They were in the lair of the Fool.
Tunnels branched off from each side, and the roof of the cavern was lost in the shadows. The chamber was a natural formation, almost organic, diseased with tumors of black fungi and the stench of the dead.
The undead Coh greeted them. His eyes were blazing pinpricks of light. He smiled, beckoning with his black claw’s, and Teldin lunged and drove his sword straight into Coh’s mocking face. The undead neogi collapsed to the floor, spurting gouts of foul blood.
Laughter erupted from the far wall of the dimly lit chamber. Behind gauzy draperies of spiderwebs, the Fool waited for them, perched upon his throne of bones. Cwelanas kneeled before him, his skeletal hand tight on a heavy chain shackled to her slim neck.
“Welcome, Cloakmaster,” the Fool said. His voice sent shivers down Teldin’s back. It was a death rattle, a breath from the grave.
The Fool stood, jerking Cwelanas’s chain tight. The iron shackle dug deep into her throat as she struggled to retain her balance. The Fool slid his black long sword from its ancient scabbard and rested its sharp point against the back of Cwelanas’s neck. He slung the heavy chain across her shoulders, and she cried out as the iron links pounded her vulnerable skin. With the other hand the Fool idly toyed with his scarlet amulet.
Teldin’s friends arranged themselves around him protectively and faced the dais. Teldin nodded at Cwelanas, questioning with his eyes. “I’m all right,” she said.
“Silence? the Fool yelled with a hiss. The point of his blade drew a drop of blood from her flesh. The sword, tensing for more, for the blood and the life force of the elf, hummed in the Fool’s hand.
“The deathblade hungers,” the Fool said to Teldin. He laughed. “It has far less patience than I. It yearns to drink deeply of your lovely friend’s soul. Shall I let it, Teldin Cloakmaster? Shall I drive my blade deep into her heart, so that my thirsty steel may drink?”
Teldin took a step forward. “If you harm her —” he started, but the Fool interrupted him.
“What will you do, Cloakmaster.?” the Fool asked. “What do you think you really can do? You know nothing of my powers. You are but a whelp, a dispensable pawn who chanced on an instrument of power. Your meager determination brought you here, human, simply to see everyone you’ve ever loved die.
“Is that what you want, Cloakma —”
The Fool stopped suddenly as a glimmer of golden light appeared at Teldin’s shoulder. It flickered like a flame, growing into a ball of light that coalesced into the astral form of Gaye Goldring. Her robes flowed about her, glowing with her own psionic energies. She spied the Fool upon his dais and quickly positioned her hands into a defensive posture.
“Ah, my little kender friend,” the Fool mocked, “back for your final punishment? I am no shade or banshee to dispel with light, kender. You are nothing more than an insect to me. I will see you die today.”
The Fool turned to Teldin.
“Understand this, human. The elf’s blood will be spilled, O great Cloakmaster, unless you are prepared to bargain...”
“Bargain.” It was Teldin’s turn to laugh. “You don’t want to bargain, Fool,” he said. “You want only to kill.”
The Spelljammer, Teldin, Gaye said. His goal is to destroy the Spelljammer and everyone aboard, for revenge of when he was captain.
“Captain?” said Chaladar.
The Fool glowered at them in contempt.
“I know you better than you realize,” Teldin said. You’re everything I ever fought against. You’re everything I’ve ever hated: arrogance, hatred, war, murder, corruption, death.
“Look around. Do you know what this chamber was?”
The Fool seemed to shrink in upon himself. The warriors turned to observe their surroundings.
“This is the heart, Fool. This is the heart of the Spelljammer, and it is your evil that has corrupted it.”
Teldin’s friends stood there awestruck, deep within the body of the Spelljammer itself, the great ship’s very heart.
“It is a living thing, more powerful and important than you will ever be!” Teldin shouted. “It is far more than a vessel or a city. It is a myth come to life.”
The Fool bowed slightly. “If that is all you know, then, Cloakmaster, you know nothing.”
“Nothing,” Teldin said. “That’s all you are, Fool, nothing. You’ve got all these empty powers, and all you want is to see your obsession come true. ‘Death to the Spelljammer.’ All because you lacked the discipline to be a worthy captain... or a worthy man.”
The Fool flinched in anger. He was not used to humans talking back to him. “The Spelljammer deserves to die after what it did to me!” he shouted. “I was the captain, the best captain. I dared to use the Spelljammer to rule the spheres, and it committed mutiny to destroy me, to imprison me in the Dark Tower with the others. I had other plans.”
The Fool’s grip tightened on his ruby amulet. “I carefully made... arrangements for my escape. Plans for my revenge. And your damned cloak is destined to be the instrument of the Spelljammer’s death!”
“Can you think of nothing else?” Teldin challenged. “Did you sell your mind as well as your soul? You have the ship’s population tricked into thinking you’re an all powerful wizard, or a foul demigod, who secretly rules the Spelljammer.” Teldin raised his arms and gestured. “Look around you. You are surrounded by nothingness, darkness, emptiness. You are a ruler of nothing but the dead. You’re nothing but a zombie yourself.”
“The dead are excellent servants,” the Fool said, “as you and your little whore will be soon, if you do not give me the Cloak of the First Pilot.”
Teldin pointed his sword at the Fool. “The cloak is mine.” He braced his legs defiantly. “The cloak cannot be removed unless I’m dead. If you want the cloak, you’re going to have to take care of me first.”
The Fool grimaced in what amounted to a smile. “I do so love a challenge,” he said.
The blazing pinpricks in his eyes flickered momentarily, then around the warriors the moaning began. They gathered together and formed a tight circle.
The chamber filled with the shambling undead. Elves, humans, dwarves, even a long-undead k’r’r’r, surrounded them, fifty or so swarming in from warrens hidden deep in the shadows of the Fool’s lair. Above their constant moaning, the Fool laughed.
“The decision is yours, Cloakmaster,” he said. “Give up the cloak, or all of you will die, and your precious Cwelanas will come to love my embrace... in undeath.”
“We’ve taken our chances before, Fool,” Teldin said. “We’ll take them now.”
The Fool’s eyes flickered once, and the undead attacked. The blades of the humans whistled through the air, slicing through dead bone with a fury for life that only the desperate can muster. The warriors’ battle cries echoed through the chamber, drowning out the low moans of undead agony.
But the undead had them surrounded in numbers far superior to their own, and it was only a matter of time before they were overpowered. Chaladar was the first to be wounded, bitten in the leg by the yellow teeth of an undead neogi. CassaRoc, despite the mighty swings of his battle-axe, was grabbed from behind by an undead umber hulk. Teldin and the others were busy defending themselves. His sword sliced through three undead before he was overtaken by their sheer numbers. His cloak was impotent, useless; it hung to the floor without power.
The light in the room suddenly brightened, and the Cloakmaster realized the glow was emanating from Gaye. She floated inches above the floor, her eyes closed as if in sleep, her hands crossed over her chest. Her voice echoed like a sibilant whisper in his mind. Protect the others.
“Protect? How?”
The light that was her life force shone brighter. The undead flinched at her radiance, then continued on as the Fool screamed at them, “Kill them! Kill them all!”
Teldin felt Gaye’s power flicker over his bare arms. Instinctively, he shouted “Come here!” to the others. “Quickly! We haven’t muc
h time!”
The warriors doubled their energies and pummeled away at the undead. Then they were lined around him, weapons ready, enveloped in Gaye’s warm glow.
Her eyes snapped open. Her energy suddenly hummed in their ears like a powerful inhalation of breath. Teldin gasped, and he knew.
His body was flooded with the icefire of the cloak’s power, and the cloak billowed out, stretching impossibly to encircle the warriors and pull them into a tight group. They all felt the cloak’s energies then, tingling along their skin, raising the hairs on their arms and necks with a ripple of cold.
The cloak tightened around them, concealing them from Gaye’s powers.
And the light from Gaye was expelled from her astral body in an explosion of heat and energy and psionic power, an ultrapowerful blast of mental energy that burned through the undead and knocked them to the floor, reeling in pain as their bodies resonated with purifying energy.
The undead collapsed upon themselves, all semblance of their minds burned away with the blast of Gaye’s life force. She flickered weakly and floated to the floor, where her aura faded to a dim glow.
Teldin willed the cloak to unfurl, and he and his warriors rushed to her. She was weak, but she smiled bravely.
The chamber was littered with the bodies of the dead, and Teldin jumped through them toward the Fool’s dais.
“You may stop the undead,” the Fool yelled, “but you will never stop me!”
The Cloakmaster reached the dais in one leap. He coiled and swung at the Fool with his sword, but the blade cleaved harmlessly through the image of the Fool as though it were smoke.
Teldin stepped back. “Cwelanas?” he said.
Her image wavered, then swirled away, a spell of illusion blown on the dark winds of the Fool’s chamber. The image of the Fool seemed to smile in glee as it blew apart on a cold breeze. Over it all Teldin heard the Fool’s laughter, from wherever his place of concealment was.
“One chance more, you have, Cloakmaster,” the Fool’s voice echoed throughout the chamber. “The cloak for the woman. This will be her only hope.”
His voice faded, echoing with cackles of laughter, and Teldin spun on the dais to face his friends.
“All this for nothing! We walked straight into it.”
“It had to be done,” CassaRoc said. “We had the chance to find her. We would do it again.”
Teldin nodded grimly.
Without warning, the Spelljammer shuddered violently from the pounding of ballistae up on deck. The Cloakmaster steadied himself, then went over to the others as the shaking ceased.
Gaye knelt over Chaladar, who grimaced in pain at the burning sensation of the undead neogi’s bite. I can heal this easily, Gaye assured.
“What about yourself?” said Teldin.
She forced a smile. “I am weak but well, not too weak to help your friends.”
Gaye placed her hands above Chaladar’s wound and relaxed, willing herself deep into a healing trance. Her aura merged with that of the paladin, and she could feel his unconsciousness as though it were a sweet, cold narcotic, washing through her, tempting her to release her hold on wakefulness and fall into blissful darkness. Then the pain in Chaladar’s leg flared an angry scarlet in Gaye’s own leg, and she willed the pain away.
Heat flowed through Gaye’s hands, enveloping the paladin’s injury and permeating his skin to settle deep into the bone. Her hands burned with her psionic healing powers, and her mind flooded with cold, like a night breeze. She wavered as dark unconsciousness washed over her, brought on by both the intense strain of healing and the stress of using her psionic abilities so much in so short a time.
Within minutes, Chaladar’s wound was healed and the paladin stood, stretching his leg as though nothing had happened. Gaye seemed to sag with weariness, and her glow dimmed.
We must leave this place, Estriss remarked. Cwelanas is still missing, and the Cloakmaster must seek the adytum. If he does not reach it soon, the Spelljammer may be lost.
“We must leave,” Teldin agreed. “This farce of the Fool’s has wasted enough time.”
Gaye smiled thinly at him. I must leave to renew my energy. You will need me in the time to come. But I have the strength to do one thing more to help you on your quest.
“What?” Teldin asked.
Gaye raised her astral arms and concentrated. Slowly, the group began to shimmer with her own golden energy, and they found themselves shimmering into existence on deck, materializing in the center of a group of warring elves and mind flayers.
The unhumans’ swords were raised in combat. Their bloody skirmish stopped suddenly as the warriors appeared in their midst, cries of surprise echoing around them.
Then, screaming their angry battle cries, the unhumans attacked.
And in the sudden melee, no one considered that, in their last moments in the Fool’s lair, the body of the undead Master Coh was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“... The beholders claim that a stranger will come to bring darkness upon us all. The dwarves claim that a weapon will be forged that will both destroy and create. The elves claim that the past will become the present.
“Ancient legends, all, that have circulated for a thousand years. My own scrying has revealed but one thing: all are one and the same...
Marias, fortune-teller of the market;
reign of Bentley the Fearless.
The unhuman screams were of rage and anger and hatred, of an unquenchable bloodlust that spanned the races.
The battle for the cloak spread like an unstoppable fire. The beholders battled the mind flayers; the Shou fought the humanoids; the mind flayers engaged the elves. The decks ran red with the blood of humans and unhumans alike, mingling together for the first time... in death, in eternal peace.
The Spelljammer was ablaze with the fires of war.
Above, in the Rainbow Ocean, uncounted vessels converged on the Broken Sphere. Even at this distance, Teldin could tell that several were fighting with other ships, casting grappling hooks and firing light ballistae at their enemies. Larger ships loomed behind them, aiming for the vicinity of the Spelljammer. They followed me here, Teldin knew. They followed the cloak and its powers, all to gain control of the spheres. All to wage war and enslave others and rape the universe of all its innate good.
He swore to himself. Never. Not If I have something to do about it.
He knew that his time to gain the adytum was running short.
He and his companions found themselves surrounded by unhumans near the tower of the Tenth Pit, Teldin realized. He faced the Spelljammer’s thick tail, and to his right, towering above a corner of the beholder ruins, stood the proud tower of the elves.
“We have to make it back to the elven command!” Teldin shouted, pointing his sword. Then a shrill unhuman cry broke out around him, and Teldin spun around to meet his attackers, his shield and sword raised high in defense. Arranged beside him, the other warriors all prepared to defend against the battling unhuman hordes, to help the Cloakmaster achieve his destiny.
Teldin lurched forward, his chest tight with the hot, constricting pain that was the call of the Spelljammer. Outside of the warrens, the call was more intense, more urgent, and the heat that crackled through him was fiery, insistent. Cwelanas was all but forgotten in the heat of the call, and he spun around and screamed in mindless agony as the Spelljammer summoned him.
“I will come!” he shouted. “I will come!”
A group of illithids was the first to attack, recognizing the Cloakmaster easily and momentarily forgetting their hatred of the elves. CassaRoc leaped in front of Teldin and engaged two of them as Teldin struggled to keep the call under control. CassaRoc knocked one mind flayer’s outstretched claws away with a powerful swing of his sword, then pierced the other illithid straight through. He pulled his sword free and laughed loudly. “Come on, mind flayers!” he cried. “The only brains you’ll feed on today will be those of your own dead and dying!”
The elves saw their chance as they realized the illithids had turned their attention toward the humans. As a group, they viciously attacked the mind flayers from behind and cut through their forces without mercy. Stardawn rushed to the elves’ aid, keeping close enough to Teldin to protect him from both the mind flayers and his elven brethren, who knew nothing of his pretended alliance with the Cloakmaster. He wanted Teldin to die at his own hands and give him the secret of the cloak.
Na’Shee and Djan together took on three mind flayers, fighting furiously with shield and steel. The illithids fought back even harder with their mental powers, finally backing the pair up against one cracked pillar outside the beholder ruins.
Djan was lucky. One haphazard thrust of his sword pierced an illithid’s eye. It stumbled as its hand went up to protect its face. Djan saw his opportunity and thrust his blade straight through the mind flayer’s heart. With a cry of horror and pain, the illithid dropped to its knees. Djan jerked out his sword. Blood spurted from the mind flayer’s mortal wound, spraying Djan’s boots. Then the mind flayer keeled over with a thump, its facial tentacles twitching once in a spreading pool of its own blood.
Na’Shee kept the others at bay with a flashy display of swordsmanship that easily broke through the mind flayers’ meager physical defenses. Blood oozed from half a dozen shallow wounds across their limbs as the woman effortlessly deflected their sword thrusts and turned away their virgin steel. She flicked out her blade, and an illithid dropped to her feet, its hand neatly severed at the wrist. The mind flayer dropped back, and its partner closed in. She dispatched it with relative ease, hammering away its blade with her shield, then running her sword through its chest. As the illithid fell, she reached for the long dagger tucked in its belt and hurled it expertly at the wounded illithid, now limping away with its bleeding stump. The dagger caught the mind flayer squarely between its shoulders, and the unhuman fell forward, flat onto its tentacled face.
The Ultimate Helm Page 22