by Roger Moore
There was a pause, and Teldin had a mental image of someone smiling wryly at a private joke. He looked around and noticed that everyone standing around him – Aelfred, Sylvie, the gnomes, Gaye, even Gomja, still half-tied on the ground – appeared to be listening to their own internal voices. You should not be concerned that they can hear what I am to reveal you, said One Six Nine, inclining its head in Teldin’s direction. I have been able to project my thoughts into others from the time of my generation as an individual, unlike others of my kind, though I can read only your surface thoughts in return. I am able to carry on two such conversations at once-again, a unique ability. I am giving your comrades a speech welcoming them to my abode. I find this an easy speech to give, and I am not troubled by its habit. I wish to speak with you alone now. You fear that you can trust no one. I will strike a bargain with you, Teldin Moore. I will tell you what is true about the Spelljammer if, when you find it, you will return and tell me all that you find to be true about it.
Teldin blinked and dropped his gaze, considering. It was an easy enough thing to promise. The fal obviously was powerful and had no real reason to lie. He had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t interested in his cloak in the slightest; only pure knowledge would satisfy it. As far as he was concerned, that was a fair enough price to pay for more practical knowledge. If he fal’s advice was true enough, he’d owe the creature a thousand favors.
He made his decision and looked up. “It’s a deal,” he said imply. “I’ll do what I can for you if I make it to the Spelljammer!’
I am pleased, said One Six Nine. I trust you and have faith in your ability. You must listen carefully to my next words.
I must tell you first that you must be prepared to meet dangers that will make all you have seen until now appear tame. You will face uncounted enemies on your quest, their ranks growing with each passing day. You must have courage beyond measure to go on to the end, for even if you retreat from hunting for that ship, your enemies will do their utmost to sky you for your cloak as you sleep. You were, are now, and will be hunted, no matter what you do. You cannot escape this fate.
I must tell you second that your cloak is not unique. You have one of many devices with the potential to control the mighty Spelljammer. You are one of many other beings from across the known spheres and beyond who seek the prize of command of that ship. You must move with all speed to your destination if you wish to have a chance at capturing it for yourself, to whatever ends.
“Wait, wait,” Teldin mumbled, dazed. He had expected the grim, first revelation, but not the second. “There are Others? But how could there be? I don’t —”
I have little time left, Teldin Moore, said One Six Nine almost sadly. I sense the arrival of your enemies is at hand. I muse tell you third that the goal you seek is itself dangerous to you. I have met others before you who sought the Spelljammer, and they have vanished, their ultimate fates unknown to all but themselves. I have heard reliable stories of whole crews who went aboard that ship but were swallowed up by their goal. You must be wary of all dangers when you set foot on its decks, and you must watch for destruction such as no being has ever faced before, for no one has yet successfully prepared for it or escaped it.
I must tell you fourth that I alone know a due to the mystery of the Spelljammer, one that was revealed to me when last the Spelljammer passed through this sphere. I reached out to the ship with my mind, across the millions of miles of open space beneath our sun, in an effort to communicate with those powers aboard it. I discovered in doing so that which I had not expected. I know that the Spelljammer is alive.
“Alive?” Teldin said faintly. “The ship’s alive? How?”
I do not know how. I caught only the briefest look into what consciousness it has, and I looked into alien depths I could barely fathom. I captured but one image out of that foreign abyss of thought and dream, one bit of real knowledge. I offer you the knowledge that to find the truth about the Spelljammer, you must seek its birthplace: a broken sphere. I know no more, Teldin Moore.
One Six Nine shifted, raising its forward bulk off the ground so that it towered over the assembly beside the Perilous Halibut. Its tentacles twisted in great agitation.
I sense that your enemies have arrived, the fal said to all. I can do nothing to protect you but to give you warning. You must fight or flee. I am glad to have seen you, Dyffed, my young friend. I send you my best wishes and the hope that we will again meet in peace.
Without warning, the vast black image of the fal vanished.
Teldin stared stupidly at where the fal’s head had been, then roused himself and turned to look at Aelfred, Sylvie, and Gomja. With horror, he realized that Gomja was still entangled in rope, and he hastily dropped to his knees to untie his friend as fast as possible.
“You heard him!” Aelfred roared at the top of his lungs. “Arm yourselves! Get to the ship!” The gnomes nearly fell over themselves to comply with his command, squabbling over who would be first to ascend the rope ladder to the ship Gomja struggled to untie a complex knot on his feet, then hesitated, his hands frozen in the act of fumbling with the ropes. Teldin glanced up at the giffs broad face. Gomja was looking over Teldin’s head at something in the sky behind him.
“By the arm of the Great Captain,” the giff muttered, then bent to finish untying his legs. Teldin risked a fast look behind him, knowing that whatever he saw would be something he wouldn’t like.
He was surprised to find that the immense orange butterfly hovering in the sky behind him was actually quite beautiful. The wingspan of the ship had to be three times the length of the Perilous Halibut’s hull, maybe five hundred feet or more across. The delicate panes of its purple-veined wings were lit like stained glass by the vast sun overhead. It could not have been more than a few hundred yards above them, silent and magnificent. Teldin could not imagine how it had gotten there so suddenly.
A bit of movement attracted his eye. On the tips of the butterfly’s wings were tiny figures wearing the silver armor of the Imperial Fleet.
It was only a moment later that the giant orange butterfly opened fire. Teldin saw something coming right for him, perhaps a ballista bolt. It was too late to dodge it. A moment later, the bolt zipped over his head – and someone behind Teldin gasped and fell.
Chapter Eighteen
“No!” Aelfred’s voice rang out as Teldin turned. Teldin had a momentary glimpse of Aelfred’s curly blond hair, the big warrior’s face blank with shock as he looked at the ground near Teldin’s feet. Then Aelfred rushed forward and bent down over someone lying on the ground only two steps behind Teldin. Teldin looked down and saw silver hair spilled over the long, flattened grass.
The figure on the ground was Sylvie.
Sylvie’s sky-blue blouse was glistening purple in an ever-expanding patch around the yard-long shaft of dark wood that projected from her chest. As Teldin looked on, her thin white fingers slipped down the bolt’s shaft and fell to her sides. Her head eased back into Aelfred’s big hands, her eyes now open but unseeing. Aelfred whispered her name, cradling her head. There was no response.
Someone spoke Teldin’s name. He looked away and saw the gnomes still boarding the Perilous Halibut, the cold orange butterfly hovering in the air beyond. Gomja was on his feet now at Teldin’s side, his broad hippopotamus face almost white as he looked down at Sylvie and Aelfred. The giff swallowed, then he looked at Teldin and motioned to the ship. “You have to go, sir,” he said, his voice hollow. “The elves are still firing at us. Get to the ship.”
Gomja gave Teldin a slight push, then turned to Aelfred and Sylvie, blocking Teldin’s view, and knelt down. Teldin broke his gaze away and numbly started back for the ship. His blue cloak flapped against his legs as he walked. He felt nothing. How curious, he thought; she’s dead, and I feel nothing at all. He looked up at the ship and saw Gaye’s golden face, framed by her black hair and rainbow dress. She was looking over Teldin’s head at the scene behind him. Then she buried her face in
her hands and wailed.
*****
“Cease fire,” said Cirathorn. “Signal the Free Wind’s Fury and Emerald Hornet to drop their cloaks. If the gnome ship lifts off, resume firing until it is brought down, then cease firing again. Go and do.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Mirandel whispered. The battlewizard left quietly to relay Cirathorn’s orders, leaving him alone on the forward bridge at the right oval window. He gazed down through the tinted glass at the scene on the ground, hundreds of feet below. The initial volley of ballista bolts appeared to have struck down at least one of the gnomish ship’s crewmen, judging from the little cluster of beings near the black vessel. Death was regrettable, if unavoidable in getting the point across. In the larger scheme, it mattered not. Such events were insignificant from this height. He was the one who was looking down, not they. He was the one who spun the plans, not someone who was caught within them. Only the grand scheme mattered in the universe. No one cared for the fate of one lone creature.
Cirathorn frowned slightly. The spider imagery that had come to mind was unappealing, one fit more for the drow, the true elves’ twisted cousins who lived in underground realms, forsaking the light. Better, he reflected, to use the image of the caterpillar and its cocoon, the transformation to a higher state of consciousness. He was the caterpillar, the one who would restructure his world – indeed, all the known spheres – with his boldness and daring. His seizing of the cloak of Teldin Moore would deliver the ultimate vehicle of change into his hands, the Spelljammer, and with that he would transform the faces of all worlds at once. It would be a new age, a time of glory, in which all elvenkind would be forever free to sail the spheres, the masters evermore of wildspace and the flow, and of all the —
“My admiral,” interrupted a soft voice behind him.
“Yes, battlewizard,” said Cirathorn frostily after a pause. She had spoiled his thoughts. He swung around, his eyes like the bottom of a frozen pond.
Mirandel’s voice was empty of emotion. “The Free Wind’s Fury has sighted an unidentified man-o-war, approaching from the sun. It is being pursued by elements of the orcish fleet, and it will reach us in five minutes.”
The coldness went out of his eyes. “A man-o-war? What pattern?”
“Bright yellow, my admiral, without markings.” Mirandel licked her lips uncertainly. “I believe it would be a modified or lost ship, as there is no mention of any ship of this type in our records.”
“Of course.” There had been a yellow-and-red pattern grown two centuries ago, but it had not been an especially aesthetic design and had been discontinued. Perhaps this was a renegade ship, now seeking assistance against the orcs. Its captain and crew could be dealt with later for their transgressions, which would perhaps include capital theft and mutiny, but there might be extenuating circumstances. One never knew with elves, he thought, and smiled tightly. “Did the Fury and the Homer drop their cloaks?” Cirathorn asked. “And how many orcish ships are pursuing the newcomer?”
“The Hornet did, but the Fury retained its cloak once it saw the approaching ships. We have heard that only four ships are pursuing.”
Two big ships alone would be enough to scare the gnomes into surrender. “Excellent,” he said. “Have the Fury immediately investigate the oncoming man-o-war and send recognition and greetings. Permit no boarding, and have the Fury avoid combat. We must gain the cloak from Teldin Moore. Then we can be free to deal with the orcs, which should take only a few minutes’ work.”
Mirandel nodded. “Yes, my admiral,” she said, and turned to leave. She staggered, off balance, as she did so, catching hold of the door frame to keep from falling. Mumbling an apology, she left the bridge.
Cirathorn chewed the inside of his cheek. Mirandel had barely eaten since her sister’s death. This foolishness would have to stop, or she would be replaced and sent to her cabin under arrest, wife or not. She had no right to act in this manner. The admiral had lost almost his whole family line during the Unhuman War, but he had never stopped for rest in his mission of vengeance. Mirandel showed disturbing signs of weakness, and weaklings were a liability in these times of fire and blood.
He turned around again to look out the right window. The Emerald Hornet now rode the sky to starboard, the second point in an aerial triangle above the black gnomish ship. The third point, soon to be unoccupied, would be the invisible Free Wind’s Fury. Two ships would be enough to get what he wanted. He would have to send down another flitter and hope for better success than the now-smashed first one had found. The admiral made a mental note – to have commendations sent to the families of the elves who had died in the crash while trying to capture Teldin Moore. There was no need now to be polite about it. Teldin Moore, tragically, would have to be killed.
And it would be best if the admiral did it himself, he thought, fitting and proper in the grand scheme.
Far below him, specks crowded around the black ship.
*****
“We cannot retreat,” said Gomja, matter-of-factly. He checked the firing mechanism on his fourth pistol, then jammed it into his belt beside his other weapons, like Teldin, Gaye, and a handful of gnomes, including Dyffed, he crouched on the grass beneath the bulk of the Halibut, his back pressed against the cool black metal of the hull. “I do not normally favor escape, sir, but I’ve learned prudence. We would be shot down at once if we tried to flee.”
Teldin exhaled slowly and looked across the trampled grass to Aelfred’s hunched figure. From this position, Teldin could not see Sylvie’s body, and for that he was glad. “So you’re saying we should surrender.”
Gomja snorted and gave Teldin a disgusted stare. “No. We should make the elves regret their unprovoked attack.”
“Make them regret it?” Teldin asked in disbelief. “How in the name of all the gods can you just say something like that? You have got to be the craziest person I’ve ever met in my life. When I first met you, you gave me this incredible speech about how you were going to kill me, then your pistol blew up. You lead an attack on a neogi deathspider with a few dozen gnomes, and you crash the whole ship into a lake. You were helping out the elves —” Teldin broke off, sensing he had said too much.
The giff looked down, carefully pulling his uniform’s front together and buttoning it where it had come loose. “I freely admit that the elves used me, sir, but they have killed our navigator and chief helmsman. We must make them regret it by being prepared to take advantage of their every mistake from this moment forward. They have two ships above us, but neither ship can land. We are at an impasse unless the elves have more of their small flitters to come after you personally. Ever, if the elves win, their casualties will cause them to mourn their victory.”
Teldin said nothing at all to this. He looked down at the grass on which he sat, with his cloak bunched up beneath him. After a moment, he turned to his right, where Dyffed and Gaye sat, almost within arm’s reach.
Gaye’s tear-streaked face was almost hidden in her black tresses. She still watched Aelfred but made no sound at all. Occasionally she would sniff and wipe her nose on her sleeve. Dyffed sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, idly picking at a thumbnail. He sensed that Teldin was watching him, and he looked up blankly and shrugged, carefully avoiding any glance in Aelfred’s direction.
Something clicked in Teldin’s mind but wouldn’t quite surface. Something about Dyffed and the Halibut. Something with an unpronounceable name.
“Your secret weapon,” said Teldin. “Dyffed, where’s your secret weapon? The birthday party?”
The gnome peered through his thick spectacles and blinked rapidly. “The what?”
“The birthday party, damn you! You told me that you had a secret weapon aboard the ship, something you and One Six Nine had been working on. Where’s your weapon?”
Dyffed’s blank look vanished. “Yes, it’s …” The gnome hesitated and looked around, but no one else had the slightest interest in either him or what he was saying. “It’s here with me, all
finished. Why? What did you want with it?”
I must be dreaming, Teldin thought. “What did I want with it? I want you to use it! Use it on the elves! Can you use it to blow up their ships?”
Dyffed’s eyes glazed over as he became absorbed in the idea. “What a thought,” he finally mumbled. “It could certainly do that. I have no idea if there’s any limit to what it can do. We should set up some tests, then arrange for a field demonstration, then —”
“You idiot!” Teldin yelled. Everyone but Aelfred turned to look at him. “We have no time for testing it! We have no time left for anything! Pull out that secret weapon and show us the damned thing!”
Again, Dyffed looked around. Seeing all eyes upon him, he made a decision and sighed heavily. “This goes against all my better judgment and scientific ethics,” he said, “not to mention the members’ code of Ironpiece Dweomerfusion Industries, Ordnance, and Technology, but perhaps you have a point.” He reached into his dirty vest and carefully extracted a slip of folded paper. This he handed, after a moment’s hesitation, to Teldin. “Here it is.”
Teldin took the paper in disbelief. After staring at the gnome, he looked down and slowly unfolded the paper. He read it without comment. “This is it?” he finally said.
The gnome looked down and nodded somberly. “Took me decades just to get it right,” he said with a trace of satisfaction. “One Six Nine was a jolly help, just perfect. Fine old boy."
"Is this a spell?” Teldin asked.
“Oh, no, no, not at all. That’s just the theory. We’ll have to get the raw materials and some equipment, assemble a device or two, develop a delivery system, conduct at least a few tests, then we’ll be ready to put it into production.”
Teldin said nothing. After a few moments, the slip of paper dropped from his fingers. His head sagged forward until it dropped into his upraised hands, his palms and fingers covering his face.