by Roger Moore
He whirled around, looking for the door, but instead stared straight into a flat rock face a dozen feet high.
Momentarily panicked, Teldin put his hands against the cool rock, searching for an exit. The rock was hard and rough and solid. It looked as if it had been there forever.
“Teldin Moore,” said an even, strong voice behind him, “you have come a long way to find us.”
Teldin turned quickly, his blue cloak whispering around his legs. There were five elves in the clearing with him, standing in random places in the knee-high grass. The closest one was thirty feet away, a male who came up to Teldin’s chin. He had thick, autumn-brown hair, the color of rich, polished wood, and a richly embroidered robe of pale gold and white.
Teldin wondered if he was being toyed with, and the spur of anger got him going. “I am looking for the Imperial Fleet,” he said, his voice not as strong as he would have liked. “I need advice.”
“We are with the fleet,” said the elf simply, looking at Teldin with clear gray eyes. A slight breeze passed through the clearing, rocking the daffodils and grass tops.
Teldin risked one more look behind him at the rock face, then turned back and cleared his throat. “I was told that I should find the fleet … you, that is, by one Vallus Leafbower, an elf who was the helmsman for a ship I’ve been traveling on.” Teldin stopped, frowning. “How did you know my name?”
“Did you not identify yourself to the watch at the door?” said the brown-haired elf. Teldin couldn’t tell if the elf was serious or making fun of him.
“Yes, I …” Teldin hesitated. They must use magic to spy on people at the door, he realized. It made sense. “You just caught me off guard,” he finished. “You said you were with the Imperial Fleet? I might be a little suspicious, but —”
“We are with the fleet,” repeated the elf calmly. “I am Uliananor Cirathorn, Admiral of the Sphere.” The elf gestured behind him at the other figures in the clearing, never taking his eyes from Teldin. “With me is my personal staff. You have our full attention, Teldin Moore.”
Teldin eyed his surroundings again, noticing that two of the admiral’s staff were women. “I want to know where we are,” he said.
“We are still on the Rock of Bral, in a safe place,” said the elf. “Our magic protects us. You will not come to harm here, and your words are held in secrecy.” Cirathorn raised his chin slightly. “If you have something important to tell us, please do so now.”
Teldin swallowed, feeling out of his depth and feeling some resentment, too, at being told what to do. He knew the admiral had a point, though. He had wasted enough time with that kender earlier, and he was wasting it now. He debated about where to start. There was so much to tell.
“I am being hunted by the neogi, among others, because of the cloak I am wearing,” Teldin began. He felt a little more confident now, but he had no idea if the elves would even care to help him. “The neogi have murdered many people to get this cloak, and I don’t know why. I need some kind of advice on what this cloak is and what it’s supposed to do. And I want to know why the neogi want it so much. Vallus said that you – I mean, the elves – had made this, so you might know of it.” The elf’s gaze dropped to take in the bright blue cloak that waved in the faint breeze. “What do you already know of this garment?”
“Not a lot,” confessed Teldin. He considered describing its powers, but it was a little early to spill everything he knew. “It’s magical.”
“Magical …” The elf put a slight emphasis on this word. “We need more, Teldin Moore.” Showing no reaction to his near pun, the admiral became expectantly silent, looking into Teldin’s eyes with mild impatience.
Teldin gave up. He’d never get anywhere unless he told all. Or almost all – he still wanted to keep some of the cloak’s powers a secret, like its ability to change his shape. Sometimes it was a good idea to have a few secrets left.
“The cloak has a strange history, and I’ve been swept along with it,” Teldin said. “A reigar woman handed it to me as she died, her spelljammer burning on the ruins of my home and farm on Krynn ….” He went on, telling a much-shortened version of the tale of his journey with the cloak. It still took about twenty minutes to get it all out. He hadn’t always been good with stories, but a story was all he had to offer.
As he spoke, Teldin watched the elves for their reactions. Several of the robed elves in the background gradually moved closer, their alert faces showing considerable interest. Admiral Cirathorn, on the other hand, merely watched and listened. When Teldin told the theory of the mind flayer Estriss, that whoever made the cloak had also built the enormous and legendary spelljamming ship called the Spelljammer, a muscle twitched in the elven admiral’s cheek. Teldin guessed that this revelation might be the key he needed to get the elves’ help, for good or for ill. Indeed, the admiral moved closer after that point, though he came no nearer than two dozen feet. Paranoia, perhaps, thought Teldin, but he didn’t blame them. They were military people, after all.
Teldin finished his story with his arrival on the Rock of Bral, leaving out only his meeting with the kender, Gaye. He paused, then added, “I have little to offer you for your help, but the lives of many depend on what I do about this cloak.” Now it was his turn to wait. He was not accustomed to speaking for so long, and he felt drained. His throat hurt, too. If the elves turned him away, he decided, he would simply leave and find help elsewhere – but he didn’t know where.
“You came to us,” said Cirathorn, breaking the silence, “because one of our people directed you to us. It is known among our people that a meeting with the staff of the Imperial Fleet is not a light matter. There are many of our people who would go to any length to avoid it, preferring to administer their own solutions to matters, whether we approved or not. Why would this Vallus Leafbower have sent you here? What did he think we could do to help you, Teldin Moore?”
Teldin blinked in astonishment. “I haven’t the faintest idea what he thought you could do!” he snapped, feeling his self-control slip away. “Didn’t you hear what I said? The neogi want this cloak! They’ve slaughtered more people for it than I can count, and they’re determined to have me dead as well.” Stirred by his anger, Teldin reached up and undid the button loops on his shirt front, exposing his bare chest – and the dozens of deep, fiery-red scars that crisscrossed it. The eyes of several elves widened with horror.
“I got these from the neogi,” Teldin spat. “I was on their meat tables. I’ve escaped from mercenaries, draconians, and pirates. I’ve been attacked and betrayed because of this cloak, and I’ve seen dozens of people slain for it. The neogi said that if they got this cloak, they could destroy or enslave worlds with its powers – elven worlds among them, I would think. I don’t know what you can do for me, but you could do a lot more for me and for your people than you are doing now.”
With a violent effort, Teldin bit off his next words. He quickly regretted what he had said, but he was still too angry to care much. If they wanted to throw him out, at least now they had a good excuse for doing it. He’d never liked dealing with most officers and authority types, even when he had been in the army during the War of the Lance. They were fools more often than they were true leaders, except for a few who were either just and fair or too cynical to be anything other than honest.
Cirathorn’s gaze had become distant while Teldin spoke. He said nothing when Teldin finished, though some of his staff members moved close together to whisper to each other. A new breeze ruffled cloaks and hair.
“I remember Aerlofalyn,” Cirathorn said, without emotion. The other elves fell silent at once. “It is a world you would not have heard of, Teldin Moore. Aerlofalyn was a garden world in another sphere, a world of wind and air across which great islands and continents drifted like leaves on the bright surface of a river. My father’s father was from Aerlofalyn, and his father before him, and every ten years my family would meet on the island estates for a feasting and celebration that would last for a
hundred days. My father’s father was married there, and all his fathers before him. It was paradise.”
The other elves stared at the admiral as if they were statues. Cirathorn looked at Teldin but did not seem to see him.
“You have heard, I have no doubt, of the Unhuman War,” the admiral continued. “It is called that among your people because humans felt it had so little to do with them. The depredations of goblins across the spheres had little meaning for the human masses on the ground. Do not be too offended, Teldin Moore, if I say that an attitude like that is typical of your kind. Humans rarely care about the fate of others.”
Teldin’s face flushed, and his fists clenched tightly. He was on the verge of calling the elf a liar and worse when Cirathorn started to walk toward him with a slow tread. “A war fleet of the enemy fell upon Aerlofalyn in my father’s father’s time. My father was sent away with his sisters at the last hour, aboard a secret vessel that escaped to another sphere, where they stayed with relatives. He returned to Aerlofalyn in seven years at the vanguard of a war fleet of his own. He landed upon the island where he had been born, where he had learned to speak, where he would have taken his wife. There he buried the bones of all who had remained behind. He buried bones that were burned, bones that were broken, bones that were gnawed upon. He buried a world and a family line. The name Aerlofalyn is rarely spoken by our people, except in our memories and when we gather to remember the dead and all that has passed.”
Cirathorn stopped. He appeared taller now, though it could have been only a trick of the light. “I have been to Aerlofalyn, Teldin Moore. I know about murdered worlds. Every ten years now, I go there, just as ray father took me, and for a hundred days I mourn.”
Teldin and Cirathorn stared at each other. Suddenly the elf roused himself and saw Teldin as if the man had just appeared before him. “We have been poor hosts, and we ask your forgiveness. Please join us for our next meal. We will eat in peace together and speak of your cloak and your concerns.” Without waiting for Teldin’s answer, Cirathorn turned and called behind him, at the forest. “Siol tath, alwe doe maith” he said. As he turned back to Teldin, the sky grew darker, as if a cloud were passing over the face of the sun.
“Forgive our fantasies, too, Teldin Moore,” said the elf, as the entire forest around them faded into darkness. Teldin looked wildly around as the elf continued speaking, unperturbed. “We have become creatures of the past, bound by our memories. This forest was how my father’s father’s home once appeared, given birth again through the magic of illusion. It is a weakness in which I indulge for the sake of impressing company.”
Now, Teldin saw dim, distant walls arching over his head in place of a sky, as if he stood beneath a vast, overturned bowl whose ceiling was studded with tiny starlike lights that gave off light of increasing brightness. Teldin could see great patterns carved into the ceiling itself, weaving around the unfamiliar constellations displayed there. The rock face behind him had faded and become a wooden door, which he could now tell was banded with iron and painted with symbols.
“This is our reality,” said Cirathorn, sweeping a hand around him. “We are sheathed in old rock beneath the surface of the Rock of Bral. The doorway on the surface brought you here by our magic, a teleporter of sorts. You may speak and rest in safety, as I have said. My staff will show you to a room where you may bathe and don new clothing if you so choose. You are our guest.”
Teldin’s voice found its way back to him. “I could probably use a bath,” he said. “My ship is in the docks for the next few days. I don’t think I’ll be missed right away.” Even as he spoke, it dawned on him that he sounded as if he was inviting himself to stay here. It wasn’t quite what he’d meant.
It seemed to make no difference. Cirathorn, his robes whispering around him, had already turned to leave the domed hall, gesturing for one of his staff to stay behind and the rest to follow him. “We are pleased to have you, Teldin Moore,” the admiral said on his way out. “Your visit should be very educational for us all.”
*****
A slim young female elf with gleaming black hair showed Teldin through a vine-covered stone corridor, away from the domed hall. Light spilled from hand-sized glass figurines mounted in the ceiling, each one made to resemble a flying bird. Pushing open an oaken door at the first bend in the corridor, the elf showed Teldin the room beyond. It was the size of the largest inn room Teldin had ever seen, and it contained a sunken bath, a bed, several tables and cushioned chairs, some slim books and rolled scrolls on a shelf, and a wardrobe filled with clothing of every size.
The young girl looked uncomfortably like Gaye in certain respects, but she was interested only in explaining how the bath pump worked, where he could find the dining hall, and where the sanitary facilities were. She nodded and left when Teldin said he needed nothing more.
The memory of Gaye reminded him of something else, and Teldin checked his belt pouches and pockets to find out what, if anything, the kender had “borrowed” from him. To his astonishment, he still had everything he had started out with when his ship had docked. No kender he had ever heard of had resisted an opportunity to pick a pocket. He went through his inventory twice, but he was missing nothing. He shrugged and decided a bath was in order before changing.
An hour later, he was standing near a glowing swan lamp, examining a volume of woodcuts showing landscapes and portraits, when the door opened again. It was Cirathorn. Teldin didn’t recognize him for a few moments, as the elf had changed clothes, too. He was now wearing a suit of silver-bright plate armor over which a black tabard was hung, bearing a complex design of a many-colored butterfly against a starry background. The elf wore no helmet, but he wore silken black gloves and high, star-speckled black boots.
“Is everything satisfactory?” asked the admiral.
Teldin flushed. “Actually, I wasn’t prepared to be served like this.” He quickly shut the book and put it on a side table. He could read only with great difficulty, and he was too embarrassed to admit that he had only been looking at the pictures.
“We will be having dinner with other guests in two hours,” Cirathorn continued. “You may rest comfortably until then. With your permission, however, I would like to examine your cloak. I wish only to look at it in the light here, without attempting to remove it from you. Would that be possible?”
Others had touched the cloak without incident. “I think so,” Teldin said, feeling a little nervous. “Don’t try to cut it, though. The cloak will shock you if you do.”
Cirathorn spread his hands as he approached. “I have no intentions of harming either you or the cloak.” He reached out and carefully took hold of the fabric at Teldin’s right arm. Nothing happened. The admiral pulled up the cloak and moved toward the nearby light. Teldin obliged by standing closer to it as the elf began his examination, watching the elf’s narrow fingers probe gently at the silky inner lining with its complex geometric pattern. For a moment, Teldin was reminded of Estriss and the movement of the mind flayer’s long, four-jointed mauve finger as it pointed out the subtle pattern of a three-petaled flower in the weave of the lining.
The admiral made no comment during the long minutes he spent looking at the cloak. Teldin looked at it as well, wondering what, if anything, the admiral was able to see in it that Teldin or Estriss had not. After a time, the admiral slowly released the cloak and let it fall again.
“Did you find anything?” Teldin could not resist asking.
“It is authentic,” said Cirathorn in a distant voice. “I must go back to the library and speak with the loremaster again. I will tell you more later, at dinner.” He suddenly turned to leave, looking back once as he opened the door. The admiral’s gaze lingered on Teldin’s cloak. He then left, pulling the door shut behind him.
The time crawled by so slowly that Teldin believed he would go mad. He was lying on the bed, trying to relax enough to get rid of a headache, when the door opened again. Another young elf, this one a blond male, motioned fo
r Teldin to follow him. “Dinner is about to be served, good sir,” the elf said. “I could have waited a while longer,” muttered Teldin, pulling on his boots. He decided that maybe he could nibble a few items, just to be polite.
The hemispherical dining hall was smaller than the starry hall, but much brighter and more comfortable-looking. A circular table surrounded by soft chairs took up the middle of the room. No other furniture was present; the entire floor was covered with a carpet, too, Teldin noticed. Bowls of fruits and finger-foods were scattered around the table. Glowing globes and figurines hung from the ceiling, spilling bright yellow light everywhere. To Teldin’s surprise, living vines crawled up the walls, encircling carved wooden figures of elves, many with wings, that graced the decorative pillars. The air inside was cool on his face and smelled fresh, as if it had just rained.
Perhaps a dozen elves were already seated at the table and chatting softly and animatedly when Teldin was escorted in. They all looked in his direction, but they never stopped their conversations or made any move to welcome him. He looked about, pulling his cloak around him, and took a place to the right of one of the staff members Teldin remembered seeing earlier in the forest illusion. While he didn’t understand Elvish, Teldin found he was able to make out the gist of what the elf was saying – all gossip about the goings-on around the Rock, he realized. He was almost disappointed, though he wasn’t sure what he had expected. Teldin sighed and ate a small piece of fruit, trying not to look as out of place as he felt. Why were the elves ignoring him? Was he just some kind of groundling peasant to them?
