David Cook - Beyond The Moons

Prologue

0 0 0

Jettison away!

Aye, Captain, jettison away! The mates words were almost swallowed by a shrieking crash. The flying ships 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 balls 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. Well be coming about in a moment. Theyll 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 firers shoulder as the man adjusted the aiming screws, laying in the shot.

Finally satisfied, the artillerist jerked the weapons lanyard, pulling the trigger. The battistas 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 ships 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 captains 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 mans 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 mates question while ignoring her cabin boys 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 wizards trying to hold it together, but he says well 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 boys arms. Well, we cant run anymore. Get below and tell Tyreen I want every drop of speed he can get out of her, and I dont give a damn about his helm. Were 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 youre ordered! Unless, of course, youre 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. Tyreens got to hold it together till then. If my rudders are right, that'll be Krynn below us. Theres a fair-sized continent down there-Ansalon its called on the charts. Well make to land on it. Once were down, Tyreen can make his repairs."

Mister Yandars fearfully glanced back at their pursuers, his face pale. Aye, Captain, he said weakly, Ill 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

0 0 0

Dragon!

Teldin Moore stopped in midswing, and the hoe he held almost flew from his grasp. Liams excited shout, practically in Teldins ear, was as startling as the word itself. Liam, by the returned gods, Teldin snapped as he dug the hoe into the ground, Im 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 Teldins land. The farmers property extended from his cabin to a wooded ridge an acre away, beyond which lay Liams 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 scarecrows, 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 Liams bare legs. Teldin, look up in the sky! It must a be dragon, right? You saw them in the wars right? Thats a dragon, isnt 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 days 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.