Pearl swooped down low, circling the swan ship so that the massive bubble air surrounding her melded with the swan ship’s atmosphere. Her golden eyes sought out Vallus Leafbower, who stood transfixed with horror at the ship’s rail. The dragon’s head reared back, and a tremendous roar rolled over the swan ship. In the fearsome sound was the faint music of an elven woman’s mocking laughter.
Throughout the one-sided battle, the scro command ship hung back. Teldin kept a close watch on it, however, and, with a sense of foreboding, he saw a sleek scorpion rise from the dinotherium’s massive deck and begin a wide circle toward the swan ship. At the same time he noted a movement at the base of the ship’s hull, and one of the small, wedge-shaped ships lashed there hurtled toward the radiant dragon like a giant arrowhead. It stuck her and exploded in a spray of metal shards and flying scales.
Pearl threw back her head and roared, and Teldin could feel both her agony and her rage. Bent on revenge, the dragon sped toward the dinotherium, leaving a trail of blood droplets floating behind her. With a sinuous, winding motion she wrapped herself around the ship. She strained and compressed as she squeezed the ship, crushing it in her coils as if she were a giant anaconda.
The dinotherium’s metal hull protested, shrieked, and finally gave way. A huge crack ran up the dinotherium from keel to upper deck. Still Pearl squeezed, and plates of metal began to pop off. Finally even the ship’s metal frame buckled, and the ship began to break up into pieces. The stunned elves stood gaping at the unusual attack.
With his expanded vision, Teldin was the first to see the strange gray creature emerge from the crack in the cargo hold and climb up the ruined ship as nimbly as a spider. Perhaps twenty feet tall, the creature was dwarfed by the powerful radiant dragon, but it was no less fearsome. It appeared to be an overgrown version of the tertiary Witchlight Marauders. Suddenly Teldin feared for Pearl.
Fast and agile, the monster ran along the dragon’s coils until it reached her neck. The enormous talons on its hands found a purchase amid her scales, and the creature’s enormous maw worked busily. Pearl’s blood flowed freely over the monster, increasing its feeding frenzy.
The dragon roared and twisted, but she could not dislodge the creature from her throat. She released the shattered dinotherium and took flight, weaving and pitching in an attempt to rid herself of the clinging horror. Finally the creature, in its frenzy, bit the gold chain that hung around Pearl’s neck.
Teldin sucked in a quick breath, knowing what was coming. Anyone who’d tried to remove his cloak had received a sharp, painful jolt. Sure enough, a brilliant spark flared from the dragon’s ultimate helm and the gray creature was thrown off. It flailed wildly, and one of its hands managed to thrust deeply into the base of Pearl’s wing.
Six metallic talons tore through the membrane as the monster fell, reducing the dragon’s magnificent wing to bloody shreds. The creature hung on briefly to the tip of the wing before it lost its grip and tumbled back down toward the icy prison that was its homeworld.
Pearl, too, was in trouble. Unable to use her ruined wing for flight, she began to spiral downward.
Change, Teldin urged her silently, but the dragon seemed to be too dazed to summon her shapechanging magic. He was forced to watch as the fire faded from her golden eyes. Teldin strained his magical ties to the ship, but he could follow the dragon’s descent only so far. He stayed with her as long as he could, until his vision grew dizzy and faint, until he felt himself begin to fall into the darkness of wildspace.
Chapter Twenty-One
With a great effort of will, Teldin dragged himself back to the swan ship. As if in a dream, as if from a great height, he saw himself lying on the floor of the bridge. The pink light had faded from his cloak.
“Teldin Moore.” Vallus’s gentle voice pulled him more fully into the ship. Teldin took a deep breath and suddenly he was back in his own body. He remembered his duty, and in a sudden panic he twisted to look toward the helm.
“Kermjin is on the helm. Do not worry. He took over quite smoothly while you were … elsewhere.”
Teldin slowly got to his feet. “I think Pearl is dead,” he said, and the words seemed to echo in the empty place her absence had left inside him. His knees buckled underneath him, and wildspace threatened to claim him again.
Three sharp metallic thunks, in rapid procession, brought Teldin back to his surroundings.
“Grappling hooks,” Vallus announced, his green eyes wide with foreboding. “The scro are trying to board.”
*****
The crew of the scro scorpion ship swarmed onto the Trumpeter’s deck, and the sounds of hand-to-hand combat rang out as the elves struggled to hold back the much larger scro.
One of the invaders, a seven-foot albino in magnificent battle gear, disdained combat and prowled about the ship as if seeking a worthy opponent. He looked merely annoyed when an aperusa stepped out of the shadows of the galley to confront him.
“The insectare is dead,” Rozloom said by way of introduction.
The scro’s pale eyes scorched up and down the gypsy, and his tusks flashed in a burst of derisive laughter. “You’re K’tide’s informant? That certainly would explain the confusion. Ah, well, I was rather hoping it had been an elf.” Grimnosh shrugged negligently and drew a dagger – a lesser weapon and a scro insult. “Since I have no further need of information …”
With a flash of steel and gems, an aperusa dagger met and held the scro’s weapon. The two huge combatants stood toe-to-toe, their weapons locked at the hilts and their strength equally matched. It would have been a deadlock, but for the second gypsy weapon that pricked the scro’s side.
“We make new deal?” Rozloom asked, his black eyes boring into the scro’s.
“Your negotiating style is impressive,” the scro said with a note of irony, “but what could you possibly offer me now?”
“Your life.” The aperusa’s knife pierced the general’s leather armor and pressed deeper until it touched a rib.
Grimnosh didn’t flinch. “Well?”
“All is yours: ship, elves, the cloak that changes color. One elven woman I must have. Tell your men to spare the woman with raven hair and eyes of gold and silver.”
“How poetic,” said the scro with a sneer. “Very well, if she’s still alive, you may have her.”
“Swear it!” Rozloom insisted. “On the Tomb of Dukagsh, swear safety for Rozloom and the black-haired elven woman.”
The scro grunted a response. Satisfied, the aperusa eased his knife out of the scro’s hide and took a cautious step back, keeping the jeweled dagger before him.
Grimnosh spun in a swirl of midnight cape and stalked away. He sped up the stairs to the main deck, and his scowl turned to a delighted sneer when he at last saw the object he desired. The Cloak of the First Pilot billowed in a sweep of majestic crimson as its human wielder fended off Ubiznik Redeye’s battle axe. Teldin Moore was rather good, Grimnosh noted with a touch of surprise as he watched the battle. Despite a rather nasty gash to the thigh and armed only with a short sword, the human managed to hold his own against the much stronger ice orc.
Caught up in the time-altering magic of the cloak, Teldin fought for his life against the squat, hideous creature. A strength he didn’t know he possessed filled him, keeping him on his feet despite his exhaustion, the loss of blood, and the painful ringing in his head where the orc’s axe handle had caught him. Dimly Teldin blessed Chirp for the hours the dracon had spent sparring with him. That practice against a battle axe would make the difference now, Teldin vowed silently.
From the comer of his eye Teldin could see Chirp circling the battle, his ornate axe held at the ready as he waited for an opening to chop down his kaba’s attacker. Teldin saw a huge white scro burst up from the lower level. With a fearsome sneer, the scro drew an enormous sword and, holding it like a lance, charged toward the preoccupied dracon and buried the sword to the hilt in Chirp’s hindquarters. The dracon’s mouth dropped open in surpr
ise, then he tottered and fell like a downed tree.
Chirp’s eyes sought Teldin, and he murmured, “Kaba.” With a final, great effort, he gave one sweep of his powerful tail. The tip whipped around the gray orc’s ankles and knocked it off balance.
Immediately Teldin was upon the fallen orc, determined to use the opportunity Chirp had bought him. He leaned heavily on his short sword, pushing it through the orc’s tough gray hide and up into its heart. Teldin yanked his weapon free of the dead orc and whirled to face the uniformed scro. Before either could strike a blow, Trivit gave an agonized shriek and thundered toward them. The dracon dropped his broadsword as he ran and drew a small throwing knife. He hurled it at the white scro, and the knife buried itself in the monsters shoulder.
With a contemptuous smile, the scro pulled out the knife and tossed it aside. Almost immediately, however, his sneer faltered and a violent shudder shook his large frame. The scro fell to the deck, writhing and twisting as spasm after spasm racked his body.
“Poison,” Trivit said with dark satisfaction. “Chirp made it from the kelp of Armistice.” The dracon cradled his fallen brother’s head in his massive arms as he watched the scro’s death agony. Finally Teldin could take no more, and he drew his blade firmly across the huge warrior’s throat. There was a spark of surprise in the scro’s colorless eyes, then nothing at all. With the death of the last of the invaders, the cloak’s battle magic faded and Teldin’s perception of time returned to normal.
Teldin drew a deep, calming breath and laid a hand on Trivit’s shoulder, knowing he could say nothing that would ease the dracon’s grief. The sorrowful scene was mirrored across the swan ship as the elves did want they could for their wounded and began to mourn their dead. The battle was over, but it had been costly. Only a handful of elves had survived, and it appeared that none had escaped injury. The swan ship was badly damaged. Teldin wasn’t sure it would hold together during landfall, if they made it as far as Radole.
A shower of stones hit the Trumpeter and shattered Teldin’s thoughts. One of the ill-built Armistice scorpion ships was attacking. It was quickly joined by three more, and then by a pair of wasps. Deprived of leadership, the remnants of the orc fleet gave in to generations of pent-up hatred for elves. A ballista bolt, a crude but effective weapon carved from the bone of some enormous creature, bit deeply into the swan ship’s wooden hull. More weapons followed, and half a dozen orc ships closed in for the kill.
Vallus Leafbower staggered to Teldin’s side. “We cannot repel another attack. Is there something you can do?”
There was little hope in the wizard’s voice, but as Teldin surveyed the grim situation, he wondered if there was indeed something he might do. With a calm he did not expect to feel, Teldin silently acknowledged that he probably would die in the attempt. Better to die trying, he concluded. He made his way to the ship’s railing, wildly dodged another spray of small stones, and vaulted over the side.
Teldin’s stomach churned as he free-fell through the ship’s atmosphere. The gravity plane caught him as if it were an invisible, elastic sheet, and Teldin slowly began to drift toward the edge of the air envelope. When he could wait no longer, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Teldin summoned a mental image of his own face and body, then he replaced them with the golden eyes and glittering scales of Celestial Nightpearl. He concentrated as he never had before, struggling against both his belief that the effort could not succeed and his fear that it might.
Power surged through him, then he felt a cool satin rush of air. Teldin opened his eyes. Wildspace surrounded him, and he soared effortlessly though it with a sense of freedom such as he had never imagined. He twisted his head to look back at his new form. Disappointment mixed with amazement in his mind. He was only a fraction of Pearl’s size, but one hundred feet of iridescent black scales flowed behind him, and around his massive neck was the silver chain of the cloak, its twin lion-head clasps now nearly life-size. Teldin threw back his head and let out a burst of incredulous, exultant laughter. He was not particularly surprised to hear his own voice thrumming with the power of a miniature dragon’s roar.
In the distance was the swan ship, looking like a battered toy and besieged by the orcs. With effort Teldin drew his attention back to the battle. As he sped toward the first orc ship, he formed a mental picture of a fireball. Lacking hands, he wasn’t quite sure how to cast the magic until he remembered what Pearl had done. Taking a deep breath, Teldin closed on the largest scorpion and expelled the air as hard as he could. Bright blue light shot from his mouth and seared across the blackness, and the orc ship exploded into flame. Again Teldin breathed a glowing pulse of force, and twice more, leaving four orc ships burning like candles against the backdrop of wildspace. He might not have had Pearl’s girth, but speed and the essential powers seemed at hand. The two remaining enemy ships made a hasty retreat. He closed on them, only to find that his magical arsenal had been exhausted.
A solution seemed easy to a being as powerful as a dragon. Teldin closed on the small ships, his jaws open. There was a crunch of wood and steel, and he spat out the shattered remnants as easily as a boy might expel a mouthful of watermelon seeds.
Wheeling about, he came toward the swan ship. It was battered almost beyond recognition and lay silently in space amid the flotsam that once had been the orc and scro force. The battle was over.
Teldin’s wings beat the air as he backpedaled, wondering what he should do next. He could not land on the ship as he was, but he dared not change back where he was for fear of missing the ship and falling into wildspace. As he surveyed the swan ship, he wondered whether he should land even if he could figure out how to do so; the last orc attack had left the ship beyond repair. Few elves remained standing on deck, probably too few to fly the ship. To return to his human form, to return to the elves, probably would mean death. Even if he lived, survival meant facing the elves’ determined attempts to control the cloak. And, at the moment, exhilarated by the independence and power that came with the form of a radiant dragon, Teldin was ready to do almost anything to ensure his newly won freedom. He edged a little closer to the ship.
Vallus Leafbower clutched the rail with white-knuckled hands and gazed up into the unnerving cornflower-blue eyes of the wildspace dragon. The elf’s face showed no fear, only deep weariness and resignation. The medallion’s true-sight broke into Teldin’s power-drunk mind, and the Cloakmaster recoiled from the knowledge that Vallus fully expected him to destroy the elven ship and make his escape. The idea tempted Teldin, and he saw no condemnation in the elf’s eyes.
Almost without thinking, Teldin spread his wings and sped forward, this time dipping under the wounded swan ship. Recalling an image of Hectate’s carefully marked star chart, Teldin set a course for Radole, carrying the battered elven vessel on his back.
The power of his miniature radiant dragon form and the magic of his cloak made the journey pass incredibly fast, yet even in his altered and enhanced state Teldin knew he eventually would pay for flying many days without food or rest. When the reddish gray sphere finally came into sight, Teldin headed carefully for the narrow ribbon that was Radole’s only habitable land.
As the world hurtled toward him, it occurred to the numb Cloakmaster that he had no idea how a radiant dragon was supposed to land. He headed for a river and beat his wings furiously, trying to slow his descent.
Teldin did not feel the impact. The last thing he remembered was the roar of water as it dosed over his head.
*****
Voices swam in and out, their words as elusive as the colors cast through a dewdrop prism. Teldin tried to find meaning in the sounds, but he could not force his mind to focus.
Somehow, he knew it was important that he do so. He gathered the strength of his will behind the effort, and slowly the swirling haze of sound settled into conversation.
“It is my right,” proclaimed a resonant bass voice just outside Teldin’s door. “The aperusa, we avenge the de
ath of those we love. If the woman Raven Stormwalker is dead, I claim the right of blood.”
“Rozloom, try to understand this.” Teldin easily identified the mellifluous, overly patient tones of Vallus Leafbower. “The woman you knew on the swan ship was not Raven Stormwalker. I don’t know who she was, but Raven Stormwalker died many centuries ago.”
The aperusa responded with a disbelieving snort. “Then vengeance is long overdue, is it not?” he retorted.
Vallus sighed. “What sort of vengeance did you have in mind?”
“Goblin blood.” There was a new note, a grim and dangerous one, in Rozloom’s rumbling voice. “I wish to take over where the green bug-creature left off. Give me a fast ship, a crew, and casters of magic, and I will return to Armistice. The Witchlight Marauder will lap goblin blood from the ice and the rocks.”
Vallus was silent, and the aperusa continued with a description of the orc settlement, the location of the primary marauder, and a cogent, well-conceived plan for killing the orc priests and witch doctors who controlled the monster. Teldin waited for Vallus’s response, confident that the elf would refuse. “I will see that you get all you need,” Vallus said in a strangled tone.
“Good. Is a deal,” the gypsy concluded.
Frantically Teldin struggled to speak against the plan. Try as he might, he could neither move nor talk. There were limits to his strength, and he already had far exceeded them. Darkness and silence surrounded him, drawing him back into a vast and troubled dreamscape.
*****
The aperusa slogged through the deep snow to the base of the tusk-shaped mountain. He found the entrance that the elven search party had used, then he counted off paces to the second hidden tunnel he had discovered when standing guard. Rozloom squeezed his vast, fur-clad bulk into the opening and made his way silently down to a ledge overlooking the cavern.
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