So it was, on the fourth day since joining the Probe’s crew, that Teldin was standing at his duty station, leaning on the rail, and gazing at the planet Zivilyn as it was passing to starboard. It was Horvath who’d first mentioned this planet to Teldin, during his first days aboard the Unquenchable, and who’d described the gargantuan orb’s wondrous beauty. At the time, Teldin had put the gnome’s description down to an attempt to awe the “dirtkicker.” Now he had to admit that Horvath hadn’t done the world justice.
At this distance, Zivilyn filled almost half of Teldin’s field of view, a massive globe streaked with all the colors of an insane painter’s palette. Myriad bands, each its own hue, circled the planet. Some were broad stripes, others lines that looked as thin as a hair. The edges of the wider bands were rippled, turbulent, and some of the smaller striations seemed almost braided. Although no actual motion was visible – the ship was much too far away – the sensation of chaos, frenzied movement, and cataclysmic forces at work was almost overwhelming. In the upper hemisphere of the planet, near the right-hand limb, was a spiral that could only be a storm of some kind. Darker than the surrounding clouds, this vortex was made up of traces of many colors, blurred together like smeared paint. It was like the storm that Teldin had seen over Krynn as the gnomish dreadnought had climbed out of the atmosphere, and, in comparison to the diameter of the planet, looked hardly larger. Aelfred had told him, though, that the entire world of Krynn could vanish down the vortex of this storm without touching either side.
Zivilyn had twelve moons, he’d learned, perhaps even a thirteenth that had been sighted once but not yet had its position properly charted. Four of them were visible now, just as points of light that seemed brighter – and somehow nearer – than the stars. Each of those moons was a world in its own right, he’d been told, only slightly smaller than Krynn itself. If Krynn is a world scaled for humans, Teldin thought, then Zivilyn is a world for the gods themselves.
He set his crossbow down on the base of the bow catapult and crouched down to stretch the muscles in his thighs. One of his knees gave a disconcerting pop, and tendons complained at the unaccustomed effort. He swore quietly to himself. He’d always prided himself on his level of physical fitness. Working in the fields had strengthened the muscles, and his time in the army had proven what he’d always suspected: that a certain degree of conditioning could spell the difference between life and death. He’d never had to worry about actually exercising before; his daily life had provided all the exertion he’d really needed. But now there was precious little to do aboard ship but eat, sleep, and stand his watch. He’d noticed that several of the officers and crew were fighting a weight problem – in at least one case, a losing battle – and realized he might well face the same fate soon. How did Aelfred manage it? The burly warrior seemed no more active than Teldin, but his belly was hard and tight. And Sylvie, the navigator, appeared the least active of all, but there certainly didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat anywhere on her body.
Teldin smiled and chuckled quietly to himself. Maybe he should just stroll down to the chart room and ask the striking half-elf how she kept herself so beautiful. After all, he justified, it would be in the ship’s best interest if he learned how to keep himself at peak condition ….
A hoarse scream of agony from above him shattered his comfortable musings. Quickly slinging the crossbow’s carrying strap over his shoulder, he clambered up the ladder that led from the forward bridge to the forecastle.
The forecastle was a scene of chaos. In addition to the skeleton crew of two sailors who always manned the turret’s heavy ballista, Estriss, Aelfred, and Sylvie were present. One of the ballista crew, a woman named Preema, was down, clutching a torn shoulder and screaming in agony. The others crouched, weapons drawn, scanning the skies above them.
Where was the enemy? What had wounded Preema – had virtually torn her arm from her torso?
Out of the corner of his eye, Teldin saw a fast-moving shape hurtling toward him. Instinctively he threw himself to the deck, simultaneously snapping the crossbow up to his shoulder and pulling the trigger.
He felt a rush of air as the shape rocketed by above his sprawling body, and rough skin grazed his shoulder. As the shape retreated, he saw it properly for the first time. It was a night-black shark, he thought, but a shark rendered by a madman. It was more than three times longer than a man’s height, and its powerful body was proportionately broad. Its fins and tail seemed no different from those of the small mud sharks he’d occasionally seen on fishmongers’ barrows in the marketplaces of Krynn, but its head … From its gill slits forward, the creature seemed all teeth-filled mouth and single glaring eye. The thing tore through the air, its body twisting in a grotesque mimicry of a swimming motion. Its speed was terrifying in a creature so large. It flashed away from the ship again, curving up and over the forecastle. Then, with an agility totally belying its mass, it turned end for end and drove back toward them in another high-speed pass. For an instant Teldin could see the fletching of his crossbow bolt, buried – apparently harmlessly – just behind the monster’s gills, then he rolled aside into the shelter of the ballista turret.
The other gunner, the young man named Lort, crouched below the turret rail, his short sword clutched in a white-knuckled fist. As the monster rocketed past, he leaped to his feet and threw all his weight behind a thrust at the thing’s head. But at the last instant, the creature twisted its body.
And Lort was gone. The youth’s short sword clattered to the deck. The black space-shark soared away from the ship again, its great mouth making chewing motions. Blood streamed back along its flank, glistening in the harsh light of the distant sun. Teldin felt his gorge rise and tried to swallow the bitter taste of bile that filled his mouth. He rolled to the fallen sword and picked it up. The grip was slick with Lort’s blood.
“Void scavver,” Aelfred was saying. “Sylvie, can you …?”
“I’ll try,” the woman answered. Amazingly, she climbed to her feet.
“No,” Teldin croaked, but the woman paid him no mind.
The monster had turned again. Its mouth was empty; there was no sign of Lort, except for a red stain on its teeth. Again it steadied itself for a pass, this time from directly ahead of the vessel.
Sylvie faced the onrushing creature, her slender hands weaving a fluid pattern in the air before her. She hissed arcane syllables between her teeth and thrust her hands out toward the monster. Multicolored fire lashed out from her fingertips, striking the creature full in its hideous eye.
It shuddered, and for the first time it made a sound – a whistling shriek of pain – but still it came on. Sylvie was still standing, totally exposed, weaving her hands again as she struggled to put together another spell. There was no way she’d be able to get out of the way in time. Teldin looked at the creature’s gaping maw and knew what he had to do.
As soon as the decision was made, he felt the cold, crystal clarity of thought that was becoming almost familiar. His time sense accelerated, and the monster seemed almost frozen in space. He had time to jump to his feet and take one, two steps across the forecastle and push the half-elf to the deck, then he turned to face the approaching scavver, clutching Lort’s short sword before him in both hands, more a talisman than a weapon.
In his peripheral vision he could see Aelfred open his mouth to scream something – no doubt a warning – but it was too late for any warning. The scavver was almost upon him, filling almost all of his field of view. He knew he should feel terror, but somehow the emotion wouldn’t come. His world was empty of anything that could interfere with thought or with volition.
The monster’s mouth opened wider, preparing to snatch him the way it had snatched Lort, but at the last instant he flung himself to the deck. At the same time, as the huge mouth snapped shut on the empty air where his body had been a moment before, he thrust upward with the short sword. He felt the power in his arm muscles, felt the blade drive deep into firm flesh. Then the weapon wa
s wrenched from his grasp. He felt a hard impact against his right hip, hard enough to tumble him over and over until he came to rest against Sylvie’s prone body. Still seemingly in slow motion, the scavver arced over his head. Lort’s short sword protruded from the underside of its throat, the weapon’s cross-guard flush against the creature’s skin. Green-black fluid pulsed from around the steel.
The scavver’s inertia carried it forward, but it was obviously in serious trouble. It rolled to the right and started to drop. With a bubbling shriek it hurtled over the rear of the forecastle, barely missing the mainmast, and plummeted to the main deck below. With his still-accelerated time sense, Teldin was able to roll over and see the creature strike. So great was its speed that it skidded along the deck, leaving a trail of ichor, and slammed into the ladder that led up to the sterncastle.
A dozen crew members were on the main deck, armed with weapons ranging from swords to belaying pins from the rigging. At once they fell on the creature, slashing and bludgeoning it. Although it was mortally wounded, still the scavver thrashed and writhed, snapping wildly with its great mouth. The mindless ferocity of the creature was unbelievable. Even as the Probe’s crew dismembered it, it fought, smashing the ladder and tearing at its killers. The main deck was awash with blood, both green and red, when the scavver was finally still. Teldin felt a calloused hand on his shoulder and suddenly his time sense returned to normal. The fear that had been absent as he faced the scavver washed over him like a wave, and his stomach knotted with nausea. Trembling, he rolled over to look up into the serious face of Aelfred Silverhorn.
“That was amazing,” Aelfred told him quietly. “Stupid, suicidal, insane … but amazing.” He squeezed Teldin’s shoulder reassuringly, then the big warrior’s face split in its familiar, lopsided grin. “Now about your sword technique – you handled that weapon like a shovel. If you’re interested, I’ll teach you a little something about the proper way to wield a word – once you’re put back together, that is ….”
“What do you …?” Teldin started to ask, then he felt pressure on his right hip, the one that had been struck by the scavver. He looked down. Sylvie was pressing a folded doth against the side of his hip. The cloth had originally been white, but now it was turning a rich, dark red. Pain struck him like a blow.
“Take him below,” Aelfred ordered, and firm hands lifted him from the deck.
Chapter Four
Teldin kept his eyes closed and tried to ignore the gentle swinging of the hammock. His right hip throbbed, not with pain so much as with a nagging discomfort. Whenever he tried to move it into a more comfortable position, it started the hammock swinging again, which caused nausea to knot his stomach. He should really be grateful, he told himself. The healing potion had dosed the wound on his hip. Nausea should be a minor price, one he should be glad to pay. Tell that to my stomach! In an effort to make himself more comfortable, he expanded the cloak to its full size and wrapped it around himself like a blanket.
A firm knock came on the door. “Yes?” he croaked.
He heard the door open and rolled over to look at his guest. The first thing he saw was Aelfred Silverhorn’s crooked smile. “How are you feeling?” the first mate asked him.
Teldin ran a quick mental review of his body. His hip still throbbed in time with his heartbeat, but otherwise, “Pretty good, overall,” he answered. “I suppose I’m ready to stop gold bricking.” He sat up …
And the universe seemed to do a quick double flip around him. He sank back onto the hammock with a groan, closing his eyes in an attempt to quell the sudden resurgence of nausea that racked his body.
Aelfred put a restraining hand on his chest. “Not so fast, old son,” he said quickly. “You lost a lot of blood and enough meat to make a small roast. Potion’s are going to help, no doubt about that, but there’s no way you’re going to be doing handsprings for the next few days. You’re to stay here and rest – that’s a direct order from the captain, and from me too – until you’re stronger. Got it?”
Teldin nodded wordlessly.
“Speaking of the captain,” Aelfred went on, “he wants to talk to you, if you feel up to it. Probably wants to talk to you about what happened on the foredeck.” His voice grew quieter, more serious. “I want to talk to you about the scavver, too. Like I told you, what you did was amazing. To be honest, and no offense meant, I didn’t think you had it in you. You probably saved Sylvie’s life – I don’t think she could have gotten another spell off in time – and I know she wants to thank you for that when she gets off watch. The crew knows it was you who brought that thing down. Anyway —” his normal gruff manner returned “— the captain’s waiting outside. Do you want me to send him in?”
“All right,” Teldin replied. “Thanks, Aelfred.”
The broad-shouldered warrior snorted as he went out the door.
Teldin tried to relax, but as soon as he closed his eyes, all he could picture was the tooth-filled mouth of the scavver rushing toward him. He was grateful for the distraction when he felt the cool mental touch of the illithid’s “voice.”
Teldin Moore, the words formed in his head. Are you feeling strong enough for conversation?
He opened his eyes again. Estriss stood in the doorway, his facial tentacles writhing in a way that made Teldin think the creature looked tense or worried. “I think so,” he replied. “Come in.” He looked around the cabin, but there was nothing he could offer the mind flayer as a seat.
Estriss didn’t seem to notice. He walked over to Teldin’s hammock and looked intently into his face. Teldin was uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the blank white eyes, but struggled to hide his reaction.
Something important happened earlier, Estriss said without preamble. I wish to talk about it with you, if you will. Teldin simply nodded. Your reaction to the scavver, the illithid went on, there was more to it than the bravery that so impressed Aelfred Silverhorn. Is that not so? Will you tell me what you felt? What you thought?
Teldin hesitated. “I don’t think I know what you mean.” The motion of the mind flayer’s tentacles intensified, reminding Teldin more and more of a human wringing his hands with anxiety or anticipation. Magic! The word rang in Teldin’s mind as though the creature had shouted it. I sensed magic. The illithid clutched his amethyst pendant in a three-fingered hand. Or, rather, this did. You are not a spellcaster. I know this as a fact. The magic I sensed was not the directed, bidden magic of a normal enchanted item. It was … Estriss hesitated, seemingly groping for the right words. It was … almost autonomous, independent of your will, but not quite. Not the magic woven by sentience, and not the blind magic of a wizard’s ring or wand … but something of both of them. The creature leaned forward, intent, and a tenor almost of pleading entered his mental voice. Tell me what you felt.
“Well …” Teldin paused. There was something about the illithid’s intensity that he found compelling. He needed to analyze for himself the strange sensations of those few moments, and maybe this was the best way to do it. “Well,” he started again, “what I felt was clarity. Everything seemed to slow down around me, or maybe … maybe it was my thoughts that sped up. I … I …” It was his turn to struggle for words. He tried to force his mind back, to feel again what he’d experienced. “I felt like I’d, well, stepped outside myself, that everything was clear. I could think, I could concentrate, and I could act … and there was nothing that could interfere with what I wanted to do. It was … Well, it was like I was looking through a glass window, and the window had suddenly been wiped clean.” He frowned, disturbed with his inability to communicate what he’d felt so absolutely. “That’s not really it, but I don’t think I have the words.”
Was this the first time? Estriss asked. Have you felt this before?
“Yes,” Teldin answered slowly. “Twice before.”
Were the circumstances similar?
“Yes.”
Tension? Danger? On both occasions?
“Yes,” Teldin said positive
ly. “When the wasp ship attacked the longboat. I had a crossbow. The gnomes told me I had to shoot the ballista gunner, then the pirate captain.”
And you did?
Teldin nodded. “I’d never shot a crossbow before, but it didn’t seem to matter. I could concentrate. There were no distractions. I could … I could focus all my thoughts on what I had to do.”
This focus – did it come from within you? There was a different tone to the illithid’s words, a profound intensity, and Teldin knew they both realized this was the key question.
“No,” he responded softly. “It felt … It came from outside.”
The mind flayer’s tentacles ceased their writhing but now quivered with tension. The creature’s mental voice was silent for two score heartbeats, then it continued, gentler but still insistent. Teldin, Estriss asked, do you possess any items of magic? Anything possessed of enchantment?
Now it was Teldin who was silent. He knew with perfect clarity what the illithid was driving at, what it wanted to know. He knew he had the answer Estriss wanted … but was he willing to give it? Over the past weeks he’d thought more and more about his “gift” from the mortally wounded spelljammer, about the strange occurrences that happened around it. He knew that he needed to learn the cloak’s significance.
But should he discuss it with Estriss? Could he trust the mind flayer with his secret? At home he’d never been one for secrets (except when it came to his father, of course, but that was different). He’d always found it much easier to be totally open with everyone. Sometimes people tried to take advantage of what they saw as his naiveté, but much more frequently his honesty and forthrightness brought him the support he needed to follow the path he thought was right.
Into The Void Page 7