The Radiant Dragon

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 surprise, 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 death 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 ore 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.

In the center of the stone chamber slept a hideous creature. Larger than a swan ship, the unhealthy gray thing resembled an enormous slug. Its flesh rippled and undulated as if its slumber were a tenuous thing. Surrounding the monster was a ring of orc priests, chant-singing endlessly in a coarse, guttural language.

Rozloom spread a collection of knives out before him. He waited until a second group of goblinkin, these hobgoblin witch doctors, entered the cavern to change shifts. To the aperusa's way of thinking, the more food the marauder had upon awakening, the longer he himself would have to make his escape back to the waiting ship. The moment had come.

With rare skill, the aperusa began to throw. One after another, the blades spun into the cavern and found homes in the hearts or spines of orc and hobgoblin priests. The chant faltered, and the marauder stirred. With barely a twitch, the creature sucked three of the fallen orcs into its cavernous central maw.

Rozloom noted this with dark glee as he continued to hurl his weapons. Soon all the goblins on this frozen hell would meet the same fate. As the chant faded, the monster awoke and oozed forward, sucking in the goblin-creatures with frightening ease.

Rozloom backed out toward the tunnel, intending to make his escape. Then the monster belched, and foul gas roiled up toward Rozloom in a greenish cloud.

"Poison," murmured the aperusa, who knew enough of that dark art to recognize it in the hands of a master. The green gas worked quickly, and the last knife fell from his paralyzed fingers. The aperusa knew he was dead, but suddenly that knowledge was not disturbing. Rozloom had done what he'd come to do, and he was ready to die.

Teldin awoke two days later in a small tavern room somewhere on Radole. Vallus explained to him that he'd been unconscious for many days, gravely wounded in the crash and utterly drained, both by the use of magic and the marathon trip that had brought the swan ship to Radole. The captain listened to the explanation with little interest.

"Is Rozloom back yet?" he asked bluntly.

Vallus's eyes widened. "You heard our conversation?"

"Enough."

The elf lowered his eyes as if he were ashamed. "No. Rozloom has not returned."

That was almost too much for Teldin to take in. The instinct for self-preservation ran so strong and deep in the aperusa that Teldin could not imagine it failing to govern Rozloom's actions. "Was his mission successful?" he asked quietly.

"We do not yet know. It may well be that it was."

A wave of nausea washed over Teldin. If the enormous land marauder had been set free, an entire planet would be laid waste before the creature and its hideous descendants turned on each other. The magnitude of the carnage sickened Teldin, and he looked at the elven wizard with horror in his eyes.

Vallus did not shrink from the man's unspoken accusation. "I did what I felt I had to do, Teldin Moore. If you were in my position, you might have done the same thing." He rose quietly and left Teldin alone.

Several hours and much soul-searching later, a troubled Teldin concluded that Vallus may well have been right.

The Cloakmaster made his way unsteadily down to the main taproom, where he found Vallus deep in conversation with Hectate Kir and Trivit.

"I've come to say good-bye," Teldin said quietly.

The elf rose from his chair and extended his hand. "I shall miss you, Teldin Moore."

"That's it? No argument?"

A faint smile curved the wizard's lips. "There's an old saying that he who would argue with a dragon is either a fool or a corpse."

Teldin shifted uncomfortably. "I doubt I'll ever try to take that form again. It was, well, too…"

"I understand," Vallus said when the human faltered. "Yet the ability lies within you. The elves have problems enough without taking on a radiant dragon," he said with a touch of humor. "Therefore I will recommend that the Imperial Fleet break off its attempt to control you and the cloak. Once the grand admiral hears my report, I am sure she will concede. In her name, I offer you a separate peace… an armistice, if you will."

The elf extended his hand. Teldin accepted the pact, then on impulse he drew Vallus into a comrade's brief, hearty embrace.

"For a while, I thought I could fight with the elves," he said when they broke apart, feeling that he owed Vallus some explanation. "If Armistice turns out to be destroyed, well, I know you did what you had to do, but I can't be a part of it."

"Believe me, I understand," the elven wizard said quietly. "I wish I had that choice." A sad smile lit his angular face. "The gods go with you, Teldin Moore."

The elf turned and walked away. Trivit watched him go and turned to Teldin. "With your consent, Kaba, I would like to remain on Radole," he said hesitantly. "There is a dracon settlement here, and I, well-"

"Of course," Teldin broke in. The young dracon had been disconsolate since the loss of his brother, and a fictional clan comprising one lone human was no replacement for real family. "Give your new clan my regards, Trivit," he said warmly.

Wiping a tear away with one green hand, the dracon nodded and ambled out of the tavern. Teldin took the seat Vallus had vacated. "What's it like, being something you don't want to be?" Teldin abruptly asked Hectate.

The question took the bionoid by surprise. "You find ways to cope, sir, ways to compensate."

Teldin acknowledged the comment with a nod, but he wasn't satisfied. He'd seen what power had done to others, and he feared for what he might become as he wielded it. Would the duties of leadership crowd aside all other considerations until he was fully governed by that nebulous and demanding master Expediency? Or would power be like a drug that would take over his mind and overshadow dearly held values? Who was he? Teldin Moore or Cloakmaster?

"What if one part takes over?" he murmured, more to himself than to the half-elf.

"That's something we'll always have to live with, sir," Hectate said quietly.

Teldin looked up, and in the half-elfs brown eyes he saw sympathy and understanding. He nodded his thanks, then he untied the small bag that held the medallion and held it out. "Are you ready to try again?"

A surprised smile lit Hectate's narrow face, lending the half-elf a decidedly elven appearance. The transformation no longer bothered Teldin, and he returned his navigator's smile with a conspiratorial grin. Together the two friends sought the privacy of Teldin's chamber. With the oaken door shielding the cloak's bright magic from curious eyes, Teldin Moore removed the medallion from its pouch and studied it for a long moment.

He took the artifact in both hands and began again the journey out of himself and into the Spelljammer's eyes, not knowing where the new vision would take him.