"I don't know," the bionoid replied honestly. "You have told me only that you seek answers to a personal quest, and that you are pursued by dangerous foes. Knowing so little, I could hardly advise you one way or the other."
Teldin had to acknowledge the truth in Hectate's reasoning. He had spoken of his trust in Hectate, but he had extended little. If he wanted Hectate to continue with him- and he was surprised to realize how much he wanted this- he would have to trust the half-elf.
"I have a story of my own," Teldin began, fingering the edge of his cloak. "About a year ago-that is, as time is reckoned on my homeworld-I lived on Krynn, making my living as a farmer. A spelljammer crashed on my farm, and the dying reigar captain handed me this cloak, insisting I keep it from the neogi and take it to the creators. I've been trying to do just that ever since."
Hectate observed Teldin carefully as he spoke. "And you hope to find at the Broken Sphere the answers to these creators?"
"That was once my goal, yes," Teldin admitted. "Finding the cloak's rightful owner and getting the burden off my own shoulders was all I could think of. As time went on, though, it began to look as though I might well be the rightful owner. Everyone who wants the cloak-and that includes pirates, illithids, arcane, scro, neogi, even the elves-has shown less than perfect motives."
"Why do they want this cloak?" the bionoid asked, eyeing the black garment with mild interest.
"It's the key to the Spelljammer," Teldin said tersely. "The cloak I'm wearing is an artifact, thought to be the Cloak of the First Pilot. According to the best information I've been able to get, whoever wears the cloak can control the Spelljammer- provided, of course, that they can find it," he added dryly.
"Then the old stories are true," Hectate said, and wonder shone in his voice and his eyes. "When I was a child, I heard tales about a ship as big as a small world, which escaped its crystal shell like a chick coming from an egg. Do the two stories fit together? Could this be the Broken Sphere we seek?"
Teldin warmed to the bionoid's "we," and he met Hectate's gaze squarely. "It's possible. The only thing that the fal-the giant slug sage, but that's another story-told me, was that I could find answers to the Spelljammer at the Broken Sphere, and since that's the best lead I've had so far, I've got to take it. Before someone beats me to it, I have to find the ship and take command."
The bionoid thought this over for several long moments, then he nodded in grave agreement. "Yes, I think you should. But, if I might ask, to what purpose?"
Teldin blinked, stunned into silence by Hectate's words.
He dimly remembered that Vallus had said something like that, but Hectate's calm, reasonable question brought the reality of his situation home. He finally had accepted his destiny as Cloakmaster, but now he saw that acceptance was not nearly enough. His destiny was his to shape, and Hectate had a valid point: To what purpose?
"The elves want me to join their war effort," Teldin admitted carefully, steeling himself for Hectate's reaction.
Hectate merely nodded as if he had anticipated this answer. "Many of my people fight alongside the elves," the bionoid said.
That seemed incredible, given what Hectate had told him about the elven attitudes toward Hectate's race. "And against the elves?" Teldin asked, looking his friend in the eye.
"Some, yes." Hectate's gaze was steady, giving away nothing.
Teldin raked a hand through his hair. "How do you stand?" he asked outright. "Look, I'm sorry if I offend you, but this is a time for plain speaking."
Again the half-elf turned his sad smile toward wildspace. "If the truth must be told, I had hoped to avoid taking a stand either way." He glanced up at Teldin. "You were too ill to notice, but I kept to myself for the first days after the battle. It is traditional after the Change for a bionoid to spend a period of time mourning the lives he has taken. We don plain silver robes, meditate, and cleanse our souls from the stain of blood. We are a gentle people who kill efficiently but with great regret." Hectate's face took on a faraway look. "I had hoped to put away my silver robes."
Teldin absorbed this, understanding the half-elf s feelings but still saddened by them. "And that won't happen if you stay with me," he concluded.
"Probably not," Hectate agreed. The eyes he turned back I to Teldin held resignation and the sadness of a dream deferred. "But you soon will get your own ship, and you will need a navigator to help you on your quest. And once you succeed?" He shrugged as if trying to make light of the matter. "Even the Spelljammer needs to be told where to go, I imagine."
"But if I decide to stand with the elves?" Teldin pressed.
"Then I will stand with you, Teldin Moore." The half-elf extended his hand, offering a pact. "You trusted me. To one of my race, that is a rare gift. In return, I'll trust your decision."
Startled but deeply moved, Teldin took the offered hand in a firm grip, and the first genuine smile in many days brightened his face. Wanting to put the conversation on a lighter, happier footing, he switched to a topic dear to Hectate's heart: food. "Now that the future's settled, maybe you'd care to join me for eveningfeast?" he asked. "I hear Rozloom is galley master tonight."
Hectate answered him with one of his rare, elfin grins. "Just when I'd concluded that this ship had nothing to offer."
Wrapped in a magical cloak of secrecy, the invisible shrike ship darted after the star-traveling swan. The disgruntled crew mates listened sullenly to the captain's explanation of their new mission.
"Our liaison, Lord K'tide, has requested that we follow the human," Wynlar began. "The human may have changed ships, but that does not alter our orders. Drakkar or swan ship, it matters not. K'tide is depending on us to report the human's movements, as the informant's messages have not proven sufficient."
"What does baby-sitting an elven ship have to do with the Armistice mission?" demanded Tekura. The silver-haired technician flipped an exasperated gesture toward the white, tufted tail of the swan ship. "We should be outfitting the orcs, not trailing some human. The swan ship is heading toward Toril, and each wasted day takes us farther from our goal."
"And what have we to show for this little detour?" the wizard Zeddop whined. "Obscure messages about a broken sphere and a cloak that changes color. Bah!"
The captain's angular, elflike face betrayed his discomfort. "I do not know all that K'tide has in mind. He said only that the cloak is important, not to our current alliance with the orcs, but to some later strike against the elves. K'tide promised to say more when the time is right."
"And you accepted that?" Zeddop sniffed, and his thin lips twisted with scorn. "You always were a bit too credulous, little brother."
Wynlar turned to glare at the wizard. "What would you have me do? K'tide is a necessary intermediary. Would you rather deal directly with the scro?"
His challenge was met with silence, and after a moment he sighed deeply. "I know that this new development is difficult, but we have given pledge loyalty to K'tide, and we are honor-bound to carry out his plans."
"Whatever they may be," Zeddop murmured in the manner of one who must get in the last word.
Tekura came to stand at Wynlar's side. She gave her foster-father's arm a reassuring squeeze. "We know that K'tide desires the destruction of the elves. As long as we are working to that end, we can do whatever is required."
Chapter Seven
The mess was crowded when Teldin and Hectate arrived. Rozloom strode in from the galley, bearing an enormous platter heaped with shiny, cone-shaped loaves of bread, which he set down on the serving table with a flourish.
Hectate's eyes lit up at the sight, of the confection, and he hastened to pile several of the small loaves onto his tray. Given the half-elf s appetite, that did not strike Teldin as unusual until he noted the usually spartan elves flocking to the table to do likewise. He himself did not particularly care for sweets, but he took one on the chance that he might otherwise be missing something.
The elven crew seemed unusually expansive that eveni
ng, and, as Teldin followed Hectate to a corner table, he fielded a number of questions and accepted numerous good wishes on his recovery. By the time Teldin and Hectate had settled down with their dinner trays, Teldin had made two unsettling observations: the elves treated him with considerable respect, but they virtually ignored the half-elf. Teldin was acquainted with the Imperial Fleet's high-handed ways, but nothing prepared him for this utter dismissal of Hectate Kir.
The half-elf did not seem to notice anything amiss. He broke one of the loaves apart and inhaled the fragrant steam with deep satisfaction. "Quinpah," he breathed in a reverent tone. "I haven't seen any in years. It's a traditional elven bread, but it varies from one world to another. This one is very like what I remember from my childhood."
"Really. I wonder how Rozloom got the recipe for something like that," Teldin said absently. He broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth, and his eyes widened in surprise. The outside of the bread was crisp and sticky with a honey glaze, but the middle was a soft, airy delight that dissolved in his mouth into a foaming mist.
"How do the aperusa acquire anything?" Hectate observed without malice.
Teldin grinned. During the few days Rozloom had been aboard the Valkyrie, a number of "lost" items had been discovered in his possession. The gypsy's explanations were always so entertaining that none of his victims could hold their ire for long. Only Rozloom's offbeat charm-and remarkable culinary prowess-kept the exasperated crew from loading him into the drakkar's catapult and letting fly.
After several days of eating nothing but broth and thin porridge, Teldin was ravenous. He devoured the quinpah and thought he might like another, but aside from Hectate's private hoard, the sweet bread already had disappeared. As he ate the rest of his dinner, Teldin pondered the elves' strange coldness to Hectate Kir. The only reasonable conclusion Teldin could come up with was that somehow the crew must have found out about Hectate's bionoid persona. When Teldin suggested this possibility, Hectate's well-laden spoon froze halfway up to his mouth.
"What makes you think so?" Hectate asked, cautiously lowering the spoon back to his bowl.
As tactfully as he could, Teldin commented on the elves' decided lack of friendliness. To his surprise, Hectate burst out laughing, drawing brief, chilly stares from the other diners. "What's so funny?" Teldin groused.
Still chuckling, the half-elf shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'd forgotten that some people really don't care what I am." He seemed on the verge of saying more, then his eyes fell on the last loaf of quinpah on his tray. In a gesture more eloquent than words, the half-elf picked up the treat and broke it in two, handing the larger piece to Teldin.
Teldin didn't need his newly acquired perceptivity to recognize the offering as much more than elven bread. He accepted the gift and nodded his thanks, and human and half-elf munched in companionable silence.
They were licking the last sticky drops from their fingers when the chiming of bells signaled the beginning of the third watch. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I've got duties," Hectate said as he rose from the table.
"Good," Teldin said. He gathered up his tray and prepared to follow the half-elf. "Do you think anyone would mind if I came to the bridge with you? I'd like to see some star charts and get a fix on where we are."
The half-elf hesitated. "My duties aboard this ship don't include navigation, sir."
"Oh?"
"Hectate, come!" boomed a familiar bass voice from the galley. "Always there is a price to pay for pleasure, is that not so?"
Hectate noted the gathering storm in Teldin's narrowed eyes. "It's all right, sir. Work is work. I don't mind, really." He gave Teldin a reassuring smile and disappeared into the galley.
Teldin tossed his tray back onto the table, ignoring the clatter of scattering dishes as he stalked after the half-elf. Enough was enough. He wanted some answers about Hectate's treatment, and if he had to file the points off a few elven ears before he got those answers, all the better. He threw open the door of the galley and surveyed the busy scene with angry eyes.
The galley was larger and better equipped than any kitchen Teldin had ever seen. The shelves that lined the walls held more steel implements than a battlefield, and the pots and vials and jars and vats suggested a diversity of ingredients that would rival a wizard's laboratory. Elven crew members glided efficiently about the galley, some putting away the remnants of the evening meal and others chopping and mixing in preparation for dawnfry. On one side of the room crouched Om, the gnome technician who had been rescued from Teldin's ship. She was busily engaged in "improving" the vast cookstove, muttering gnomish imprecations as she worked. In the center of the room was a long table used for food preparation. Rozloom sat at the head of the table, his broad posterior distributed over two high-backed stools and his polished boots propped up on another. One meaty bronze hand held a large silver tankard, and a bottle of elven spirits sat on the table beside him. There was no sign of Hectate, but several doors led out of the main galley.
Rozloom caught sight of Teldin and bounded to his feet. "Captain!" he boomed, waving the tankard at Teldin with ebullient good cheer. The gypsy's resonant bass voice rattled the crockery. "My very dear friend! Come in! Sit! Drink!"
Some of Teldin's anger melted under the warmth of Rozloom's extravagant greeting. He remembered that the aperusa, despite his self-absorption, had shown himself to have fairly decent powers of observation. Rozloom might be able to shed some light on the elves' treatment of Hectate.
So thinking, Teldin greeted Rozloom and settled himself on the offered stool. He paled when the gypsy set a half pint of pale amber liquid before him. The elves-who, despite their delicate appearance, had an astounding capacity for potent spirits-traditionally served the stuff in tiny, fluted glasses. In his still-weakened state, Teldin figured that two sips would put him eye-level with the diminutive Om. "You seem to be adjusting to life aboard ship, Rozloom," he observed, unobtrusively pushing his drink aside.
The aperusa resumed his seats and nodded avidly. "And why not?" He took a long pull at his tankard and smacked his lips with gusto. "Fine drink this ship has, good food, and many women." A gleeful leer lit Rozloom's face as he jerked his head toward a lithesome elven woman measuring spices into a huge bowl of batter. He elbowed Teldin companion-ably. "Look and learn, Captain. Your last crew, it had no such women. Without them wildspace is a cold place, yes?" The gypsy punctuated his foray into philosophy with a chuckle and another solid nudge to Teldin's ribs.
An agitated clatter forestalled Teldin's reply. Om picked up the tool she'd dropped and leveled a brown-eyed glare at Rozloom. "No women, eh? And what would you call me?"
Black brows flew upward in genuine surprise. "A gnome?" guessed the gypsy.
Om huffed indignantly and squared her tiny shoulders. Teldin watched, fascinated, as she drew herself up to a regal four feet. He'd never seen Om show interest in anything other than machinery, yet there she was, the very picture of female pique. "Among gnomes, I'm considered very attractive," the tiny woman informed Rozloom with dignity.
The aperusa looked pointedly at the stove parts scattered around the floor. "Among gnomes, you're considered a technician."
Teldin winced and braced himself for the gnome's rejoinder. To his surprise, Om's small brown face relaxed into a coquettish smile. Being a gnome, she'd taken Rozloom's insult as the highest possible praise. She acknowledged the "compliment" with a satisfied nod and returned to her tinkering. Teldin shook his head in silent amazement. The shipboard gossip that had trickled down to Teldin's sickroom had included Rozloom's vow to charm every woman on board. Teldin had considered this to be so much amusing bluster, but subsequent gossip suggested that the aperusa was succeeding more often than not.
Oblivious to his effect on the smitten gnome, Rozloom drained his tankard and wiped his mustache with the back of his hand. "Ah, that is good. You will have more?" When Teldin shook his head, Rozloom shrugged and emptied most of the bottle into his own mug. "So, Captain, t
o what shall we drink?"
Teldin edged his tankard even farther away from him, hoping to signal his lack of interest in toast-making. "Actually, there's something about Hectate Kir."
Rozloom nodded agreeably. "If you say so, Captain." He raised his mug in salute. "His health!"
Teldin caught the gypsy's wrist while the tankard was still south of the enormous mustache. "No, I have a question about Hectate."
"Ahh." Rozloom set the mug down carefully and folded his arms over his vast belly. His bronze features arranged themselves into a parody of a sage adviser. "What would you know, Captain?"
"Well, to start with, why is he working here in the galley when he's so skilled in navigation? Why do the elves act as if he's not worthy of their notice?"
Rozloom twisted one bushy eyebrow into a sardonic quirk. "That is unusual for an elf?"
Teldin conceded the point, but added, "They are far more cordial to you and me than to Hectate. I can't figure that out."
"It is not so very difficult. These elves of yours, Captain, they do not believe that half an elf is better than none."
"Pardon?"
"Hectate Kir is a half-breed," the aperusa said bluntly. "The elves, they are an ancient people with old ways. They do not like change. A half-elf is a step toward becoming what they are not. They do not see what might be gained, only what is lost." Rozloom held up a finger and waggled it, indicating that an idea had occurred to him. He picked up the almost empty bottle of elven spirits and splashed a little of the amber liquid into another tankard, then he called for a pitcher of water and filled the huge mug to the brim. He presented the resulting pale yellow fluid to Teldin with a theatrical flourish. "Care to drink, Captain?"
Teldin waved away the disgusting stuff. "You've made your point."
"Good," Rozloom murmured distractedly, no longer interested in the lesson. His small black eyes followed an elven woman who was carrying a stack of nested bowls toward what appeared to be a larder. She shot an arch, inviting glance over her shoulder before she disappeared. The aperusa was on his feet instantly, preening his massive beard with an air of anticipation.
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