Or had it been a dream?
No, he realized, it was not a dream. It had been Gaye, calling to him, he knew, but from where? All the way from Herd-space? And how? He shook his head, wondering if he would ever understand the true meaning of his journey, the simple "why" that had pulled him out into the endless sea of the flow.
Still, Gaye's thoughts had been of him, and of those he cared for. The mark will show the trust.
Aside from proving Cwelanas's innocence, did that also mean that Cwelanas cared for him? That he could trust in her love as well as her loyalty?
He was not sure, and he hated that; he had been too trustful in the past, and, although he wanted to trust Cwelanas with his life, after Rianna's treachery, and that of Aelfred Sil-verhorn, he knew he was scared, perhaps too scared, to fully trust anyone again.
He fought down his feelings of distrust and fear. He watched Cwelanas, lying on her side. Her chest was rising slowly, softly, and he knew that she had fallen asleep again. Cwelanas had suffered torture and mental rape and had gone through what would have been too much for him, more than he could have expected of anyone. Now he knew he must go through the fire for her.
He smiled and gently disentangled himself from her. He tucked her in and kissed the side of her head.
He watched her for another minute, then he whispered, in a voice so soft that he could hardly hear it himself, "I love you."
He closed the door behind him.
But Cwelanas had not been asleep at all, and her heart had thudded like thunder when she had heard him confess his love.
She wanted to spin around and reach out for him, shouting his name, and have him take her up in his arms and hold her tight, so the pain, the memories of the sharp instruments of the neogi, would all go away.
She heard the metallic click of the door latch. She turned as she heard his feet echo down the corridor. But she could not reach out, she could not cry his name. She had hurt him too much; and now, no matter what he had said, she knew that he belonged here, fulfilling his quest on the Spelljammer, and that anything he once felt for her would be better left forgotten.
For how could he really love someone who had tried to kill him?
Forget him, she thought. He'll never be yours. You don't deserve him.
When she finally fell back to sleep, her pillows were dark with her tears.
Chapter Twelve
"… Why is it that most of us have never considered leaving? Do we not have the free will granted to us by the gods? Why are so many of us ignorant- or uninterested- in the Spelljammer's true nature? Most of us do not realize that the Spelljammer is a ship: it is believed by some to be a floating city, or a living beast upon which we live, or even a god. Even now, I am not sure that my perception of things is correct… "… This absence of curiosity among the populace is itself most curious…"
Nab Featherley, gnome; reign of the Shrouded Man
In the moist darkness of the homed tower, Drikka and Lord Trebek of the illithids walked silently down the tower stairs to the audience chamber on the main level. Drikka opened the door for the leader and Trebek made a grand, silent entrance, swirling his long black cape dramatically around him.
The walls of the horned tower were hung with long red draperies, highlighting ancient tapestries and sculptures that portrayed the history of the illithid community on board the Spelljammer. Light rods cast a pale glow from golden sconces set in the walls, creating deep shadows in the corners of the room and behind the aged tapestries of silk and golden thread.
It was in such a shadow that Estriss hid, safe from the suspicious eyes of his brethren. He knew well the hateful nature of illithids, and he knew well that Lord Trebek had been scornful of him from the start.
This address had been kept secret from Estriss; it had been only through a barely overheard conversation between two mind flayers that Estriss had learned of Trebek's proclamation, so he hid in an alcove behind a tapestry in the audience chamber and waited.
The great audience chamber was crowded with the Spelljammer's entire illithid community. Dressed in their traditional gowns of black or gray, the mind flayers turned as one upon Trebek's entrance, then bowed their heads as he took his seat upon the royal dais. Drikka bowed as well and stood with the other illithids to Trebek's right.
There is much to discuss, Trebek announced in the hissing thought-speech of the mind flayers, much that concerns the future of the illithids.
The mass of seventy illithids stood in silent respect for Lord Trebek. Although he was a relative newcomer to the Spelljammer, Trebek had wisely stayed out of clan politics and had enjoyed a neutral position among his people, garnering friends on all sides who had eventually recognized him as their leader.
Breakox is dead. He let that sink in for a moment as the mind flayers shifted uneasily. Breakox is dead, murdered by the beholders. Our plans to take control of the minotaurs must be abandoned, as they appear to be under beholder control.
Trebek rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his claws before him. We are not warriors, he thought to the mind flayers. We are illithids-we control. There is much we can do to wrest the Spelljammer from the hands of our enemies-and much we can do to foster war among the other races, while keeping ourselves well protected.
He stood and paced before the mind flayers. Estriss watched Trebek silently from his hiding place. Enemies, Trebek had said. Estriss knew how illithids thought: everyone was a potential enemy, especially if they were not of the mind flayers.
The Cloakmaster has come. Battles have been fought between the minotaurs and the beholders, between the elves and the goblins. As our enemies destroy themselves, we will be in the perfect position to swoop down upon the remaining forces and enslave them. The needs of the illithids are of paramount concern. When the Dark Times fall upon the ship, we will need more than our tasteless brain mold to survive. We will need the brains of our enemies.
The assembled mind flayers began to hiss in expectation. Trebek knew precisely what words to use, what promises to make, what strings to pull. Like any good politician, he knew to promise them everything, then deny it all later.
I have worked hard to keep our enemies on edge with each other. Our position now is highly… tentative. He stopped at the front of the dais and looked deliberately into their midst. Our ultimate enemies are the elves. They are perhaps the strongest community on board, and I believe that any battles in which we become involved should directly affect the downfall of the elves.
The mind flayers hissed agreement.
Our position is one of mental and sociological superiority. I will not allow our race to become sullied by the warlike emotions of the other races.
We must stay out of this war for the Spelljammer until it is clear that we can win. It is only by fostering enmity between the elves and the goblins that our enemies will be decimated to the point that we will become victorious. Let us antagonize the elves, and then attack, so that the Spelljammer will be ours!
The assemblage applauded its leader, and Trebek went on to detail his plans for insurrection among the races aboard the Spelljammer.
Alone among the illithids, hidden from the eyes of his evil brethren, Estriss watched and listened silently, holding counsel with himself. Only Estriss considered the Spelljammer an intrinsic force in the universe, as something more than an object of conquest.
Only he, of all the mind flayers, had a friend who was human.
With all the others of his own kind surrounding him, he felt completely, utterly alone.
Enemies, Trebek had said.
Estriss listened and watched and wondered who the enemies really were.
Chapter Thirteen
"… Racial warfare will be ignored and will lead to unity whenever a threat is made to the Spelljammer. Then the races will come together and fight as brothers to preserve their cherished home. I myself have seen the lords of the illithids and elves, pitched in glorious battle, drop their arms as the Spelljammer was at
tacked from the Rainbow Ocean and fight side by side…"
Bernard, scribe of the Guild; Scroll of the Seven Suns.
After speaking with Cwelanas in her quarters, Teldin went downstairs to watch CassaRoc and Chaladar, the paladin, put their warriors through sword practice and hand-to-hand combat. Then they went to the tower's armory and checked the condition of the weapons. A feeling of anxiety had come upon him suddenly, as soon as word had reached the tower of the meeting going on in the beholder ruins. The possible alliance of the beholders with the minotaurs, ogres, and hill giants meant only trouble for the humans under the flag of the Cloakmaster. "Nothing good can come of this," CassaRoc said. Chaladar grunted once, and his hand settled on the hilt of his sword. "They are preparing for war. All of them, the unhumans." CassaRoc smiled. "Ah, well. What does it matter? With the warriors of all the Human Collective, and our Unhuman allies, they will not stand a chance. Ahh, I like a good fight."
Teldin's chest suddenly grew tight and warm. He stopped in midstride.
"What's wrong?" Chaladar asked.
"This is wrong," Teldin said, clutching his chest. CassaRoc came up and looked him over. Chaladar said, "Are you well?"
"I have to do something," Teldin said, "get out. We're doing nothing here but talking. I need to- to roam. The adytum. I need to find the Spelljammer's adytum."
They went to the common room and sat at a table. "Perhaps its time you did some exploring," CassaRoc said. "A few of our warriors, with you in disguise
Teldin said abruptly, "It's in that direction." CassaRoc turned from the tap. Teldin was standing, pointing a finger at the tower wall.
"That's toward the stern," Chaladar said slowly. "How do you know?"
Teldin shook his head. "I don't know. It's just a feeling…" He looked down at the amulet, where he clutched his chest, and felt a shock ripple across his skin. "Paladine's blood! What…?"
He ripped open his shirt.
Above his heart, his skin glowed in the shape of the amulet, j j The flesh was warm, pulsating with a tingle of gentle heat. "The design!" Teldin said.
A pattern, a maze inside the circular ring, glowed on his chest. He remembered the message from Gaye: Follow the woven heart.
"This is how I find it," he said. " 'Follow the woven heart.' Somehow, this is a map… no, a compass, that will lead me to the adytum."
CassaRoc came over and placed his finger on the glowing pattern. "I don't feel a thing." "It's warm," Teldin said. "Not to me. Is it always like this?"
"This is the first time I've seen it." He thought for a moment. "No. I saw it in a dream. But I don't think it was really a dream."
CassaRoc looked questioningly at Chaladar, then back to Teldin. "Maybe it's time to go looking for this… adytum of yours."
"Maybe," Teldin said, "but I don't know what to do once I get there. Perhaps a visit to the library tower would be best."
A guard then entered the room and told CassaRoc that an elven messenger had arrived with a decision. The leaders decided to go down and receive the elf alone, as he had been ordered to hurry back to the Elven High Command and assist in the battle against the goblins.
Several minutes later, Teldin nervously paced the confines of CassaRoc's common room, waiting for CassaRoc and Chaladar to return.
Despite his host's generosity and the increasing trust and loyalty of his warriors, Teldin was growing increasingly claustrophobic inside the Tower of Thought. It had been hours since his conversation with Cwelanas, and the uncertainty of the entire situation on board the Spelljammer had begun to gnaw at him..
He did not crave action or bloodshed; he simply wanted to get out of the damned tower and explore, to search, to finally do what he had come here for.
He touched his amulet and watched the light reflect off its engraved surface. Is this the feeling Estriss had asked about? The yearning to be active, to search for his answers out there, among the others?
Is this the call?
He walked behind the bar and poured himself a mug of cold water, then gulped down half the mug and filled it up again.
The desire to leave, to get something done, burned at him like the sign of the amulet upon his chest.
He looked up suddenly and cocked his head. There had been a noise from somewhere outside, like a clap of thunder, or an explosion. Out in the hall he heard shouting and the sound of the warriors' feet as they rushed to their positions throughout the tower.
He flung open the door. "What's going on?" he shouted.
There were cries from above, then a warrior rushed by. Teldin reached out and grabbed his arm. "Wait. What's happening?"
The fighter gasped, then managed, "The neogi. They've started fighting the neogi." Then he turned and ran up the tower stairs.
Teldin heard more warriors rushing up the stairs, then CassaRoc and Chaladar ran up beside him. "The war has definitely begun," CassaRoc said. "Chaladar's scouts spied the start of the battle not five minutes ago. The beholders, the minotaurs, and the ogres just couldn't wait. They're all in it together."
"They're in the neogi tower now," Chaladar said. "They may not be able to hold it. Already a fire has started. The explosion blackened the face of the beholder ruins. The minotaurs are struggling to put it out, but who knows what will happen with this war? Their pointless battles may destroy us all."
"What are we going to do?" Teldin asked.
"Nothing," CassaRoc said. "Absolutely nothing… yet." He held up a folded piece of paper, decorated with a broken seal of red wax. "A communique from our friends, the elves."
He cleared his throat. " "We, the Elven High Command of the Sphere Wanderer Spelljammer, do hereby promise all aid and assistance during the coming times of war to the Cloakmaster, Teldin Moore. We do hereby sign in treaty with the Cloakmaster and his allies, the Human Collective, to fight to the death our mortal enemies, and to ensure the safety and purity of the elven race.' "
"And it's signed by Stardawn and the elven leader himself, Admiral Drova Highstar."
Teldin took it from CassaRoc and read it, though slowly. Teldin had never read very much, nor very well. "Can we believe this?"
Chaladar shrugged. "Personally, I trust very few people. These elves think they're needed everywhere, or nothing would get done. Frankly, I'd rather have them with us than against us, but I don't want them at all.
"Ah, well. The Human Collective will never fall, even if the elves fight against us."
"And Stardawn?" Teldin said.
"Trust your mind flayer friend on that," CassaRoc said. "Stardawn is his own man. He has his own agenda."
"What does that mean?" Chaladar inquired.
"'Means I wouldn't trust him farther than I could spit," CassaRoc said.
" 'He's mad that trusts in the honor of an elf.' "
They both stared at Chaladar.
He shrugged. "Poetry. I read it somewhere."
The Cloakmaster spoke to himself. "They're all so formal and proper, the elves, but in the end," he said, crumpling the message, "it's just a piece of paper."
Chaladar nodded. "Well said."
CassaRoc finished the ale he had earlier left on the table. He made a face; it had grown too warm. "Come on," he said. "Why don't we go up to the Guild tower and take a look?"
Teldin said, "At what?"
CassaRoc smiled. "The battle with the neogi. We can see over the ship from the top of the Guild. With luck, the neogi and the others will kill each other off. Maybe we won't have to fight them at all."
"Too bad," Chaladar said, smiling grimly. "Too bad."
CassaRoc led the way down into the lower floors of the tower. There, a series of passages led to the other human towers, and across into the cavernous Human Collective.
Leoster's guards recognized CassaRoc and Chaladar and let the three men pass. Within the Guild tower, Teldin saw many of King Leoster's fellow nobles going about their daily duties; but many more were occupied with activities that clearly fell beyond their chores as noble warriors: garden
ing, researching such topics as the temperatures of differing wildspace and the tooth sizes of Unhuman races, and collecting games and ancient books. One noble, a council member named Charnom, even boasted an extensive collection of jokes from across the known spheres… most of which were off-color, and had to do with buxom females of all the known races,
At the top of the Guild tower, six guards had been posted, keeping watch on all sides. The Rainbow Ocean was a flare of brilliant colors, a swirling chaos surrounding the Spelljammer on all sides. Teldin, CassaRoc, and Chaladar went to the starboard side and peered over the roofs of the other buildings, toward the neogi tower. CassaRoc pointed. "There. Do you see?" Teldin was instead looking for the trail of wreckage left by the Julia across the Spelljammer's wing. He felt a sense of loss, of innocence left behind, but he could not find the wreckage on the wing; it appeared that some great hand had swooped down and cleared away the charred debris.
"There!" Chaladar cried. Teldin turned and saw a plume of black smoke rising into the ship's huge air bubble from a thick, round tower at the stern. A band of minotaurs was struggling to put out what was left of the fire before the resulting explosions of phlogiston brought the tower down upon their heads.
"They better get that out soon," CassaRoc said. "The Spelljammer could be in trouble if the flow were to explode too much."
The warriors watched for a while, but the real battle had been pushed into the tower. One of Chaladar's guards said that the ogres had forced their way inside, cutting senselessly through a flank of about twenty neogi and their umber hulks. The reptilian neogi had retreated into their tower, followed quickly by the attacking ogres and their monstrous allies. Even from this great distance, Teldin could easily make out pools of blood spattering the deck.
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