The Ultimate Helm

Chapter Three

The beholder ruins stood in the shadow of the Spelljammer's mammoth tail, the once-proud columns broken and cracked after two years of the fearful onslaught by the mysterious disease called the Blinding Rot, and the eye tyrants' subsequent internecine wars.

The disease had decimated the beholder population, sending the survivors into a mad, xenophobic rage of destruction against their own race. No matter how much they hated all other races, they saved their true hatred for themselves: for all other beholder clans, and for any brethren who were different, or sick, or injured at all.

Still, the ruins stood, their tyrannical population diminished to barely a dozen beholders who craved the destruction of their enemies and, as did their most hated enemies, the neogi, the total enslavement of inferior races.

To the clans of the beholders, inferior meant everyone but themselves.

Inside the dimly lit ruins, the ancient tyrant Gray Eye held council with the remainder of his beholder brethren. His huge, milky white eye stared at each of the eleven beholders in turn. His smaller eyes waved stealthily on their thin stalks, like snakes targeting their prey, and the scales overlapping his round body were tinged pink in anger. Four powerful ioun stones circled his body in frenetic orbits that mirrored his evil mood, granting him safety against attack.

Gray Eye had considered the situation aboard the Spelljammer for a long time, ever since word had first reached the ship that the Cloakmaster was on his way.

The Cloakmaster. Gray Eye had bristled at the term when he had first heard it from one of his brothers. At the time, he had been floating along the roof of their ruins with three of his guard, and had been focused on the defensive capabilities of the nearby neogi tower. When word first came of the Cloakmaster's approach, Gray Eye had been so infuriated that one of his smaller eyes had narrowed its focus on a neogi guard standing along the neogi tower. Within seconds, a scarlet beam of light erupted from the eye and took the neogi unawares. The guard thrashed and screamed in agony as its brown flesh disintegrated into smoke and ash.

The Cloakmaster. So many people had borne that cloak, Gray Eye knew; so many had commanded their own spell-jamming ships across the universe, wearing that same vestment of illusion. The Cloak of the Damned First Pilot. Who was this, one insignificant human, to dare wear the cloak upon his shoulders and claim himself its ultimate master?

It should belong to a beholder.

Gray Eye knew more of the history of this cloak, and its bearer, Teldin Moore, than most others. This human was much different, he knew: stronger, more determined than any cloak bearer before him. Perhaps the human was even linked to the Spelljammer in some subtle, intrinsic way-a way that might mean failure to the eye tyrants' plans.

And to myself, Gray Eye thought. If the Cloak of the First Pilot belongs to anyone, it should belong to a beholder… and that eye tyrant is me.

And so, Teldin Moore must be destroyed.

"War," the leader of the beholders began. His brethren watched him unblinkingly, their great eyes focused and glaring red in the gloom of their ruins. "War. This must be our goal. For too long, peace has reigned supreme upon this ship. We must focus our efforts on one goalconquest!"

His fellow beholders hovered lazily above the floor of their sanctuary, waiting, smiling evilly, their great central eyes focused on their leader.

Long veins pulsed in anger under the surface of Gray Eye's huge, ocular body. His scales rippled as a wave of fury washed over him. "The damned Cloakmaster has finally arrived," he said. "The prophecy of darkness is coming true, even as we speak. The Dark Times will be upon us all if we are not swift."

He paused in thought. "I almost wish that this human had been killed earlier by the neogi. Now the burden falls upon us, and it is one in which we should rejoice. The humans have decimated the neogi forces. The time to strike is now, to take the cloak from the Cloakmaster and destroy the damned neogi, all in one concentrated attack.

"We must form strategic alliances with others-those who also wish to take command of this vessel, perhaps the ogres, and the minotaurs-they will be easy to enslave-and then-" the beholder laughed maniacally "-break those alliances, and use the inferior species for our own purposes, for cattle."

His beholder brethren laughed among themselves, the sound of hoarse coughing. Gray Eye looked out among them and hesitated. When last the Dark Times fell upon the Spelljammer and the ship's food-producing gardens closed upon themselves, Gray Eye had taken full advantage of the chaos and the weaknesses of others to assume the leadership of the beholder community. Cannibalism, looting, and murdering of his own kind- these crimes had kept Gray Eye alive and in power. His brethren were young and knew nothing of the last Dark Times.

Gray Eye would commit the same crimes today to take control of the Spelljammer.

"When the Dark Times soon fall upon the ship, we will be compelled to barbarism that almost destroyed our species here many years ago and will surely devastate our numbers today. We cannot afford that. We cannot afford to wait for the human to come to us. We must leave the confines of this ruined palace and attack. We must take control now!"

The veins in his pale, round body throbbed in rage. His great, milky eye was rimmed with crimson. The cloak, he believed, would soon be his.

Let the Dark Times come, he thought. What will it matter to Gray Eye, the new Cloakmaster?

He laughed, and the other beholders joined in. But he was laughing at them.

"We must destroy Teldin Moore," Gray Eye said with finality. "We must destroy the Cloakmaster now'."

High in the horned tower of the illithid empire of the Spelljammer, a black-clad mind flayer climbed the last few, dark steps to the level where the illithids' brain mold was carefully cultivated. Its pungent aroma caused the tentacles on Drikka's large, octopuslike head to twitch unconsciously, and he hungered for the sweet sentience that the mold offered.

The mind flayer bending over the brain mold, like its junior officer, wore only black. The only noticeable differences, to a human observer, would be the leader's proud bearing and the intricate field of stars decoratively woven into its long black cape. Mind flayers otherwise appeared genderless, almost tionelike, though humans found it useful to label them male or female.

The leader did not look up with its milky white, pupilless eyes. What is it, Drikka? the mind flayer thought impatiently.

Lord Trebek, we have word.

The Cloakmaster, Trebek guessed.

Yes, my lord.

Speak.

Drikka told Lord Trebek of the nautiloid's crash upon the Spelljammer, and the destruction of the neogi forces by the Human Collective.

The leader of the illithids rose from the brain mold garden and brushed off his reptilian hands. So it is true, Trebek thought calmly. So the beholder myth is true.. Have you notified our guest? he asked coldly.

Drikka hissed in anger. Like Trebek, Drikka did not think much of their guest, the newcomer. If Drikka could have his way, the newcomer would be killed as a traitor to its race. No, my lord. If you wish, I shall do so now. Drikka turned to leave. Trebek held up a purplish, three-fingered hand. No, Drikka, I shall do it. The phlbasta is in my study as my guest. I will handle it.

Drikka took a step back. Phlbasta was perhaps the worst thing that could be spoken in the mental language of the illithids-especially in reference to another illithid. It called the mind flayer in question a traitor, a dung eater, a lover of humans, and it challenged its racial purity. Very well, lord, Drikka thought, and he turned and went downstairs.

Trebek thought in silence for a moment, then strode up the stairs to the highest level. Scowling, he knocked twice on the door to his own private study. He opened the door without waiting.

The mind flayer seated at the desk was poring over thick, leather-bound books stacked high on Trebek's desk and in the bookcases affixed to the walls. He rapidly made notes in a book of his own and referred back to one huge volume, detailed on the pages with ancient drawings of the Spelljammer, its towers, and some of its mysteries. How goes your research? Trebek thought. The researcher looked up absently. The mind flayer's milky white eyes seemed tired and weak and did not reflect the normal cunning of the illithid mind. Hmm? Oh, Lord Trebek, my apologies. Yes, yes, everything is fine. Much of your information is highly valuable. It seems your information was valuable as well. What do you mean?

The Cloakmaster has arrived, as you predicted. It seems the beholder myth was true.

The Cloak- The illithid closed the book he was reading. You mean Teldin Moore is finally here? Where is he?

With the humans, Trebek said scornfully. They are currently secure in the centaur tower. They will probably try to make their way to the human area very soon.

Good. Good. The illithid rose from the desk. His long purple robes seemed ill-fitting, and he stood inches shorter than Trebek, clasping his unhuman hands together in peaceful thought. Thank you, Lord Trebek, for the use of your study. It has been most illuminating. If you will be kind enough to continue to allow me access…

Of course, Estriss, the leader said. His words were filled with a sarcasm that he hoped Estriss would not perceive. For as long as you wish. My only hope is that my few resources will help lead you to your answers. This ship holds many secrets, and I'm afraid that my humble research has gleaned but a few of them.

Your library is most extensive, Lord Trebek, more than I could have hoped for, Estriss said.

Trebek nodded and closed the door behind him. Estriss turned and stared out a small window, watching the colors of the flow play like fire along the buildings around him.

Perhaps now, he thought, the Spelljammer will yield all of its secrets. Perhaps Teldin Moore, and the cloak, will bring me all the answers I will ever need.

Outside, in the hall, Trebek stood silently at the door, deep in his own thoughts. He took a clump of brain mold from a pocket and chewed it slowly, silently, until the mold's being washed through him with a sweet, intoxicating hum.

Estriss, he thought, you consort with humans. You cannot be trusted.

Trebek started down the stairs and paused between floors of the horned tower. Estriss could be a problem, he thought. He was a friend to this human, this inferior Cloakmaster. Trebek shivered in disgust. You are a liability. I will see you dead before you get in the way of true illithids and our power on the Spelljammer.

Phlbasta, Trebek thought, you are not a true mind flayer to me.