The Maelstrom Eye tcc-3

by Roger E. Moore

  Cirathorn went on. "Our library is poor, but our loremaster was able to divine some of the past of your cloak. There is not much that is known, and what is written about it is subject to question. Nonetheless, I will share it. Would you please rise, Teldin Moore?"

  Flushing slightly, Teldin did so. What now? "Sisters and brothers of the spheres," said Cirathorn, looking around the room. "We have sung the songs of the past, when the hands of light first forged the great crystal spheres out of deepest darkness, and we have chanted the hymns to the blending of earth, fire, air, and water, for the birthing of worlds of every kind. We have read the poems of those first few who stepped out into the wild dark and called it their home. We have only the fragments of that first sailing, faded legends of that awakening. What was history is now mere dream.

  "You know that among the legends on which we were nursed as children are those of the Star Folk, the race that is said to have first crossed those vast reaches within the crystal spheres and without. Of the identity of the Star Folk, we have no clue. Yet before us, about the shoulders of this man, is one of the last known surviving items of their handiwork. Our dreams are proven to have been reality, after all."

  The elf turned to look directly at Teldin. "Our guest wears the Cloak of the First Pilot, the favored being who took the helm of the largest ship in all existence, that which we call the Spelljammer and after which we have named all devices and ships that sail the spheres. Of the First Pilot little else is known, though some legends have it that he and his ship and its crew vanished on its journey to reach the edge of the cosmos, hoping there to meet the creator or creators of all. The truth of this, no one can know now."

  No one spoke for several long seconds. Teldin tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. So it was true that his cloak was connected to the tale of the Spelljammer, just as Estriss had long ago guessed. But Teldin had never suspected that he wore the same cloak that this First Pilot, whoever or whatever he was, had worn. He looked down and fingered the hem of his cloak, feeling its alien smoothness. Could these Star Folk have been the Juna, the aliens of which Estriss had spoken? Estriss had said the Juna lived millions of years earlier….

  A thought came to him, and he cleared his throat, hoping his interruption would not be taken badly. "I was told," Teldin said slowly, "that this cloak was made by the elves. An elven helmsman named Vallus Leafbower asked me to bring it to you-to the Imperial Fleet, rather-because you would know what to do about it." He decided not to mention then that he had also been told that the cloak had been made by the blue-skinned giants known as the arcane; after all, an arcane had told him that, and he might have had ulterior motives in doing so.

  "It would not surprise me if the elves had indeed made it," said Cirathorn. "We know nothing of the identity of the Star Folk, and perhaps they could have been elves. Here and there across the spheres, our fleet has found strange ruins or ships, perhaps one in every ten spheres, which are each unaccountably old and bear symbols in a trifoliate pattern-three leaves, three-pointed stars, and the like. These rains are filled with danger, with magic so powerful and old that it has lost its meaning and now strikes out in its madness at all who trespass. A few more fragments of our past we have found in those ruins and wrecks, but no sign of the Star Folk, and no trace of their fate. Your cloak, Teldin Moore, as you probably know, also bears that trifoliate pattern."

  Everyone in the room stared at Teldin, which made him acutely uncomfortable. "It's a flower, I believe," he said.

  The admiral nodded agreement. "Indeed it is, as I have seen with my own eyes. We wish to copy that pattern for our histories before you leave us. Of the Cloak of the First Pilot, only a few rhymes and tales remain. One speaks of the 'shining garment' the First Pilot wore. Another says that the First Pilot was given a necklace before he set out on his mission, and he wore this gift, though some authorities refer only to the cloak. The most extensive fragment, the 'Song of the First Pilot,' is a short set of verses that tells-of the gifting of the cloak and the First Pilot's enthusiasm for the voyage. Little else is known to us. Long have our people thirsted for knowledge of every sort, but of the distant past, of the origins of all space-faring peoples, we have found little to whet our tongues. You honor us all, Teldin Moore, with your visit."

  Teldin was embarrassed. "I'm honored, but I still don't know why this cloak has become so attached to me."

  '"You've previously told me how you came to possess it, though you kept your story shorter than it needed to be," said Cirathorn, settling back slightly. "Perhaps you could tell your story in full. We have no end of time to listen."

  Relieved that things seemed to be going his way, Teldin did exactly that. It took forever to get the story out, and sometimes he went back to correct something he'd said earlier, but in time he had brought everyone up to the moment when he walked up to the sentinel at the embassy. He decided to give them all the details on his cloak and what it could do, down to its color-changing habits, though he demonstrated only the cloak's power to change its size and turn into a sort of necklace-which explained the confusion in the old tales, Cirathorn said aloud. Teldin left out only the details of the past year that he felt had nothing to do with the cloak, the confused elements of his personal life since the evening when his farm had burned and his life was thrust into chaos. Once he asked for water, and the admiral merely clapped his hands for an elf to hurry away to get it.

  Teldin had no idea of how long he had spoken, but his voice was cracked and hoarse by the time he had finished. If I have to do this again, Teldin thought, I'll have to hire someone to write it all down so I can just give the questioners the notes.

  None of the elves left the room during his story. Many had not even touched their food. When it became apparent that Teldin was done, Cirathorn stroked his bare chin, staring through Teldin as if he were not really there.

  "The cloak may have its own agenda," said the admiral. "I do not believe it is intelligent, but it is likely to be responding to certain commands cast into it at its creation. The cloak probably stays with you because it was meant to always stay with and protect the master of the Spelljammer, and you were merely unfortunate enough to put it on and be mistaken for that master. It is my fear that you still have far to go before you learn the truth. Forgive me for asking, but where had you planned to go next, Teldin Moore?"

  Teldin considered. "I really hadn't the faintest idea, Admiral. You and the Imperial Fleet were my last hope of finding any clues about the nature of my cloak and what exactly I should do with it. Wherever it goes, I may as well go. I've no home left, and my only friends are those who travel with me on the Probe. I've come so far now, I'd rather just keep going to the end of it all."

  Cirathom looked at Teldin with wistful eyes. "If the cloak would permit it, I would have asked you to let us take it and solve its mysteries. Our lives are long, as you know, and any one of us would have joyfully pursued its secrets to the ends of the Known Spheres. It would appear, however, that this burden has fallen to your shoulders."

  Teldin snorted. "Don't think I'm happy about it."

  Cirathorn almost smiled. "No, I don't believe you are. You must forgive me, but your decided lack of experience, knowledge, and skills does make you an inviting target." Teldin bristled and was on the verge of making a sharp remark when the admiral cut him off. "If you are to solve these mysteries at all, you must solve them with haste. Given the legends and tales that link your cloak with the great Spelljammer, you would do best to find that ship and let the course of destiny be fulfilled. What direction that course will take and what other powers the cloak may grant you, neither I nor any other creature could say. Except perhaps one."

  The admiral paused, considering something. "It would be advisable for you to seek out this one before you search for the Spelljammer itself, if you are minded to do that. You are poorly armed with knowledge, and you are in need of the best weaponry your mind can carry. I would have you meet with the falmadaraatha who calls itself One Six N
ine, whose tcha lies somewhere in the sphere that our world-scouts call Herd-space."

  "Meet what?" asked Teldin. "I don't know what that is or where it's supposed to be."

  "Ah." Cirathorn raised a hand. "Forgive me. A falmadaraatha, which most other beings call a fid, is one of a race of sages whose lifespans are greater even than our own. They adore peace and knowledge, and love solitude only slightly less. For a gift or service, they will answer any questions you might ask them. If there is an answer, they, will know it." The admiral smiled. "If you were an elf, your meeting with the fal would go all the easier. Sometimes they are said to be quite slow in deducing the answer you need, and it has happened that months or years will pass while the fal meditates on a proper and accurate reply."

  Gods, thought Teldin, I don't think the neogi would let me have that much time. "Why couldn't my friends and I just start hunting down the Spelljammer now, instead of having to wait around for the fal to make up his mind?" he asked. "We can take on supplies and leave right away."

  Cirathorn frowned. "You have no idea of the dangerous course you are proposing, Teldin Moore. What do you know of the Spelljammer?"

  The elf s dark expression convinced Teldin to tell the truth. He was obviously missing something here. "Not much," he admitted. "I've heard it is the largest ship in the universe, and that it drifts randomly from sphere to sphere. Most tales about it say that it's a ghost ship, crewed by the dead, but some say it's completely abandoned."

  "If you listen only to tales," said Cirathorn without humor, "you will be fatally unprepared when you find the queen of ships. We have heard tales, too, of the Spelljammer. That it was built by goblinkind or devils, that it is overrun with beholders who fight among themselves in endless wars, that it is willful and intelligent, that it is the toy of an evil god, that to even see it will cause death or blindness or a sickness of the spirit. It is said to be the abode of the most monstrous beings in the cosmos.

  "We trust in the information within our own archives most, which were painfully built from guesses and luck, supplemented by visits to One Six Nine, who has spent a thousand years studying the lore of wildspace. Of late, we have not troubled One Six Nine with questions about the Spelljammer, as these queries are slow to produce an answer and we have had more pressing business to attend to than the chasing of a rogue ship. One of our own sages spent eight years waiting for a minor detail on its structure and received only a sentence. Knowledge we value, that is true, but there are fewer dreamers among us than there once were. Only a dreamer would chase the Spelljammer." The elf leaned forward. His dark gaze pierced Teldin's own. "Are you a dreamer, Teldin Moore?"

  The word "no" hovered on Teldin's tongue. I don't believe in dreams, he thought, not since the war. We crushed evil and left poverty in our wake. Men with dreams, those were the Knights of Solamnia, who left all their dead behind to be buried by us, who followed their bloody footprints. They killed to save the world, but they left only ruin behind them. Hard work in peacetime was not a part of their dreams.

  Ever since I was given the cloak, I've had no goals left but to find out what it is and what I should do with it. All of my options have been cut away. I have no dreams left except to follow the cloak's path.

  Strangely, for a moment he thought of Cwelanas, the beautiful elven seafarer he had met just before he left Krynn, and of the copper-haired Julia, waiting for him on the Probe. Did he ever imagine now that one or the other might be a good traveling companion on the way to the Spelljammer? Instantly his jaw tightened, and he looked down. As long as he had the cloak, he was more deadly a partner than any lover deserved.

  The one time he had trusted enough to take a lover, it had been Rianna Wyvernsbane, who had betrayed him to the neogi and tried to kill him, only to die horribly herself. Love was a nightmare now, not a dream. He dared not think about it.

  Teldin roused himself. The admiral stared at him with cool patience.

  "I will find the Spelljammer, whatever it takes," Teldin said.

  "My question is unanswered, then, but no matter," Cirathorn said. "If you would go hunting, you would do well to learn the lore of your prey. Will you seek One Six Nine's advice before you set out?"

  "It doesn't sound like I have much choice."

  "You have every choice there is, but few wise ones. We cannot give you the current pathway through the phlogiston to the sphere we call Herdspace, but on a small worldlet in this sphere, only three days from here, you can find the answer. The gnomes have a colony on that planet, which they call Iron-piece, and they were the last to have visited One Six Nine, only a year ago. I do not know the result of their query, or even what it was, but I doubt that what they would ask of a falma-daraatha would interest us. We will give you whatever supplies you need for your journey."

  Cirathorn looked to Teldin's right. "Indeed," he continued, finding the subject he was looking for, "we might even be able to find a traveling companion for you, if you have room. Have you met Dyffedionizer Artifactos Lammermaker?"

  Even before he turned to look, Teldin knew who was being talked about. Only a gnome would ever stand for a name like that. He immediately saw that he was right. The pudgy gnome stared in shock at the admiral and other elves, his hands still clutching his pen and paper.

  "What did you want? What are you saying?" asked the confused gnome in his nasal voice. "Where am I going?"

  "Dyffedionizer Artifactos Jammermaker," continued Cirathorn, unperturbed, "is unrivaled in his understanding of spelljamming theory and construction. Dyffed long ago completed his work on ship design for the Imperial Fleet, and had requested that he be given passage back to his home on Ironpiece. Unfortunately, his subsequent studies have distracted him, and he has missed every voyage back to Ironpiece for the last eight years. If you offered him room aboard your hammer-ship, he might well offer you able assistance on your quest for the Spelljammer, as I believe that ship is of special interest to him."

  "The Spelljammer?" mumbled the pop-eyed gnome, his face covered with amazement. "Now, you don't mean just any spelljammer, do you? Or do you mean the big Spelljammer, the really big one? The one-and-only Spelljammer? Or is this a joke? I can never tell with you elves. You must mean some other kind of-"

  "If you will bear with him," said Cirathorn patiently, "you will find his advice most helpful, though you may have to remind him when he should eat, and perhaps when he should bathe as well. We will-"

  "Wait!" yelled the gnome in a panic. "No one's told me if you're talking about the one-and-only Spelljammer or not yet, and besides I did take a bath not long ago. You elves think you know everything, and if you're doing this just to trick me, well, I'm not just anyone's fool, but first tell me if you really mean the one-and-only Spelljammer or not so I know what you're talking about, because if you really mean the one-and-only Spelljammer, well, that's another kettle of lug nuts, because I wrote an article on the Spelljammer to Spelljamming Week amp; Wildspace Technology, which will see publication in just five years, once they get their printing presses working again after the last explosion, but more to the point-"

  Teldin glanced at the admiral. Cirathorn's head bobbed slightly in rough rhythm with the gnome's pressured speech. "You will become accustomed to him, as have we," the elf said softly, turning in Teldin's direction again. "Trust me that it will be worth the trouble."

  Teldin shrugged his shoulders. "It depends on the Probe's captain, but I don't think he'll have a problem with one more passenger. If he can help us when we find the Spelljammer, it will be worth any amount of trouble." Almost any trouble, he added to himself.

  "It is settled, then." Cirathorn sighed and rose to his feet, stretching his legs and ignoring the gnome's continued rambling and questions. "Let us rest for an hour, then return here when all have been refreshed. You have given us much to consider, Teldin Moore, as well as much wonder and entertainment, which I am sure was not your purpose. Please remain with us in our embassy until we reconvene. We will present you with our papers on the Sp
elljammer as soon as possible, then will see you on your way."

  "That will be fine," said Teldin, but it wasn't as fine as all that. He would have to see if someone else could translate the papers for him, especially if they were in Elvish or used unnaturally long words, which he feared would be the case. Maybe Aelfred could translate them. Anything would be better than having the gnome try to explain them.

  Something else bothered Teldin. It was great that Cirathorn was being so helpful, but why? Teldin had been betrayed and attacked so many times that he found it impossible to believe that anyone would help him out of pure goodness. What was the admiral's take in all of this? Or had Teldin merely become too cynical? He had to clear this up before his ship left. Elves weren't inclined to be blunt like humans, but he had to know the truth.

  Cirathorn motioned with his hands toward the door, and the other elves stood and left the room in twos and threes. All of them stared at Teldin and his cloak from a comfortable distance. No one tried to touch it-or him.

  The admiral remained behind with his two aides as everyone else left. Teldin went out with the gnome, who was still babbling away, accompanied by an elf who would show them what supplies could be offered.

  As the footsteps faded, one of the aides leaned close to the admiral. "Your forgiveness, Your Grace," he said softly, "but you were less than forthright with our guest. That you said nothing of your own research on the Spelljammer I can understand, but confusing the song-told madness of the First Pilot with 'enthusiasm' could only have been delib-"

  One of the admiral's hands came up and pressed itself lightly against the elfs chest. The aide stopped speaking at once. Cirathorn's eyes were fixed on the doorway.

  "We live in interesting times, Alsilor," whispered the brown-haired elf. "Have my battlewizard, watchmaster, and loremaster report to my chambers at once. The captains of the Leaping Hart, Free Wind's Fury, Unicorn's Wing, and Emerald Hornet are to put their ships at ready within the hour, under the code of the leopard-no sound, no sign. Signal the Empress Dorianne that I will be aboard soon, but cannot say when. It, too, is to be readied for flight under the leopard's code. Go and do."