"Pearl!" Teldin shouted. "Silence it!"
The elf-shaped dragon responded with a quick smile and a countering spell of her own. A sphere of silence enshrouded the insectare, neatly cutting off his spellcasting.
"Now there's a philosophical question for you, wizard," Pearl casually said to Vallus, an edge of contempt in her voice. "If a spell is spoken but not heard, was a spell cast? Fits right in with the if-a-tree-falis-in-a-forest-and-no-one-hears-it nonsense your sort likes to ponder."
The insectare threw back his head and howled a soundless oath. Frustration and rage twisted his green visage as he drew a long, gleaming sword from the folds of his robe. All the crew members in the hold took a reflexive step back, in their surprise forgetting that the dracons had the creature immobilized.
No one expected K'tide to free himself by slashing off his own antennae. In two lightning-fast moves the insectare cut himself free and pushed Vallus Leafbower aside. Ichor flowed down the insectare's face and dripped off his chin as he rushed at Teldin. The creature's ghastly snarl was as rigid as a skull's as he charged forward, sword held overhead with both hands.
The startled captain groped for his sword. Time slowed down as the cloak's magic took over, and Teldin managed to raise his short sword overhead in time to meet the descending blow. The swords met with a bone-jarring clash, uncannily silent. The dragon's sphere of silence encompassed them both, absorbing all sounds of battle.
The insectare fought with a desperate, despairing madness, flailing wildly with its sword. Try as he might, Teldin could not get inside the creature's reach to land a blow. Even with his altered perception, it was all he could do hold off the frenzied insectare. From the corner of his eye Teldin saw several elves circle the battle, swords drawn. Elyen blades struck silently and ineffectually against the insectare's armor, and more than one of Teldin's would-be rescuers reeled back under the force of the insectare's wild swings. Then a backhand slice caught Teldin's sword arm and opened a gash from wrist to elbow. An explosion of pain penetrated Teldin's cushion of slow, dreamlike magic. Time shattered and began to careen dizzily around Teldin as the short sword dropped from his bloodied hand.
Acting on instinct, Teldin raised his other hand and pointed it at the insectare. Magic missiles shot from the Cloakmaster's fingers, one after another. The insectare stiffened, his body jerking in spasms as it was jolted again and again by the magic weapons. During the magic assault, Pearl's spell dissipated and a horrible searing hiss replaced the silence. The green face blackened, and fetid smoke rose from under the creature's exoskeleton. Finally the insectare tottered and fell to the floor with a dull clatter.
The stunned crew stared at the smoking remains. What moments before had been an insectare now was a pile of blackened plating and charred robe, nothing more. The creature's body had simply disintegrated from the force of Teldin's missiles. Awed and speechless, the elves and dracons raised their gaze to the human. Teldin, clasping his bleeding arm, stood over the dead insectare. His expression was dazed, and he looked disoriented and none too steady on his feet. Even so, power clung to him like a mantle.
"That was for Hectate Kir," Teldin said faintly, addressing the smoking pile.
Deelia Snowsong was the first to collect herself. She darted forward and helped Teldin sit down on a storage crate. After a quick examination of the man's injury, she ripped away his torn sleeve and doused the arm with a foul-swelling herbal wash from a small vial. She'd already begun to stitch the wound before Teldin's startled oaths died away. The dracons suddenly realized they still held the insectare's severed antennae. Both shuddered and threw the things aside. Chirp produced a kerchief from a pocket of his leather armor and fastidiously wiped off his clawed fingers, and Trivit dashed tears from his green cheeks with the back of his hand. No one noticed the troubled, speculative expression on Pearl's face as she fingered her long raven braid, and no one saw her slip away from the cargo hold.
A subdued Vallus quietly came over to the makeshift infirmary. He watched silently as Deelia put the last of many stitches in Teldin's arm. The tiny healer poured another quick dose of her liquid fire over her handiwork, then she quickly wrapped Teldin's forearm in bandages.
Only once before had Teldin seen Vallus at a loss for words, and the elf s silence unnerved him. Looking about for something to say, he noticed that Vallus still held the items taken from the insectare. Teldin rose to his feet, ignoring the new waves of pain that radiated from his arm.
"How do you think the insectare got those keys?" Teldin asked through gritted teeth.
"I believe I can answer that," Trivit broke in tearfully. The dracon turned and led the way toward the stern. The crew silently followed him past the machinery that drove the wing and paddle mechanisms. On the floor, in a scattered circle of tiny tools, lay Om's body. It was sprawled facedown, its head bent at an impossible angle. Around the neck was an angry red circle where the insectare's whiplike antennae had struck and killed. Teldin swallowed hard, and Trivit's tears began anew.
"Why would Om work with an insectare?" Vallus wondered, looking down at the gnome's body.
"More likely she bumped into it, like Gaston did," Teldin suggested. The elf shook his head and handed Teldin the key taken from the insectare. A glance at the outlandish handle betrayed its gnomish origin.
"If I were to choose the least likely person on board to play the traitor, it would have been she," Vallus mused. "To all appearances, Ora cared for nothing but her machines. What could convince her to do something like this?"
Teldin's eyes widened as an answer occurred to him, and he groaned softly in self-recrimination. Once again, the truth had been just too damned obvious." Who convinced her, not what," he corrected in a dull voice. "Om didn't make those keys for the insectare. I doubt she even knew an insectare was in the picture until she met up with it."
Without offering an explanation, Teldin turned and strode back to the cargo hold. He picked up his sword and hurried up the stairs to his own cabin, worry dulling his pain and speeding his steps. If his theory was right, Hectate could be in grave danger.
Teldin kicked open the cabin door. As he suspected, the aperusa was no longer sleeping off the pilfered sagecoarse. Rozloom was standing, bent over the writing table. The gypsy whirled to face Teldin, and his black eyes widened at the sight of the blade leveled at his heart.
"She is yours," the aperusa stated baldly, holding up his huge bronze hands in surrender. "From this moment, Raven is the captain's woman and Rozloom will kill any man who says otherwise."
"Just for the record, her name is Pearl, and you know damn well this isn't about her," Teldin said evenly. The sword felt awkward in his left hand, and he hoped he didn't appear as unsteady as he felt. The aperusa seemed suitably cowed, however, and he raised one hand to flick beads of sweat from his gleaming pate. Teldin's eyes narrowed. "What's that green stuff on your hand?" he demanded.
"Green?" Rozloom spread his hands before him and studied his fingers as if he'd just acquired them. Understanding lit his broad face, and gold teeth flashed in relief. "Ahh. Is nothing. Merely the healing herbs I grind to feed the captain's friend." The gypsy gestured to the small mortar and pestle on the writing table.
"Let me have them," Teldin said, holding out his free hand. Panic flared in the aperusa's black eyes, but his smile never dimmed. "I think not, Captain," he said. "Herbs, they can be dangerous if one knows little of them."
"You might as well know that K'tide is dead," Teldin said bluntly. Rozloom's jovial expression vanished, and he sank heavily into the chair. "So is Om," Teldin added quietly, but the second piece of information did not seem to register with the aperusa.
"I see." The gypsy's usually booming bass voice sounded strangely subdued, and his face sagged in the resignation of defeat. "And of course there are many questions. What would you have me to tell, Captain?"
The thunder of approaching dracons drowned out Teldin's response. Two green heads poked in through the door, their puzzled fa
ces framing Vallus. "Get Deelia," Teldin told the elf.
"I'm here." The healer pushed her way into the room.
Teldin pointed to the dish of crushed herbs and asked her what they were. Puzzled, Deelia went over to the writing table and touched the tip of one finger to the mixture. She sniffed it, tasted it, and spat.
"Nightsorrel," she breathed, glancing at the gypsy with dawning understanding. "No wonder the half-elf never woke up."
Rozloom sighed and removed a small green flagon from the folds of his sash. "This will help," he said, handing it to the healer. Again she tested it. Satisfied, she quickly poured the liquid into Hectate's slack mouth. She produced a vial of her own, a healing potion of some sort, and administered that to Hectate as well. Almost immediately the half-elf's color looked a bit better, and he sighed in his sleep.
"He should start coming around soon now," Deelia murmured. Teldin nodded his thanks and sheathed his sword. Feeling a little light-headed, he pulled the room's only chair over to Hectate's bedside and dropped into it. Leaving Rozloom to the furious elven wizard, Teldin renewed his vigil over his half-elven friend.
"How long have you been working for the insectare?" Vallus demanded, coming forward to stand over the aperusa.
"Work?" The gypsy shrugged off that concept like an ill-fitting garment. "My people salvage old ships. K'tide's money was good. The insectare, he wished also to buy information. The money for that was even better."
"What information?"
"Harmless things: Where the captain goes. What he does. What he wears. Very much K'tide liked stories of the cloak that changes color, so I tell what I see. Is business," he concluded with another shrug. Teldin, who had looked up when Rozloom mentioned the insectare's interest in the cloak, got the distinct impression that Rozloom had little notion what the fuss was about.
"Who else was with the insectare?"
A bushy brow arched. "The insect-elves, but this you know already, yes?"
Vallus winced visibly. "So it was K'tide and the bionoids who supplied spelljamming vessels to the Armistice goblinborn. Why?"
"That, I did not ask."
"All right, then, are the scro involved?"
"Scro!" Rozloom snorted. "Who is to say? What scro do is hidden even from those who read the cards. The aperusa trade but little with such creatures."
"Is anyone else working with you?"
"From time to time," the aperusa allowed. "For a good price, a beholder helped me to make the captain's acquaintance."
"In the tavern on Garden," Teldin said slowly, remembering the beholder who had fired over his head and sent him, the dracons, and Rozloom into flight. Rozloom's revelations also explained the insectare's appearance in the tavern that night, just before the aperusa troop's arrival. Still, Teldin was puzzled. The insectare wanted the cloak, yet its bionoid allies easily could have acquired the cloak and had failed to do so. There was something else going on, probably something that went far beyond Rozloom's involvement. Teldin didn't need his medallion's power to discern that: no reasoning being would trust an aperusa with all the details of a plot. There was, however, one mystery the gypsy could clear up.
Teldin turned to the aperusa. "Why did you keep Hectate from waking up? What possible purpose could there be in that?"
For the first time, the aperusa seemed at a loss for an answer. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, then his face went blank and he shut his mouth with a click. The aperusa's befuddlement surprised Teldin: Rozloom had never before stumbled over the creation of an entertaining explanation.
"Sir?"
The faint whisper brought Teldin's attention back to the half-elf. Hectate stirred, his eyelids struggling to open.
"I'm here, Hectate," he replied in a soothing tone. "You're back aboard the Trumpeter. You've been asleep for a long time, but you'll be fine."
Hectate went very still, and despair flooded his thin face. "Then I've failed," he whispered. Teldin's brow creased in surprise.
Vallus came to stand at Teldin's shoulder. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask him some questions."
"Later," Teldin declared, not bothering to look up.
"They cannot wait," Vallus insisted gently.
With a long sigh, Hectate opened his eyes and gave Teldin a sad, reassuring smile. "It's all right, sir. There is much you both should know."
With Teldin's help, the half-elven bionoid struggled to sit up, then began his story.
"After the insectare raid that destroyed my own family, Clan Kir took me in as one of their own. I still carry their name, but I left the clan years ago. You may know that bionoids are usually solitary folk, living alone or in small family units. On a few occasions, larger groups known as battle clans have been formed. Clan Kir is a battle clan, its formation fueled by hatred of elves. It was they who attacked the Trumpeter. One of them overpowered me and brought me aboard the insectare ship."
"I saw it happen," Teldin broke in softly. "The woman bionoid went right for your crystal eye, your vulnerable spot. I thought for sure you were dead."
Hectate shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the direction the discussion was taking. "She pulled her punch," he muttered.
"Nice girl," Teldin said in a sardonic tone. He regretted the quip immediately, for Hectate looked as though he'd been struck through the heart. It took the half-elf a moment to collect himself. When he was able to speak, he went on to explain the bionoids' plan and their alliance with the insectare and scro, including the insectare's treacherous plan to release the primary Witchlight Marauder against the goblin races of Armistice.
Vallus questioned Hectate closely about the intended attack on Lionheart, but Teldin was almost equally disturbed by the proposed destruction of the ice world. He'd seen for himself the tertiary Witchlight Marauders' feeding frenzy, and Hectate asserted that the primary marauder was many times more fearsome, a giant land slug that could reduce the planet to a lifeless hull within a year or two. Teldin could well imagine the destruction a rampaging monster of that size might accomplish. He resolutely put the disturbing images out of mind, but he suspected that Witchlight Marauders would edge the spiderlike neogi out of his nightmares for many nights to come.
"I regret to have to ask you this, Hectate Kir," Vallus said in a soft voice when Hectate had finished his story, "but we must know where you stand in all of this."
Hectate held up a hand to stop Teldin's protest. "No, sir, it's a reasonable question. My clan fights for the scro, and I've been flying with an elven ship. That alone marks me a traitor. From either point of view, come to think of it."
The bionoid met Vallus's eyes squarely. "Those who choose not to fight in time of war are often named traitor. I had hoped to live in peace, but that was not among the choices offered me. The insectare K'tide put the lives of every member of my clan against the death of Armistice and the destruction of Lionheart." Hectate stopped and cleared his throat.
"I chose a third option," he continued in a barely audible voice. "I could not sanction the taking of so many lives. Yet, if I had defied the insectare, he would have found a way to carry out his plans without my help, perhaps even without Clan Kir. The small band of bionoids who traveled with K'tide eagerly supported his methods. Seeing no other way to stop them, I sabotaged the insectare's craft so that it would crash on Armistice and kill all those aboard. It was… I could think of no other way."
A subdued silence filled the room.
"That was a noble choice," Vallus said in an awed voice, but Hectate smiled sadly and shook his head.
"I'm not sure there's much nobility to be had in war," he replied. He turned to Teldin. "There were four other bionoids aboard the klicklikak. They all died in the crash?"
"Yes."
Hectate nodded, quiet resignation on his face.
Pearl spun into the room, her long black hair flying wild and unbound around her borrowed elven face. "Sorry to break up this tea party, but we've got company. Lots of company."
Teldin was
on his feet immediately. His cloak flowed around him in sweep of dark maroon. The last time it had been that color was on Ironpiece, in the battle with…
"Scro?" he asked Pearl.
"First guess," the dragon dryly congratulated him. "There's a scro battlewagon out there, and they brought along a bunch of those weird patchwork ships for company. It's going to be a big one."
With a sigh of frustration Teldin turned to the aperusa. "We're not finished here, Rozloom. I can't spare anyone to guard you. Can we at least trust you to keep out of the way?"
The aperusa answered with an absent nod, his black eyes fixed on Pearl. Her beautiful face shone with excitement, and, as she dashed from the captain's cabin, her unbound hair swirled around her like a silken banner.
Rozloom walked slowly from the cabin, unnoticed by those who hurried to do battle. When he reached the relative safety of the galley, the gypsy pulled a leather thong from the pocket of his voluminous silk trousers. For a long moment he stared at the homely object, which to his eyes was lovelier than gilded ribbon. The strip of hide had bound the hair of Raven Stormwalker, the elven woman who now called herself Pearl. She had given it to him in the pledge he had so long sought, asking only that he deepen Hectate Kir's slumber. Of course, Hectate would have died from such a dose as Rozloom had prepared, but what was one half-elf to him? After the battle, Raven had promised him, after the battle.
An unfamiliar emotion stirred in the complacent heart of the aperusa. Concern for a life not his own rose in his breast like a swelling tide, and for the first time Rozloom suspected that there might be worse things to fear than death, and greater gains than riches.
Chapter Twenty
As Teldin sent the crew members to their battle stations, he read on every face the belief that the battle ahead was to be their last.
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