"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 those 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 Leaf-bower 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 Leaf-bower 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 ham- mership 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 course, 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."
Gomja retrieved the towel, vigorously blew his huge nose once more, then replaced the towel as before. Except for the red circles around his eyes, he now looked quite buoyant. "The best part of it all, sir, was that the gnomes were able to retrieve the helm from the deathspider and modify it. We also took several neogi prisoners, though I'm afraid they didn't last long in the gnomes' hands. Research committees in the Healers', Zoologists', and Military guilds wanted to examine them, and the results were quite ghastly. The umber hulks, those that hadn't drowned, had to be slain, except for one that went to a research committee." Gomja shivered. "Many of the neogi's prisoners were freed, though they had no idea of what to do with themselves. I believe they were turned over to the local human authorities for care."
"This still doesn't tell me how you came to be here," Teldin reminded him.
"Sorry, sir. Anyway, the neogi helm was repaired and revamped, and a new spelljammer was built, a galleon-type based on a merchant sailing ship that the gnomes had on hand for some reason. I was offered a chance to ride the ship into space, though some of the gnomes wanted me to remain on Mount Nevermind as director of the Military Guild. I felt it the wiser course to, um-" Gomja lowered his voice, glancing briefly toward the open window "-to seek gainful employment elsewhere, if you understand my drift, sir." Teldin nodded knowingly.
"So we took off," Gomja went on, "and over the next few weeks we consumed a great deal of time fighting pirates and a rather nasty squid ship full of zombies. I earned three more tattoos as a result. I tried to get work with the elven Imperial Fleet, but without success. Eventually, we were directed here by a gnomish sidewheeler-trader, and here we, ah, landed. In fact, our landing was not unlike yours and was in nearly the same spot. The gnomes even renamed the lake on account of us. It used to be called 'The Big Lake.'" Gomja grinned, his ears straight up and his thick, blunt teeth showing.
Teldin shook his head in amazement. It was still too much to believe. "When I saw you last," he said, remembering their parting, "you were Sergeant Gomja. I heard one of the gnomes outside call you colonel-captain something-or-other."
The giff sat fully upright in his heavy wooden chair, his great chest swelling and stretching the fabric of his red uniform to new dimensions. "I am now First Colonel-Commander Herphan Gomja, Commander in Chief of Base Security, Naval Port Walkaway, Ironpiece, My sire would be proud of me if he knew. I am but seventeen years of age, a youth in the eyes of many, but I now have six hundred seventy gnomes, twenty-two humans, and fifty individuals of other races as my subordinates. No other giff in my memory has gained such a command so early." For a moment, his blue face glowed as he spoke.
Teldin tried to suppress a grin but couldn't stop it. Obviously, the giff didn't understand just how ridiculous he sounded. Gomja hadn't changed a bit. The giff saw Teldin's smile and returned it, no doubt thinking that Teldin was pleased for him. "By the way," Teldin asked, "why do they call it Port Walkaway?"
"That, I believe, came from a human's remark to a gnome about the best kind of landing to make with a spelljammer. Her words went something like, 'Any landing you can walk away from is a good one.' I don't believe they actually got the joke, sir."
Teldin groaned. "One thing that you haven't explained," he said as he reached for a cup of water on a bedside table, "is how you got your command so quickly, You can't have been here longer than a few weeks."
Gomja shrugged. "Eight weeks, actually, sir. The security commanders were on strike when we arrived here. There was some disagreement about the appropriate length of unit mottos, I believe. The colony secretary-general hired me to replace the striking gnome commanders, and that was it. It struck me as out of the ordinary for any race but the gnomes, I confess, but I decided not to question an opportunity such as that. After I reorganized the security and marine forces, the gnome commanders asked to sign back on, and I took them as my subordinates. If I may be allowed to wave my own flag, things have run very smoothly these last two months. Your arrival was the first call to action that we've had."
"If I could have warned you, I'd have tried," Teldin said, smiling. "What I don't understand is why you'd take a job here leading gnomes when you were offered the very same position back at Mount Nevermind."
Gomja rolled his small black eyes. "Oh, that. I'm afraid the research committees had begun to take an interest in me, sir, and rather than risk a turn in their examination room and-"
"Stop." Teldin could picture it all too well. "I'm glad to see you, Gomja, however it came about"
"I'm glad to see you, too, sir," Gomja replied with a wide grin, his pert ears giving a wiggle on top of his broad hippopotamus head. "You can't imagine what went through-"
"— your mind, yes." Teldin sank back into his pillow. Suddenly he felt very tired. "Gomja, if you don't mind, I think I need to rest for a while."
"Certainly, sir!" the giff boomed, coming to his feet and thoughtfully retrieving the towel he'd used.
The floorboards creaked in protest. "I'll make sure everyone is kept out for a while. The surgeon says you should be up on your feet in another day or two. We've been helping you along with healing spells, as you may be aware, and you're almost as good as new! I'll be staying downstairs in the infirmary here, in room number eight. Call for me if you need anything, sir." The giff threw Teldin a sharp salute, then turned on his broad footpads and opened the door. He hesitated, then looked back just beforeleaving. "Sir," he said, flushing a darker shade of blue, "I just thought I should say that even though I am First Colonel-Commander now, the best promotion I ever had in my life was when you made me a sergeant at Mount Nevermind. I've never forgotten that."
Teldin wasn't sure quite what to say in reply, but he was deeply touched. "I've never forgotten it either. I knew a good soldier when I saw one. Carry on!"
"Right! Good-bye, sir." Beaming, the giff closed the door behind him with a solid thud.
"Good-bye," Teldin said to the door. He closed his eyes. Life had been getting only stranger and stranger since this entire adventure started.
"Psst!"
Teldin started and looked at the open window. A small, elfin face surrounded with gleaming black hair looked back at him with a joyful expression. Bright wildflowers rested in Gaye's hair. She appeared to be hanging onto the outside window ledge by her fingers and elbows.
"Is he gone?" Gaye said in a loud stage whisper.
Teldin wanted to close his eyes, but pushed himself up on his elbows instead. "What in the lower blazes are you doing there?" he whispered fiercely. "This is the second floor!"
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