The Maelstrom's Eye

by Roger Moore

  If the answer to the last question had been yes, then it had been a foolish, if not suicidal, error. Four elven man-o-wars and an armada had invisibly trailed the Rock of Bral for the last two years, their presence permitted by the Rock’s bribe-hungry Prince Andru. One man-o-war was an odds-on favorite in most ship-to-ship battles; four could strike genuine terror into the commander of a small space fleet. An armada was avoided by all but the most desperate of warriors. The force could have turned the tide of an invasion and spared another world the fate of lost Aerlofalyn. That an elven world would be conquered in Cirathorn’s own assigned sphere without his knowing of it – the thought was devastating.

  The elves had taken no prisoners in this fight, there being so little time and coordination of efforts among the elven ship captains, but the orcs and their allies could have taken several prisoners during their boarding and firing of the Unicorn’s Wing. Intelligence on the humanoids was thus minimal, though the battlewizards were working on the problem. Further reconnaissance of the sphere would have to be undertaken, meaning the fleet’s presence here would have to be reinforced. Any delay could spell doom for the other colonies. Cirathorn was an elf, and he knew well how the Imperial Fleet worked. If this sphere had any salvation, he alone was that salvation for the foreseeable future.

  He had only three man-o-wars left now, two of them – the Free Wind’s Fury and the Leaping Hart – with minor damage, and they had the apparent hatred of the gnomes of Ironpiece. As inconsequential as they were in the grand scheme of things, the gnomes certainly had their usefulness. It was a poor start. Nonetheless, the elves had an armada, nearly undamaged. They had cloaking helms. They had magical weapons and superlative wizardry, though the pyramid’s master might prove itself an equal if it were an undead monstrosity. The elves had punished the orcs badly in the first round, killing their capital ship.

  The elves also had the report of the helmsman and wizard Vallus Leafbower, made to the Imperial Fleet at Evermeet, on Toril. That report on Teldin Moore and his cloak was worth at least as much as any other advantage.

  “Mirandel,” said the admiral, turning and walking from the windows to the battlewizard’s chair. The battlewizard’s eyes were drying, her mourning for her sister’s death at the Unicorn’s Wing’s helm set aside for now. The admiral reached for the heavy crystal ball in her hands, and she carefully gave it to him. He raised the globe and studied its depths. He had used one of these once.

  “I cannot use the crystal again this day, my admiral,” the battlewizard said. Her green eyes were framed by her long white hair. “Contact with the other ships during the battle has exhausted my talent for now.”

  “I did not mean for you to use it,” said the admiral, walking away with the ball. “I mean to use it instead.” He picked up a stool, then returned and placed it a few feet from the battle-wizard, sitting so as to face her. He looked into the crystal ball with a thoughtful gaze.

  “I am about to reveal some things to you that have been kept secret by the Imperial Fleet for some weeks now,” the admiral began. He looked up from the globe and at his battle-wizard, who sat in expectant silence. “You are aware that I have developed an interest in a human named Teldin Moore, who arrived on the Rock a few days ago on the hammership we were trailing. You were present when I spoke of the history of his cloak and gave him directions to Ironpiece and places beyond to aid his search for the Spelljammer. I believe our battle has proven that there are others who are also interested in the cloak of Teldin Moore, and those forces are as dangerous as any we could hope to meet.”

  “My admiral,” interrupted Mirandel. “Is it not possible that the humanoids were already on their way to attack Iron-piece, and we were merely in their way?”

  “No. The humanoid fleet has neither transports nor landing craft for armies. There are few worlds known to be inhabited by orcs or other lower humanoids in this sphere, and none of them have achieved spelljamming ability. The humanoid fleet originated from outside this sphere, but it is probably supplied from a base within. Its presence on an intercept course with the hammership Probe could not have been coincidence.” Cirathorn smiled, “I cannot believe that more than two dozen humanoid ships would waylay a hammership out of a sense of common piracy. I cannot prove it, but I believe they were after Teldin’s cloak, too.”

  “How can you be sure, my admiral?”

  “The cloak is valuable to many others already,” said the admiral, looking down at the heavy globe again. “The lying neogi, several groups of pirates, and the mind flayers of the world Falx also seek this cloak. If some reports are to be believed, perhaps even the arrogant reigar are seeking it. All such forces have been able to locate the cloak, through either spies or some other means.” He gently tapped the crystal ball with a fingernail. “This is the means.”

  The battlewizard frowned and appeared confused. “My admiral, if seeking the cloak were merely a matter of looking into a crystal ball, I would think the cloak would have been discovered many centuries ago.”

  “I agree, but there was one element missing. The key was discovered by an elven wizard named Vallus Leafbower, who was once the helmsman of the Probe before it landed on Toril. Vallus had once been allowed to touch and examine the cloak. With the assistance of another elven wizard in the city of Rauthaven, he found that, after scrying for the cloak in a magical mirror, he was able to find it and its wearer with ease, without the need for a spell or device. The key was to touch the cloak before divining its location with magic. Some connection is made by the touching, and it lasts beyond normal magical limits once the scrying contact has been made. Vallus knew, without failure, where Teldin Moore was at any time, and he was even able to track the man while he was disguised by the powers of the cloak. Vallus delivered a warning to Teldin to go to Evermeet and speak with the Imperial Fleet there. Teldin Moore chose to ignore that advice, instead fleeing into wildspace.”

  Cirathorn looked at Mirandel with cold eyes. “I do not know if scrying upon the cloak involves any sort of risk. Vallus Leafbower’s discovery was felt to be important enough to deliver to as many Imperial Fleet regions as possible, using every sort of spell and ship available. The admirals of every sphere were warned to look for a human of Teldin’s description, one who always wore either a cloak or a silver necklace. If Teldin should appear, and if his story matched in some part the events that Teldin Moore related to us at that dinner, then we were to give him every assistance to his goal, with the encouragement to allow the Imperial Fleet to transport and protect him.

  “You recall that some weeks ago I warned you and the rest of the staff to look for such a person. The sentry at the embassy door had explicit instructions to admit anyone who answered to this human’s description and asked for the assistance of the fleet. I took a chance that if Teldin Moore were to appear on the Rock of Bral, he would come without disguise and would be in need enough to give us his trust. The gods blessed us, and that is why we are here now.”

  The battlewizard licked her bloodless lips. “Is it the will of the gods, or merely your own, my admiral?”

  The admiral gave her a faint smile. “Am I so transparent, my eyes like windows to your own? I do want that cloak, though I will not stoop to bloodshed to obtain it. Surely you know of the old poems, Mirandel, of the Cloak of the First Pilot, and the legends of the Spelljammer. Why do you think I want the cloak?”

  She swallowed. “Power,” she said quietly.

  “Exactly,” said the admiral. “The cloak grants control over the Spelljammer – the largest, most powerful, and most dangerous ship in existence, a ship that some legends say once belonged to our people, Mirandel. A ship against which no evil could stand. A ship with which we could bring the Imperial Fleet’s rule to all worlds in all spheres.”

  The woman’s face was very pale. “My admiral,” she said in a small voice. “There are tales of the Spelljammer, which you must have heard as well, of the curse it casts over all who try to take it, and the evil that befalls thos
e who even see it.”

  “We have already fallen into evil times,” the admiral said bluntly. “We will have worse times to come. The neogi have almost certainly handled the cloak in the recent past, as so many of their ships are now following the cloakbearer’s trail. The mind flayers are probably using spies. Some neogi may have been captured by other forces and are being forced to lead their new masters to this ultimate treasure. Vallus Leafbower reported that pirates off Krynn were able to locate the gnomish sidewheeler on which Teldin traveled, and no one knows how they were able to find him. Now, with these humanoids, we will face enemies beyond counting, foes who have many reasons to hate us just because we are elves. I assume they are on Teldin’s trail, too.”

  The admiral looked into the green eyes of his battlewizard. “We could turn away from Teldin Moore and his cloak,” he said. “Our people have always been willful and have done as they pleased. We could save ourselves and say the Imperial Fleet be damned, and only I would suffer for it, and perhaps not even then. Who could say?”

  “You read my thoughts clearly, my admiral,” said the battlewizard softly.

  Cirathorn smiled more broadly. “I know you, my wizard. I know and understand what you think of this, but I cannot be turned away from the hunt now. When Teldin Moore falls, we must be there to snatch up his body and his cloak, and spirit both away from all other takers. We face destruction without salvation from a growing pool of foes, but the bright prize beckons to me. The Spelljammer is power, but it is the power to save as well as to destroy.”

  Cirathorn reached out a hand, resting the crystal ball in the other one, and took hold of the battlewizard’s cold fingers. “Mirandel, you stood with me over the grassy graves of all my ancestors on Aerlofalyn. You heard me swear to the stars and the gods and the spirits of all our people that this would be the end, that I would not permit this to befall us were it in my power. You swore with me that you would aid me on this quest, to the ends of our lives. Will you aid me now?”

  “Yes, my husband,” said the battlewizard, with only the slightest pause. Her hand did not tremble. Cirathorn noticed this and was pleased.

  “You are my strength,” said the admiral. He released her cold hand and looked down at the crystal ball. “If Vallus Leafbower is to be believed, then I should be able to find Teldin Moore, across all spheres, and we shall bring to the Imperial Fleet the very strength that it now needs so badly.”

  The admiral stared into the crystal ball. Within moments the glass darkened until it was of the deepest black that either had ever seen. The ball cleared again with amazing rapidity – and Teldin and his surroundings appeared. For several minutes, the two elves watched a scene unfold.

  “I know of that one,” whispered Mirandel suddenly. She pointed a delicate finger at the ball and tapped the glass. Even as she did so, she knew she had genuinely cast her lot with her husband, and she would share his fate, for good or ill. So be it. She took a deep breath. “I have a plan, my admiral.”

  *****

  The scro looked out into the starry darkness over Vorr’s head. “Sir, we’ve lost the mammoth flagship, three scorpions, two vipers, and two wasps. The remaining ships have varying damage but are able to move on their own. The other ships are pulling survivors, including Admiral Halker, from the wrecks and will rendezvous in two hours with the pyramid, just that way, sir.” The scro pointed over the general’s shoulder to a distarn, flashing light. “The pyramid appears to have been only lightly damaged.”

  “And the enemy?” Part of the general’s question was answered as he saw a distant burning object like a great butterfly, low to port and toward the stern.

  The scro stood a little more erect. “We got one of the man-o-wars, sir. No prisoners were taken. We have a confirmed kill on a gnomish sidewheeler and six of their little one-crew spellfighters, with up to a half-dozen more assorted craft as possible kills. The elves may have hit more. The armada and two of the remaining man-o-wars appeared to be lightly damaged when they disappeared again. I believe cloaking devices are in use aboard them.”

  Vorr grunted. “I want a round-the-clock watch out, looking in all directions,” he said briskly. “All ships’ weapons are to be cocked and loaded. Send the same to all ships. The moment you see an elven ship, fire at it. A full rank with pay to the first one who hits an elven ship; an officer’s commission or two officer ranks to the first one who sets foot on it. We’re going to redecorate our ships with elf heads.”

  “Sir!” The scro’s face was outwardly stonelike, but his voice betrayed his joy. He gave the general the fist-up salute. “Death to the elves!” he shouted in Elvish, his voice full of battle glee.

  “Death to them all,” the general agreed. He made his words a promise.

  “Sir?” called the captain, as Vorr was heading through the main deck door to his cabin. Vorr turned, and the captain saluted and went on. “The pyramid ship is signaling again. Skarkesh says he has located Teldin Moore on Ironpiece.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You can’t imagine what went through my mind, sir,” said Gomja, seated at the foot of Teldin’s polka-dot-sheeted bed. “When I pulled you out of the water, I thought that you looked familiar, but I couldn’t believe it until I rolled you over. Then …” The giffs voice trailed off, and he sighed with happiness. “You just can’t imagine, sir.”

  In the afternoon sunlight pouring through the infirmary window, Teldin could see tears of joy still running down the giffs wide cheeks from his tiny black eyes. This was only the fifth time Gomja was repeating the tale of his reaction to rescuing his old friend, but Teldin was too weary to care, and the bed was too comfortable to make protesting worthwhile.

  No one else was present in the little white room. The single window opened out to show a forest-covered slope and the lake beyond – Lake Crashsplash, the gnomes called it, with painful appropriateness. If Teldin turned his head, he could see part of the lakeshore but nothing of the sunken Probe. The lake was quite shallow, only twelve feet deep where the hammership had gone down, and he’d been told earlier that gnome salvage crews were already at work trying to refloat it and transport it to the dry dock at the wildspace naval base bordering the lake. Whether there was anything worth repairing would be determined there. The helms were just so much firewood now. As for the rest of the ship – he wasn’t sure it was worth much more.

  Teldin blinked, focusing on the huge, happy giff. Gomja hadn’t changed much in the half year or so since Teldin had last seen him. He was still a seven-foot-tall, broad-shouldered blue-gray hippopotamus – a manlike hippopotamus, at that. Gomja had put on more muscle, which Teldin found difficult to believe. The giff’s bright red uniform, covered as it was with gold trim, tassels, and an assortment of medals across his chest, did nothing to hide his oxlike strength. As Gomja wiped at his small black eyes, now red-rimmed and watery, great cords of muscle stood out on his biceps and forearms.

  Nevertheless, Gomja’s huge flared nostrils were running and his chest shook as he breathed. This was the first meeting the gnome healers had allowed between the two since a waterlogged and exhausted Teldin had been brought to the infirmary two days ago. The giff was still in shock.

  “Gomja,” Teldin said. His voice sounded scratchy and rough. “I doubt that you could imagine what went through my mind when you pulled me out either.” No words were ever truer, he thought. He still wasn’t sure he believed anything at all that had happened since he had awakened aboard the Probe.

  Feeling for something in a side pocket in his uniform, Gomja gave up and pulled a large, ragged towel from a table near the foot of Teldin’s bed. The giff noisily honked into the towel, wiped his nose, then carefully folded the towel and placed it back where he found it. “I’ve been embarrassing myself, sir,” he said apologetically. “I’m not usually like this, you’ll recall, but you just can’t imagine what went —”

  “Gomja, I know. Look, just tell me how in the name of the Dark Queen you got here.”

  “Oh, of c
ourse, sir.” The giff sniffed and perked up a bit. His shoulders straightened as he spoke. “Well, as you remember, sir, my first platoon and I had some trouble with that neogi deathspider over Mount Nevermind.”

  “Trouble?” Teldin gave the giff an incredulous look. “The last I saw of you, the deathspider crashed in flames into the lake on the mountaintop. I thought you were … well, gone.”

  “Frankly, sir, I didn’t think I was going to be around very long myself. My platoon and I had fought our way into the bridge, where we disposed of the neogi and their lordservants – the umber hulks – and broke their command. We couldn’t do anything right away for the poor soul in the lifejammer helm” – Gomja grimaced, remembering – “as we couldn’t move him without crashing the ship.”

  “Which you did anyway,” Teldin mumbled. On seeing the stricken look on Gomja’s face, he hastily added, “Bad joke. Just forget it. Go on.”

  Gomja nodded somberly, then his chest swelled. “Well, we broke out into the corridor leading to the rest of the ship, and my platoon was doing an excellent job of driving back the slaves the neogi were sending toward us, when an umber hulk came right through the enemy’s ranks with a little present for us: a cask of smokepowder with a burning fuse. It would have been sufficient to stop our advance dead, as they say, if I had not taken the liberty of removing the cask from the beast’s claws first and tossing it behind us into the bridge. I tried to shut the door and block it, but the umber hulk had my attention by then, and the explosion knocked all of us down, friend and foe alike. I’m afraid the poor soul in the lifejammer had no way to escape. The ship lost power, and we went down. We braced ourselves as well as we could, and most of my platoon made it out. The deathspider didn’t sink right away, luckily for us. Gnomes from the shore got to us rather quickly, all said and done. I even had a tattoo placed on my chest to commemorate the victory.”