The deathspider banked and fired a second time. The roof of the neogi tower exploded under the onslaught of stone shot, burying a dozen warriors from the Tower of Thought under a ton of rubble. The hand-drawn flag of the Cloakmaster lay torn and forgotten beneath a layer of rock and stone wall.
Teldin and his companions knew it had started as they climbed from the hole in the library doors. The flow was peppered with the dark silhouettes of vessels creeping toward them like hungry carrion, and the sound of hand-to-hand combat echoed from every corner of the Spelljammer.
The war had indeed begun.
The weave of the amulet stung like fire through Teldin’s chest. With each passing second, the pattern’s energy seemed to grow hotter, more urgent, spreading deeper and deeper toward his heart. He knew he should be thinking of Cwelanas, held prisoner by Coh and the Fool. He knew he should be sitting at the table in the neogi tower with CassaRoc and Djan and Chaladar, drawing up detailed strategies for the war against the unhumans. He knew he had duties to protect his friends and allies.
But the Call was upon him, buzzing in his head like a swarm of furious insects. With every step, every action, he was driven to turn and run toward the great ship’s tail. The psychic pull was inexorable and could not be ignored.
He needed to go now.
“I cannot wait any longer,” Teldin told the group. “It’s calling me, burning inside me. You can see it for yourself.” He opened his tunic. His chest glowed from within, a yellow pattern of light burning just beneath the skin.
“Teldin, what of the war?” CassaRoc asked.
“Damn the war! It’s all because of me anyway,” Teldin said. Anger shone like a light in his eyes. “If Id gone after the adytum when I first arrived, we might not be having this war. If we leave now, the war will be over all the sooner.”
Djan folded his arms. “Agreed, my friend, but we’re still going to have to deal with the war when we try to leave the tower. Where are we going to go?”
Teldin thought back and visualized his route in his head. The sigil on his chest seemed to spark, and words and images came to him unbidden.
“The adytum is located within the Spelljammer’s tail.” He grimaced in pain as the sign on his chest burned. “I must somehow get to the Elven High Command, and go from there – perhaps through the Old Elvish Academy – then into the ship’s memory, then through the Dark Tower.”
“Memory? What are you talking about?” Djan asked.
Teldin concentrated, and images came to him of a spiraled hall of statues, of row upon row of miniature vessels arranged throughout the rooms. The burning in his chest became cooler, under some control.
Teldin sighed and relaxed. The more he acknowledged the Spelljammer’s call, the less pain he felt inside. “I meant the Armory,” Teldin said.
CassaRoc laughed. “Dream on, Cloakmaster. The Armory and the Dark Tower? The shivaks won’t let you get into one of them, let alone both. I suggest you think of something else.”
“What else can I do?” Teldin appealed. “It’s calling me. I’m not sure where I have to go, but I still have to try.”
Djan nodded. Na’Shee was already securing her weapons. CassaRoc shook his head. “All right, all right. We go out and cut through the war as quickly as possible. We make it to the Elven High Command. Then what?”
Djan said, “The treaty with the elves. They should help us get through the tower. Surely they must know of passages connecting at least the elven towers together.”
“We can go across the battlement, for what that’s worth,” CassaRoc said, “and cross above the academy. We can go straight into the Armory there.”
“The Armory will be well protected,” Na’Shee said. “Those shivaks are hard to kill.”
“Perhaps the elves will loan us a few warriors when we get there. I think we should leave our people here, to help out the allies,” Teldin said. “A small band would work better inside the towers anyway.”
CassaRoc nodded. “Just ourselves, then?”
“Just ourselves,” Teldin said, “and whoever the elves can spare.”
“And what of Cwelanas?” Na’Shee inquired suddenly. She adjusted her crossbow, a sword, a dagger, and a heavy, double-headed flail that hung from her belt. The weapon’s pointed, cast-iron spheres depended from heavy chains, attached to a thick club.
Teldin looked away. “The call is upon me. The Spelljammer is giving me no choice.”
They ran down the steps of the library toward the goblin quarters. At the corner, they saw a small amount of fighting going on toward the bow, but most of the battles were restricted to the central and aft portions of the Spelljammer, directly in their path. There the fighting was fiercer than they had imagined. Without hesitation, the group dove into the fray, their shields raised and their swords unsheathed. Within mere seconds, Teldin was attacked by one of ShiCaga’s towering ogres, and together Teldin and CassaRoc felled the unhuman, hacking at its ribs and legs. CassaRoc delivered the death blow through the ogre’s heart.
At one point, an ogre wizard leaped toward them from the shadows of the minotaur tower. A spell played like dancing light around his hands, and he pointed them toward the Cloakmaster. But Estriss, the mind flayer, shoved Teldin aside and thrust out toward the mage with the power of his mind. The wizard reeled in dim comprehension as the world went black and he crumpled to the combatants’ feet under the unimaginable weight of Estriss’s mind blast.
He is big. He will survive, Estriss said to no one in particular.
“Too bad,” CassaRoc said.
Na’Shee took the lead and plowed through the fighting, screaming a war cry with every swing of her blade. By the time the warriors passed the ruins of the beholders and the blasted neogi tower, their blades were wet with the blood of their enemies, and their hearts were cold with the fear that their comrades inside the tower were dead.
At the Elven High Command, the guards recognized Teldin as the Cloakmaster, but raised their swords in hatred as CassaRoc shoved Estriss toward the entrance. The leader of the guard, a tall elf bearing a thick white moustache, approached the mind flayer and said haughtily, “This thing cannot enter! We are at war with its kind!”
The doors opened, and Lothian Stardawn strode out to greet the warriors. The captain of the guard turned to him. “Lord Stardawn —”
“Colonel Suchbench, this is a valuable ally of ours,” Stardawn said. “He is illithid, yes, but he is not a servant of Tre-bek. He is of the alliance, and he is a friend of the Cloakmaster.”
The colonel brushed back his wide moustache and considered the illithid. “I don’t like it, my lord, not at all, but you’re in charge here. Pass, mind flayer,” he said. He leaned closer and whispered, “but I’ll see you dead if harm comes to any elf.”
The warriors were led to an expansive entrance chamber. The walls were hung with ornate draperies and decorated with pale, ancient statuary that reflected the history and art of the elves.
“Cloakmaster,” Lothian Stardawn said, stopping in front of Teldin. “What can the Empire of the Elves do for you?”
“Stardawn,” Teldin said, “I am being summoned by the ship —” he pulled open the top of his shirt “— and I can no longer resist. The time is now.”
Stardawn’s eyes widened at the sight of the glowing pattern in the Cloakmaster’s chest. For an instant, he considered that this situation might be more complex than he had thought, that perhaps this human truly was destined to be the heir to the Spelljammer’s helm. Then he dismissed the idea as unbecoming for an elf of his stature.
The Spelljammer will soon belong to the elves, to me, he mused.
“What can we do for you?” Stardawn asked.
“I have discerned the location of the ship’s adytum,” Teldin said. “The answers to my quest will be found there. I need your help in getting there.”
Stardawn’s eyes narrowed. “And where is this adytum?” Teldin pointed with his sword. “It’s hidden within the ship’s tail. To get t
here, we need passage into the Armory, and from there into the Dark Tower. We can do this by crossing the battlement over to the Armory.”
“You’ll never get inside,” Stardawn said. “Many of us have tried. No one is ever killed, but the guardian shivaks beat our warriors senseless, then throw them back out. You cannot defeat the shivaks. They are like...” he searched for the words “... like beings of stone.”
“That’s why we need your help,” Teldin said. “If you could spare some of your fighters to accompany us, perhaps we could make it past the shivaks and gain entrance to the Dark Tower.”
Stardawn considered this. “Let me take this up with the commanders,” he said. “I shall return shortly. Until then... Guard!” he cried. “Bring our guests refreshment and whatever else they desire.” He turned to Teldin. “Cloakmaster, please make yourself at home.”
Stardawn disappeared behind a huge tapestry hung against the far wall. There he entered a small antechamber and sat at an ancient desk decorated with silver and gold.
He sat quietly and waited, staring blankly at the top of the desk. Time was short, he knew, if the Cloakmaster was this close to his goal. The Armory would be impassable without the elves’ help, and Teldin would never achieve the captaincy. The shivaks were too strong and too numerous. Had he not tried to enter the Armory twice himself?
No, the Cloakmaster could not proceed.
Stardawn wasted time for several minutes, deciding what he should tell them, then strode purposefully into the audience chamber, where Teldin and his group waited. He stopped as Teldin rose from his chair.
“I’m sorry, Cloakmaster,” Stardawn said with all due reverence. “The high command has decided that the elven empire shall not assist you.”
“But what of our treaty?” CassaRoc inquired angrily. “You promised your help.”
“And the command shall help you, as it is spelled out in our agreement. The battles you anticipate are against the shivaks, and have nothing to do with protecting the elves. As such, the high command refuses to aid you. I am truly sorry, Cloakmaster.”
By this time, all in the group had risen from their chairs and were staring at Teldin. He absently toyed with his bronze amulet. “‘I’m sorry.’ That’s all the elves can say?”
Stardawn was silent. If Teldin had been paying attention, he would have noticed the anger smoldering inside the elf’s eyes at the human’s temerity to mock an elven commander.
Teldin said suddenly, “Then we go anyway.”
The spell was broken. Na’Shee smiled and adjusted her heavy belt, hung with weaponry. CassaRoc stood prouder and nodded once. “There we go,” he said.
“Wait,” Stardawn said. “Your courage is admirable,” he said quickly, “but you cannot defeat the shivaks. I’ve been in there myself, exploring,” he said quickly. “I’ve fought them and lost. For every man you have, two or three shivaks will appear. You have no chance.”
It was Djan’s turn to speak. “We have the Cloakmaster. It is his destiny to seek the adytum. We will be victorious. We must be.”
This was not working properly, Stardawn knew. They were supposed to turn back, facing unbeatable opponents. Of course, he could let them go on and face defeat, but what if, just what if they were to beat the shivaks?
Then the cloak would never be his. And the Spelljammer would be denied to the elves, the natural rulers of the universe, and, most importantly, to him.
“Then,” Stardawn said carefully, with just enough theatrics to make them believe him, “the high command be damned. I will go with you. If,” he added, “you’ll have me.”
CassaRoc watched Teldin cautiously. The Cloakmaster smiled and looked into Stardawn’s eyes. His hand was held to his chest, as though he were gaining warmth from the glowing symbol. “You are welcome to accompany us, Stardawn. We can certainly use your expertise.”
Stardawn turned. “I will prepare myself for battle,” he said. “I’ll return shortly.”
The group watched him go.
“I’m not sure that elf can be trusted,” CassaRoc confided.
Teldin said slowly, “I’m sure he cannot.” The pattern on his chest glowed even brighter. Teldin stared into the shadows where Stardawn had disappeared. “But this is the way it was meant to be. One of us will not return.”
The silence lay heavy in the antechamber while the warriors pondered Teldin’s prediction.
“Would you be kind enough to explain that?” CassaRoc finally asked.
“I wish I could. Stardawn is supposed to be with us, this I know. And... we must accept the decree of fate.”
They watched him without commenting, then stood silently until Stardawn returned, well armed and suited for battle. He led them from the audience chamber to a small door off a central corridor. Other elves were busy there, hardly noticing the humans. They carried their brethren, wounded and bloody from the battles outside, on stretchers and in their arms.
Stardawn unlocked a wooden door with an ancient iron key, and the door slowly creaked open. Beyond, a staircase covered with dust led down into the darkness. “No one goes through here much,” Stardawn admitted. “I was the last that I know of, almost a year ago.”
The group entered the stairwell, and the elf closed the door. He took a light rod from a shelf. “First we go down. This leads to the lowest level, and that leads to a staircase up to the battlement. We won’t need the lights outside. Besides, from what I saw, the Armory is lit by the Spelljammer’s light panels. We’ll have no trouble seeing once we get inside.”
They filed down the narrow staircase and gathered at the bottom. Stardawn unlocked the door and led them into an old storage area.
“This way,” Stardawn said, and he led them between piles of dusty crates and casks of murky liquids to an ancient hidden door. He unlocked this one with another iron key and ushered them through. The chamber beyond also was used for storage, but the boxes and urns stacked across one wall seemed forgotten and were layered with a thick patina of dust. In one comer, a spiral staircase twisted up into darkness. Stardawn held up the light rod. “Not very far,” he smiled, “only twenty five floors to go.”
Teldin paused. This level, this room, of the elven command seemed familiar to him, though he had never been here. The smell of ancient dust, the feel of the wooden door, the sound of the lock being opened – I know this, he thought. He cocked his head and turned his thoughts inward. How do I know this place?
Stardawn took the first step onto the staircase, then stopped as a subtle noise echoed from somewhere behind them. As one, the warriors turned.
“Just a rat,” Stardawn said. “The ship is infested with them.”
CassaRoc said warily, “A rat? A living rat?”
“Not a rat,” Teldin insisted, “alive or dead.” He started toward the wall hidden by crates. The decapitated head’s message! he thought suddenly. He gritted his teeth. The entrance to the warrens is here!
“Help me with these crates,” he told them.
His friends shrugged and started forward. Stardawn came over, anger flaring on his pale elven face. “Why do you want to find a rat?”
“It is not a rat I seek,” the Cloakmaster said. “There is something more here. And it was no rat we heard.”
They piled the boxes against the opposite wall. Some were so old that the wood had rotted through, and they fell into dust and splinters when held too tightly. Finally, near the floor, Teldin spied what he had hoped would be here. “Yes,” he said, “it is here.”
With a flurry of energy, Teldin shoved the other crates and jars aside. He stood and stared for a moment as the others crowded around him.
The doors in the floor were wooden, sealing a circular entrance of some sort. Heavy boxes had been placed atop it some time in the dim past.
“‘In the elven warrens,’ the thing told me.” Teldin glanced over his shoulder. His friends had not seen Coh’s zombie slave. “In Coh’s quarters. He had a zombie head that told me Coll had come here.”
&nb
sp; “No one has been through this door for a long time,” Stardawn again admitted.
“No, but he is close, in a lair near here. Can you not feel his evil?” Teldin opened the doors.
The others said nothing. Chaladar grunted, for he could feel the coldness on his arms and smell it emanating from the entrance. “Aye, I feel it.”
Na’Shee shivered. Estriss said, There is powerful magic down there.
The amulet glowed again, and Teldin felt its warmth ripple through his chest. The entrance to the warrens beckoned darkly, and he thought of Cwelanas, her soft laughter, the sadness behind her eyes.
No longer. She has been through too much.
“I’m going to get her.”
Stardawn came up beside Chaladar and asked him what all this was about. Chaladar quickly, quietly explained about Cwelanas’s kidnapping. Stardawn remained silent, but inside he felt joyous. If the Cloakmaster were to die in the warrens, then he could never make it to his precious adytum with his cloak.
“What are we going to do?” Stardawn asked, his tone level. “We shouldn’t leave her with the Fool...”
“Cloakmaster,” Na’Shee said, “I know you care for her, but if you find the adytum, there is no telling what might happen.”
“True,” Teldin said, “but the Fool still works his dark magic, and his undead still roam the ship. Maybe the Spelljammer can’t do anything about the Fool’s evil. Perhaps its up to me. Perhaps I have no choice.”
“Perhaps we have no choice,” Stardawn said. “If you go to find her, I’m coming with you.”
“As will I,” Na’Shee said.
Djan and CassaRoc agreed. Teldin pointed at the tunnel with his sword. “They’re somewhere down there, down in the warrens. Are you sure you still want to go with me?”
CassaRoc answered. “We have lights. We have weapons. What more could we ask for?”
“Less powerful enemies,” Teldin said.
“There is that,” CassaRoc conceded.
The Ultimate Helm Page 20