The Maelstrom's Eye

by Roger Moore

  The ship rotated counterclockwise. The scorpion would come up on Teldin’s side. He dropped the useless crossbow and freed one hand from the railing. His cloak once had enabled him to cast a curtain of energy before him that protected him during a fight. He had an inspiration, and now wanted to see if the cloak could turn that energy into a weapon. Could he fire magical missiles or bolts from his fingertips? No other weapon was left to him. If the cloak couldn’t obey his commands, he’d be dead very soon. He concentrated on the image of a magical bolt of energy, keeping his fingers extended.

  The scorpion ship came up into view. Its deck was full of black-armored figures with long poles in their hands. Some had ropes. Some had crossbows themselves, but the high wind made it difficult to aim them. Draped over the side railing was the body of an ogre, an arrow protruding from its forehead. I did that, thought Teldin.

  “Fire!” Gomja roared, his crossbow snapping loudly.

  One of the orcs dropped when Gomja fired. Another fell with a gnome’s bolt in him. The orcs fired back, and two gnomes were hit; one fell from the ship and vanished. Teldin concentrated as hard as he could, putting his whole mind in his fingertips. Just like hitting the ogre, he thought.

  Power bloomed inside him. He felt he would burst with it. It burned as it ran through his veins, filling him like a cup under a waterfall, spilling over. Radiant energy poured out from his fingers, flashing straight into the orcs on the scorpion ship. The orcs fell as if they had been scythed down. Only three out of a dozen were left standing when it was over a moment later. The power was gone from Teldin as quickly as it had appeared, and he went limp with exhaustion.

  “By the Great Captain!” Gomja gasped behind him. “We’ve got them good now!” He then bellowed out to the world. “Pull alongside the scorpion! Company, prepare to fire again!”

  Even as Gomja spoke and the Perilous Halibut slid close to the scorpion, mote orcs appeared on the deck of the enemy ship, apparently coming up from one or more ladders below. Regaining his energy, Teldin cautiously got to his feet and noticed that both ships were traveling parallel to the ground, miles below them. Wispy clouds, like white horses’ tails, were scattered above and below.

  With wild whoops, the orcs on the scorpion suddenly hurled ropes and grappling hooks across at the gnomes’ ship. A few of the hooks caught, enough for the black-armored orcs to start reeling the ships together. A few of the gnomes drew knives and meat cleavers to hack at the ropes.

  Gomja was more direct. He seized a grapple and jerked on it with all his might. The orc holding the opposite end of the rope flipped headfirst off his ship, to fall screaming between the ships until no one could hear him.

  Teldin drew his short sword as the ships closed, side by side in the roaring wind. Suddenly the orcs gave out wild cries and leaped over their railing onto the deck of the Perilous Halibut, swords held high. Some slipped and fell down the slick sides of the latter ship, but a dozen made it aboard, and the fight was joined.

  As a particularly huge orc came at him with its scimitar aloft, it struck Teldin that these orcs were somewhat larger than the ones Gomja and Aelfred had described while crossing the phlogiston. Teldin dodged the downward blow the orc aimed at his head, slashing the orc across his black-armored chest. His wild blow hardly penetrated the ore’s thick leather armor, bouncing off the metal studs across its front.

  Teldin tried to back up, realizing in an instant that he’d made a mistake. The orc advanced quickly, lunging forward and almost skewering Teldin with the scimitar. Teldin tried to cut at the orc, but his blow went wild again. I’m screwing this up! he thought, almost in panic. I can’t get this right! He almost fell against the orc as the wind shifted suddenly, and the huge warrior drew its sword arm back for another lunge, one that Teldin could see he wasn’t going to avoid.

  A small, feminine figure with long, wind-blown black hair appeared and jammed a wooden pole between the ore’s elbow and its back, shoving the pole back as if it were a lever. The orc spun around, surprise on its face, and fell back on its side. Teldin lunged forward himself, avoiding the scimitar, and plunged his short sword into the orc’s stomach. The orc died with a choking cry.

  Gaye glanced at Teldin long enough to see that he was unhurt, then turned away to meet a second attacker. Teldin turned just in time to avoid being struck from behind by an orc that had circled around the fight, parrying the blow by sheer luck. Back to back, Teldin and Gaye fought their opponents as the fight raged around them. Even as he beat back the ore’s attacks, Teldin heard Gomja’s bombastic curses and the garbled cries of gnomes shouting detailed directions to each other.

  The Perilous Halibut shifted its heading away from the orcish ship for a moment, then drifted back, slamming into the side of the latter ship. Teldin staggered at the unexpected blow, almost losing his balance. It went for nothing, as the orc could not recover its footing and collapsed against Teldin, knocking them both to the deck. Teldin blocked a badly aimed chop from the orc, then dived on his foe to wrestle in grim silence, weapons still clutched in their hands. Gathering all his strength, Teldin managed to turn his weapon and shove it into the ore’s neck, only moments before the orc would have driven his own sword through Teldin’s ribs. The orc choked, dropping his scimitar and giving a gurgling scream as he died. Teldin pulled his sword free and started to get up, splattered with gore.

  The two ships suddenly struck again, and the Perilous Halibut shook with the collision. Teldin fell on his back, away from the dead orc. The orcish ship again came out second best, its entire forward side smashed inward. Abruptly, the port claw of the scorpion, which had been jammed against the Perilous Halibut’s bow, snapped and fell away. The two ships skittered apart, then slammed together once more. Unable to regain his footing, Teldin heard a shrieking sound like thick metal being crushed; for an awful moment, he feared that the gnomes’ ship was the source. The scorpion ship then rose, nose up, its entire bow caved in on the near side. Its long metal legs scraped the starboard side of the Perilous Halibut as the orcish ship flipped over in the air, fell behind the gnomes’ ship, and began a long, twisting dive toward the ground.

  Teldin saw two mote orcs on the top deck fighting gnomes, their backs to him. He dove at them without thinking, killing each with a single blow through the lower back. When the last had fallen, he turned to see the rest of the battle.

  The fight was almost over. The black deck of the gnomes’ ship was slippery with smeared streaks and pools of blood, the bodies of orcs and gnomes thrown together across it. Only a dozen gnomes were left standing, several clutching the railing. Some of the gnomes were shoving the bodies of slain orcs over the side of the ship.

  Gomja was hammering a battered orc lying flat on the deck with his huge, ham-sized fists. Seeing that his opponent was no longer fighting back, he grabbed the orc by its black-armored shoulders, lifted it from the deck, and casually hurled it off the side of the ship into empty space. “Now you know the hazards of inviting yourselves onto other people’s ships without asking first!” he roared, clapping his two thick hands together to dust them off.

  Gomja looked back and surveyed the ship. Teldin, Gaye, and the gnomes were sweating heavily, their clothing askew and splattered with red. The gnomes had taken the worst of the fighting, having had so little experience with it before; half of their numbers on deck were dead, and the rest were exhausted and wounded. The wind whipped at the survivors as they stood on the deck beneath the huge sun, miles above the ground.

  “Well, lads,” said Gomja softly. “We’ve won.” He took a last look around, then walked over to catch a gnome who was on the verge of letting go of the railing and falling overboard. “Gather your gear! All hands below!” he shouted. “We’ve won! Let’s tell the rest!”

  The weary gnomes staggered against the wind, toward the nearest hatch, some still clutching their weapons. Gaye wandered over to Teldin and fell against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his stained shirt. He held her to
him, thinking of the mounting toll of dead, all for the sake of his cloak, which snapped in the wind behind him like a flag.

  *****

  “We need to put down right away,” Aelfred said when he met Teldin in a narrow corridor near the helm. Teldin had just been on his way to check on Sylvie. “I’ve got to get her off the helm before she falls asleep. She’s almost too tired to think straight. No – don’t go see her. The gnomes haven’t found all their boobytraps yet, and I’ve got that gnome mage, Loomfinger, in there with her to keep her awake until she can set us down. I wish this ship had a second helm so I could just have Loomfinger take over for her.”

  Teldin looked down the corridor to the helm room. “If there’s anything I can do...” he said.

  Aelfred damped a hand on Teldin’s shoulder. “Old son, you’ve done more than your share already. Sylvie said you took but almost the whole upper deck of the scorpion with some spell you threw at them. She could see it from her helm. It really picked her up for a while.” Aelfred’s twisted grin came back. “She said your sword fighting needed work, though. Looks like we have to start getting together again on that.”

  Word came a few minutes later from Loomfinger that Sylvie had spotted a place to land, and Aelfred went to the helm room to be with her. Avoiding several undismantled booby-traps in the corridors, Teldin went to his cabin to peer out the porthole over his too-short bed, not willing to risk being on the top deck when the ship came down.

  Fortunately, the ship was circling its prospective landing site in such a way that his cabin was facing the site itself. It was long the coast of a large sea with a very smooth, regular coastline that curved off into the distance. The ship dropped toward the water at a comfortable speed, though Teldin found himself worrying about the impact when the ship hit the water. Sylvie was a much better pilot than he had been when he had brought the Probe down, he knew, but the knowledge did not take the edge off his worries.

  “Can I see?”

  Teldin jumped when he heard Gaye’s voice behind him, striking his head against a shelf mounted right over the porthole. He felt his head, detecting no serious harm, and forced himself to relax. He got up from his bed.

  “Don’t you ever knock?” he said irritably.

  Gaye climbed on the bed and peered out the window. She was wearing what looked like a silk bathrobe, tied around the waist with one of Teldin’s belts – a belt he did not recall having ever loaned to anyone, least of all her. Her hair was wet and hung down over her face and shoulders in thick strands. Water dripped in the bed from her hair, and her feet left huge wet spots on the sheets wherever she stood.

  “My cabin’s on the wrong side,” she said by way of apology, her face pressed to the portal. “This should be fun, huh? Dyffed says this ship was made to travel underwater if we want it to. Maybe we could go exploring and see what lives under the lake, then take off and see the fid.”

  “You not only don’t knock,” Teldin remarked, “but you also don’t dress properly, and you’re making a mess of things. Did you just get out of the shower?”

  Gaye looked back with a frown. “Boy, you’re in a bad mood. Yes, I just got out of the shower. I couldn’t stand to run around a moment longer without cleaning up. You could use a shower yourself, Mister Cloak Man. Why are you so grumpy, huh? The fight was pretty awful, but at least we’re alive. Or is it me? You pick at me a lot lately. Why?”

  Teldin started to reply, then stopped. He didn’t really know why. He stared at her, wrapped in her bathrobe and still dripping bath water on his bed, and it finally dawned on him why she bothered him. It wasn’t because she was a kender; he’d known a kender or two during the War of the Lance, and though they were irritating at times, they could be quite likable, too. Gaye was very likable, in fact – and that was the problem.

  He dropped his gaze and rubbed his face with both hands. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Everything has me on edge lately.” He sat down uncomfortably on the gnome-sized chair behind him, feeling his back ache a little as he did so, and reflected on how much of the problem he wanted to discuss with her. He heard Gaye move away from the window and sit down on the edge of his bed.

  “Gaye,” he began, “ever since I put on this cloak, I’ve watched everyone I’ve ever known be killed or injured because of it. My neighbors, my friends, my enemies, everyone. I can’t take it. I can’t even count the number of people who have died because someone wanted to get this cloak at every cost. I can’t lead anything remotely like a normal life with half the universe out to kill or capture me. The neogi caught me once and tried to cut me up and break all my joints just for fun.” He hesitated, seeing one grim memory in particular, then went on. “I even knew a woman once, someone I loved, who betrayed me to the neogi so she could get my cloak. She and I … I thought we were very close, but it meant nothing at all to her. She just wanted the cloak. Aelfred and I … we had to kill her when she tried to kill me.”

  Teldin covered his eyes with his fingers. “I know you want to be my friend, “You’re like Aelfred in a way. Nothing gets to him for long. He always comes back, ready to fight and move on. I like people like that, but … I don’t want people to get too close to me these days. I can’t take the thought of being responsible for their being killed.”

  The kender thought this over. “Or maybe for them betraying you,” she said quietly.

  Teldin thought that one over. “Yes, maybe that, too. It just seems easier not to get … involved.”

  Gaye sighed as she regarded Teldin. “You know, if there was ever a time when you needed people, this is the time. My father tried to handle everything in our family business after my mother died, and it made me crazy to see him wear himself out. He had people who were willing to help, but he turned them away. For what? The work just made him ill, until … well.” Gaye shrugged slightly, looking down for a moment. “Anyway, you can’t afford to do that same thing, and you have no end of help. Gomja said he quit his job with the gnomes because you’re his best friend and he wanted to help you out. Aelfred told me he and Sylvie decided they would stick it out with you, no matter what, because they both really like you and they don’t want any bad guys to get your cloak. Dyffed’s here because he’s … well, because he’s a gnome, but he likes you, too.”

  Gaye pushed herself up from the bed and padded over to Teldin on her bare feet. Before he could react, she leaned close, her eyes looking deep into his own. She had used some sort of fragrant soap when she had showered, and the scent surprised him. She reached out and took his head in her warm hands.

  “And I’m here,” she said in a low voice, “because —”

  There was a sudden thundering sound outside, all across the hull of the ship. Just as suddenly, everything on the ship was hurled forward toward the bow, which dived downward. The light from the porthole went out. Teldin felt Gaye slam into him with a muffled cry as the room tilted up almost vertically. Loose items around the room crashed into the wall near him. Then the ship struck something more solid than water, and Teldin’s head snapped back and slammed the wall behind him. He saw an amazing assortment of stars explode in his vision, then saw nothing at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Teldin felt the top deck of the Perilous Halibut slowly roll with the waves, and, despite his headache, he steadied himself easily as it did. The ship kept a surprisingly even keel for a gnome-built craft, he thought – particularly a craft that had just been through a nearly disastrous landing. As the throbbing in his head came and went, Teldin watched a group of six gnomes paddle for the shoreline in their small raft, cobbled together from doors and wooden beams knocked from the interior of the ship. He mulled for a moment over Sylvie’s bad news, which he’d received shortly after the splash-landing, then sourly pushed it from his mind. Things were looking worse all the time.

  Looking down, Teldin checked the railing where a thick rope had been tied off. Once the gnomes got ashore, they would take the other end of the rope and tie it to one of the trees there; then the
crew of the Perilous Halibut would pull the ship in. The screws and paddles the gnomes had originally designed for powering the ship no longer functioned. The screws were made to be turned by the giant hamsters, both of which had been knocked unconscious in the crash and were still “woozy,” Gaye had reported. The paddles were nearly all broken, having been badly stored, and the mechanisms for the screws had also taken some damage in the crash; they could not be fixed without two days of work. It was easier to simply haul the ship in by force.

  Someone walked heavily from the stern of the ship to stand behind Teldin. He heard the being stretch and yawn, then casually straighten his uniform.

  “Lovely day, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir,” said Gomja, carefully shading his small eyes with a thick blue-gray hand as he watched the gnomes’ progress. “Unless, of course, we’re attacked by the local militia or those scro find us, but we can handle that, I’ll wager. By the Great Captain’s blunderbuss, a good fight would get the blood stirring. We gave better than we got up there.”

  “Scro?” Teldin asked, half turning to look at the huge giff. The giffs pleased remembrance of the battle was starting to annoy him. “What are scro?”

  “Scro are space orcs, sir,” said Gomja, still watching the gnomes. “I didn’t realize it at first when we were fighting them, but it came to me afterward. My sire told me a few tales about them. Scro are orcish survivors of the Unhuman War, hundreds of years ago, when the elves and humanoids fought for control of all the spheres. The survivors spelled the name ‘orcs’ backward when they cut their ties with their ancestors. They’ve been just an occasional nuisance until now. Sao are much more dangerous than common orcs, and even ogres will leave them alone. They’re supposed to be partially resistant to magical spells, and all are well trained for combat. They fought well, I must admit. I wish I had saved one of their suits of armor as a trophy.”