Into The Void

by Nigel Findley

  He held the salute while Aelfred struggled vainly not to laugh. The warrior slapped him on the shoulder. “Good for you, lad,” he chuckled. “Nice thrust. We’ll do some more work on this later.” He paused. “Tell you what, head on down to the officers’ saloon. I’ll join you as fast as I can. I feel the urge to buy you a drink.” In perfect parade-ground style, he returned Teldin’s salute and barked, “Dismissed,” then he turned to the crewman who’d been watching everything with some amusement. “Well, Gendi? Aren’t you going to come and get your sword?”

  *****

  Teldin had come to appreciate the officers’ saloon as a place to relax and to think. It was a comfortable room, much more so than any other cabin aboard the Probe. There was a single central table, large and circular, built out of a slice from the trunk of a great tree. The pale orange wood had, been oiled and polished to bring out the complex grain structure, and Teldin found it beautiful. All his life he’d had an appreciation for the carpenter’s art and enjoyed the feel, of good wood and carving tools in his hands. At times he’d wished that his circumstances had been different, that he’d had time to devote to honing his skills. When – if – he ever returned home, he firmly intended to make himself a table like the one in the saloon.

  The chairs that surrounded the table were covered in rich burgundy leather. The seats and backs were only slightly padded – probably with horsehair, he imagined – but their angle and form made them more comfortable than some of the deeply padded chairs he’d seen on his travels. There was a two-seat couch of the same construction against the forward bulkhead, and a small liquor cabinet – locked, with the only keys in the possession of the senior officers – in the corner just aft of the door.

  The main feature of the officers’ saloon, and the thing that attracted Teldin most of all, was the huge oval porthole mounted in the outboard bulkhead. This porthole filled the entire length of the bulkhead, more than the height of a man, and rose from the deck to the overhead. The crystal that filled it was quite different from the glass he’d seen in some windows on Krynn. While that glass had been rippled and uneven, distorting the view through it, this was smooth and uniform. It was thick, though; he could tell that from the fact that everything seen through it took on the faintest tinge of green. The crystal didn’t feel like glass, either. A glass window would have been slightly chill to the touch. This, in contrast, seemed to have no temperature at all, and when he ran his hands over it, they left no streaks or fingerprints. The port was divided into panes: a central circle, like the pupil of an eye, surrounded by half a dozen curved segments.

  During the voyage through wildspace before reaching the crystal shell, Teldin had found himself drawn to the saloon. He had often come here and drawn up one of the chairs in front of the port. Sometimes for hours he’d sat there, staring out on the blackness of space and the stats, given the faintest green tint by the crystal. There was beauty out there, he found. Not the beauty of the rugged mountains or rolling, golden-waved plains that he’d known on Krynn, but a pristine, crystal cleat beauty that he found endlessly fascinating.

  There was peace out there, too, peace for a troubled soul. There was danger in wildspace, he knew – the gnomes and Estriss had told him so, and he’d seen it for himself – but when he looked out on its perfection, that danger seemed less emotionally burdensome. Seated here, with the stars spread out before him like a mighty tapestry, he could think and he could remember without the pangs of fear and sorrow that so often almost overwhelmed him. Particularly when he was supposed to be sleeping.

  Sometimes when he’d come here, there had been others in the room: officers sitting around in low-voiced discussion. All had been friendly enough, even when it was apparent that he didn’t want to join their conversation, and they’d had the sensitivity not to disturb him when he drew up his chair and turned his back to them. Perhaps they felt the same wonder he did. In fact, he was sure that another – perhaps more than one – did much the same as he did. When he was done with his introspection, he’d always returned his chair to its original spot. Sometimes when he had entered the saloon, one of the chairs had already faced the port.

  He was well familiar with the officers’ saloon and approved of Aelfred’s suggestion of it as a place to talk.

  When he entered the saloon now, however, there was already a figure there. Estriss sat alone at the table, a goblet set before him. Teldin knew that the mind flayer didn’t drink alcohol or even fruit juice, so he assumed the goblet contained either water or some illithid concoction. Teldin opened his mouth to greet the captain, but the creature beat him to it.

  Welcome, Estriss said. Come, join me. He indicated a chair. I saw your practice on the forecastle, the creature continued as Teldin took the offered seat. Aelfred Silverhorn is a good instructor, and you will gain much from his tutelage.

  “I need to,” Teldin admitted.

  The illithid’s facial tentacles moved in a sinuous pattern that Teldin had tentatively identified as equivalent to a smile. Perhaps. Estriss raised his goblet into the midst of the tentacles, and Teldin heard a slurping sound. I thought perhaps we might continue our earlier conversation, the mind flayer continued. You must have questions.

  Teldin hesitated. There was one thing he’d been wondering about …. Since he had come aboard the Probe, Teldin had referred to Estriss as “he,” though he was never really sure of the creature’s gender. “Are you male?” he blurted.

  There was a booming laugh from the doorway. Both human and illithid turned.

  Aelfred Silverhorn stood in the doorway, a broad grin on his face. “When I saw you were both here, I figured you were talking of weighty matters,” he said, “and I walk in on this.” He paused, then replied to a silent comment from Estriss, “Don’t mind if I do. One for Teldin, too?” He sauntered over to the liquor cabinet and unlocked it. “Pray continue. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

  From the burning in his cheeks, Teldin knew he was blushing furiously. Estriss seemed unaffected … but how could Teldin recognize embarrassment – or outrage – in a mind flayer? “No offense,” he muttered.

  None taken, Estriss replied immediately. Curiosity is understandable. You wonder, quite naturally, about my sex. Simply put, I have none, not in the biological sense. Any individual of my race can bring forth young, and with no participation from another individual. I have often thought that this is the single knot that most sets my race apart from yours. Think how much of your culture derives born sexual origins, from the necessary interaction between males and females. My culture has none of this. The illithid paused. But I digress. In answer to your question, strictly, I am not male. Neither am I female. But, since I am not currently generating an offspring, and will not consider it in the foreseeable future, you may think of me as a male.

  “Except in one important point,” Aelfred cut in as he set a pewter goblet down in front of Teldin. “Estriss won’t try to steal your girl.” He settled his bulk into a chair and lifted his booted feet up onto the table. He raised his own goblet. “Health, to both of you.”

  “Health.” Teldin echoed the toast and took a tentative sip from the goblet. The sharp, somehow smoky taste and the tingling of his tongue identified the drink at once. It was a liquor called sagecoarse, distilled – so Aelfred had told him – from an extract of the plant bearing the same name. Neither drink nor plant was native to either Toril or Krynn. Apparently the burly first mate had discovered the liquor on some backwater world in another sphere, had developed a taste for it, and had ever since made sure he had a good supply available.

  “It’s an acquired taste,” Aelfred had told him when he’d first poured him a sample, on Teldin’s second day aboard the Probe. Teldin could easily accept that, but had wondered why anybody would bother. Now, however, after a few more opportunities to sample the liquor, Teldin found he didn’t mind the flavor and rather enjoyed the sharp, tingling sensation it caused on his tongue. He’d never had any great penchant for hard liquor, though, and t
hat attitude certainly wasn’t going to be changed by sagecoarse. Whether or not it was unsophisticated – as Aelfred jokingly claimed – he still preferred a foaming tankard of good ale.

  The mind flayer’s silent words brought him back to the present. Teldin wished to discuss the arcane, Estriss said. He has – the illithid paused – a curiosity about the other races of the universe, as he has just shown. Estriss fixed Teldin with a white-eyed look.

  The significance of neither the pause nor the look was lost on Teldin. Estriss was clearly leaving it up to him whether or not he told Aelfred anything about the cloak. Teldin hesitated. He trusted Aelfred, but if he broached the subject now, he’d be bogged down in what, at the moment, were irrelevancies. He could always tell Aelfred later. “That’s right,” Teldin said smoothly, “I’m curious. Tell me about the arcane.”

  It was Aelfred who answered first. “Merchants,” he grunted. “Traders. Gypsies of space. It doesn’t matter who the customers are. If there’s money in it, they’ll deal.”

  Stripped of the negative emotion, Estriss continued, the statements are accurate. The arcane are a race of humanoids – blue of skin and perhaps twice your height, but otherwise not that different in appearance from humans.

  “Maybe to an illithid,” Aelfred snorted, but his quick smile robbed the words of any offense. “Wait till you see one, Teldin.”

  They are traders, Estriss continued patiently. It is the arcane who are the suppliers of virtually all spacefaring technology used by my race, by yours, and by most other races in the universe. They build ships for the beholder nations, passage devices for the lizard men, planetary locators for the Elven Imperial Navy, and spelljamming helms for all and sundry.

  Teldin tried to keep his bewilderment from showing on his face. Estriss had casually tossed out names and concepts as though they were well known … which they probably were to people familiar with spacefaring. Teldin had heard legends about beholders and could – with a mental stretch – imagine the eye tyrants cruising the universe in ships of their own. But an Elven Imperial Navy? There was no way he could reconcile so grand a concept with the few soul-weary refugees from Silvanesti that he’d met. The rest – passage devices and all – were just so many meaningless words.

  If he were to show his confusion, he knew Estriss would quite likely explain each concept in detail and never get around to the arcane. He kept his peace.

  As Aelfred has stated, Estriss was continuing, if their price is met, the. arcane will deal with anyone … with one exception. They will not trade with the neogi. He paused as if waiting for a response.

  “Well, that’s reassuring,” Teldin offered weakly.

  “Oh, aye,” Aelfred said sarcastically. “The arcane won’t trade with neogi, but they will trade with others, knowing full well that their customers are going to turn around and sell the goods to the neogi. I have no love for the arcane, I’ll tell you that.” He sighed, and his anger faded. “But it’s true that we depend on them. Where do you think people like us buy the helms to run our ships? From the arcane. It’s the only place you can get’em. The blue ones are a necessary evil.”

  Teldin digested this for a moment, then asked, “Where’s their home? Do they have their own planet?” He looked meaningfully at Estriss.

  We presume they must have, the mind flayer answered, or that they once did have, but its location – or perhaps its fate – is known only to the arcane ….

  “And they’re not telling,” Aelfred finished. “Oh, various groups have tried to find out. Some want to know just because they’re curious, others because they think the knowledge will give them power. Maybe they think they can blackmail the arcane or something like that. Others, I’m sure, want to find it so they can conquer it, and then they’ll own all the arcane’; technology or magic or whatever it is that lets them create spelljamming helms. I like that one,” he scoffed. “As if a race with that much power is going to let anyone just waltz in and take over.”

  “So the arcane are powerful at magic?” Teldin speculated.

  Aelfred shrugged. “I guess they’d have to be. Spelljamming helms aren’t technological, not the way you’re probably thinking. If the arcane can create them – which, I suppose, isn’t a sure thing – that means they’re capable of enchanting powerful artifacts.”

  Teldin found himself fingering the hem of the cloak. He took his hand away quickly. “The arcane’s world,” he went on. “Nobody’s found it?”

  “Not even a clue,” Aelfred said positively. “Nobody even knows what crystal shell it’s in, or even if it exists anymore. There are legends, of course. Just about every group that’s ever had dealings with the arcane has some kind of folk tale about them.”

  “Tell me some,” Teldin said.

  “Well …” The warrior thought for a moment. “There’s one that the arcane’s world isn’t in a crystal sphere at all, and that they’ve hidden it off somewhere in the flow. Impossible, of course. Then there’s the one I like. According to a thri-kreen legend, the arcane traded their home world to some elder god for the Spelljammer – you’ve heard of the Spelljammer?” Teldin nodded, controlling his impulse to look at Estriss. “Well, the legend goes on that the arcane couldn’t control the Spelljammer and that they somehow caused their world to fall into its sun, destroying it. That’s why they’re interstellar vagabonds.”

  “Do you believe that?” Teldin asked.

  Aelfred looked a little scornful. “Of course I don’t. It’s just a good story.”

  Teldin allowed himself a sidelong glance at Estriss. “So where would you go if you want to meet an arcane?” he asked casually.

  “Anywhere,” Aelfred replied offhandedly. “You’re as likely – or as unlikely – to find a space-gypsy in any port city on any world in any crystal sphere as … Or, at least, any world that knows about spelljamming,” he amended.

  “How about on Toril?” Teldin suggested.

  It was Estriss who answered him. There are probably many arcane on Toril. I have met one in Calimport and another in Waterdeep. I hear rumors that they run an open trading post at a place called the Dock in the Wu Pi Te Shao Mountains, but I doubt this is true. He paused. Since they almost invariably work through human intermediaries, and reveal their presence only when it suits them to do so, there may be arcane in many cities of Toril.

  Teldin digested that for a moment. “What about … where is it we’re going?”

  Rauthaven, the illithid responded, then paused. I have heard from travelers that at least two arcane dwell on the Beacon Rocks, northeast of the city, in the Great Sea. I am almost certain that there will be an arcane in Rauthaven, if only temporarily.

  “Why?” Teldin wondered.

  Because of the auction I wish to attend. It seems likely that the arcane will be interested in many of the same artifacts as I am, and that they will send at least one representative to view them … and perhaps bid to acquire them.

  “They’re interested in the Juna, too?” Teldin asked in surprise. Before Estriss could answer, he went on, puzzled, “But I thought you said the arcane inherited their powers from the Juna in the first place. If that’s true, why would they be interested in old stuff that a collector’s had for years?”

  Estriss was silent for a moment. His facial tentacles writhed, seemingly about to tie themselves in knots … and Teldin realized he now knew what illithid embarrassment looked like. That is my theory, about the origin of the mane’s knowledge, Estriss admitted finally, but the arcane I have spoken with deny it, though such a secretive race would probably deny it even if it were true. In fact … The illithid’s mental voice slowed down, as if he were unwilling to go on. In fact, the arcane I have spoken with claim to consider all my theories about the Juna as so much foundationless speculation. There was no such race as the Juna, they claim. He raised a three-fingered hand as if to forestall Teldin’s next question. Certainly, I believe that if there is an arcane in attendance at the auction, it will lend some credence to my beliefs.
>
  Teldin shook his head. He was convinced there was a logical flaw in the illithid’s argument somewhere, but he didn’t feel the urge to pursue it. Estriss was entitled to his own beliefs – even to his own monomania, because that’s what his research was starting to sound like – and while Teldin found the theories interesting on a casual level, the main issue came down to finding an arcane.

  That, Teldin was sure, was very important. Despite the illithid’s apparent belief to the contrary, Teldin was more and more of the opinion that the arcane were the “creators” he’d been sent to find. The only way he could think of to confirm this was to talk to an arcane – a situation that would represent its own risks and problems, of course. If Estriss was right, there would be an arcane in Rauthaven … and it might be better if he let the mind flayer think that’s what Teldin expected. If not, it shouldn’t be too difficult to get passage to the Beacon Rocks. After all, after a voyage from one world to another, how difficult could it be to get to some islands? And if the tales of arcane on the Beacon Rocks proved false, then Aelfred should be able to tell him how to get to Calimport or Waterdeep.

  His reflections were interrupted by the loud clanging of a bell, apparently from on deck. He heard running footsteps in the corridor.

  Aelfred catapulted out of his chair and flung open the saloon door. “What?” he bellowed.

  A crewman who’d been running by – it was the old man, Shandess, Teldin saw – stopped to answer. “Ship ahoy, sir, approaching fast.”

  “What ship?” Aelfred demanded.

  “Lookout says deathspider, sir.”

  Aelfred nodded. “Battle stations,” he ordered. As Shandess ran on, Aelfred turned to Estriss. “Captain?”

  Illithid and human left the saloon together. Teldin sat alone in the wash of flow-light, a cold fist of fear tightening on his heart.