on

doesn't mean I'm going to stop.

Amdar was a painful subject, one that Teldin just as soon hoped didn't come

up. Memories of his stern father churned upward from the pits of Teldin's

past-the painful years of fights and criticism that finally drove a young farm

boy to run away to the war. There were other memories, those of the strange

silence between them when Teldin finally had come home. Neither man had spoken

much of their years apart, leaving each to his peace. Even now a Teldin wanted

to respect that silence.

Climbing out of the stream, Teldin clacked the wooden cups together. "Let's

have a drink." Water dripped from the goatskin bag as he fished it from the

stream. Strong, homemade purple wine sloshed into the wooden cups.

The two men sat in silence, enjoying their drinks until the sun was completely

set, leaving only a faint glow on the horizon. This was complemented by the

light from the twin moons, causing the trees, crops, cabin-everything- to

leave twin shadows tinged in red and silver. Teldin was content, even a little

bored.

Finally Liam set his cup down, "Time I headed home, Teldin. My old eyes are

too weak to see that path in the dark." Liam grinned a crooked-toothed smile.

Teldin snorted at the joke, knowing perfectly well that Liam's eyes were not

nearly that bad or that old.

Standing, Liam wobbled a little, the wine apparently taking its toll. Teldin

corked the wineskin and stood to see his friend off. "Now, you sure you can

handle that melon field?" Liam pressed as he held out his hand.

Teldin took the smaller man's hand and clasped it firmly. "It'll be fine,

Liam, just fine. Go home now, before Eloise starts worrying. You be sure to

fetch me when its time to do your haying."

"I'll do that, I will," promised Liam. With one last " swipe at the sweat on

his brow, the smaller man turned and headed across the fields toward his own

farm. It would be a long walk back. Teldin's homestead was cut off from the

other farms in the area by the wooded ridge to the west. Most of the other

farmers lived clustered in small villages along the road from Kalaman, which

ran through the main valley about two leagues away. Only a few smaller

homesteads, like Teldin's, were situated in the side valleys. Teldin's father

had liked it that way, and it suited Teldin just fine, too. Teldin, like all

the Moores, had never been a particularly sociable man. The isolation did not

bother him, because he never thought about it. When Teldin felt the urge for

company, he visited Liam or some of the other farmers in Dargaard Valley,

particularly those with pretty, young daughters.

As Liam disappeared into the woods, Teldin sighed, finally ready to give up.

He was getting a crick in his neck. There were still chores to do, and milking

the goat was first. Slow and stiff, he went back into the house for a bucket.

As Teldin came out the door, a small spark of light caught his eye. It left a

fiery streak like a shooting star, though the fact that it flashed through the

sky beneath the clouds went unnoticed by Teldin. Then the spark turned,

suddenly shifting more in his direction.

Stars don't dart about, Teldin realized, his curiosity suddenly piqued. The

spark kept moving, jigging slightly this way, then that, like a tadpole in a

stream, while all the time holding to an almost straight line toward Teldin.

The more he watched, the larger and faster the light grew. Teldin thought he

could almost hear a hissing noise, like a drop of water skittering in a hot

skillet.

The imaginary sound grew louder, now more like a redhot stone cast in a pot,

then changing again as deeper rumbles sounded beneath the popping hiss. Weak

echoes came back to Teldin from the hills of his small valley. The spark had

become a glowing coal surrounded by a fiery nimbus, almost the size of

brilliant Solinari at full.

Teldin stood watching, waiting for the thing to change course again. It did

not heed his wishes and instead bore downward, resolving into a great, dark

shape, like a tapered oval, silhouetted by sparkling points and tongues of

flame

Teldin abruptly realized that it was plunging straight toward where he stood

dumbfounded, bucket in hand. The yeoman squinted at the thing that charged out

of the sky, bright enough now to hurt his eyes. A great jutting beak and

bulging, glowing eyes clearly marked it as some kind of maleficent beast.

Gigantic wings, billowing with fire, flared out from the sides and trailed

showers of fiery sparks. A roaring filled the air over the silent farm, like

the teeth-grating scream of an enraged fiend.

"Paladine's blood!" swore Teldin as his amazement wore off and he saw doom

descending. Instinctively he threw up one arm to shield himself. The bucket

dropped, and with his other hand he groped about for the hoe, a poor weapon at

best. The flaming beast still bore down from the sky, relentless in its

approach.

Self-preservation finally overcame inertia, and Teldin flung himself to the

side, springing and stumbling to evade the creature's charge. Leaping from the

porch, his hoe in hand, Teldin hit the ground, tripped over a root, pitched

forward, and rolled across the dirt yard. The goat, waiting to be milked, ran

with terrified bleats as Teldin, dirt-smeared and panting, scrambled to his

feet. The farmer twisted around to see if the fiery beast still pursued him.

All thoughts were shattered by a crackling screech as the monstrous, dark

underbelly scraped across the field. The beast smashed into the ground, not

slowing in the least for its landing. The great bulk plowed through the

melons, throwing up dirt like a plow cutting a furrow. Vines and fruit were

gouged away. Under its driving landing, the earth shuddered, as if the soil

were struck by Reorx's hammer itself.

The shock wave blasted Teldin with a hail of pebbles and dust. The earth

heaved under his feet, throwing him head over heels. The farmer crashed

backward down the stream bank until he was slammed onto his chest and sprawled

headfirst down the opposite bank. The wind was driven from his gut. The hoe

ricocheted out of his grasp, and his arm was numb where it had struck a stone.

Gasping, Teldin sucked in half a lungful of mud and water and succeeded only

in choking himself worse. Forcing himself onto his elbows, it was all he could

do to weakly lift his face, gasping and spitting, out of the muck.

In the field above, the thing from the Abyss rebounded from its initial impact

until it was almost airborne again. Melon vines hung from the splintered

underbelly, the plants' roots desperately clutching to the earth as if they

were trying to entwine the charging beast in their grasp. The creature's broad

beak tore through the slender trees in front of the house, shattering the

trunks in grinding howls that ended in cracking explosions. As one of the

flaming wings passed overhead, an arc of sparks cascaded down, and hot embers

singed Teldin's back through his wet shirt. Other coals extinguished

themselves with a quick hiss in the muddied stream.

From where he lay sprawled, it looked to Teldin as if the thing, beast or

whatever, might get itself airborne once more. The shape's ponderous bulk

hovered over the farmhouse's shingled roof, struggling to break the bonds of

gravity.

The illusion was shattered by a rippling series of explosions, like a giant

striking stones together, from somewhere deep within the thing. The great

curved shape trembled. There was another single roar, and the side burst open

in a gout of flame, blasting shards across the farmyard. In the brief moment

that the conflagration illuminated the sky, Teldin had the image of a great

ship, some winged ocean vessel, its planking shattered and broken, hovering in

the air over his house. In that same second, the burning tongue

flared toward him, washing his face in roasting heat. Jagged wooden splinters

lanced the bank around Teldin while flaming embers once again rained from

above.

Mindful of injury, Teldin pressed back into the stream, the warm mud squeezing

up around his chest, the water running over his back. Above he could hear a

wood- shearing roar as the ship lurched downward, crushing the roof of his

house. The fieldstone chimney, built by his father, collapsed as the old

rafters gave way without a fight. Only Grandfather's strong log walls

resisted, for a moment supporting the great weight pressing down on them. From

where he lay, Teldin heard a groan of wood followed by a popping crack, the

way trees sometimes froze in the worst winters. After a series of thunderous

booms, a relative silence-broken only by the crash of an occasional piece of

debris-was all that sounded.

Though trembling and shaken by this unexpected attack, Teldin peered over the

bank, his blue eyes quickly going hard as he looked at the destruction of his

home. The ship, if it was one, had finally settled to a stop, crushing the

house's entire western wall. The stone-and-mortar chimney had fallen over on

the chicken coop, caving in the flimsy roof. The whitewashed logs were thrust

out at terrible angles and the porch he had built was buried under the

remains. Teldin could barely hear the squawks of hens, now somewhere far off

in the darkness. Fires swirled and crackled through the gaping holes in the

hull, like beacons set to highlight the ghastly scene.

Finally, Teldin warily raised himself out of the water, ready to bolt like one

of the rabbits that sometimes crouched at the edge of his fields. Muck ran

down his scratched and burned body, but the farmer was too intent on the

blazing scene to notice. Cautiously, he stepped up the bank and slowly began

to circle the burning wreck.

Abruptly there was a loud groan of timber, followed by a single thundering

crack as the vessel's keel split. Teldin sprang back as the shattered form

lurched, then split in two, the back half settling, slightly canted on its

outspread wings. The front, with its long, jutting spar, tore free and dropped

onto the remains of the chicken coop, smashing it flat. Stunned hens reeled

out of the wreckage and staggered throuh the rubble-strewn yard. The knifelike

bow wobbled and fell over, tipping away from the wreckage of the house, and

the upper decks listed toward Teldin. A short mast thrust out at him like a

misguided dragonlance, wavering up and down, a tattered pennon at its tip. The

few hens that remained fled, squawking in alarm. When the ship finally

settled, Teldin stalked forward, his hoe clutched in both hands. He could

barely make himself move, he was so tense and ready to bolt, but the need to

know more drove him forward.

As he advanced slowly, weaving from side to side, Teldin studied the wreck.

The main hull and most of the ship seemed to be made of wood, but sprouting

from the keel of the rear section were four flaring fins, definitely not of

timber. Ribbed like a trout's fins, the strange sails were mangled badly by

the crash, broken in several places when the vessel sheared through the trees.

Bits of a fleshy membrane, of which only torn and burned strips remained, once

joined the ribs of these wings. A similar fin rose out of the middle of the

deck, its arching shape tangled in the shattered branches overhead. Trailing

into the darkness at the back was something that looked like a flamboyant

fish's tail.

Teldin had never seen these things on any ship in Kalaman. He blinked,

wondering if the explosion had addled his senses. The strange wings, combined

with the gleaming portholes near the bow, made the vessel seem like a living

creature. This was furthered by the leaping shadows of the fire, which gave

the shattered hulk the image of pulsing life, as if the last breaths of the

ship were being gasped away.

"By the Dark Queen of the Abyss!" Teldin swore softly under his breath,

letting loose the strongest oath he had ever used. The farmer ducked down to

go under the mast of the fore section when a scratching noise came from the

deck. Whirling about, Teldin watched a dark, limp shape slide across the

tilted foredeck, break through the railing at the edge with a wet thud, and

drop behind the broken wall of the house. "A person!" Teldin blurted.

He froze in place, torn about what to do. If there were beings on board,

Teldin finally realized, the gods only knew who or what they might be. Part of

him suddenly wanted to flee, to get away from this monstrosity, but other

parts, his curiosity and his decency, urged him forward. It was with slow

steps that Teldin finally edged forward to the broken log wall. With his hoe

held ready like an axe, the farmer thrust his head over.

The other side of the wall was dimly illuminated by the leaping flames that

showed through the shattered porthole in the bow, but there definitely was a

body crumpled atop the tumbled piles of shingles and rafters. Teldin could not

tell if the body was male or female; that much it was too dark to discern.

Taking up a burning brand, Teldin held the rude torch up for a closer look.

The being's frame was light and thin, like an elfs. The body was strong and

muscled, though, and certainly not like the few elves he'd ever met. The face

was toward the ground, but the black, tangled hair glistened wetly. Probably

blood, he thought. Whoever it was, it wasn't human, of that he was almost

sure.

Teldin poked at the body with the handle of his hoe. Nothing moved. He prodded

again. There was still no movement. Satisfied, Teldin scrambled over the

remains of the log wall, cleared away some of the shingles and rafters, and

knelt beside the body. Ignoring the fact that he had scraped his shin on a

jagged bit of chimney stone, Teldin breathlessly rolled the body over,

succeeding only with difficulty, since a long, purple cloak was twisted around

the arms and legs. One arm was bent at an odd angle, apparently broken. The

shirt was dark with bloodstains.

As he had guessed, the intruder clearly was not human. The bones were too

light and long, the fingers too narrow. To his embarrassed surprise, Teldin

discovered as he loosened the shirt that the stranger was female. Her breasts

left no doubt about that. The almost triangular face was drawn, yet kept a

compelling aspect. Everything about the face was thin-narrow lips, sharply cut

nose, pointed ovals for eyes. Bands of dark makeup ran above and below the

eyes and were drawn out in whorls at the outer corners. She was exotically

handsome, vaguely masculine, yet clearly not, and, even unmoving, seemed

endowed with more grace than any man.

A sticky, warm wetness dripped through Teldin's fingers as he lifted her head.

Dark blood matted her hair from a gash in the side of her skull and ran down

Teldin's arm as he tried to lay out the body. The cloak, coiled and tangled,

again interfered, but Teldin could only fumble unsuccessfully at the silver

clasp around her neck. As he did so, the painted eyelids weakly opened and the

dark eyes beneath still showed a spark of life.

"Neogi bly zam no insson...." the woman-thing whispered, her sibilant voice

growing softer with each word until only the lips moved without speaking. The

eyes dimmed; the lids almost closed. Whatever she had said clearly had taken

great effort.

"What?" Teldin pressed, astonished to find the stranger still alive. So

startled was he that he almost dropped her head, which he held cradled in his

arms. Finally he drew closer, almost pressing his face to hers. "Who are you?"

"El za.m neogi," the stranger falteringly tried again. Her delicate lips

barely moved as each word was whispered.

"What? I don't understand," Teldin answered with excessive slowness, as if

that would make him understood. He fumbled again with the clasp of the cloak,

trying to remove it.

With her good arm the woman-thing weakly tried to push Teldin's hands away.

"Ton! Ton!" she hissed at him. Teldin let go of the clasp and shook his head

in frustration. The flames beyond the porthole lit his face, and she seemed to

understand. Slowly reaching up, she touched her fingers to his lips. They

tasted slightly of ash and salt, mingled with the sweeter flavor of blood. Her

own lips moved, silently forming words. When she finished, she let her hand

fall.

"Now we may speak," she whispered, somehow in words Teldin could understand.

Her voice was more musical than any he had heard. "Yes?"

"Yes," Teldin quickly answered, taken aback by this sudden transformation.

"What-who are you?"

"I am dying, I think," the woman-thing continued, ignoring the human's

question. "Are all my crew dead?"

Teldin, who had not seen a living soul since the crash, nodded.

The alien closed her eyes. "Then I am resigned to die."

"Who are you? What happened? Where did you come from?" Teldin demanded. The

ability to communicate uncorked a stream of questions in the farmer's mind. He

let them flood out, trying to get all his answers before it was too late. As

her eyes dimmed, Teldin patted her cheeks, hoping to keep her conscious.

"The ...the neogi did this," was her weak reply. Her eyes barely opened. The

color was fast draining from her already pale cheeks and her eyes were growing

duller. "They want the-" She stopped abruptly, her eyes suddenly opening. "You

must take this. Take this!" the woman- thing said with a forcefulness greater

than before. With her good hand she tore at the clasp to her cloak. What he

could not open, she sprang free easily. "Take the cloak. Keep it from the

neogi." The alien pulled Teldin's hand onto the fabric. "Take it to the

creators."

"The who? The what?" Teldin queried. None of this made any sense and he wasn't

getting any answers. He easily shook off her grip. "Why? What are the neogi?"

he practically shouted.

"Wear it. Now," the stranger insisted. With her one hand, she tried to place

the cloak around his neck, wincing in pain to roll free of the purple fabric.

"What are you doing?" Teldin was more puzzled than frightened by her

determination.

"Take it," she demanded even more urgently.

"Why-no, explain why," Teldin said, refusing her, as his prudent nature

asserted itself.

"Take the cloak!" the woman-thing said more fiercely than before. She bared

her teeth with a certain savage fury, but the fire in her eyes grew even

weaker.

The effort was killing her, Teldin realized in dismay. "Stop. I'll take it,"

he assured her. Taking the silver chains, Teldin laid the cloak around his

shoulders, though he did not fasten the clasp. The purple gleamed richly in

the leaping firelight. "I have it. Now what's going on here?"

The female gave a rattling sigh. "No more questions. I am dead." Her hand

dropped limply and the light went finally from her eyes.

"What? You can't just die now!" Teldin blurted, even though he knew it was

futile. He had seen enough dead to know it was too late for her. He sat amid

the wreckage of his house, the dead female in his arms, and felt indignant,

used, and mystified. The creature had no right to die now, he fumed. He had

only accepted the cloak to keep her alive. "What, by the gods, is going on?"

he asked aloud to no one. He held up an edge of the cloak, looking for

mystical symbols or anything. He saw nothing but dark purple cloth. "Why kill

yourself to give it to me? It can't be worth much." Teldin looked down at the

female as if expecting an answer. "And just who are the neogi? By the Abyss,

who are you?" He paused, as if to hear her reply.

"Stand, assassin, so I may kill you!" boomed a voice behind him.

Chapter Two

0 0 0

Like a flushed fox, Teldin sprang to his feet and spun about, hoe in hand, the

cloak flapping over his arm. The farmer choked back an enraged outcry, for on

the opposite side of the wall stood a massive form half-concealed by a tangle

of spars and deck planking. The blazing debris grotesquely illuminated the

bestial creature-so unlike any Teldin had seen-that lurched from the wreck.

It stood stiff and upright like a seasoned knight, though it was a good seven

feet tall and almost half that in width across its shoulders. Thick shadows

marked its heavy jowls, its large sagittal crest, and the deep pits of its

nostrils. The creature had a face like a hippopotamus, but the skull was

flatter, with pert little ears at the top of its head. It was difficult to

tell in the firelight, but Teldin thought the creature's skin looked bluish

gray. Its two legs were like tree trunks and its chest was as big around as

the old water barrel that used to stand beside the house.

The thing wore trousers and a tight-fitting blouse adorned with ribbons; the

whole outfit was now badly ripped. A broad, orange sash was wrapped around its

thick waist, and in it was tucked a collection of mismatched knives and a worn

cutlass. As Teldin stared dumbly, the beast stumbled forward over rubble, not

taking its small, dark eyes off the human. It kept one arm stiffly

outstretched and pointed directly at the farmer at all times. In this hammy,

blue fist was a strange, curved stick of metal and wood, aimed at Teldin's

head.

"Assassin and thief, before you die, know that your slayer is Trooper Herphan

Gomja, Red Grade, First Rank, First Platoon of the Noble Giff," the creature

gloweringly intoned. "When your soul gets to wherever it goes, remember my

name!"

"No, wait!" shouted Teldin in a desperate attempt to explain. "I didn't kill-"

"It is too late, groundling!" the big blue-gray beast bellowed back. His thick

finger squeezed down on a small lever on the underside of the stick. Paralyzed

more by astonishment than fear, Teldin was rooted in place. A scorching wind

from the blazing wreck sucked up a rain of cinders and ash and swirled it

around them. The cloak fluttered and flapped in the breeze. The stick gave a

mighty flash and roar, dazzling Teldin but breaking the spell that bound him

in place. Blinded and deafened, he flailed out with the hoe, missed, slipped

on a loose stone, crashed over a tangle of wood, and sprawled on the ground.

Panting and blinking while scrambling back to his feet, the farmer waited for

the big creature to strike, but nothing happened.

By blinking furiously, Teldin cleared his eyes, though a bright spot from the

flash still hung at the center of his vision. There was a strange, acrid smell

that overpowered even the smokiness of the fire. Turning about, he saw the

trailings of an iron-blue cloud dissipating into the night air. Underneath

that strange smoke Teldin spotted the big blue giant sprawled on the ground

only a few feet away. The creature's hand, the one that held the strange

device, was black with soot. Cuts and burns marked up his arm and neck and a

swelling bruise was already beginning to show on the hard-looking forehead.

"Trooper Gomja, eh?" the farmer scornfully said, remembering the creature's

name. When there was no response, Teldin threw the cloak over his shoulder and

hobbled to where the trooper lay. Nearby was the strange, threatening stick,

its metal tube now bent and twisted into apparent uselessness.

Gingerly kicking the exotic device away, Teldin checked with his hoe to see if

the beast was conscious. Satisfied it was not, he carefully searched the

remains of his once-beautiful, whitewashed cabin to find a good, long piece of

very, very stout rope.

The search was brief and, a short time later, Teldin set the final knot in

place with a hard yank. Exhausted, the farmer looked down at his handiwork.

The big giff, if that was what he was called, was trussed tighter than a pig

on market day, his wrists and ankles firmly bound. Teldin really wanted to

hog-tie the creature solidly, but there had been only so much rope in the

ruins of his house. The whole thing had taken longer than he expected, but at

least the murderous creature was safely restrained.

While Teldin was working, the wreck's flames crept uncomfortably close. Since

his opponent still lived, the farmer took it upon himself to drag the beast's

inert bulk away from the burning wreck. Whatever it-he-was, he was not light,

Teldin quickly discovered. The gray-blue beast had to weigh at least as much

as a good-sized sow, maybe four hundred pounds or more. It was only by half-

rolling, half-dragging the creature that Teldin reached the shelter of the

broken trees near the stream.

With a spent sigh, Teldin plopped onto the chest of his huge captive and

looked back to the wreck, trying to decide what to do. The fires on the ship

still blazed brightly and were slowly spreading, since there was plenty aboard

the shattered ruin to feed the fiery tongues. Curiosity urged him forward to

investigate the bizarre skyship. "No," Teldin said to himself, shaking off the

desire. "It's too dangerous." Still, Teldin's sense of decency demanded he try

to get the body of the dead woman away from the fire. At least he could do

that much.

After a quick check on his prisoner, Teldin approached the burning ship only

to have a wave of heat drive him back. He unconsciously slipped the cloak off

his arm and fastened the clasp about his neck. As the silver jaws clicked

shut, the farmer suddenly realized just what he had donned. For a moment he

expected strange and mysterious magic to burst forth. When nothing happened,

Teldin plunged forward to where the dead alien lay. After dragging her body to

safety, he returned to the ruin.

The wreck now burned brightly, lighting the torn-up field and even the trees

beyond. The flames were enough to provide a clear view of the destruction.

During the long siege of Kalaman, Teldin had seen quite a few ocean-going

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THECLOAKMASTERCYCLEBook1:BEYONDTHEMOONSDavidCookPrologue000"Jettisonaway!""Aye,Captain,jettisonaway!"Themate'swordswerealmostswallowedbyashriekingcrash.Theflyingship'sdeckshudderedasasectionofthesterncastleshatteredinarainofwoodandironsplinters.Anagonizedhowlechoedfrombelow,somewherealongthecatapult...

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David Cook - Cloakmaster 01 - Beyond the Moons

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