The Maelstrom Eye tcc-3

by Roger E. Moore

  Paler than he had been a moment before, the elf hurried away, accompanied by the other aide. The admiral stood in silence, alone, and listened to them leave. He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping as he pulled off his gloves. On the middle finger of his right hand was the signet ring of his family: a golden eagle in flight against a burning sun. An arrow pierced the eagle's heart-his father's addition after the retaking of Aerlofalyn and the laying to rest of the old, wronged bones. Cirathorn had long debated with himself over what changes, if any, he would make to the crest.

  A sword, he decided, clutched in the eagle's talons. A dying eagle with the blood of its slayers upon it. It was worthy of thought. There would be time enough and plenty to decide.

  "Go and do," he said, though no one was present. He pulled the glove back on and set off for his chambers to prepare for his meeting.

  "The Spelljammer!" exclaimed the gnome for the dozenth time. "You know, certainly, that elves are notorious for not saying what's really on their minds, and their love of metaphor will one day be their downfall, mark my words, and they will give way to those who say what they mean, like the gnomes-ah, and humans, of course-who are many times more clear in their speech, so when that elf said you were going to find the one-and-only Spelljammer, I was taken aback for a moment, because I've read everything there is about the Spelljammer, with the possible exception of the sources kept at the libraries of Doth B and Zphidnin, and maybe the Academy at Lirak's Cube, but, as I was saying, you could have knocked me over with a size-four gear wrench when I understood that he actually meant the one-and-only Spelljammer. Where are we going?"

  "What?" said Teldin, who had not been paying attention. The two were past the Greater Market now, on the way downhill toward the warehouses and docks. He had trouble believing his good fortune. The admiral had given him access to a warehouse full of supplies. Undoubtedly, it would be too much to carry aboard the hammership, but still-

  "I said, where are we going? You'll have to forgive me, but I haven't gone outside very much in the last few years, and I'm not very familiar with the city here, since I was working in the libraries in the embassy-"

  "We're going to the ship that brought me here," Teldin said, cutting him off. "Then we're going to take you to Iron-piece, get the maps to Herdspace, and go see the fal for more information." Teldin chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Afterward, I suppose we'll find the Spelljammer, and… do whatever we need to do there." Just what did he mean to do at the Spelljammer? Teldin realized he didn't have a clue.

  "Ah, that's just excellent," said Dyffed with obvious relief. "I have a suspicion that the careful study of the Spelljammer could produce a revolution in every kind of science, most especially in the field of cold dweomerfusion, which as you know is the most up-and-coming field of energy research, possibly to replace even hydrodynamics, given a century or two and some successful field trials…."

  The rest of the gnome's monologue was lost in the ruckus of a shouting match between two red-faced dwarves, both stinking with ale, outside an equally noisy tavern. Teldin hurried by before blows could be exchanged. The docks appeared down the street ahead. Barely a minute later, he waved his arms at Aelfred, who leaned against the ship's railing on the Probe's forward castle, directing the unloading operations on the main deck.

  "About damn time!" roared Aelfred in a good humor, noticing Teldin at last. "Did you get lost, or did the elves have you seeing one flunky after the other? And who's the dwarf? You want me to hire this one on, too?"

  "I'll tell you in just a moment!" Teldin shouted back. "This is Dyffedionizer… ah, Dyffed. I'll explain everything later. Why did you ask about hiring him?"

  '"Cause I hired the other one. I was going to ask you why you sent her over, but I guessed that you knew what you were doing, and she's working out fine."

  Teldin was trying to imagine what Aelfred was talking about when a dreadful possibility came to mind.

  "Aelfred," Teldin called, his voice rising with tension, "who did you hire?"

  "Hey, Teldin!" screamed a young girl's voice. With a jolt of sudden horror, Teldin looked toward the ship's stern, where someone small with long black hair, a colorful dress, and a magenta headband waved at him with both slim arms. "Teldin, how'd it go!"

  "Paladine save me," Teldin whispered. From what, Teldin didn't want to imagine.

  Chapter Four

  As he placed his hand on the waiting room door, General Vorr took a moment to touch his sword hilt and reassure himself of its weight. Vorr had long ago discarded any worship of the uncaring gods, except perhaps for the hero-ancestor Dukagsh. Vorr placed his faith instead in his strength, skills, and willpower. Still, if he never admitted to having fears, he sometimes felt doubt, and getting the feel of a weapon before a battle was as close as he would ever come to praying. He did not fear the undead, but he did not like them either. Victory was the healthiest antidote for doubt.

  His previous injuries were now largely healed, thanks to his regenerative powers, but his right arm still ached deep in the bone where the knight had stabbed him, and his left shoulder still burned from the poisoned axe. With Admiral Halker waiting impatiently behind him in the hallway, he opened the door and stepped into the cool air of the room beyond.

  The room, in a building adjacent to the one in which Vorr had his headquarters, once had been the spacious stone chapel of a local elven deity. After the fall of Spiral, it had served as a prisoner-holding station and was now just a room where scouts and other visitors were quartered before meeting with high officials. Enthusiastic orcs, scro, goblins, and others had demolished or stolen everything of value in the area during the assault, leaving the chapel as barren as if it never had been inhabited at all. Only the great brass lanterns, hanging on long chains from the vaulted ceiling, remained of the elves' original furnishings, their magical glow illuminating the room despite the battering they had taken from debris hurled at them by bored visitors.

  Vorr did not know what to expect when he entered, except for the lich. Indeed, standing in the room's center, by the faceless and almost unrecognizable statue of an elven god, was a skeletal human in dark velvet robes. From its thin rope belt hung a single gray pouch. At Vorr's entrance, the creature turned from the statue with a startled movement to face him. Its bony hands came up with its fingers spread in an obvious spell-casting movement. The stench of long-dead meat assailed the general's nostrils almost immediately.

  It was then that Vorr saw the four huge creatures standing farther back in the room, their black carapaces gleaming in the light overhead. The monsters turned as one to face the general, then raised their great clawed hands and widened their yard-long mandibles in anticipation, hurrying forward with a lumbering gait to pass the lich and plant themselves before him.

  Vorr immediately blocked the doorway with his huge body ' and threw a hand out to stop the admiral's advance. "Umber hulks!" he shouted as he drew his sword. Then he saw that the room already had perhaps two dozen ogre guardsmen lining the walls, weapons at the ready. He also saw that the umber hulks' dangerous magical eyes were shrouded with torn strips of black cloth, preventing their mind-destroying vision from affecting the ogres already in the room. He hesitated, sensing that he had reacted too quickly.

  "Halt!" The lich's rasping voice was strained and barely understandable. Striding forward between the huge monsters, the undead being placed a gentle, skeletal hand on the thick arm of one of its wide-bodied beasts. "You must slower walk, and less loud be, or difficulty with my servants I will have," the lich said, cold yellow-green light burning within its eye sockets. "Their eyes tightly bound are, but guarantee your safety I cannot, if them again you startle."

  "This is my fault, I'm afraid," said Admiral Halker. He stepped past the general and entered the room, casually wiping sweat from his forehead. "I was careless and did not mention that your bodyguards were umber hulks, Skarkesh. I hope I got your name right."

  "Skarkesh, it is." The lich dropped its fleshless hand from the umb
er hulk's arm. "Apologize for their presence I must. Trust in all things I lack, having this lesson in unfortunate ways learned. Like pets to me now they are."

  Vorr sheathed his broadsword after another look around the room. Thanks to the eye shrouds, his ogres were not affected by the terrible madness that seized anyone who looked into an umber hulk's eyes-anyone but himself, of course, since magical effects couldn't touch him. The ogres, who had tensed at Vorr's arrival, relaxed slightly, keeping their pole axes and huge swords at the ready. Vorr was pleased to see their courage in the face of the lich, whose magic usually drove its foes mad with panic before it. Vorr frowned suddenly, sensing that something was wrong.

  "To you two plainly I must speak," rasped the lich, turning to walk back to the battered statue. "At my news with excitement I am seized, but with you to speak alone I had hoped. Too many guards we keep, and my news best in quiet surroundings is given. Possible this is?"

  The general and admiral carefully exchanged looks. "There is a small room in the back of this one, where we could discuss things," said the admiral, looking back at Skarkesh, "if General Vorr feels it would be safe enough."

  This could be tricky, thought Vorr. Even two dozen ogres would be hard pressed against four umber hulks, and he knew damn well that the hulks' first action in combat would be to tear away those flimsy eye coverings. Vorr reached for the nearest ogre and waved him over. Pulling a small card from a pocket on his thick belt, the general handed it to the ogre and motioned at the door. "Take that to your company commander," he said softly. The sweat-streaked ogre grunted, sheathed its weapons, and left, pulling the door shut behind him. "We can talk now," Vorr finished.

  "Enjoy tricks I do not," said the lich sharply, its voice rising in pitch. "What trick have you done?" The umber hulks shifted in agitation, their long mandibles clacking softly together like vast ivory claws.

  "I sent him to tell his commander that if we were not back in two hours, he was to bring his entire force here to find out why," said the general in a matter-of-fact tone. "Trust in all things we lack, too, having learned that lesson in unfortunate ways like yourself. You and your big pets have as much safety as your behavior allows us to grant you."

  The lich made a curious wheezing noise. "As you want," it said finally, "but unpleasant my gratitude will be if treachery for dinner you serve." General Vorr noted that the stench of carrion in the room was now stronger. Odd, he thought, looking at the lich. It's completely bone, with no trace of flesh. Could it have rotting meat under its robes? There was also the reaction of the ogres-or, rather, the curious lack of any reaction among them to confronting the lich. It didn't make sense. Things had gone quite differently, years ago in the Glowrings Sphere, when Vorr had been the only warrior who dared come within striking range of the undead sorcerer.

  Admiral Halker stepped forward, waving a hand to the back of the room. "Let's get on with our talk. Skarkesh, if you would have your bodyguards remain here, we shall do the same with ours. They look like they should keep each other in good company." The admiral rubbed his flat nose briefly, undoubtedly not enjoying the stench the lich was giving off but still putting up a pleasant front.

  "Agreed I am," whispered the lich, and uttered a series of harsh syllables at its bodyguards. The umber hulks shifted their huge clawed feet, forming a defensive square to watch all sides of the room, and appeared to await further instructions.

  Admiral Halker took the initiative and led the way to the back of the room. The little room at the rear had been for the elven priests, in all likelihood, as the scro had slain several minor clerics and their followers there in a massacre after the landings. The old scro stepped aside to allow Vorr to enter the little room first.

  The room was about ten feet square, with a ceiling low enough to force the general to stoop. Its imported sandstone walls were once covered with bas-relief work and paintings, all now destroyed. Vorr examined the room briefly, seeing only the two heavy tables normally stored here and a few wine bottles and pots lying broken in one filthy corner; low-bred orcs or goblins held their parties here, no doubt. The floor was still stained brown from the massacre after the invasion, and the stale air bore the stink of old blood. It would get a lot worse with the lich here as well, Vorr thought.

  Motioning the other two inside, Von stepped back. The admiral came in first and stood along the wall nearest Vorr. The lich came in only after peering inside carefully, then motioning the general away from the door. Once all were inside, Von reached over to shut the door.

  "Wait!" hissed the lich, hands out suddenly, pointing with pale white finger bones at both admiral and general. "Cursed you will both be if any tricks you try! In any circumstance, escape I shall, and wild my unhappiness will be! This clearly you understand?"

  General Vorr briefly considered ways to call the lich's bluff and dismember it. He hated undead things and he hated this whole meeting, and the lich's paranoia was making it worse. He did not worry so much for his own safety, but having the scro promote another admiral would be time-wasting and bothersome, especially after he had spent the last few years getting used to this admiral's quirks.

  "I understand," said Vorr, gently closing the door, "but wild our unhappiness will be if more threats you utter. I am not known for my patience. You would do best to start discussing your reasons for wanting to see us."

  "Which involved gaining some great treasure, as I believe you mentioned," said the admiral smoothly, his arms folded across his robed chest. The admiral's steel chest protector did not show beneath the thick black fabric, the general noted. Nor did the admiral's weapons show at all in their leg sheaths. Good; it was better for the general's weapons to draw the lich's attention. If worse came to worst, the admiral might even be able to lend a sword in the fight, though his skills at diplomacy were a dozen times better than his meager sword-fighting techniques.

  The lich's finger bones curled, and its arms fell toward its sides. "Greater than your brains can dream the treasure is," the lich said hoarsely. "Beyond my grasp it is, and dislike that I do. Dreamed of this treasure I have, long dreamed I have, and within my grasp it will one day fall. An army I need, and found it is. If in this treasure you are pleased, me will you serve to gain it?"

  "We are not for hire, Skarkesh," said the admiral, raising a hand to scratch at his broad snout. "We have our own mission to perform, and we are deeply involved in it. You may have missed the signs, but we are at war."

  "Yes, yes," hissed the lich, waving its arms in dismissal. "A war nice is, with toys of ships and a thousand toys of soldiers. Yes, it nice is. But nicer it is with bigger toys, and nicest with biggest toy of all ships. To find this biggest toy I wish, and the key now in this very sphere is. Knowledge of this big toy, the Spelljammer, you have?"

  Neither general nor admiral spoke in reply. "Well?" hissed the lich more loudly. The carrion smell was noticeably stronger. "Of the Spelljammer you know? Or beyond your reasoning powers does it lie?"

  "The Spelljammer" said Admiral Halker carefully, "is a mythical spelljamming ship the size of a small world. It's supposed to be shaped like a manta ray. Its coming is said to be an evil portent, as it brings destruction and chaos in its wake. No one can destroy it or command it, not even a god. It drives its captains insane. That's what the myths say."

  "Mythical it is not!" the lich said heatedly. "Across centuries have I chased it, and for its secrets a thousand foes dead now are. Its secret buried in a sunless asteroid two years ago I found. The key to its power in a block of ice was frozen, and my lordservants, my umber hulks, to free it without harm could not." The lich's eyes glowed more brightly now. "Then! Then my captain-servant the block from me stole, he into black wildspace flew, coward thieving spew of lowest slave meat!" The lich was nearly screaming, its body shaking with rage. "Coward the block of ice from me stole, and chase him and kill him I did, but gone the block was. It lost had been, its worth unknown, to a reigar cow!"

  For perhaps half a minute the lich rocked, then
the shaking slowed quickly and stopped. "A reigar cow the cloak had stolen," it rasped tonelessly, pulling its hands back from the table to fall at its sides again. "Away in her ship, the Penumbra, she flew, by I and my servants pursued. She through the void we chased, and then…"

  The lich broke off. Vorr heard a scratching sound and noticed that the lich was rubbing its finger bones together, over and over. He glanced at Admiral Halker, who appeared calm but watched the lich with narrow eyes.

  "Then…" prompted the admiral.

  The lich looked up and stared at them with cold light before it spoke, so quietly that Vorr had trouble hearing it dearly. "Then my servants… to kill me tried. Poison they tried. Hard I fought before escaping them. My little masters a yrthni ma'adi wanted, but gone then I was, and they a new one chose, no doubt. Gone I was… but back now I am. Different now I am, too. Better, you see." The lich raised its hands and spread its fingers, peering at them as if it had not seen them before. It looked up at the two who faced it, raising its hands to the ceiling. "Better, yes, better the cloak to find again, and it to wear and the Spelljammer to control!"

  General Vorr understood almost nothing of the lich's last remarks. Every muscle in him was tensed to attack. It would be a snap. He would have to break out through the door to slay the umber hulks next to avoid losing his ogres to them, but the door wouldn't withstand more than one blow. If that ogre he'd sent away returned in the next few minutes with the company of ogre and scro reinforcements that the general had requested on the preprinted card, the fight would go a lot better. Admiral Halker wasn't the best judge of fighting strength, and Vorr was used to doubling the admiral's estimates of the size of the marine force required to accomplish any particular mission.