The Maelstrom Eye

Chapter Nineteen

Fire fell from the sky. Teldin looked up and said, "No."

Power surged through his body. Time slowed down. The flaming debris fell lazily now. Teldin grabbed for Gomja's free arm and heaved. The giff seemed to be unusually light, and Teldin was able to drag the blue-skinned, red-suited goliath at a respectable speed. As he did, Gomja's face slowly turned to face Teldin with a look of astonishment, one hand still pressing the bloodied bandage to his chest.

A shadow drifted over the grass around Teldin. He looked up and saw a gigantic orange wing tumbling directly at him, magical sparks and flames pouring in rivers across its surface from where it had been torn free of the armada's hull. The wing was two hundred feet across. It fell quickly, even in slow time, and it was too big to avoid. He tried to speed up his pace, but he was still too slow. The orange wing covered the sky, seconds from striking him.

You will fear not, said a voice in Teldin's mind. Teldin slammed into something incredibly hard that he had not seen before him just a moment earlier. Stars exploded in his vision.

He came to on the grass, Gomja gasping for breath at his side. He thought his head was split open, judging from the pain he felt, but he had only smashed his nose. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here. And what was Gomja doing here? What was going on? Flames roared all around.

I owe you my apologies, said a strangely familiar voice in his head. I want you to sleep very deeply for now, both of you. You will feel no more pain. You soon will awaken and be refreshed.

Teldin clawed at the earth to get to his knees. Darkness overtook him before he could manage to get halfway up. He never felt the ground when he hit it.

The wreckage of the armada was stupendous. Vorr allowed himself to be impressed as the pyramid ship settled down toward the earth, casually passing over the smoldering, smoking pyre of the elven warship. There was no sign of the last man-o-war, which had broken free of combat after the armada was destroyed and had fled. Several ships were chasing it, but the man-o-war had the edge in speed. Vorr could accept its loss, given the magnitude of the victory over the other elven forces. "My general," called a scro from inside the cargo deck. Vorr turned from the doorless opening where his forces had entered the deck. He shifted his grip on the newly loaded harpoon bombard as the scro continued his message. "Usso reports that he has located the body of Teldin Moore. We will be there in a moment."

Vorr nodded and looked out of the cargo doorway again. The pyramid ship was only a hundred feet off the ground. Thick smoke drifted past him, causing him to wrinkle his nose in disgust. He would take a long vacation after this, away from everything but clean air and pure water. Anyone who disturbed him would be ground up and eaten.

"How are you doing, General?" Vorr stepped back from the entrance momentarily and gave a brief salute to Admiral Halker, who was walking up behind him. The toothless old scro was looking especially cheerful. "The scars giving you any trouble?" he asked.

Vorr shrugged and gestured at his ruined face, turning to look back out of the cargo bay, the bombard held loosely in his fingers.

"I've heard that Usso has located Teldin Moore, who is conveniently dead." The admiral positively beamed. "We should be able to gain the cloak in one more minute. Do you wish the honors?"

Von stared down into the burning chunks of ceramiclike material that once had been one of the mightiest ships in the known spheres. He nodded, his eyes searching.

He then caught sight of a flash of royal blue among the shattered remains of a vast orange wing, spread out across the green ground. Vorr slapped his hands together to get Halker's attention, then pointed. The old scro came forward instantly to see, standing fearlessly on the edge of the cargo doorway only a few feet from where Vorr stood. Vorr reached out to steady the admiral, but the scro saw the gesture and recoiled, stepping out of reach. "I can manage!" he snapped. "I'm not a cripple yet!"

Vorr withdrew his hand, giving Halker a curious look before he turned his attention again to the ground. The patch of blue was definitely Teldin Moore and his cloak, sprawled on the smoking ground. Beside him lay a giff in a red military uniform. They were both badly wounded, if not already dead, judging from the amount of blood visible even from this height. Both obviously had been caught in the rain of falling debris from the armada.

The pyramid drifted closer and closer, now only man-height off the ground. Vorr stepped up on the edge of the cargo doorway, preparing to jump down. The pyramid came to a stop a moment later. Vorr dropped over the side of the pyramid, landing crouched on his feet with the bombard held outstretched in one arm. He then straightened slowly and walked over to the pair on the ground.

It took only a glance to see that both of them were dead. A falling armada packed a hell of a punch. The cloak on Teldin's back appeared undamaged, however. Not a scrap of dust was on it. Nice magic, Vorr thought, and he reached down for the clasp on Teldin's neck. It popped open at his touch.

With a single motion, General Vorr pulled the blue cloak free and raised it in the gentle wind and smoke. It didn't feel any different than a regular cloak would feel. Magical things were all the same to him. A shame, really, that he couldn't just wear it himself. It would have been interesting to have commanded the Spelljammer, but it would do just as well to have Admiral Halker do it. It made for a guaranteed job for years to come, a far safer position than if the undead neogi Skarke had been in charge-or Usso, for that matter.

Vorr looked up and saw Halker on the periphery of the cargo doorway. The old scro's face was alive with naked desire, and his arras were stretched out to Vorr as if Vorr held the scro's very existence in his hands. Vorr suddenly gave a broad grin, wadded the cloak up with one hand, and tossed it to Halker like a ball. He'd give the old coot Skarkesh's medallion when he got aboard, and cement his future.

Halker snatched the cloak out of the air, clutching it to his chest in ecstacy. As Vorr stepped forward toward the low stone base of the floating pyramid and tossed his bombard into the cargo bay doorway, Halker made a single thumb's-up gesture into the air outside the pyramid.

The pyramid lifted rapidly away from the ground.

Vorr slowed his pace for a moment, stunned-then bolted for the pyramid. He leaped at the last moment, mighty hands spread out to catch any pan of the stonework and pull himself aboard. Halker! he thought. Halker, what in the-

He missed and fell, tumbling into a pile of wreckage. As he struggled to his feet, he heard a peal of feminine laughter.

Vorr saw Halker throw his harpoon-bombard somewhere into the wreckage, then continued to watch as the pyramid rose and became a small black square against the patchwork sky, then a square dot, then a mote that faded away as it dropped toward the horizon. For perhaps five minutes, he did nothing else. Then he uttered a word, one that could not have been understood by any listener, through his tortured lips, fused together by slime and torch flame.

"Usso."

He turned and looked back at the bodies of Teldin Moore and his giff companion.

They weren't there.

Admiral Halker announced to the crew that General Vorr had wished to explore the wreckage for suitably glorious souvenirs; he would be picked up later by another ship. The scro and ogre warriors smiled and nodded, as they knew the general was just like that. No one but the helmsman noticed that there was one additional passenger aboard the pyramid as it took off, a passenger who had climbed on at the moment Vorr had jumped off, but no one was going up to ask the helmsman anything.

Just before the wizard's last meeting with Admiral Halker, before the armada was destroyed, Usso had announced his intention to run the helm himself, freeing the war priests for other duties. Only one warrior, an ogre, happened to hear the feminine laughter coming from the direction of Admiral Halker at the cargo bay doors, but he knew that couldn't have happened. He did think it was curious that Halker appeared to be pantomiming the act of putting on a cloak when he had nothing at all in his hands. But he knew that couldn't have happened, either. He snorted and went on about his duties.

It had been child's play to convince Vorr of Skarkesh's evil intent toward the Tarantula Fleet, requiring only charm spells on Sergeant Dlavish and a few other scro, who had never known what had hit them. Vorr hated undead of any kind, especially liches, and he had been more than willing to believe that Skarkesh would have sold out the scro after Skarkesh's heavy-handed use of Captain Geraz. Usso had no doubt that Skarkesh was not fond of scro, but she suspected that the rotting neogi gladly would have kept the scro around as its servants. Neogi were neogi, dead or alive, and they craved power over anyone that they could find. Scro were as useful as slaves as anyone else.

It had been tricky, she admitted, and she had almost lost control of things once or twice, but she had pulled it off. The victory left her weak in the knees, but she felt an exhilaration that she couldn't believe was possible. She had the cloak to the Spelljammer. General Vorr was far behind on the top of a thousand-mile-high beast's head. Admiral Halker was under her control, charmed by her powers of fascination into crewing the working helm at the pyramid's apex, but eventually he would be dropped over the side or discarded in some other manner, once a nicer ship could be found.

Usso looked out of the broad doorway of the pyramid's cargo bay and watched the landscape rise up to meet her with increasing speed. The pyramid was falling through wildspace toward the ground, where they would rest before leaving this sphere. Usso had ordered the rest of the crewmen to their quarters aboard the pyramid. She still wore her magical disguise as Halker; maintaining it was as effortless as it had been to appear to be an old Oriental man or any other humanlike person she chose. It was one of her innate powers as a hu hsien. A marvelous power it was, too.

The rest of the Tarantula Fleet had been given orders by "Halker" to stay behind for a day, hunting for the last man-o-war and any other local elven ships, then to rendezvous back at Spiral. With luck, it would be months before they figured out that something had gone wrong. The scro weren't impossibly stupid, but their obedience to orders made them the perfect victims of deceptions such as this.

Usso noticed that it would be only seconds before the air envelope around the inside of the Herdspace sphere would be contacted. The ship would slow to tactical speed, but the cargo bay would still be almost unlivable without the protective doors. Damn the scro for being efficient. She turned away from the door and wandered through the empty cargo area for one of the ladders upstairs to the helm room, then began to climb.

Teldin hesitated as he stepped over a scorched chunk of debris. Something was moving in the smoke ahead.

"Gomja," he whispered. "There's-"

"I see it, sir," the giff rumbled. "It looks too big to be an elf." Teldin heard the giff fumble with his pistol, then a muttered curse as Gomja threw the weapon to the ground. "Flint's gone," he said. "Useless."

"You've got that sword you found, right?" Teldin asked. He reached up and scratched at his nose as Gomja grunted in the affirmative. When he had awakened only minutes ago, he'd found his freshly broken nose had completely healed. The fal must have set up some sort of protective magical wall around Gomja and himself to prevent the wing of the armada from striking him. The wall had been crude, but it had worked. Perhaps he should be grateful.

"Sir," said Gomja, stopping short behind him.

In the thick smoke ahead stood a huge black-armored figure. It obviously had heard them coming through the debris, and it was waiting for them to approach.

Teldin recognized the black plate-metal armor and its steel studs at once. "Scro," he whispered, drawing his short sword.

The scro became clearer. It was gray-skinned and nearly of ogre size, as thick across its chest as a tree trunk. Its arms and legs were similarly muscled, surpassing even Gomja's bulk.

What stopped Teldin short was the scro's face. Hideously-scarred by either fire or acid, it was barely recognizable as even remotely humanoid, except for its squashed nose and two large black eyes. It regarded Teldin and Gomja without comment. With a start, Teldin realized that the scro's mouth was blistered and burned so badly that the lips were shut.

The scro made a muffled sound, then breathed heavily for a moment. With a slow, steady motion, it raised its left arm, revealing a large, three-tined fork of black metal. This the scro brought to its mouth and made a quick slashing motion. Blood and pus ran down the scro's jaw to drip from its chin.

"Teldin Moore," the scro croaked hoarsely in the Common tongue. "I certainly hope that is really you. I've looked forward to meeting you."

"Sir!" Gomja's hammy hand clamped down on Teldin's shoulder. "Get back. You don't have the experience or the strength to deal with an opponent like this one."

"We can take it together," said Teldin. He knew Gomja was right, but he knew of no way to get out of this now. "You go right. I'll go left."

"You're being foolish, sir," Gomja muttered back, taking a step past Teldin toward the scro. "This is the sort of fight I've been hoping to have for months. A worthy opponent is-"

The scro moved rapidly at Gomja before either Teldin or the giff were fully prepared for it. Gomja jerked his sword up and struck down. At the same moment, the scro whirled on one foot, catching the sword in the black fork and coming to stand side by side with the giff, pulling Gomja's sword arm around in an arc. Reversing the arc, the scro flung the entrapped sword back up over Gomja's head, tearing it out of the surprised giff s grasp. The scro's right knee came up at the same moment and smashed into Gomja's midsection with a loud thump. The giff gasped aloud, staggering back to get his balance. The scro whirled, reversing its grip on its black fork, and brought the butt end down on Gomja's broad, thick forehead with an audible crack.

Gomja dropped like a lead weight and did not get up. The scro gazed down at its foe, then turned and looked down at Teldin. Its mouth bled freely, splattering droplets of blood across the front of its black steel armor.

"I seem to have been the victim of some magical hoax," said the scro, spitting blood carelessly as it spoke. "I thought I had found you dead and taken your cloak. I see that I was wrong, but I can fix that. It's your turn now. Give me a real fight."

Teldin backed up. Gomja was breathing, but he was out cold. Teldin's foot caught on a piece of metal and he stumbled, catching himself at the last moment. He swallowed and looked around. Only smoke and wreckage were visible.

"A fight," said the scro. "Use your cloak."

The cloak! Teldin stopped and concentrated, raising his left hand and pointing his index finger at the scro's head. Power suddenly rushed through his body, setting the hairs on his neck and arms on end.

"Here's a fight for you!" Teldin shouted.

A brilliant stream of magical bolts flew from his fingers and struck the scro in the face. The burst lasted for several seconds, sending dozens of fiery projectiles at his foe. The energy stream ended abruptly.

The scro appeared completely unaffected.

"Try again," said the scro.

Teldin caught a hint of something in the scro's voice, and he realized it was useless. The scro must be resistant to magic in some manner, probably because of a magical item it wore. Using the cloak was not the answer.

But if it wasn't the answer, what was?

The scro took another step toward Teldin. '"You killed Gargon, my bodyguard, on Ironpiece," it said. "He was a good soldier. He is going to be hell to replace."

Teldin had no idea what the scro was talking about. Did he mean the ogre who had tried to kill Gaye? Teldin glanced behind him and continued backing up, avoiding the debris.

"I'm disappointed," said the scro. "I had expected better. Word of your abilities has long preceded you. I was counting on a fight with an opponent equal to me."

Equal to you, Teldin thought. Equal to you.

Teldin came to a stop. He adjusted his grip on his sword. He had one trick left. It was all he could think of.

"If you wanted your equal," said Teldin, "then why didn't you say so?"

He concentrated on the scro, taking in his opponent's size and musculature. Once he had it fixed in his mind, he focused on his cloak and opened himself to its powers.

For a moment he noticed no change, then felt a rushing of energy through his body that dwarfed everything he had previously felt when using the cloak. He felt his clothing grow tight across his chest and thighs, binding and pulling over his neck and upper arms. He seemed to be getting taller. Fabric ripped and split down his left and right sides. His belt tightened until he thought he would be crushed, then snapped apart and fell away. The sword in his hand seemed to shrink until it was merely of dagger size.

The scro had frozen in place as the transformation started, watching Teldin with wide, dark eyes. Blood continued to fall from its mouth as it stared.

"Impressive," the scro said as the transformation ended. "You are me. Two General Vorrs. You have become my equal-perhaps."

Teldin said nothing. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, sword raised. "Soon you will be my lesser," he replied. He felt none of the bravado he put into his voice, feeling instead that he had been pushed beyond all rational limits. He had nothing left to do but fight.

General Vorr charged him. Teldin saw the gray warrior make a peculiar feint with his black fork-weapon as he came on. Not knowing what to expect, Teldin merely slashed out at Vorr's face, then impulsively turned completely around and slashed out again. He felt his wild strike bite into the flesh at Vorr's neck-and felt the impact of the butt of Vorr's weapon strike him dead center in his chest. Ribs broke, and blinding spikes of white-hot pain shot through Teldin's lungs. He staggered back, trying to breathe, and felt that he had been stabbed by a half-dozen spears.

Vorr came at him again. Teldin lunged forward, shielding his face with one hand and trying to impale Vorr with his sword in the other. The general sidestepped Teldin and hit him in the back with his fist, unable to bring his black fork to bear. Teldin kicked out in reflex, striking Vorr in the leg and knocking him off balance, then fell on his face and rolled to get up. He wanted to scream in agony from the pain in his chest and back. He knew he was going to die, but first he wanted to take this scro with him as payment for everything the scro, the neogi, and everyone eke had done to him.

A round piece of ceramic material lay at Teldin's feet as he got up. He bent down, seized it, and flung it at Vorr, then grabbed a long steel pipe as well and whipped it at the monstrous scro. The ceramic disk burst when it slammed into Vorr's chest, scattering bright shards everywhere. The general had recovered his balance again when the pipe slammed into his legs and knocked him back down.

Teldin felt a new surge of power flow through him. He wanted to kill this Vorr. Nothing else mattered. With a wild scream that tore his lungs as if they were set aflame, Teldin rushed at the fallen scro and leaped, his cloak and the rags of his clothing flapping in the air. Vorr came up, hands out and empty, and grabbed him by the arms, flinging him over his head and into the grassy earth beyond.

The impact jarred Teldin to the bone. He couldn't see straight; the world was spinning crazily. With an effort, he rolled back to his hands and knees, just in time to see Vorr come at him, take a short leap, and lash out with his foot for Teldin's head. Teldin never felt the blow.

Vorr fell to his knees and rested there, panting, for several minutes. It had not been the most challenging fight he had ever had-the fight with the zwarth on Spiral still had that honor-but it had been exciting nonetheless. Teldin had put up a surprisingly good, if brief, fight, mostly because he obviously had so little formal combat training that he could do things to catch a better opponent off guard. Not the best fight, but a worthy one. Vorr was satisfied.

A glance at Teldin's fallen body brought a brief surprise: Teldin had now assumed his original shape. The cloak must not work when its owner was knocked out or dead, Vorr thought. I should be jealous that I can't use something like that, Vorr thought with a smile, but then, I don't need it.

A moment later, Vorr had reached Teldin's side. The human was unconscious. The boot to the head had almost killed him, but his neck had not broken; taking Vorr's own shape had saved Teldin at the last moment. The scro general sighed, then reached down for Teldin's cloak. He touched the material. It felt real. Carefully rolling the human over, Vorr touched the lion-headed clasp of the silver necklace, then tried to undo it.

It came open in his hands.

Vorr pulled the cloak free and stood up. Now he had the real cloak, and Usso had nothing at all. Or did she? What exactly had happened earlier? He looked down at Teldin, then dropped the cloak by Teldin's side. He should finish the job with Teldin and the giff, then move on and find some food. Perhaps he could signal someone from the fleet later, if he could avoid the pyramid ship.

He had just started to reach down for the black fork when he saw a tiny female figure only thirty feet away. Vorr blinked. It appeared to be a young human or elf girl dressed in dirty, smeared clothing that once had been bright and colorful. Her thick black hair was mussed and wild. She was carrying some sort of stick.

Vorr rubbed his eyes briefly, then looked again.

"My sensei is going to hate me for this," said the little, black-haired female. "Sayonara."

Bracing herself, Gaye pulled both triggers of the harpoon-bombard at the same time.

Usso was halfway up the ladder out of the cargo bay when everything changed. A blast of wind suddenly stirred the air in the cargo deck, then arose to an ear-splitting roar. At the same moment, the pyramid tilted, as if its internal gravity had shifted slightly-then the gravity was gone.

Suddenly weightless, Usso clutched the ladder's iron rungs in numbing-cold terror. If there was no gravity when the pyramid reached the gravity field of the Herdspace sphere, that meant the helm was abandoned-or destroyed.

The cloak! She suddenly recalled that she could use the powers of the cloak to control the pyramid. She reached back with one hand to grasp the soft fabric as she prepared to concentrate and activate the cloak's powers.

Her hand closed on nothing. The cloak was gone. Her hand flew to her throat but found no silver chain and clasp. It was as if the cloak had never existed. That wasn't possible. She knew it. The cloak must have fallen off. There was no time to retrieve it now. She had to get to the helm.

Usso reached the top of the ladder leading into the helm room barely three minutes later, having had to polymorph herself into a spider at one point to cross a ceiling to the next ladder. The pyramid was apparently rotating slowly in free fall, heading for the ground of Herdspace at hundreds of miles an hour. Against the roaring from the cargo deck Usso could hear the screams and curses of the scro and ogres below as they left their quarters on the lower floors of the pyramid to tumble about helplessly in the stony rooms and corridors.

The door to the helm room had been broken open by someone with reasonably great strength. Usso froze when she saw it. Vorr? Was Vorr alive and here in the pyramid? Impossible! It took all her willpower to keep from fleeing down the ladder. How could he have gotten aboard?

Trickles of blood ran down the sides of the hatchway from the floor above. Usso readied a spell, one hand gripping the ladder rung until the metal dug into her hands. Forgetting all caution in her panic, she stood up on the ladder and looked into the room.

The bloodied face of Admiral Halker looked back at her from the floor by the hatch, one sleeve of his armor snagged by a metal staple in the floor. Someone had cut his throat. Blood trailed across the floor around him in long streams.

She raised her shocked gaze. Beyond Halker's pale green face was the helm-what was left of it. Someone had hacked at it with an edged weapon, either a sword or axe, and it was in ruins. Both arms were missing from the chair, and the back was split in two. Splinters rattled across the walls and floor.

Without a helm, the pyramid was going to hit the ground so hard that nothing larger than gravel would be left, scattered across the bottom of a crater hundreds of feet deep and wide. Usso knew she had to flee the pyramid at once. She might still have the time to polymorph into a bird before-

Someone grabbed her by her long black hair and pulled her off the ladder with a single jerk. She screamed from the sudden pain and felt a powerful arm clutch her to a muscular chest. Whirling, she looked into the face of her assailant. Vorr, it must be Vorr.

But it wasn't Vorr.

Her assailant was a human male of indeterminate age, tall and broad, with short, curly blond hair. His face was contorted with the effort of holding Usso with one hand while clutching a metal hook on the wall behind him with the other.

"Now it's your turn to lose a ship," he said as the room slowly spun through the air.

Things hadn't made any sense to Aelfred Silverhorn since that first night on Ironpiece. He had already planned to go with Teldin Moore to avenge the loss of his ship, the Probe (and maybe to see Teldin become the captain of the Spelljammer, too-you never knew how things would go), but there was that awful dream that he couldn't talk about, coming on the morning the group had left Ironpiece on the Perilous Halibut during the scro attack. Someone had been in the dream, making him into a slave of some kind, and he woke up still feeling he was a slave. It had made no sense.

Worse, he had done things he could not understand. He found himself compelled to set up a signal light in the rear of the ship, next to the jettison, and send messages to the scro chasing them. He would forget about it while he was awake, but his dreams were thick with terror, and before awakening every morning he knew he had been up and about in his sleep, carrying out his task. No one had known what he was doing. Everyone had trusted him completely.

Over time, he pieced together an image of his taskmaster. It was an undead thing, he knew, but he knew little more. He suspected it was part of the scro fleet. He had some mental image of a pyramid-shaped ship, probably the one he'd seen off Ironpiece. He knew it was hopeless to fight his compulsion to betray his friends-so he stopped worrying about it. Instead, he planned his revenge.

It was Sylvie's death that had freed him. As he knelt in the grass beside her body, he had felt the chains of the compulsion melt from his soul like ice in the sun. It must have been the stress, he thought. He was overcome with guilt that his unwilling behavior had brought on her death. She had been his best friend, his anchor to his new life in space. He could not put all the blood back into her body. He could only leave her behind and find someone on whom to vent his fury.

Aelfred had watched as the elves who had killed Sylvie died themselves. The elves' killers, however, had come down to earth right afterward-in a giant pyramid ship.

It had been easy to rush forward through the burning wreckage-easy, perhaps, given that he had ignored the burns and injuries he had suffered on his run. He had made it aboard the pyramid just before it left for good, climbing on as it rested above the ground for a moment. It had taken a long while to find an upper hatch and climb inside. No one was home, as far as he could tell, so he had gone looking for the helm. He'd heard the helms on pyramids were on top.

It was a scro ship, he had found. He knew he was on the right ship, the one from which he had been possessed, but he didn't know who or what had done it. It didn't matter. It took only a moment to chop the old scro on the helm into bloody meat and hack the helm into splinters. The last descent began immediately after that.

Getting back to the hatch was troublesome but necessary. Someone might come up to see what was the problem, and he wanted to stop any attempt to fix the helm. He was holding onto a hook in the wall behind the hatch when an Oriental woman came up the ladder, and he grabbed her. He wasn't sure at first if she was a friend or foe. When she turned into a python, he decided she was a foe, and he held on as she changed shape over and over in her panic to escape him. It was when she had turned into a wolf and had almost gotten away from him that the pyramid struck the ground at a speed many times faster than a hawk could dive. There was an instant of chaos and impact, then nothing at all.

Teldin awoke, feeling something cool wash across his face. He blinked and looked up into a too-bright sky, the sun directly overhead as always. He shut his eyes again, half raising his hands to shield his face.

"Relax," came a young girl's voice. It sounded familiar but he couldn't place it. "Everything's fine." A wet cloth began to wipe his face again, spreading its coolness across his brow.

It felt like heaven. Teldin sighed and rolled his head to one side. A wadded blue cloak supported his head. His cheek rested against something cool and metallic.

Thin fingers reached under his cheek and removed the large bronze disk and chain that lay on the ground there. After a brief look at it, Gaye tucked the medallion down the front of her blouse and into the magical bag that was carefully strapped across her chest. The bag opened into another dimension and would hold almost anything-poles, coins, extra clothing, food, even lost thingfinders. She'd give the medallion to Teldin later when he recovered. It had belonged to the gray ogre, having been tucked into his chest armor, and had come partially free when he had fallen to the ground, but picking it up had been difficult, given that she couldn't bare to look at what the two harpoons had done to the ogre's face. Her body still ached from the bombard's recoil.

The effects the medallion had on her when she first touched it had been shocking. What deep-space vista was that? What otherworldly view was she seeing? It had been tempting to keep the medallion for herself, but Gaye knew that Teldin might make better use of it wherever he was going on his search for the Spelljammer-and she knew he would be going without her. He'd make sure of it now, with all the deaths and horror he had faced.

And she would be left far behind, she who loved him.

"You never knew, did you?" she said softly as she picked up the cloth and wiped Teldin's face again. "You never did figure it out." Her free hand came up to stroke Teldin's cheek as he faded into sleep. Hearing the change in his breathing, Gaye slowly released the cloth and leaned over Teldin's still form. Her black hair fell across his chest and covered his face like a tent. Eyes closed, she pressed her lips to his. His mustache tickled her nose. "You never will know," she whispered, then bent down again and with delicate fingers, reconnected the silver clasp at Teldin's neck.

He was once again the Cloakmaster.

"I'd like some answers, if you have them," said Teldin. You may ask, said the spelljammer-sized slug. Its pulpy body shook and rippled like black jelly as it rose up to turn its head in Teldin's direction.

Teldin swallowed. He would never get used to the fal's foul appearance. After returning to heal Teldin and Gomja, the fal-or its image, Teldin wasn't sure which-had reported that the surviving elven and scro ships were leaving and probably were on their way out of the sphere. Once Gaye had given Teldin the bronze medallion, the fal then informed Teldin of the medallion's purpose-it having been mentioned in a few old epics about the Spelljammer-and had devised a set of instructions on how to use the ancient item to track the mighty ship. One Six Nine also had brought the news of Aelfred's fate, much to everyone's distress.

"Why couldn't you have done something to help Aelfred?" Teldin asked. He knew the fal would have a good answer, but he had to know. "You have so many powers, but… why?"

I greatly regret that I was unaware of his actions, but I was maintaining a set of mental illusions in my attempt to draw away the scro fleet. I dropped the illusions only to divine his fate too late to intervene, as he apparently had completed his sabotage and was beyond my reach.

Teldin snotted softly. It was useless to beat the issue. He rubbed his eyes. It was so hard to believe both Aelfred and Sylvie were gone. "I don't understand what you mean when you talk about psionics, for another thing," Teldin said, dropping his hand and changing the topic. "I have enough trouble understanding magic. You said something about mental illusions just now. Were you talking about psionics?"

You are correct. The enormous bulk of the fal gave an oily ripple in the sunlight. I am implanting in your mind my own image, to which you ire speaking. You could touch my image but would discover that I feel quite real to you, though I am not truly in your vicinity. I am able to so control your perceptions that I am, for oil purposes, real to you. I can do this only with a limited number of beings, however. I do not enjoy duplicity, except when it serves to protect my person or my allies.

You may have guessed that General Vorr, whom you fought, fell victim earlier to one of my mental decoys. I wished for the scro to depart without further bloodshed, and my plan was almost entirely successful. You were thought by the general to be dead, based on a mental illusion he and an ally of his had observed earlier. I did not intend for the general to be left behind by his cohorts, for which I offer my apologies, just as I had not meant for Aelfred to die aboard the pyramid ship that he apparently sabotaged.

"No one's plans work perfectly," said Teldin with a bitter smile, "least of all mine. I'm still confused, though, because the general claimed he was immune to magic. How could psionics have affected him?"

You must understand that psionics is like magic, but it is not magic. I would like to explain the subtle differences between them, but it would serve no purpose. You need know only that the two do not affect one another, so Vorr's immunity to magic helped him not against any psionic attack I cared to make against him. I created what I wished him to see and feel, and that he did.

What if I was seeing only what you wished me to see right now? thought Teldin uncomfortably. Not just your image, but everything, even this whole megafauna-being we're on. What if everything I saw and felt was unreal?

He shook himself, quickly abandoning the thought. "I'll let it go," he muttered. "It's beyond me. Anyway, we should get underway and start looking for the Spelljammer before some other fleet comes looking for us. We still have to bury Sylvie with Aelfred on our way out, too, if we can find out where he… you know." Teldin waved his hand vaguely.

I will guide you there, Teldin. I assume that you also will need funds, as well as guidance, to fulfil our bargain for you to find the Spelljammer. You will find at your feet a pouch containing several dozen small gems, which you may convert into currency at your next destination. You may wish to purchase a new ship if you must eventually part from the giff and gnomes.

Teldin moved his left foot forward without looking down. His foot tapped something soft, like a small bag. Sighing, he leaned down and retrieved the pouch. He didn't want to know how the fal had done it; it didn't matter. "I want to leave everyone behind as soon as possible. Everyone's in too much danger with me around now. Your gems are appreciated, but if I knew where the broken sphere that you mentioned was, I'd be better able to fulfil our bargain. It could be on any world in all the crystal spheres." Teldin hesitated. "The sphere you were talking about, by the way. Did you mean a sphere like a planet or an asteroid, or-"

I meant a broken crystal sphere, Teldin. The black image of the fal's head lowered in his direction. The Spelljammer was born in a broken crystal sphere.

For a moment, the thought didn't fully register. As it did, he let out his breath. "Broken? How could a crystal sphere be broken? I don't… oh, forget it." Teldin stuffed the pouch of gems into the pocket of his pants. "We should go," he finished, looking around.

Gave was waiting by the ship, wearing a deep purple dress that reached the ground. Her dark eyes were rimmed with red, and she kept her arms folded across her chest as Teldin coughed and then approached.

Best to keep it brief, Teldin thought. He nodded at the small kender. "We'll miss you. I'm still not sure why you want to stay around here, but maybe it's for the best. Things aren't going to be safe for me or for anyone-"

"I know," said Gaye abruptly. She blinked up at him. "It's for the best."

Teldin looked away from her wildspace eyes. Something hurt down in his heart. He knew that he had been starting to fall for Gave, and that would never have worked out. The idea of loving a kender was one problem, but seeing her slain as a result of the attacks that inevitably would be made against him-he couldn't face that. She was just another race in a long line of faces that he was leaving behind. He wondered if it would ever stop. He had so little faith that it would.

"Well, good-bye, then," Teldin said, and turned away. Gaye watched as he walked over to the Perilous Halibut and grabbed its rope ladder, climbing to the top deck with his violet-blue cloak flapping behind him in a light breeze. Everyone else was already aboard and waiting.

He never looked back. Soon, the long black ship was lifting away, and before long it was gone.

About an hour later, Gaye took a ragged breath and wiped her eyes on the hem of her dress for the last time. "I guess that's that, then," she said. "Everything comes and goes. Life is a pain sometimes, isn't it? Maybe we should do something so I can keep busy for a while. I appreciate you letting me stay here and help out around the place and learn something new. I love to learn." She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I feel like I've got so much to learn about life."

You wish to begin your lessons? queried the fal.

Gaye's head bobbed rapidly. "Now, please." she said, blinking and looking away for a moment to where the gnomes' ship had gone. There was nothing there now and nothing inside her, either. It was best to stay busy.

Come with me, then, said the fal. The image of One Six Nine faded into the air-and so did the black-haired kender, with a shriek of surprise. If you wish to lean. I have much to teach you, Gaeadrelle Goldring.

"The gnomes' ship is departing, Captain Kilian."

The one who was addressed made no movement away from the forward window on the bridge, through which he peered at the distant landscape. Perhaps a minute passed. The aide cleared his throat, preparing to repeat the statement.

"I am aware of that," said the silver-armored elf at last, without turning around. "When it is gone, we will go, too, and return to the Rock of Bral."

The aide blinked in confusion. "If you will forgive me for saying so. Captain, it might be wise to make one last attempt to recover the cloak from Teldin Moore."

"No." said the captain. He still didn't move. "We must not pursue him. Our duty is to inform the Imperial Fleet of the enemy's presence and actions, and of our own losses. We are the last of the Rock of Bral's fleet, and we are responsible for the safety of our people first. We have nothing more to gain by chasing unicorns."

The aide frowned. He had expected a different answer. ''But the gnome ship is not effectively armed, Captain. We would have no trouble in capturing it and taking…"

The aide's voice faded as Kilian turned. A cold blue gaze stabbed out from the older elf s sharp-featured face.

"That path was already attempted-, with grave losses," the captain said. "There was no honor in our hunt. We paid for our arrogance with our comrades' lives. Would you have us now bargain with our own?"

The aide caught his breath. "I meant, Captain, that… that we…" Seconds passed; he flushed with embarrassment. 'The admiral wanted us to get the cloak," he finished.

The captain stared at his aide a moment longer, then turned back to the window of the man-o-war, looking down at the swirling clouds a thousand miles below him. "The admiral is dead, and we have other considerations now," he murmured. "Teldin Moore cannot be our concern. Perhaps the grand admiral will fee! differently, but it is of no matter to me for the moment. We must warn our people of real dangers, not make sacrifices to legends." The elf seemed about to say more, but stopped.

Another minute or two passed before Kilian heard the door close behind him. He let out his breath in a long sigh and searched the vista before him for any sign of the gnomes' black ship. He saw nothing, but he had expected that.

"You are free for now," he whispered to the window. "I will let you depart in peace, but others will not. May the wind carry you wherever you run, Teldin Moore. May the wind be fast and sure. You cannot run forever."