The Maelstrom's Eye

by Roger Moore

  Teldin looked back at the shore. The gnomes were climbing out of their boat at the beach, a hundred yards away. Two gnomes fell into the water and disappeared as he watched. “But the scro, or whatever you call them, are dead, and we aren’t,” he said, summing up all he cared to recall about the battle. “I wouldn’t like to see them get another chance at us.”

  Gomja grunted. The gnomes had managed to upset their entire raft, and it appeared to have come apart. There was nothing that could be done about it.

  “The scro should have an easy time with us now that we’re stuck here,” Teldin said grimly. He turned to look back at the dozen or so gnomes on the top deck, each holding a loaded crossbow and nervously watching the sky for other spelljammers. Teldin lowered his voice in hopes that the gnomes couldn’t hear him. “With the helm gone, we don’t have much of a chance to escape them.”

  Gomja looked down sharply. “Where did you hear that, sir? The helm’s quite functional. Its magic was merely nullified by the antimagical properties of this lake water.”

  “What?” Teldin frowned at Gomja. “Sylvie said that the helm wouldn’t work, no matter what magic or effort she used on it. That was why we lost control and went underwater, hitting the lake bottom. The helm is simply dead.”

  “I am sure she would say now that she spoke too soon, sir,” Gomja said promptly. “Before I came on deck, I asked her about the ship, and she explained what she had discovered about the antimagical properties of the water in this lake. It’s quite remarkable, sir. The water doesn’t remove a magical item’s powers, but the water will keep the item from functioning. All we have to do is pull the ship onto the shore, out of the water, and we’ll be off.”

  Teldin snorted softly, crossing his arms in front of him. “I wonder if the water would shut off the powers in my cloak long enough to let me take it off.”

  “That is possible, sir, but not likely.” Gomja looked over the side of the ship briefly, “” You could try it, but the ladder came off in the landing, and you’d have no way to get up the side of the ship and on deck again unless you used a rope.”

  Teldin made up his mind to try it anyway – closer to shore. “If we run into one more minor setback like antimagical water that interrupts spelljamming,” he muttered, “the scro, the neogi, the elves, and everyone else can fight over the cloak and my smashed body at their leisure.” He felt the dull throbbing of his headache behind his eyes. He’d have to try the cold compresses that Gaye had applied to him when he’d recovered in his cabin, surrounded by his scattered belongings. He couldn’t for the life of him recall anything that had gone on for a few minutes before the crash; he remembered only that he was trying to get to his cabin to lie down. He’d asked Gaye, since she’d been in the cabin with him, but she’d shrugged and said only that she’d discuss it later.

  In the distance, the gnomes made it to the shore and managed to pull part of their raft onto the beach. After some confusion, the gnomes worked their way up the bank to the closest of the many trees there, the rope trailing behind them into the water. It took them about twenty minutes to tie the rope down. When they finished, the huge giff braced himself on the deck and began pulling on the rope, hand over hand. The ship creaked and groaned, changing its heading to face the shore, and slowly moved toward land.

  “Antimagical water,” Teldin said, half to himself. “What else does this place have in store for us?”

  He turned away to look out over the lake. Thus, Gomja, not Teldin, was the first to see the horse-sized, green-and-gray insect that broke through the tree branches behind the tired gnomes. One of the centaurlike creature’s clawed hands grasped the rope that the gnomes had just finished tying off. With a curved saber in its other hand, the creature chopped through the rope with a single cut.

  An instant later, dozens of the multilegged horrors crashed out of the woods, rushing down the slope at the startled gnomes with long bows drawn and curved swords raised.

  *****

  Bony hands seized the gilded frame of the mirror, lifting it swiftly out of its cradle.

  “Accursed you will be!” shrieked an inhuman voice. “Accursed by all the powers of darkness forever you will be!” The bony hands raised the heavy mirror over the lich’s skull and shook it, then – carefully – placed it back on its stand.

  General Vorr drew in a breath of foul air, held it for a moment, then released it while inspecting a clawed fingernail. He had been listening to the lich rave for the last ten minutes, its odor of decay growing ever worse, and he was getting bored. The lich’s initial news about the fate of the scorpion and its crew was bad enough; he couldn’t afford to lose another ship without good cause. The possibility that Usso had been killed in the crash bothered him only in that it would be difficult at this date to replace her with someone equally capable as a spell-caster, even if she was a traitorous slut. Her information-gathering talents – among others – would be missed if she hadn’t teleported out in time.

  Vorr ignored the lich’s ranting as he glanced around the small stone chamber again and stood near the open archway where he’d entered. The room was not large but was mildly impressive, if one liked ancient tombs. General Vorr didn’t care for tombs, himself – unless they were for his enemies.

  “Teldin Moore where is? Answer! Answer your master now, or to the burning planes of the Abyss and rotting shall you go!” The lich uttered another string of curses in a foreign language, then waved its arms in impotent fury.

  Vorr swallowed a yawn.

  The lich regarded the looking glass for a few moments, then turned away, muttering. “Gone he is! A power of the cloak this might be? An act by live meat this might be?” It shook its head, thinking furiously. “Not possible it is. Weak and simple his mind is, this live meat Teldin, and not for the tinkering with artifacts was it made.” The lich paused as it turned, considering the objects that lay upon its rickety workbench. It looked up then and seemed to see the general for the first time.

  “I take it you can’t find Teldin Moore as you once said you could,” Vorr said dryly.

  The animated skeleton waved a bony hand in Vorr’s direction as if dismissing him. “The gnomes’ ship vanished it has, gone,” it said. “Cloaked the cloak is – but what this could do? Wildspace this could not do. Metals thick as a lordserv – as an umber hulk this could not do. A crystal sphere this could not do.” It pondered, staring at the faded paintings on a nearby wall with empty eye sockets.

  The answer came easily for the general, but he resisted saying it aloud as even his answer didn’t explain everything. Since Vorr knew he was himself completely antimagical at birth, a sort of antimagical field suggested itself as the cause of Teldin’s disappearance. Could some antimagical device or creature have affected the gnomish ship? It would have to be a remarkable effect, given the size of the ship. The only other alternative was to assume that the gnomes’ ship had disintegrated on impact, and Teldin was dead. This was reasonable enough, but the general knew enough not to jump to conclusions. What was the truth?

  Vorr stared at the preoccupied lich and once again hated the thought that he needed to keep this reeking abomination alive – well, unharmed was a better word – for the time being. It was still of some value in leading them all to Teldin Moore – and the Spelljammer’s cloak.

  It dawned on the general that if the lich was no longer able to find Teldin, there was no reason to keep it … unharmed. The corners of his mouth crept upward. He would give it a little mote time to find Teldin – but only a little. He was interested in finding out what sort of being it really was before he broke it into vase-sized pieces.

  “I later with you will speak,” said the lich, turning away toward a dusty shelf of scrolls and papers. It began sorting through the papers and paid no further attention to Vorr.

  The general nodded solemnly, as if the lich could still see him. His almost-smile was gone. “We will await your word,” he said smoothly. Then he left, walking through the stone archway and down the bro
ad corridor toward the ship docks. He passed rows of skeletal soldiers, his face registering his disgust as he looked down their crooked lines. The skeletons were nothing more than bones made mobile with a necromancer’s spell, as mindless as the true dead could be. A force of scro could make short work of the pyramid’s entire force, with the exception of the lich itself – but the general could dispose of that problem. The umber hulks would be tough to crack, too, but not impossible.

  This thought kept him happy as he swiftly descended several ladders and stairs, eventually coming to the flying pyramid’s cargo deck, an open area of ancient stonework with faded pictograms adorning the cracked walls. A spell on one far wall cast dim yellow light across the bay, illuminating a pile of stones, scraps of old wood, and a few scattered bones.

  Vorr’s squid ship was drifting in space only a few feet from one open cargo-bay door. A boarding rope tied around a thick pillar led out to the ship, and Vorr walked up to it and caught the rope without breaking stride. He swung hand over hand out through the cargo-bay doors, out across the abyss of space. If he fell, it was of no consequence, as he would only hit the pyramid ship’s gravity plane and bounce. For a few moments, though, he imagined that if he let go, he’d fall forever toward the stars, never reaching them. It was a pleasant sensation.

  “General aboard!” shouted an armored scro as Vorr appreached. Every scro on the deck snapped to attention and saluted, black-gloved fists up, the tarantula emblem facing out. Vorr swung over the squid ship’s railing and dropped onto the forecastle deck with a heavy thump. It was pleasant to smell clean air again. “Ship away!” another scro called, casting off the boarding rope, and the stars turned around the squid ship as it pulled away from the flying pyramid.

  Vorr trotted down the stairs to the main deck, then turned and went through the door to the galley and his own offices beyond. Scro eating their meals in the galley leaped to their feet as he entered, but he bypassed them, opening his office door and closing it behind him after he entered.

  “You missed a rotten fight,” came a familiar but subdued voice from the floor mat where Vorr slept.

  “A pity,” Vorr said. He glanced at Usso, who sat in the corner with her legs drawn up to her chin, then he took a seat at a heavy wooden desk and picked up a feathered pen. “Was this the fight in which you lost control of your ship when it was battered by a gnomish one, and you teleported away but left the crew behind to die?”

  “That was the one,” she said. Her voice lacked its usual liveliness, an indicator that she was depressed or upset. “How did you know? Could the lich see it all?”

  “If Skarkesh can track Teldin Moore by his cloak, I imagine he can track more than that if he wants to,” Vorr replied. He scribbled a few notes to himself on a sheet of paper. “He informed me of the ship and crew’s fate, then tried to contact Teldin again, just to prove to me he could do it, but he couldn’t find Teldin.” Notes finished, Vorr turned on his stool to face the beautiful Oriental woman in the corner. “It was as if Teldin Moore’s ship had vanished, he said. I thought of an antimagic field. Would that block our bone man’s ability to spy on Teldin?”

  The woman’s face twisted with hurt and anger. “Kobas, you bastard, I almost died! The port wall of the helm room was broken through, and I was almost caught in the helm when the whole damned wall fell on it. All you can talk about is that filthy cloak! You don’t give a rotting damn about me!”

  Vorr looked steadily at Usso. “You’re alive. My scro are not. This expedition is costing us more with each passing minute.

  Do you want to waste my time, or help me get Teldin Moore’s cloak before we are reduced to one battered ship and a crew of corpses commanded by a monster?”

  “Take a jump right to the bottom of the Abyss, you fat, dung-eating, bootlick – no! No!” Usso broke off her retort as Vorr launched himself across the room, seizing one of her arms. Usso covered her face with her other arm, pulling her legs in against her stomach. “Don’t kick me!” she cried. “Don’t do it! I’ll stop – ow! No! Owwww!”

  Vorr held her delicate wrist in one massive hand and slowly rotated her wrist and forearm in a direction they were not meant to go. Usso writhed, trying to pull free. “Kobas! Ko-bas, stop it, stop it!” She screamed incoherently, her face pressed down against the bed mat.

  Vorr eased the pressure off, leaving just enough to make Usso acutely aware the pain would return in an instant. The usual dining noises from the galley outside his door had ceased; if the scro were smart, they had gone elsewhere to eat.

  “Your mouth will be your tombstone,” he said, his voice as soft as a silken glove. “I found you, I made you strong, and I gave you power. I can take it away like this.” He did something with Usso’s arm, and she screamed again until he eased off once more. “Let’s be reasonable before I lose all interest in reason. Teldin’s cloak is the goal. We shall endure. Our enemies will decay on forgotten battlefields, but we shall endure – if you cooperate with me.” He stopped and waited.

  “Yes,” Usso panted, her face hidden by her mass of long black hair, which lay spilled across the mat. “I’ll help. Don’t hurt me, Kobas. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll be good. I’ll help you. Don’t hurt me anymore.”

  He eased more of the pressure off, but not enough so that she could get up. “Could an antimagical field block the lich’s attempts to spy on Teldin Moore?” he asked.

  “It might. It can do that. It won’t hurt the cloak, but it can stop magic coming from it. I’ll be good, Kobas.”

  He reflected on the news. “What would happen,” he said, “if I were to touch the cloak? Could Teldin be traced? Could he use any of the cloak’s magical powers?”

  Usso was panting hard, trying to get her breath back. “I think you would negate the cloak’s powers, but only as long as you were holding it or touching it. It would work if you let it go. I believe it’s very powerful. You couldn’t destroy it, but you could stop it. He can probably spelljam with it. I told you that weeks ago. He must have used it when he escaped from us the first time. I saw him throw spells from it, magical missiles, just before we crashed. He killed a lot of scro before they boarded his ship.”

  Vorr listened to the woman’s panting, then looked down her back. Clearly visible under her long white gown, her fox-like tail lay flat on the mat between her legs. Usso could lie, but her tail never could. She was like all of her kind: clever, arrogant, strong in the face of the weak, and weak in the face of the strong. All she cared about was herself.

  It was a mistake to let her live, and Vorr knew it. Usso would sell out the gods themselves for more power. She no doubt had her own designs on the cloak Teldin wore; Vorr didn’t mind that, because it would be easier to deal with her treachery than it would be to deal with the lich. If she could just keep her mouth shut more often and rein in her emotions, she could have a much cozier and more comfortable life – but she could never manage that, no matter how many warnings she got.

  That was fine, too, Vorr thought. He sometimes enjoyed administering a loving warning or two to the fox-woman. If she pushed things hard enough at the wrong time, he’d administer a final warning one of these days, and he’d take his time at it. The thought was a pleasant one.

  Vorr got to his feet again. He kept one broad, iron-muscled hand on Usso’s wrist, forcing her to stay down until he was completely up. He gave her arm a final sharp twist and released her as she yelped and crawled away, sobbing.

  It was all show, he knew. Usso, like all hu hsien, could heal her wounds and eliminate pain quickly. She was just hurt in the heart, or whatever she had that passed for one, because he didn’t want to listen to her.

  Vorr walked back to his desk and picked up his pen again. He imagined Teldin, wearing his cloak, attacking him with a sword. How could he get a grip on that cloak? What could he do with it when he got it in his hands? Could he use the cloak against Teldin in a face-to-face fight?

  Images began to move in the general’s mind as he listened to the hu h
sien weep worthless tears. When he met Teldin at last, Vorr sincerely hoped the man would give his very best shot at trying to kill his opponent. Vorr wanted it that way. He wanted it to be a fight to always remember.

  *****

  The shoreline grew nearer, foot by foot, as Teldin clumsily paddled the raft toward the shoreline. His legs were already awash in water up to his hips, but it mattered little as he had fallen into the lake once already and was completely soaked. His raft was barely more than a few more doors from the ship roped together, and his oar was a broken one from the ship’s hold, but it worked. Nothing else was available.

  Far behind him, Gomja and Aelfred watched anxiously from the ship’s deck. They carried an assortment of wheel-lock pistols and muskets, primed and loaded, with more on the deck within reach. Lining the ship’s railings and facing the shore was the ship’s remaining crew, crossbows cocked and aimed, bolts piled behind them. Only Sylvie and Gaye remained inside the ship, and Teldin was positive that Gaye would not stay there long.

  Teldin’s cloak had pulled up into its necklace form when he’d hit the water earlier. For just a moment he wondered if he should use the cloak’s powers to shapechange into one of the centaurlike insectoid creatures that lined the bank. Perhaps he could then use the cloak’s translating abilities to convince these creatures that they were friendly. However, they had already seen him, and they would suspect the worst of any sudden transformation now. If he were them, he certainly would. The translating power would have to serve alone – that, and whatever he had in the way of oratory.

  The insectoid creatures that awaited him on shore had hardly moved an inch since they seized the six gnomes and cut the rope. Teldin counted about three dozen of them, many armed with long bows. Each creature was striped and sported in a peculiar pattern of gray and green, which Teldin realized made them hard to spot against forested backgrounds. Crossing the chest of each eight-legged being were various straps and bandoliers, including a long quiver of arrows and numerous long-handled daggers. Only a few of the creatures held land weapons, long scimitars and pole axes, and these troops were clustered around the group of wet, frightened gnomes they had captured.