Into The Void

by Nigel Findley

  “I understand,” he muttered.

  She reached up and grasped his shoulders. For an instant, her smile faltered. “By the gods, you even feel different.”

  “Sorry,” he started to say, but she hushed him peremptorily to silence.

  Her grip on his shoulders was firm. “Remember what I told you aboard ship?” she asked. Her voice was low, but it almost crackled with intensity. “About how your secrets are your most valuable, most personal, possessions?”

  “I remember.”

  She released one shoulder and reached down to take his hand. “I thank you for the valuable gift you’ve given me, Teldin Moore,” she said softly. She kissed his palm.

  Teldin stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. Her body was warm and strong – steel under velvet – against him. He tilted his head, and her mouth was soft and welcoming. When she flung her own arms around him, the grip was almost fierce enough to squeeze the air from his body.

  When the kiss finally ended – minutes or maybe centuries later – Teldin’s body felt alive, as if he’d slept for twelve hours, doused himself in frigid rainwater, then swallowed two quick shots of ice-cold sagecoarse on an empty stomach. Rianna nestled close against his chest.

  “They won’t miss us if we don’t go back to the ship tonight, will they?” she whispered.

  Teldin smiled. “They won’t miss us.”

  As one, they turned back toward the welcoming door of the Pig and Whistle.

  *****

  Teldin felt wonderful. For perhaps the first time since he’d left his farmhouse on that fateful day – how long ago was it now? – he felt relaxed and full of energy. The gods are in their heavens and all’s right with the world, he told himself. The salt smell of the sea was sharp in his nostrils, and the morning breeze was brisk and bracing in his – rather, Aldyn’s – and Rianna’s faces. The rocking of the small tender as it breasted through the low waves, taking them back to the Probe, just added to his pleasure. He felt like singing.

  He looked at Rianna, sitting on the thwart next to him. The wind had brought even more color to her tanned cheeks. The soft skin around the bottomless sea of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at him.

  The tender bumped gently against the hammership’s hull, and Teldin veritably bounded up the rope ladder, over the gunwale rail, and onto the deck. Aelfred and “Bale Estriss” were on the forecastle. The big warrior was grinning broadly. If he smiles any wider, he’ll swallow his ears, Teldin thought. He snapped a jaunty salute. Aelfred’s response was to give an even broader, knowing grin, and to shake his head in feigned despair. Estriss, on the other hand, beckoned to him to come up onto the forecastle.

  Teldin leaned over the rail to give Rianna a hand up. “Pay a toll to come aboard,” he told her as she swung a long leg over the rail. She chuckled deep in her throat as he bent down to collect a kiss.

  “I’m going below for a while,” she told him, then slipped an arm around his waist and gave him a quick squeeze. “I’ll see you later … Aldyn.”

  He watched her until she disappeared belowdecks, then he crossed to the port ladder and climbed to the forecastle, where Aelfred was waiting for him.

  “You look like the canary that ate the cat,” the big warrior joked. He glanced over the rail to where Rianna had disappeared. “And I can’t say as I blame you.”

  We were concerned about you. The illithid’s mental voice was as sharp as Teldin had ever heard it.

  “… Until I told him the company you were keeping,” Aelfred elaborated. He leaned forward to speak in a stage whisper: “I seem to recall a certain conversation in the officers’ saloon. Estriss might not try to steal your girl, but he might not understand why you want to spend a night ashore with her either. A serious disadvantage to being sexless, eh?”

  Teldin smiled but said nothing. Even though he knew Aelfred intended no harm, he didn’t feel comfortable joking about someone who he’d suddenly realized meant a lot to him. “Any word from Barrab?” he asked.

  Aelfred’s expression sobered. “Not yet,” he replied, “but I hear tell that our fat friend spent his night away from home, too. Meeting with his boss, I’ll wager.”

  “Is there anything we can do to hurry things along?”

  The warrior shook his head firmly. “Nothing. We wait.”

  As it turned out, they didn’t have to wait long at all. Teldin had been back on board for perhaps an houri which he’d spent in the officers’ saloon, gazing out at the busy harbor, when a knock sounded and Aelfred entered. The big man was grinning like a bandit. “Message for milord Brewer,” he announced, “just delivered by tender.” He waited, obviously enjoying himself.

  “It worked?”

  “It worked,” Aelfred confirmed. “You and two assistants are invited aboard the Nebulon – that’s the arcane’s ship.”

  Teldin grinned. He was almost there. “Did he say where the ship was?” he asked. “Are we taking the Probe up?”

  “He didn’t say where the ship was,” Aelfred told him, “but it doesn’t matter. Barrab’s arranged a boat to take you up. Security, I suppose.” The first mate grew serious. “The invitation says you may bring two people with you if you want,” he said quietly. “And I suggest you do it, Teldin. I don’t know why an arcane might want to set a trap for you, but if he planned to, this would be an excellent opportunity.”

  Teldin nodded slowly. As Aelfred had passed on the message, similar thoughts had been running through his mind. “I agree,” he said. “Aelfred, do you want to come?”

  The warrior smiled. “Just try to keep me away.” He paused, then went on, “Estriss was there when I got the message and wants to come, too. I’d rather have one of my people come – Bubbo, maybe, as an intimidation factor – but …”

  Teldin paused in thought. Aelfred was leaving the decision up to him. That was probably as it should be, but he wasn’t comfortable with it. He considered. He’d feel a lot happier with the reassuring bulk of Bubbo at his back, but Estriss knew more about the arcane than either he or Aelfred – probably more than anyone else aboard. That knowledge could be vital. In a flash of recall, he saw an attacker staggering back under the illithid’s mental attack. There was no doubt that Estriss could take care of himself.

  For a moment Teldin considered Rianna – her company and moral support would be more than welcome – but he quickly rejected the thought. He still hadn’t told her everything about the cloak – specifically, the defensive powers it had shown in battle with the neogi, and the fact that he couldn’t remove it – even though the lie of omission made him feel uncomfortable, and that’s what the conversation on the Nebulon would be about. On balance, he decided it would be better to limit the participants to people who already knew the whole story.

  “I’ll take Estriss,” he said finally.

  Aelfred nodded his acceptance. “I’ll pass the word.” He turned to go.

  “Where’s the boat?” Teldin asked. “Alongside?”

  Aelfred grinned. “You’ll see,” he said cryptically.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Aelfred had used the word “boat,” Teldin had pictured something like the Unquenchable’s longboat, or maybe a smaller version of the hammership. It turned out to be something entirely different. He and his “assistants,” Aelfred Silverhorn and “Bale Estriss,” took the tender in to shore, then walked through the town and out the main gate. The “boat” was waiting for them on the wide paved road, surrounded by a flock of curious onlookers.

  It was a dragonfly, Aelfred told him. Resting on its spindly legs, it looked like a larger version of Rianna’s mosquito. Like the smaller ship, it was long and slender, tapering to a sharp point astern. Unlike the mosquito, it had two sets of wings: one arcing up and back over the afterdeck, the other sweeping below and almost brushing the ground. “Minimum crew of two,” Aelfred explained, “a good ship’s boat.”

  With Aelfred in the lead, they pushed through the throng of spectators – who, Teldin noticed, were standin
g a respectful distance from the strange craft – and approached the dragonfly. “Aldyn Brewer and party,” the warrior called up to the deck. “Permission to come aboard?”

  “Permission granted,” a voice responded from above. A rope ladder was lowered from the main deck.

  As they’d agreed beforehand, Aelfred was first up the ladder. Teldin watched the practiced ease with which the big man climbed the swaying ladder. The warrior swung himself over the rail and vanished from sight. After a few moments, he reappeared, beckoning the others to join him. “Come ahead, milord Brewer,” he shouted. It had been agreed upon ahead of time that Aelfred would go aboard first. If the dragonfly was safe, he’d call down for “milord Brewer” to join him. If it was a trap – and somebody had a dagger at Aelfred’s back – he’d shout down for “milord Aldyn,” warning Teldin and Estriss to get away fast.

  Teldin flipped the cloak – which he’d expanded – back over his shoulders to clear his arms. He grasped the swaying ladder and began to climb. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. He was quickly on the small boat’s deck, and, equally quickly, Estriss joined him. Aelfred was forward, talking with one of the dragonfly’s two crewmen. The other hauled up the rope ladder. Almost immediately the small craft was underway, lifting silently into the cloudless sky.

  Teldin wanted to lean over the rail and watch the city dropping away beneath them, but he’d decided that this wasn’t appropriate for the role he was playing. “Milord Aldyn Brewer” would be used to such things. Oh, certainly, he knew he’d have to drop the pretense when he actually spoke with the arcane, but that meeting would be private if he had anything to say about it. In the meantime, he guessed that the crewmen had probably been hired by Barrab, and dropping his role in their sight would be a good way of alienating someone he might have to use again later.

  To take his mind off the view he was missing, and to prevent himself from rubbernecking like the tourist he was, he looked around for somewhere to sit. He found a small bench abaft of the small ship’s single mast and seated himself.

  He tried to relax, but it was futile. Conflicting emotions warred within him. There was excitement – of course! If Estriss was right about the arcane, then in just a few hours he might be free of his burden. What then? A new life on Toril? Or on the Tears of Selune? Or maybe elsewhere in space? He forced those thoughts from his mind. There would be time for them later.

  There was also fear. Mainly, it was the fear of disappointment, of failure. What if he somehow found out that the arcane weren’t the creators of the cloak? If he found himself, now, as far – perhaps farther – from the end of his quest? He had no other clues to follow, unless you counted Estriss’s theories. How could creatures who’d vanished from this corner of the universe several millennia ago free him from the cloak?

  The conclusion was inescapable. He’d have to continue searching for the real creators. How long would that take? Years? Decades? His entire life? Maybe he’d never be free of the burden, free to live his own life as he wanted to live it. Maybe he’d always be controlled by the “gift” of the dead traveler, with little more real freedom than a prisoner in chains.

  That was what he feared: disappointment, yes, but so much more. He toyed with the idea of yelling to the crew to return him to the city – after all, if he didn’t face the arcane, he’d never hear bad news – but knew that was just fear talking. He forced his doubts, too, and anticipation, from the front of his mind.

  He looked up into the sky over the swiftly rising dragonfly. From the ground, the sky had been the delicate blue of a robin’s egg. Now it had darkened to a rich royal blue. He squinted and shielded his eyes from the sun. Directly overhead was a faint speck of white, barely visible in the bright sky. Was that a star? he wondered. Yes, it must be.

  It took him a moment to notice it, but the sky was darkening as he watched. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it shaded from royal blue to a darker, navy blue, then to a rich midnight purple. As the sky darkened, the single star above grew brighter. Clearer – and somehow harder – it looked now, like a cold chip of diamond mounted in the inverted bowl of the sky. It seemed somehow nearer than any other star he’d ever seen, and it didn’t seem to twinkle at all.

  He glanced at his companions. Aelfred Silverhorn had finished his conversation with the dragonfly’s crew member and was leaning against the gunwale rail with Estriss. The first mate caught his glance and walked over to him. “Nice, isn’t it?” the big warrior remarked. “I think this is my favorite part of spelljamming. Just wait for the stars.”

  Teldin looked up again. “There’s already one there,” he pointed out.

  Aelfred looked up in some surprise, then he smiled.

  “That’s no star,” he told Teldin. “That’ll be the Nebulon.” As if the warrior’s words had been some mystical cue, the sky faded to black and the stars came out.

  Even though he’d been on Toril for only a couple of days, Teldin was awestruck once again by the stars of space. From the ground, on a clear night, he could see what seemed like millions of stars, and they seemed crisp, bright, and immediate. But the star field from space …

  The difference was almost unbelievable. In the cool vacuum of the void, he could see myriads more stars than on the crispest night planetside. Every star seemed sharp, cold, clear … almost solid, as if he could reach out and touch one, pluck it from the heavens, and have it set in a gold ring, as you could any other gem of great value.

  Teldin’s eyes were filled with light. Even against that brilliant star field, he could pick out the one dot of light that Aelfred had told him was the arcane’s ship. Not only was it brighter than any other, but it felt closer. It was bigger, too. All the other stars were dimensionless points. The “star” that was the Nebulon was starting to show a disk.

  Aelfred settled on the bench next to Teldin – at a respectful distance, as a “business assistant” should. The big man nodded deferentially to his “employer.” “Have you figured out what you’re going to say?” he asked quietly.

  “I think so,” Teldin replied.

  “You know exactly what it is you want out of this meeting?” Aelfred pressed.

  Teldin was silent. That’s the big question, isn’t it? The simple answer to “what do I want?” was straightforward: “To get rid of this damned cloak.” But that wasn’t the whole of it, by any means. Even if the arcane could open the clasp – and no matter how much he wanted his freedom – Teldin knew he had to confirm that the cloak was of arcane manufacture before he could hand it over to T’k’Pek. Just how was he going to do that?

  At home, Teldin had always prided himself on his ability to “read” others, to pick out when they were telling the truth and when they weren’t. He didn’t know how he did it; it wasn’t anything certain, more like a combination of factors, and it was felt rather than reasoned. He’d been burned a few times, but more often than not he’d proved to his own satisfaction that he could tell when someone was lying about something important. On the walk through the city, he’d decided that he’d have to depend on that ability now. He didn’t know enough about the cloak to ask the arcane cunning questions, trying to trip him up. He’d just have to get T’k’Pek talking, then trust his instincts – “trust his gut,” as his grandfather used to say.

  Aelfred was still waiting for an answer to his question. Teldin patted his large friend on the shoulder. “I know what I want,” he confirmed.

  The dragonfly had maneuvered so that the Nebulon was now directly ahead, and close. Teldin examined the ship, fascinated. So far, every spelljamming ship he’d seen looked like some kind of vessel. The gnomish dreadnought, the Unquenchable, looked like some nightmarish rendering of a sidewheeler; the hammership Probe had the hull, decks, and rigging of a seagoing ship. Even the “insect ships” – the wasps, mosquito, dragonfly, and deathspider – looked as if they were built to sail or fly … at least to travel from one place to another. The Nebulon, however, bore absolutely no resemblance to anything that could ever flo
at or set down on land. The arcane’s ship was a cylinder about as high as it was wide – like a milking pail, Teldin thought. It was light gray, almost white, ribbed by black bands. From the way the white material shone in the harsh sunlight of space, Teldin was certain it wasn’t wood, metal, or even stone. Ivory, he mused, it reminds me of ivory, but they couldn’t build a whole ship out of ivory, could they? The arcane’s ship tumbled slowly through space, recalling images of Rianna’s tiny mosquito and the efforts of Vallus Leafbower and the crew to bring it under control.

  There was no such problem here, however. The dragonfly deftly maneuvered to match the motions of the cylinder. As the ships moved relative to each other, Teldin felt an uncomfortable shifting of balance in his inner ear. Remembering his conversations with Horvath and other spelljamming “veterans,” he assumed this meant the two ships were aligning their gravity planes so that the “local down” for each vessel was the same. Soon the Nebulon appeared to be stationary – in relation to the dragonfly, at least – while the stars wheeled slowly about the two vessels. Teldin’s sense of balance finally settled as well.

  As the dragonfly drew closer, Teldin realized the scale of the ship he was seeing. From a distance he’d guessed the cylindrical ship to be about fifty or sixty feet in diameter. Now, as the dragonfly hovered over one circular end, he saw the Nebulon must be almost five times that size: its diameter was about equal to the full keel length of the Probe. The black bands he’d seen were rows of great windows. What a view they must give, he thought with wonder.

  The dragonfly made a final course correction and settled to the large, circular deck. There was a slight jolt as the small ship landed and a barely heard creak as its legs absorbed the strain. This was followed by another, almost subliminal thump. One of the dragonfly’s crew came aft and nodded respectfully to Teldin. “Welcome aboard the Nebulon, milord,” he said. He gestured to the ship’s rail. “You may disembark now.”