The Broken Sphere

by Nigel Findley

  “They’re expecting help,” Teldin stated flatly. “Rhom, get up on deck. Keep a close lookout for other ships. Now!”

  The crewman he’d named paled as he heard his captain’s voice coming from Julia’s mouth. But at least he didn’t stop to question. As he sprinted away, Teldin turned back to the other crewmen and the door.

  “I want them out of there,” he almost snarled.

  The crew turned shocked eyes on him. “They’re armed,” Anson said.

  “So get weapons yourself,” Teldin snapped. “I want them.” To emphasize his point, he drew Julia’s short sword from the scabbard on his belt.

  While Teldin and Djan watched the door, the crewmen vanished, reappearing a few moments later with knives, swords, belaying pins, and other weapons. They looked tense, ready … dangerous. The Cloakmaster smiled grimly. He let his disguise slip away, let his body return to its normal form. The time for secrecy was past.

  He saw the expressions on the faces of his crew – bewilderment, shock, but, most of all, relief coupled with renewed confidence. They’ve got their captain back, he told himself. He felt a flush of pride. Sword at the ready, he stepped forward and tried the door.

  Predictably it was secured – latched from the inside, maybe secured in other ways, too. He hesitated, feeling a faint, almost subliminal tingle from the door handle. Magic? Was the cloak allowing him to sense magical energy now? Why not?

  He stepped back. “I think the door’s been magically sealed,” he announced.

  Djan raised an eyebrow. “By who?” he asked. “Neither Lucinus nor Dargeth is a mage …” He smiled mirthlessly. “They didn’t tell us that they were mages, but then they didn’t tell us they were saboteurs and murderers either. So, how can we counter if”

  Teldin felt rage flaring within his chest. May the gods damn them to the Abyss! he thought. Saboteurs. Murderers. He felt his lips draw back from his teeth in a snarl.

  He felt the cloak around his shoulders resonate with his anger – felt the cloak’s power feed the rage, and vice versa. His fury swelled in his heart, moving like a live thing, with its own will and desires – like the thing he saw in Beth-Abz’s mouth in the dream, he recalled, a bloody, writhing thing fighting for relief. Never had he felt anything like this before, this sensation that his rage was somehow independent of him, with its own distinct existence. That it could burst from him if only he let his guard down …

  And why in the hells not? he demanded. He felt a growl nimble in his throat. The power of the cloak flared through his bones and sinews, pulsing in time with his racing heart.

  Gods damn you …! With a wordless yell, he thrust with his sword toward the door, as though he were about to run it through. The power of the cloak virtually exploded within him, channeling down his arm and through the sword blade. With a thunderclap, an invisible bolt of force struck the door, shattering it from its hinges and driving it into the compartment beyond, to slam against the forward bulkhead. Ears ringing from the noise, Teldin leaped into the doorway.

  Part of the door had slammed into Lucinus, knocking the halfling off his feet and stunning him. Dargeth was unharmed, however, his face twisted with mixed fear and anger. The half-orc pointed a finger at Teldin’s chest and muttered a harsh phrase under his breath. Four tiny projectiles, burning like coals, burst from his fingertip and flashed across the intervening space, unerringly heading for their target ….

  They struck the Cloakmaster in the torso … almost. A finger’s breadth before they touched his flesh, a scintillating curtain flashed into existence to block the missiles. With a hiss, they vanished.

  Dargeth’s eyes widened with shock. He scrabbled for his belt pouch – going for the material components of a more punishing spell, Teldin knew.

  “No!” The Cloakmaster snarled. He raised his sword, sighting along it almost as though it were a crossbow. The power of the cloak pulsed and throbbed through him, seemingly eager to lash out again if he released it. “No,” he repeated.

  He could see – almost feel – the thoughts racing through Dargeth’s mind. He saw him reach his decision. The half-orc flung the contents of the pouch on the floor and raised his empty hands. “Don’t kill me,” he gasped. On the deck next to him, the dazed-looking Lucinus pushed his own sword away and raised his hands as well.

  “You miserable devil-kin bastards,” Teldin growled. His pulse pounded in his ears as the power thundered in his heart and mind. He could kill them both, he knew. The power was there, at his fingertips – more amenable to his control than it had ever been, as though the strength of his emotions somehow refined the link between him and the cloak. It would be so easy, not so much an act of will as the relaxation of will. He felt himself grinning and knew the grin was terrible ….

  “No, Teldin.” Djan’s gentle voice sounded from behind him. He felt a gentle touch on the shoulder; he felt the half-elf’s presence, his concern. He felt, also, his determination. “No, Teldin,” he said again, his voice quiet, but still filled with force.

  The point of the sword started to tremble. He’s right, Teldin knew, but … I owe them death. For Julia, for Dranigor, for the rest.

  “Let it go, Teldin.”

  The Cloakmaster took a deep, quivering breath and lowered the sword. He saw Dargeth and Lucinus relax minutely as they realized they might live a little longer. He turned away in revulsion. “Guard them,” he said tiredly. He stepped out of the compartment into the companionway and leaned against the wall for a moment while his racing pulse slowed somewhat.

  I almost killed them, he told himself. I almost set myself up as judge, jury, and executioner in one, pronouncing sentence and carrying it out without any hesitation. He’d never realized he had that capability for swift retribution; and now that he knew, he recognized he’d have to struggle to keep it forever in check.

  “Ship ahoy!” The yell echoed down the ladder from one of the lookouts on deck.

  In the turmoil of his showdown with Dargeth, Teldin had forgotten what the two saboteurs’ actions had to mean. Now realization flooded back. “Battle stations!” he yelled, and he sprinted up the ladder.

  “Ship ahoy!” the forward lookout repeated when he saw Teldin on deck. He pointed. “High on the port bow, collision course and closing fast!”

  Teldin looked in the direction the crewman indicated.

  There, silhouetted against the dull red glow of Garrash, was a shape like a spiral shell, tapering at the bow to a lethal point: an illithid nautiloid. Its piercing ram was aimed directly at the squid ship.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Battle stations!” Teldin yelled again, and heard the pounding of feet as the crew leaped to their stations.

  Djan was beside him in a moment, taking in the tactical situation in a glance. “Load ballistae,” he barked, “but hands off the catapult.”

  Teldin nodded. He’d forgotten about the new sabotage.

  “They think you’re dead.” The first mate spoke quietly, for Teldin’s ears alone. He gestured at the approaching nautiloid. “They think all the helmsmen are dead.”

  Of course they did, the Cloakmaster thought. That was the purpose of the fire set in the hold – not to threaten the Boundless, but to provide a smoke signal to the illithid vessel that the squid ship was dead in space. Smart, very smart. May the gods damn them to the Abyss forever.

  Brutally, he suppressed his anger. He had to think clearly if he and his crew were to survive.

  AH right. The nautiloid crew might think the Boundless was dead, but it wasn’t, not while the Cloakmaster lived. He drew a deep, calming breath and let himself feel the cloak around his shoulders. He let his thoughts merge with the ultimate helm.

  Then he was the squid ship. He could feel its grievous damage, the rents in the hull blasted by the dying beholder, the cracks in the keel, and the ripped and shredded rigging, only partially repaired. He frowned. It was as Djan had told him soon after Beth-Abz’s death: the ship could sail – slowly – but it was in no shape for a
fight.

  That left Teldin with a difficult choice: push the ship to a speed high enough to guarantee escape from the approaching nautiloid, and risk tearing the Boundless apart, or keep to a speed that wouldn’t kill the ship, and risk getting blown out of space by the illithid vessel. He sighed. Well, there was no way of telling which was the best course until he’d tested the ship’s responses. He extended his will and felt rather than saw the cloak glow with power.

  The Boundless surged forward. Teldin gasped with pain as he felt the cracked keel shift, threatening to tear apart. He backed off on the acceleration slightly, as he started to maneuver the ship to bear away from the attacker. Although his wraparound perception still let him see the nautiloid, most of Teldin’s attention was focused on the squid ship’s internal condition. Thus it was Djan who spotted the next development. “They’re firing!” he screamed.

  Projectiles – three massive ballista bolts, plus a catapult missile – hurtled through space at the squid ship. Quite a salvo, Teldin thought grimly. With his extended senses, he could easily pick out the incoming shots against the blackness of wildspace and mentally project their courses. In the few seconds before impact, he forced the Boundless into a wide barrel roll – a maneuver he’d heard called “battle evasion.” The strain on the keel, and on the entire hull, screamed through his nerves. He gritted his teeth against the pain, desperately willing the ship to hang together.

  The maneuver was partially successful. Two of the shots – the catapult missile and one of the ballista bolts – flew wide. The Cloakmaster gasped as the other two bolts ripped through the hull, one tearing another breach into the cargo hold, the other striking farther forward, near the crew compartments. He slowed the Boundless for a moment as he evaluated the damage. Bad enough, he decided, but still not critical.

  Now I’ve got time to react, he told himself. It takes time to reload catapults and ballistae – one or two minutes at least. We’ve got that much time to get out of here.

  He stopped the squid ship’s roll and poured on as much speed as he dared. Gingerly, he brought the ship’s bow around, curving away from the attacker. The nautiloid appeared to drift aft, hanging like an ersatz moon over the deck rail, until it settled almost directly astern. “Ballistae away!” the Cloakmaster yelled.

  He heard the two great bows sing; with his cloak-mediated senses he felt the vibration of their firing communicated through their mounts to the structure of the vessel. He watched the missiles hurtle silently through space. One missed, passing scant feet to the port of the nautiloid’s spiral hull. The other struck the ship cleanly in its open battle deck, shattering the catapult and felling the barely glimpsed figures of the weapon crew. Teldin smiled grimly. One heavy weapon down, he told himself. “Reload,” he cried. The weapon crews jumped to obey.

  The Cloakmaster poured on a little more speed. He felt the damaged keel start to twist sickeningly under the strain, and he backed off again. Paladine’s blood, he cursed to himself. Not enough speed. The nautiloid was still closing. The tactical situation had turned into a stern chase, which was always a protracted proposition, and the speed differential wasn’t great, but the illithid vessel was slowly overhauling the abused squid ship. This wasn’t supposed to be the way it worked; after all, didn’t he possess an ultimate helm? It didn’t matter much now, he had to admit, with a ship held together by little more than paint and determination. How in the Abyss was he supposed to get out of this one?

  The nautiloid was ready to fire again. He could see the three medium ballistae – two on the upper battle station, one on the lower – cranked back and loaded. He started to maneuver the ship again, but felt the strained keel ready to give way.

  Damn it to the Nine Hells! What did he do now? Throw the ship into another battle evasion maneuver and tear the keel apart? Or keep a steady course and let the nautiloid blow the squid ship to fragments?

  The enemy ship’s weapons fired simultaneously, a salvo of three missiles hurtling silently through the void, all heading straight for the mark. Damaged keel or no damaged keel, he knew that to let all three shots hit was to doom the Boundless. Desperately, he threw the bow down. His stomach lurched with the changing acceleration.

  It almost worked. One of the iron-headed spears hissed past the ship, vanishing again into the darkness. The second grazed the starboard spanker fin, carrying away only a couple of square feet of wood and canvas. The third slammed squarely into the underside of the stern, tearing through the bilges and driving into the foot of the mizzenmast.

  The impact jarred the ship from bow to stern. Teldin’s ears were filled with cries of alarm, his body racked with pain as the keel flexed and cracked. He felt control slip away. The Boundless – again! – was no longer a ship under power, but a shattered and drifting hulk.

  As the squid ship’s speed bled away, the Cloakmaster saw the nautiloid looming up astern, rotating around its long axis so that it appeared to be capsizing. The spiral ship’s long, piercing ram was a spear aimed at the Boundless’s heart. “They’re ramming!” he yelled. “Brace for impact!” Only at the last instant before contact did he take his own advice and grab the deck railing with all his might.

  The hull timbers of the Boundless screamed in torment as the nautiloid struck the hull below and between the spanker fins. The long ram drove through the planking at an upward angle, smashing through the helm compartment to emerge out through the afterdeck.

  The impact was enormous. With a dry crack, the mizzenmast broke in two, the upper portion falling aft and outward, ripping away the already damaged starboard spanker fin.

  Despite his death grip on the rail, Teldin was almost torn free and flung overboard. His head struck a newel post with a sickening crack, and his vision filled momentarily with drifting stars.

  No time, he told himself fiercely, no time for weakness. He shook his head to clear it and forced himself to his feet.

  The Boundless was dead, he knew that. The impact of the ram must have shattered the keel. Theoretically, with an immense amount of work and colossal good fortune, it might be possible to repair it sufficiently to sail again, but that didn’t matter much now, did it? The illithids from the nautiloid would swarm aboard the crippled squid ship at any moment. How many of them would there be? he asked himself. A dozen? Two dozen? Three? How could his crew stand up to that many mind flayers?

  Still, he had to try. “Boarding pikes!” he screamed. “Stand by to repel boarders!”

  Teldin clutched Julia’s short sword as he tried to make sense of the situation. The Boundless was a bigger vessel than the nautiloid, which meant that the squid ship’s gravity plane would be dominant. That meant that the boarders from the nautiloid would have to climb steeply down their own ship to the hull of the Boundless. Then, once they’d reached the gravity plane, they’d have to swarm up the sides and over the rails. Possible, definitely, but quite difficult. “Line the rails,” he ordered as his armed crew poured up onto the deck. “They’ll be coming from below.”

  They were coming already. He could hear footfalls on the underside of the squid ship’s hull.

  Could he use the cloak to see them, to learn how they were planning the assault? He closed his eyes, let his mind expand to include the cloak at his back, and felt his thoughts expand throughout the ship.

  The mental link was fitful, intermittent. The squid ship was dying, as far as the cloak was concerned, but it wasn’t dead quite yet. Through a gray, flickering haze Teldin saw the nautiloid’s hull and the vessel’s crew streaming over the bow and onto the underside of the Boundless, fifteen of them, twenty, twenty-five …

  But they were humans, not the illithids he’d expected! Teldin’s surprise broke the mental link, and he was unable to reclaim it.

  Humans! That made things more hopeful – at least his crew wouldn’t be facing creatures that could fry their brains with mental blasts.

  But what were humans doing aboard an illithid nautiloid? he asked himself. So many of them, and seemingly e
ager to go into battle – infinitely more eager than slaves would be. He forced the question aside. If he and his crew didn’t win the upcoming battle, it wouldn’t matter at all.

  So, no illithids – or, at least, none who’d yet put in an appearance. But there were still twenty-five – no, thirty, now– hard-bitten mercenary types, armed with swords, axes, and maces, clambering across the hull. Maybe the enemy didn’t need mind-blasting monsters.

  Teldin heard a cry of alarm from the starboard rail. One of his crewmen thrust with his boarding pike and was rewarded by a scream from over the side. Battle is joined, he told himself.

  For the first two minutes, the squid ship’s crew was able to block all efforts by the nautiloid’s mercenaries to climb onto the deck. It couldn’t last, however.

  “They’re on the afterdeck!” one of Teldin’s crew shouted. The Cloakmaster looked aft. There were four attackers clambering over the aft rail. Apparently they’d given up a direct assault as too risky and, instead of staying on the hull, had climbed onto the port spanker fin, and from there to the upper portion of the stern.

  “With me!” Teldin cried. Flanked by Djan and two other crewmen, he charged up the ladder to the sterncastle.

  The first of the boarding party over the stern rail was a huge, black-haired man wielding a crescent-bladed hand axe. With a snarl, he swung a whistling cut at Teldin’s head. The Cloakmaster ducked under the swing and drove the point of his sword into the attacker’s chest. He spun to the right to parry a sword thrust from another attacker and riposted quickly, laying open the man’s left shoulder. Then, as the man howled, Teldin ran him through and pushed him backward, to fall clear of the ship. Teldin turned and looking for another foe.

  Djan and the other crewmen had put paid to the remainder of the attackers, not without cost, however. One of the sailors was down, blood pooling around him from a gaping head wound, and Djan was bleeding from a nasty gash in his right forearm.