There be is! Get him. Get the cloak, demanded a dark, feminine voice. Teldin spun to see Netarza leading a group of elven warriors. An elf with skin like polished obsidian responded by throwing back his arm. One moment, purple light glinted off the steel in his hand, the next, Teldin staggered back from the force of the impact. Bright pain exploded in his left hip. He reached down and felt the hilt of the knife flush with his skin and the blade grating against bone.
Through the pain, Teldin dimly noted that the insect with Hectate’s voice had deposited Estriss on the deck. It turned to meet the attack. The heavy armor that shielded its chest parted, and two plates folded back to reveal glowing red membranes that vibrated with power. A flash of bright energy burst from the creature’s chest, blinding Teldin with its intensity as it hurtled like a shooting star toward the band of slaves. It hit the warriors with a burst of light and fire.
Heavy black smoke, fetid with the smell of death, roiled back toward Teldin and his strange companions. It surrounded them in a suffocating cloud, and Teldin sank to his knees beside Estriss, coughing and choking. As he struggled to hold on to his ebbing consciousness, Teldin was dimly aware that Hectate – the real Hectate Kir – was sprawled beside him, his elven face as pale as death. Teldin had little doubt that Hectate’s fate soon would be his: the cloak’s magic had drained his energy, and he was losing too much blood from the knife wound. Teldin could no longer feel the deck under his knees. He was floating, weightless, into a place of darkness and warmth ….
“Teldin Moore.”
Strong, slender arms caught him as he fell. A familiar voice shouted orders in Elvish. Teldin summoned every vestige of his remaining strength and willed his fading senses back into focus. With a mixture of relief and dismay, he pulled himself away and looked into the face of his elven rescuer.
Even in his weakened state, Teldin could not accept the possibility that this rescue was a coincidence.
The insignia of a ship’s captain adorned the elf’s Imperial Fleet uniform, and his slanted green eyes were hooded, as unreadable as ever. This time, however, Teldin had no doubt about what this elf wanted.
Vallus Leafbower had returned for the cloak.
Chapter Five
“I’m not dead yet,” Teldin informed the elf with as much vehemence as he could muster. Anger coursed through his veins, deadening his pain and renewing his resolve. If the elves once again hoped to take the cloak off his dead body, they were in for one more disappointment. By Paladine, Teldin vowed as he struggled to his feet, he’d live just to spite the pointy-eared bastards.
Despite the surge of energy his anger lent him, the effort was too much for Teldin, and a fresh stab of agony tore through his wounded side. Gasping through gritted teeth, he fell back to his knees, pushing away the elf’s steadying hands.
Vallus Leafbower grimaced and shook his silver-haired head. “Perhaps you’re not yet dead, Teldin Moore, but you soon will be if your wounds are not tended.” The elf looked up and raised on hand in a quick, imperious gesture. Five uniformed elves hurried to his side. “Get this man aboard the swan ship and take him to the healer,” Vallus directed them.
Two of the elves started to do Vallus’s bidding, but something in Teldin’s eyes stopped them. “I’ll see you in the Abyss first,” he told Vallus coldly.
“That is a distinct possibility,” the elf returned with equal warmth. “The man-o-war is burning, and I will not leave you behind. If you don’t let us help you, we’re all dead.”
“But the battle —”
“Is over,” Vallus concluded firmly.
Teldin hesitated, listening. The battle sounds had dwindled to a few scattered clangs, a few faint moans. Smoke billowed up from the stairwell, and a faint, ominous crackling came from beneath the deck. “Take me to the Valkyrie, then,” Teldin said resignedly.
“The illithid’s wizard slaves hit the drakkar with a barrage of spells.” Vallus’s flat tone and steady gaze made it clear that Teldin’s ship was gone.
“And the crew?” Teldin demanded, not able to take it all in. Vallus turned to one of the other elves and raised his silver eyebrows in inquiry.
“A small longboat got away before the drakkar exploded. We took the survivors aboard the Trumpeter,” the elf reported.
Dread filled Teldin. “Some of my crew boarded the man-o-war. Have any survived?”
“I’m sorry,” Vallus said gently.
Teldin slumped, despairing. More deaths tallied on his slate, all due to the cloak. Whatever the Spelljammer might be, it couldn’t be worth this.
The elf rose to his feet. “Come.”
He had no choice but to go with the elves, Teldin realized. He nodded dully, numb to the core. “Take Estriss first. His wounds are worse than mine.”
“Estriss?” Vallus echoed in disbelief. The elf squinted through the smoke at the crumpled form beside Teldin, then with a cry of recognition he dropped to his knees beside his former captain. Gently turning the unconscious illithid over, Vallus bent to peer into the empty white eyes. “Barely alive,” he murmured distractedly. He looked up at the other elves, who had formed a tight, curious circle around him. “Take these two to the swan ship, now,” he commanded.
As Vallus spoke, another sharp-edged perception penetrated the pain and anger that clouded Teldin’s mind:
Vallus’s concern and distress were genuine. For the first time, Teldin wondered whether his harsh judgment of the elven wizard was warranted.
Two of the elven warriors exchanged glances. “Take a mind flayer aboard?” one of them ventured.
Vallus was on his feet in a heartbeat. “Now!” he thundered. The elves hastily lifted the wounded illithid and headed for the flitter that had landed on the Nightstalker’s deck.
As gentle hands lifted Teldin to his feet, a faint groan came from the deck and the waxen figure of Teldin’s navigator stirred. Hectate Kir was alive.
“The half-elf!” Teldin demanded weakly, clinging to what he knew about his friend. “You have to bring the half-elf.”
“Why not?” one of the elves grumbled, looking on with distaste as a comrade hoisted the unconscious Hectate over his shoulder. “We might as well complete our collection of oddities.”
“That’s enough, Gaston,” Vallus snapped. Before he could say more, the dracons thundered around the corner. Trivit, as usual, was in the lead. He drew up short when he saw Teldin, and Chirp bumped heavily into him.
“Siripsotrivitus reporting, Captain Teldin Moore, sir,” Trivit announced in his fluting, formal cadences as he snapped off a salute. “The illithid slaves have been routed, though I must say we’ve had a beastly time telling one elf from another. Some few of the illithids and their slaves escaped in flitters, but Chiripsian and I have dispatched all those who remained on board.” The dracon paused, and his lower lip trembled. “As you know, sir, the illithids deceived us. We are … without a clan.”
Remembering what Estriss had said about the dracons’ clan mentality, Teldin suspected what was coming next. Sure enough, Trivit drew his sword and raised it in a salute, then he laid it on the deck before Teldin.
“Kaba,” Trivit said simply, but his reptilian eyes pleaded.
The dracons had adopted him as their clan leader! Teldin’s frustration bordered on despair. Would there be no end to the responsibility he was forced to assume? He took a deep, calming breath, knowing that if he did not accept this role, the adrift dracons would die.
Teldin challenged Vallus with his eyes. “They come,” he said evenly, then he turned to glare at the elf named Gaston, the one who had spoken slightingly of Hectate. The elf raised both hands in rueful surrender.
A deep boom began in the hold of the Nightstalker, echoing throughout the ship. The man-o-war was breaking up.
“Time to go,” Vallus said abruptly. As the elves half-carried Teldin to the flitter, he found himself thinking about Netarza and wondering whether he had heard the last from the mind flayers of Falx.
*****
Throughout the process Vallus had attended the human, praying for his recovery with a deep, desperate fervor. As if in response to his prayers, the human’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. Teldin Moore’s cornflower blue eyes looked dim and “disoriented, but relief flooded the elven wizard. By order of the grand admiral, Vallus would have had to done the cloak if the man had died. Having seen the results with Teldin, he wasn’t looking forward to the experience.
“I am glad you’re back, Teldin Moore,” Vallus said from the heart.
The human’s eyes met his, focused, then narrowed. Vallus suppressed a sigh. Despite Cirathorn’s treachery, Vallus was startled by the extent of Teldin Moore’s animosity toward the elves. Perhaps, Vallus thought with dismay, his task would be more difficult than he’d anticipated.
Teldin tried to speak, but the sound caught in his dry throat and sent him into a weak spasm of coughing. He grimaced and touched his left hip. Despite the elves’ best efforts, the wound was still angry and red. Vallus motioned for the healer.
Deelia Snowsong glided to the bedside. She slipped one hand behind Teldin’s neck and lifted his head, holding a goblet to his lips. Teldin managed several painful swallows and nodded his thanks. As he focused on his elven attendant, his eyes widened with wonder. Deelia was pale even for an elf, with hair and skin the color of a snowdrift. The elves from her ice-covered homeworld were tiny, seldom reaching five feet, and their ethereal beauty gave pause even to other elves.
There was admiration in Teldin Moore’s eyes, of course, but Vallus saw something far more important. The human’s curiosity and wonder struck an answering chord in Vallus’s soul, which sang with a burning, childlike need to know. This need had defined the wizard’s life, first by his choice of profession, and then by seducing him from his homeworld and sending him into wildspace. Once again the elf saw in Teldin a flicker of the flame that burned in his own heart. Someone had implanted in Teldin Moore the need to explore, to question, and to know. Perhaps the human had suppressed this need, but it was there and Vallus would exploit it.
“Where —” Teldin broke off, painfully clearing his throat. Frustration was written clearly upon his face.
“You are aboard the Trumpeter, a swan ship of the elven Imperial Fleet,” Vallus told him. Anticipating some of the human’s questions, he continued.
“You have been gravely ill, unconscious for almost three days. The knife that wounded you was poisoned, but thanks to Deelia Snowsong, our healer, you should suffer no long-term effects. Your ship was destroyed in battle, as was most of your crew. We picked up but two survivors, a gnome woman and an aperusa.”
“Figures,” Teldin croaked through a small, crooked smile.
Vallus nodded, understanding. In the three days since the battle, he had noted that the gypsy Rozloom had an uncanny aptitude for self-preservation.
The human’s brow knitted in sudden concern. “Estriss? Hectate?”
Vallus nodded reassuringly. “Our illithid friend is much improved. In fact, he is anxious to speak with you and has been asking for you hourly. Of the half-elf, I have less news. Since the battle he has kept to his cabin. Our healer examined him and could find no sign of injury. The effects were very similar to those following the casting of a powerful spell, and after resting for a day he recovered fully. I take it the half-elf is a mage of some power?”
Teldin hesitated, then nodded. He knew relatively little about bionoids, but they undoubtedly were magical. He vowed to himself that he would learn more as soon as he could. Vallus did not miss the troubled expression that crossed the human’s face, and for the first time the elven wizard felt more than a passing interest in Hectate Kir. Whatever the half-elfs secrets were, they must not be allowed to interfere.
Vallus rose and gave Teldin another reassuring smile. “You need rest. I will leave you to it.”
“No.”
Teldin Moore struggled into an upright position, brushing away Deelia’s restraining hands. After motioning for Vallus to stay, he accepted the healer’s offer of water and took several more sips. The human’s face was still pale and drawn, but it was set in grim determination as he struggled to gather his strength behind the force of his will. Vallus watched and approved.
“What do you want?” Teldin asked bluntly.
The elven wizard settled back down in his chair and began his answer at the appropriate place. “When we last met, I gave you a warning and some advice. You should have taken the cloak to the elves of Evermeet, where the Imperial Fleet maintains an embassy.”
Teldin harrumphed, and Vallus held up a temporizing hand. “Yes, I know about Admiral Cirathorn. That was most unfortunate, and the Imperial Fleet has sent me to ensure that such a thing does not happen again.” At this news, the human’s face hardened with skepticism.
“If you had done as I’d suggested and sought out the Evermeet elves,” Vallus continued, “you might have been spared that experience. The elves of Evermeet are a peaceful nation, and there you would have had the time and protection needed to seek answers. War forces individuals to make difficult choices. Even so,” he allowed, “I would dare say that Admiral Cirathorn made the wrong choice.”
Teldin huffed again, but this time in agreement. The elven wizard took this as a good sign and pressed his point. “The Imperial Fleet agrees. I have been dispatched to help you find the Spelljammer.” He paused to let Teldin digest this.
“Why?” Teldin asked.
“Frankly? We want you to find the ship, Teldin Moore.”
“Why?” he asked again.
“We hope to persuade you to use the great ship on behalf of the elves. No, wait. Let me finish. The war is taking a terrible toll. If something is not done, the Imperial Fleet, the elven network that is the single stabilizing element in wildspace, could be no more.”
“So?”
The human’s response was so like the one predicted by the grand admiral that Vallus’s patience wavered. Too much was depending on Teldin Moore; they must get past this newly minted bigotry of his.
“What would you have take the elves’ place?” the wizard asked sharply. “The scro? Or perhaps the neogi?”
His last words hit their mark. Teldin’s eyes drifted closed, and his face tightened into a mask of confusion and despair. The elf rose to leave, and his parting words were offered in a calmer tone. “I am not certain how much you have learned about the cloak since we parted, Teldin Moore, but know this: You have in your possession the ability to command the greatest ship ever known. That is power. The nature of power is that it must be used as a force for good or ill. Very soon you will have to decide exactly how to use that power.”
The human’s only response was a faint snore. Vallus shook his silver head, and a small, self-mocking smile curved his lips. So much for his fine speeches. The poor human had barely regained consciousness, only to be bombarded with tales of elven woes.
Teldin Moore needed time to rest and recover. Time, unfortunately, was something that the elven nation could not spare. As Vallus walked slowly from the cabin, the grand admiral’s deadline pressed heavily upon him. The elven wizard paused at the door of the cabin and looked back at the sleeping human.
“I doubt this would be any consolation to you, my friend, but, in all truth, I do not envy you your decision,” he said softly.
For Teldin, the next two days aboard the swan ship Trumpeter seemed to crawl by. His wound was slow to heal, and the lingering effects of the poison were so de
bilitating that he was not able leave his cot for more than a few minutes at a time. From what Deelia Snowsong told him about drow elves and their skill at making poisons, Teldin reckoned he was lucky to be alive at all. That knowledge, however, did little to stem his growing restlessness, or to ease his apprehension about being a virtual prisoner on an elven ship. He had no idea where the ship was or where it was bound. Several times he asked to see Vallus Leafbower, but he was always told that he was not well enough to receive visitors:
On the second day, the vigilant healer finally announced that visitors were permissible. Within moments, Estriss appeared at the door of the cabin. Teldin hauled himself upright and greeted him with an almost comic degree of enthusiasm. The illithid’s lavender facial tentacles flared outward in an expression of surprise, but he came into the cabin and lowered himself into the chair at Teldin’s bedside without comment.
I take it you are well enough to talk, Teldin Moore? Estriss’s mental voice held a touch of wry amusement, but his three-fingered hands smoothed the deep maroon silk of his robe in quick, nervous gestures.
Teldin nodded reassuringly, wanting to put the creature at ease. “To tell you the truth, a little conversation would probably speed up the healing process. I’ve never been so tired of my own company,” he said ruefully. “What about you? Are you fully recovered?”
Estriss shrugged. The human gesture did not translate well to illithid anatomy, and the odd, disjointed movement of his shoulders contrasted sharply with the easy grace of his weaving tentacles. Without warning, Teldin felt the intensity of Estriss’s desire to set things straight between them. The illithid’s sincerity burned in Teldin’s mind, as bright and earnest as if the emotion had been his own.
The cloak again? wondered Teldin. Did these flashes of insight signal the emergence of another magic power? Teldin took a long, deep breath and held it, as if he could absorb the magic and let it sharpen his thinking for all time. He’d been wrong about Estriss once, and he realized that a second chance was a rare gift. With this in mind, Teldin exhaled slowly and began.
The Radiant Dragon Page 8