The Maelstrom Eye

Chapter Eighteen

"No!" Aelfred's voice rang out as Teldin turned. Teldin had a momentary glimpse of Aelfred's curly blond hair, the big warrior's face blank with shock as he looked at the ground near Teldin's feet. Then Aelfred rushed forward and bent down over someone lying on the ground only two steps behind Teldin. Teldin looked down and saw silver hair spilled over the long, flattened grass.

The figure on the ground was Sylvie.

Sylvie's sky-blue blouse was glistening purple in an ever-expanding patch around the yard-long shaft of dark wood that projected from her chest. As Teldin looked on, her thin white fingers slipped down the bolt's shaft and fell to her sides. Her head eased back into Aelfred's big hands, her eyes now open but unseeing. Aelfred whispered her name, cradling her head. There was no response.

Someone spoke Teldin's name. He looked away and saw the gnomes still boarding the Perilous Halibut, the cold orange butterfly hovering in the air beyond. Gomja was on his feet now at Teldin's side, his broad hippopotamus face almost white as he looked down at Sylvie and Aelfred. The giff swallowed, then he looked at Teldin and motioned to the ship. "You have to go, sir," he said, his voice hollow. "The elves are still firing at us. Get to the ship."

Gomja gave Teldin a slight push, then turned to Aelfred and Sylvie, blocking Teldin's view, and knelt down. Teldin broke his gaze away and numbly started back for the ship. His blue cloak flapped against his legs as he walked. He felt nothing. How curious, he thought; she's dead, and I feel nothing at all. He looked up at the ship and saw Gaye's golden face, framed by her black hair and rainbow dress. She was looking over Teldin's head at the scene behind him. Then she buried her face in her hands and wailed.

"Cease fire," said Cirathorn. "Signal the Free Wind's Fury and Emerald Hornet to drop their cloaks. If the gnome ship lifts off, resume firing until it is brought down, then cease firing again. Go and do."

"Yes, Admiral," Mirandel whispered. The battlewizard left quietly to relay Cirathorn's orders, leaving him alone on the forward bridge at the right oval window. He gazed down through the tinted glass at the scene on the ground, hundreds of feet below. The initial volley of ballista bolts appeared to have struck down at least one of the gnomish ship's crewmen, judging from the little cluster of beings near the black vessel. Death was regrettable, if unavoidable in getting the point across. In the larger scheme, it mattered not. Such events were insignificant from this height. He was the one who was looking down, not they. He was the one who spun the plans, not someone who was caught within them. Only the grand scheme mattered in the universe. No one cared for the fate of one lone creature.

Cirathorn frowned slightly. The spider imagery that had come to mind was unappealing, one fit more for the drow, the true elves' twisted cousins who lived in underground realms, forsaking the light. Better, he reflected, to use the image of the caterpillar and its cocoon, the transformation to a higher state of consciousness. He was the caterpillar, the one who would restructure his world-indeed, all the known spheres- with his boldness and daring. His seizing of the cloak of Teldin Moore would deliver the ultimate vehicle of change into his hands, the Spelljammer, and with that he would transform the faces of all worlds at once. It would be a new age, a time of glory, in which all elvenkind would be forever free to sail the spheres, the masters evermore of wildspace and the flow, and of all the-

"My admiral," interrupted a soft voice behind him.

"Yes, battlewizard," said Cirathorn frostily after a pause. She had spoiled his thoughts. He swung around, his eyes like the bottom of a frozen pond.

Mirandel's voice was empty of emotion. "The Free Wind's Fury has sighted an unidentified man-o-war, approaching from the sun. It is being pursued by elements of the orcish fleet, and it will reach us in five minutes."

The coldness went out of his eyes. "A man-o-war? What pattern?"

"Bright yellow, my admiral, without markings." Mirandel licked her lips uncertainly. "I believe it would be a modified or lost ship, as there is no mention of any ship of this type in our records."

"Of course." There had been a yellow-and-red pattern grown two centuries ago, but it had not been an especially aesthetic design and had been discontinued. Perhaps this was a renegade ship, now seeking assistance against the orcs. Its captain and crew could be dealt with later for their transgressions, which would perhaps include capital theft and mutiny, but there might be extenuating circumstances. One never knew with elves, he thought, and smiled tightly. "Did the Fury and the Homer drop their cloaks?" Cirathorn asked. "And how many orcish ships are pursuing the newcomer?"

"The Hornet did, but the Fury retained its cloak once it saw the approaching ships. We have heard that only four ships are pursuing."

Two big ships alone would be enough to scare the gnomes into surrender. "Excellent," he said. "Have the Fury immediately investigate the oncoming man-o-war and send recognition and greetings. Permit no boarding, and have the Fury avoid combat. We must gain the cloak from Teldin Moore. Then we can be free to deal with the orcs, which should take only a few minutes' work."

Mirandel nodded. "Yes, my admiral," she said, and turned to leave. She staggered, off balance, as she did so, catching hold of the door frame to keep from falling. Mumbling an apology, she left the bridge.

Cirathorn chewed the inside of his cheek. Mirandel had barely eaten since her sister's death. This foolishness would have to stop, or she would be replaced and sent to her cabin under arrest, wife or not. She had no right to act in this manner. The admiral had lost almost his whole family line during the Unhuman War, but he had never stopped for rest in his mission of vengeance. Mirandel showed disturbing signs of weakness, and weaklings were a liability in these times of fire and blood.

He turned around again to look out the right window. The Emerald Hornet now rode the sky to starboard, the second point in an aerial triangle above the black gnomish ship. The third point, soon to be unoccupied, would be the invisible Free Wind's Fury. Two ships would be enough to get what he wanted. He would have to send down another flitter and hope for better success than the now-smashed first one had found. The admiral made a mental note-to have commendations sent to the families of the elves who had died in the crash while trying to capture Teldin Moore. There was no need now to be polite about it. Teldin Moore, tragically, would have to be killed.

And it would be best if the admiral did it himself, he thought, fitting and proper in the grand scheme.

Far below him, specks crowded around the black ship.

"We cannot retreat," said Gomja, matter-of-factly. He checked the firing mechanism on his fourth pistol, then jammed it into his belt beside his other weapons, like Teldin, Gaye, and a handful of gnomes, including Dyffed, he crouched on the grass beneath the bulk of the Halibut, his back pressed against the cool black metal of the hull. "I do not normally favor escape, sir, but I've learned prudence. We would be shot down at once if we tried to flee."

Teldin exhaled slowly and looked across the trampled grass to Aelfred's hunched figure. From this position, Teldin could not see Sylvie's body, and for that he was glad. "So you're saying we should surrender."

Gomja snorted and gave Teldin a disgusted stare. "No. We should make the elves regret their unprovoked attack."

"Make them regret it?" Teldin asked in disbelief. "How in the name of all the gods can you just say something like that? You have got to be the craziest person I've ever met in my life. When I first met you, you gave me this incredible speech about how you were going to kill me, then your pistol blew up. You lead an attack on a neogi deathspider with a few dozen gnomes, and you crash the whole ship into a lake. You were helping out the elves-" Teldin broke off, sensing he had said too much.

The giff looked down, carefully pulling his uniform's front together and buttoning it where it had come loose. "I freely admit that the elves used me, sir, but they have killed our navigator and chief helmsman. We must make them regret it by being prepared to take advantage of their every mistake from this moment forward. They have two ships above us, but neither ship can land. We are at an impasse unless the elves have more of their small flitters to come after you personally. Ever, if the elves win, their casualties will cause them to mourn their victory."

Teldin said nothing at all to this. He looked down at the grass on which he sat, with his cloak bunched up beneath him. After a moment, he turned to his right, where Dyffed and Gaye sat, almost within arm's reach.

Gaye's tear-streaked face was almost hidden in her black tresses. She still watched Aelfred but made no sound at all. Occasionally she would sniff and wipe her nose on her sleeve. Dyffed sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, idly picking at a thumbnail. He sensed that Teldin was watching him, and he looked up blankly and shrugged, carefully avoiding any glance in Aelfred's direction.

Something clicked in Teldin's mind but wouldn't quite surface. Something about Dyffed and the Halibut. Something with an unpronounceable name.

"Your secret weapon," said Teldin. "Dyffed, where's your secret weapon? The birthday party?"

The gnome peered through his thick spectacles and blinked rapidly. "The what?"

"The birthday party, damn you! You told me that you had a secret weapon aboard the ship, something you and One Six Nine had been working on. Where's your weapon?"

Dyffed's blank look vanished. "Yes, it's…" The gnome hesitated and looked around, but no one else had the slightest interest in either him or what he was saying. "It's here with me, all finished. Why? What did you want with it?"

I must be dreaming, Teldin thought. "What did I want with it? I want you to use it! Use it on the elves! Can you use it to blow up their ships?"

Dyffed's eyes glazed over as he became absorbed in the idea. "What a thought," he finally mumbled. "It could certainly do that. I have no idea if there's any limit to what it can do. We should set up some tests, then arrange for a field demonstration, then-"

"You idiot!" Teldin yelled. Everyone but Aelfred turned to look at him. "We have no time for testing it! We have no time left for anything! Pull out that secret weapon and show us the damned thing!"

Again, Dyffed looked around. Seeing all eyes upon him, he made a decision and sighed heavily. "This goes against all my better judgment and scientific ethics," he said, "not to mention the members' code of Ironpiece Dweomerfusion Industries, Ordnance, and Technology, but perhaps you have a point." He reached into his dirty vest and carefully extracted a slip of folded paper. This he handed, after a moment's hesitation, to Teldin. "Here it is."

Teldin took the paper in disbelief. After staring at the gnome, he looked down and slowly unfolded the paper. He read it without comment. "This is it?" he finally said.

The gnome looked down and nodded somberly. "Took me decades just to get it right," he said with a trace of satisfaction. "One Six Nine was a jolly help, just perfect. Fine old boy." "Is this a spell?" Teldin asked.

"Oh, no, no, not at all. That's just the theory. We'll have to get the raw materials and some equipment, assemble a device or two, develop a delivery system, conduct at least a few tests, then we'll be ready to put it into production."

Teldin said nothing. After a few moments, the slip of paper dropped from his fingers. His head sagged forward until it dropped into his upraised hands, his palms and fingers covering his face.

Duffed grabbed for the paper, but Gaye caught it first and held it up to her wide, dark eyes. All that was written on the scrap was a simple notation:

E = mc2

"Eee mik two," she said, just before Dyffed snatched the paper away. "I don't get it."

"It's actually rather simple," Dyffed said irritably, folding the paper up again and putting it safely away in his inside vest pocket. "It's the relationship between mass and magical potential in all the spheres, throughout the cosmos. The equation shows clearly that-"

"The armada's sending down a flitter, sir," said Gomja in a flat, deep voice. He was looking up into the sky. His large, blunt fingers closed on the butts of two of the pistols at his belt. "You and the others had better get inside the ship. I can stall the flitter crewmen if they still think I'm helping them. I might be able to force my way inside and take the crew hostage, using them to get our freedom." The giff shoved himself unsteadily to his feet. He looked down and saw that no one else had moved. "Sir, you and the others had better get inside now," he repeated.

Teldin's face turned to look into Gomja's own. The giff shifted uncomfortably. There was something new in Teldin's face that the giff did not recall ever having seen before. It was so intense that Gomja swallowed, almost turning away.

"I'm going with you," Teldin said, and abruptly got to his feet. His cloak was at full length, so blue that it seemed almost purple. He waved at the gnomes and Gaye. "Get the hell inside the ship, right now. Move."

With only the slightest pause and without even the slightest comment, the kender and the gnomes did exactly as they were told, though Gaye stopped before him long enough to look into his face. Her hand came our as if to touch him, but it then pulled back, and she followed the others to the rope ladder to climb inside.

Teldin and Gomja glanced up at the tiny green-and-white striped flitter that slowly descended from the orange butterfly ship in the sky. Teldin looked over for a moment at Aelfred.

The big warrior was stroking Sylvie's face with his fingertips, still cradling her head with his other hand. His face was hidden. Teldin looked away and began walking in the Sitter's general direction. After a moment, Gomja straightened his posture, lifted his chin, and followed.

Mirandel watched the flitter fall toward the ground. It was impossible to tell at this close distance that what lay beneath them was the surface of the head of a creature larger than many worlds, whose footsteps could span continents. The Empress Dorianne hovered over what seemed like a high hill, with a patchwork sky of green, blue, and brown overhead. With her husband gone to meet Teldin Moore, she felt a faint stirring of interest in things, no longer having to face his frigid, uncompromising expression and hide her feelings. It was still best to keep busy, however; the ghosts within her mind would gain control the moment she gave them a foothold. It was impossible to think straight.

A noise caught her attention. The battlewizard, now acting captain for the armada, stepped away from the window when she heard footsteps and rattling armor hurrying toward the open bridge door. An officer burst into the room, his face flushed and obviously out of breath.

"Captain!" he gasped, staggering to a stop. "Captain, the Fury has sent a message that it has been found and is under attack. The whole orcish fleet is behind the four pursuing craft, each ship protected by fog clouds and illusions. The sun blocked our view!"

Mirandel started toward the speaking crystal that would transmit her voice to the helm room, then stopped. She had thought to order the Empress to move in to support the Fury, but she remembered then that Cirathorn was below on the unarmed flitter-an unavoidable target for any orcish ship that came near enough to see it.

"Order the Hornet to support the Fury!" she shouted at the officer. ''Have Second Battlewizard Ervar contact the flitter and request its immediate return! We must stay long enough to get the admiral back before we can join battle with the orcs.

All weapons crews are to fire on any enemy ship that threatens either the Empress or the flitter. Abandon all ground targets. Go and do!"

"The Trident has rammed!" Usso's squeal rang throughout the tiny helm room. She gripped the arms of the ill-made helm chair with trembling fingers, her face alive with the vision of the battle outside. "It drove through the back of the man-o-war. There's considerable debris falling." She pulled back from the scene, blinking with surprise. Her eyes registered nothing in the room where she sat. "The man-o-war lost its port wing. It's begun to fall apart. The Trident is going down with the hull and starboard wing. It cannot pull free-it's falling now. The man-o-war must have lost its helm. They're both falling. The Trident is losing deck gear. A deck hand has fallen free…" Usso stopped. For several seconds, she pursed her lips together. "Both ships are falling out of control," she continued. "They're… they've both crashed." She exhaled slowly, then looked up at the armored giant who stood before her. "A search for survivors is not advised."

Vorr nodded curtly, making a brief fingerspelling gesture with his left hand. He then stuck out his other hand and made a cutting gesture across his wrist with the blade of the left hand. His expression could not be read through the many scars and burns across his face.

Usso nodded at Vorr's last command, her long black hair swaying gently. "Within the next two minutes, General. The last man-o-war has engaged the fleet but is now trying to break off and escape. We are almost in position for the final blow."

And so I am, she thought. So am I.

The flitter glided down in complete silence. Only the wind in the tall grass sounded around Teldin and Gomja as they stood to greet the ship.

"Forgive me, sir," muttered Gomja from behind. "It's better this way." Teldin heard the hammer being drawn back on a flintlock pistol, then felt something like a thick finger poke him in the back of the head.

Teldin felt that he couldn't be surprised any longer. "So you're still working for the elves," he said evenly, looking up at the striped flitter.

The giff drew in his breath as if to make a reply, then let out his breath, saying nothing. The flitter dropped until it was only a dozen feet above the ground, thirty feet away. Gradually it drifted down and closer, its four spindly legs soon making contact with the ground and settling down under the weight of the ship. It was barely twenty feet away and facing them. A lone elven pilot was visible through the darkened forward window, his face impassive and calm.

A door opened in the back of the flitter. Teldin heard boots thump into the grass, then saw a figure slowly walk around the starboard wing of the flitter. It was an autumn-haired elf in silver armor, his helmet in the crook of his left arm. The elf smiled slightly as he stopped a dozen feet short of Teldin and Gomja, eyeing both the human and the thick-bodied giff. He wore no obvious weapons but appeared relaxed and sure.

"Teldin Moore," said Admiral Cirathorn. "I have come a long way to find you."

Teldin stared at the elfin undisguised hatred. "Go to hell." "I might for what I'm about to do," the admiral said. "I need your cloak, Teldin Moore. The elven people need it. We are at war, and your cloak is the key to victory. I must take that cloak from you in any way I can. If First Colonel-Commander Herphan Gomja will oblige me, I will perform the deed myself." With that, Cirathorn raised his right hand, appearing to pull a leafy decoration from the top of his helmet. He raised his hand, now clenched around a silvery pistol-like device, which he aimed directly between Teldin's eyes. "Your cloak is likely to block magic or weapons aimed at your body, but not a lead bullet aimed at your head," he said. "Cloaks, even magical ones, are not the best of armor."

"I wish to perform the deed," Gomja rumbled suddenly. The object sticking in the back of Teldin's head poked him slightly, though Teldin did not move. "I have been waiting for this moment for some time, sir."

Cirathorn grinned. "Then wait no more."

A huge hand grabbed Teldin by the left shoulder and shoved him out of the way. As Teldin fell back, he caught a momentary glimpse of Gomja hurling himself forward and bringing his pistol directly into the admiral's face. Then Teldin struck the grass and rolled.

Two shots tore the air, coming so close together that Teldin could barely tell them apart. He sprang to his feet, giving a wild look at the combatants by the flitter. A thick haze of smoke almost obscured the both of them.

"Stupid giff," said Cirathorn with scorn. His hand and pistol were still extended. There was not a mark on him.

Gomja stepped forward one more pace, then went down on his knees. The pistol fell from his fingers. His. broad hippopotamus face looked down at his dirty red uniform front in disbelief. Teldin saw the giff put a thick blue hand to his great chest. The hand came away as brightly colored as the crimson uniform once had been.

"Not even lead bullets can penetrate a spell that is proof against nonmagical missiles," said Cirathorn. "It's a fairly basic spell in the Imperial Fleet, but I recall that you giff have little faith in magical things. A pity."

Gomja looked up at the elf, who was on eye level with him. His thick lips and jowls moved.

"Before you die," the giff said, pronouncing each word with care, "know that your slayer is Herphan Gomja, commander of ship's… marines, assigned to the… Perilous Halib-"

The giff fell forward into the grass.

"Gomja!" Teldin shouted. His eyes burned with tears. "Gomja, you son of a bitch, get up!"

"Not likely," said Cirathorn. He reached down to drop his silver pistol and pull a new one from Gomja's belt. "He was a very poor actor, anyway. We never charmed him or magically compelled any behavior from him. He was much easier to manipulate directly. If he believed he was doing you good, Teldin Moore, he would do anything. He was faithful and loyal to the end. Not very bright, but faithful, certainly. Giff overplay their parts, and pretending to betray you by turning you over to me was only to be expected. But he tried. He gave it his last full measure." Cirathorn looked up at Teldin and raised his new pistol, steadying his aim once again on Teldin's face.

"And you gave your last full measure and more, Teldin Moore, but the Cloak of the First Pilot does not recognize that. It responds only to who is the more clever and powerful and dangerous. That would be me, I believe."

On impulse, Teldin raised his hand and pointed a finger at Cirathorn. "Die," he said, not knowing how the cloak would respond. "Die and rot in the Abyss."

Cirathorn did not move for several moments, his face frozen in surprise. Nothing happened. Then he smiled broadly. "Interesting," he said. "I feel fine. And now, it's your-"

There was a movement behind him. A thick blue hand stained with gleaming red came up swiftly and caught the admiral by the leg. Cirathorn started involuntarily and half turned, the pistol swinging around at his assailant.

A second blue fist the size of a baked ham swung up and slammed into the elf s midsection. Metallic armor crumpled under the force of the blow. The admiral gasped and choked, the wind knocked out of him. Swiftly, Gomja came to his feet, one hand still locked on the admiral's leg and causing the elf to fall halfway to the ground.

The wide-eyed pilot of the flitter, who had not moved a muscle until this moment, suddenly grabbed for the arms of his helm chair in obvious panic. Gomja spun on his feet at the same moment, whirling the admiral in a tight orbit once around his body, pulling the elf close to avoid striking Teldin or the flitter. On the second pass, as the flitter was beginning to lift away from the ground, Gomja gave a mighty heave and flung the armored elf at the nose of the small ship.

The port window was smashed instantly as the admiral struck it. The flitter rolled backward suddenly, its wings digging into the ground and pivoting the craft onto its back. With a sound like shattering glass, the two wings on the ship broke apart, the shards flying through the air. The ship's fuselage leaped up, free of all but its wing stubs, and flung the admiral's body out of the port window. It then flipped again onto the ground. This time, it lay still.

"Gomja!" Teldin cried out, rushing forward to the giff. Gomja stepped back clumsily from looking at the flitter's wreckage and turned to see Teldin. The front of his crimson jacket was splashed with a darker red that spread down over his barrel chest toward his waist. The giff tried to swallow.

"I hope he heard ray name," Gomja said. Then he sagged and fell backward to the ground just as Teldin reached him, the giffs thick arms spread-eagle on the grass and weeds.

"Damn you, you are not going to die on me!" Teldin roared, kneeling and tearing at Gomja's uniform coat. He had the idea that by shouting, Gomja would hear him and would know enough to stay alive. "You're going to live, you stinking giff! You're going to live, and I'm going to beat the hell out of you for scaring me like that! Damn you, live! Live, you ugly blue monster, live!"

"There's… no need to be profane," came a husky, gasping whisper from the giffs thick lips. "I'm… hardly deaf either. I'm just… a little tired, sir." The giffs small black eyes blinked open and stared up at the sky. "Giff are notoriously… hard to stop."

Teldin found the bullet wound: a round hole nearly in the center of the giffs chest, bleeding profusely. He quickly tore the giffs coat at the entry hole for the bullet and wadded one red strip into a thick bandage, which he pressed to the wound. "Hold this!" he ordered. It had been years since he had done this, during the War of the Lance, when he had cared for several victims of arrow attacks in his unit on Krynn. He was amazed he remembered anything at all about first aid.

"You should get to… the ship, sir," Gomja wheezed, slowly raising a thick blue hand to press on the bandage. "Leave me here, and I'll-"

"Just shut up!" Teldin yelled. "We're both going to the ship and we're getting our butts off this monster for wild-space! Knock off this noble crap, and just shut up and move! Keep that bandage on tightly, as tight as you can!"

Gomja did not reply right away, but after a moment he did make an effort to get up on one elbow, his other hand pressing the bandage to his chest. "I'm not deaf," he repeated petulantly, in a barely audible voice.

Gomja had almost made it to his feet when he froze, his wide-eyed face turned up toward the sky. Merciful Paladine, not again, Teldin thought in despair. What now?

"Look out, sir!" Gomja began. "That-"

The explosion overhead drowned out the rest.

The yellow man-o-war was too close, Mirandel noticed. It didn't matter. She looked down again at the wreckage of the flitter and the sprawled silver body that lay among the green litter. She knew, without using a spell or device of any sort, that her husband's family line had now ended-except for her.

There was some sort of alarm going off, a howling collision alert. She looked up at the window and saw the yellow man-o-war coming straight for the Empress Dorianne-straight for her window, in fact.

It didn't matter. Her lips moved. She would see her sister soon, her beloved sister, and all would be well.

She had started to say her sister's name when the yellow man-o-war hit the bridge.

Only Gomja and a handful of other onlookers saw the transformation as the yellow man-o-war collided with the armada's bridge. The man-o-war had looped in as if seeking refuge from its pursuers, then had dived dead-on at its prey. As the two made contact, the yellow-winged ship vanished in a glittering shower of magical lightning and fire that burst across the gigantic armada as its bridge was destroyed. The craft that was the man-o-war exited the blast and was now revealed to be a tan stone pyramid much smaller than the armada but obviously far more compact. One point on the pyramid's base had pierced the bridge, like a chisel point through the head of an insect.

The debris from the falling armada rained down across an area a thousand feet wide, and the giff and the human were right in the middle of it.