Into The Void

by Nigel Findley

  Teldin nodded. He suddenly felt very tired, very old. He knew what he was going to do, and that knowledge was like a heavy burden on his shoulders. Once more, his gaze met the arcane’s. “I understand,” he said quietly. “Thank you for your time. I appreciate your help.”

  The arcane’s eyes opened wide in surprise, a ludicrous contrast to the creature’s uninflected voice. “You want nothing more?” he asked.

  “No,” Teldin told him honestly. “I apologize for the inconvenience. Again, thank you.” He turned away. Neither Aelfred nor Estriss said anything, but their looks were questioning. Teldin shook his head.

  “Wait.” For the first time, there was a trace of intensity in the arcane’s voice. Teldin turned back. “The cloak was created by my race,” T’k’Pek said. “I would like it returned. I wish to purchase the cloak from you.”

  “I’m sorry.” Teldin shook his head. “It’s not for sale.”

  T’k’Pek was shifting uncomfortably in his chair. The arcane looked almost desperate. “I offer you a price of fifty thousand gold pieces,” the creature said.

  Teldin wasn’t familiar with Toril’s currency, so the offer made no sense to him, but from Aelfred’s startled reaction, he realized that it must be a huge sum. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning away.

  “One hundred thousand gold pieces.”

  Teldin didn’t even turn back. Estriss was watching him closely. Aelfred leaned closer and whispered, “One hundred thousand! You could buy the Probe and have enough left over to buy your girlfriend a new mosquito.” Teldin shook his head. The other two followed – a little unwillingly, in Aelfred’s case – as he headed for the door.

  “Name your price.” The arcane’s voice had taken on a sharp edge of desperation.

  “Thank you for your time, T’k’Pek,” Teldin said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Neither Aelfred nor Estriss spoke to him on the return flight to Rauthaven or the trip back to the Probe. Teldin was glad for the silence. He had a lot to think about. On returning to the hammership, he left the others and went below to the officers’ saloon. Rianna had headed into the city on a shopping trip, he’d been told. It was just as well, he figured. While he’d have welcomed seeing her, he knew she’d have asked him questions that he couldn’t even answer for himself yet. He pulled a chair to his normal place near the circular port and settled himself comfortably. The ship’s gentle rocking relaxed him, cleared his mind.

  What in the Abyss am I doing? he berated himself. The arcane made the cloak; the pattern’s the same as the one on T’k’Pek’s ring. Why didn’t I ask the giant to remove it?

  Partly because T’k’Pek lied, he answered himself. That flower isn’t exclusively an arcane symbol. T’k’Pek couldn’t answer my questions. He just tried to tell me what he thought I wanted to hear. He didn’t even guess that I needed the cloak removed.

  Or that I was disguised! he finished. That was the most telling point, Teldin thought. The arcane had sensed somehow that Estriss had shapechanged, but not him. Why not? Particularly if the cloak – and its powers – were created by T’k’Pek’s own people? Shouldn’t the creature be more attuned to the powers of his own race’s artifacts?

  He sighed and fingered the cloak’s hem. The material was thin, almost weightless, but now the garment seemed to weigh down on him like a millstone around his neck. I should be free of this, he told himself.

  At least his decision wasn’t irrevocable. That was his one consolation. If he’d had the arcane remove the cloak – provided he could remove it – and handed it over, then found he’d been wrong, there would be nothing he could do. This way, he still had a chance to change his mind. He could always contact T’k’Pek – the arcane’s eagerness to pay a king’s ransom reassured him that he’d have little trouble setting up another meeting – and ask for the creature’s help with the cloak. The blue-skinned giant wouldn’t be leaving Rauthaven until after the auction the next morning.

  Teldin forced himself to relax. He still had time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Teldin spent the night aboard the Probe. The three gnomes were ashore – presumably still tracking down material for their invention – so he had the cabin to himself. At around midnight, Rianna returned from town, as excited as a child at her purchases. Mostly she’d bought clothes for herself, ranging from demure to downright naughty, and she hinted at how much she was looking forward to sufficient privacy to model them for Teldin properly. She’d also picked up a gift for him: a short sword with an elaborately gold-chased hilt, which she slipped into his scabbard. When he remarked that it looked too expensive, she feigned anger. “It’s my money I’m spending, Teldin Moore,” she told him, hands on her hips, “and if I think you’re worthy of what that gift cost, then you’re worthy of it. Anyway —” her frown broke into a jesting smile “— who’s to say I didn’t steal it from the hip of some sellsword who tried to win my favors?”

  They spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms. Although he could tell from her manner that she wanted to know how his meeting with the arcane had gone, she apparently sensed his confusion and didn’t raise the issue. Teldin appreciated this, another indication of the woman’s sensitivity – as if he needed anything more after her reaction to learning his true identity. As they finally drifted into sleep, he found himself wondering how he’d ever considered himself happy before he’d met her.

  The next day dawned bright and sunny, but with a brisk wind that caused the hammership to roll at its anchor. When Teldin awoke, Rianna was already up and gone. He dressed slowly, enjoying the warm feeling of relaxation spreading throughout his body. In the back of his mind was the bowl-edge that he still had a decision to make – or, at least, to hold to – but he wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. He’d have plenty of time to worry about that later. At the moment, he was feeling good and wanted to make the most of the experience. He made his way up on deck.

  The sun was beating down, but the breeze was sharp and cold on his cheeks. He filled his lungs with air, enjoying the feeling of muscles stretching. In the bright sunlight, the white-and-red city shone. Beautiful, he thought, I’ll be sad if I have to leave here.

  Aelfred and Estriss – the latter once again magically disguised – were on the forecastle deck. Rianna was with them. She waved down to him. “Aldyn,” she called happily, “get your lazy body up here.”

  He smiled. One thing he’d always prided himself on was his ability to enjoy life. He had to admit, though, in contrast to Rianna he seemed dull and repressed. He swung up the ladder and joined his friends on the forecastle.

  “Good morning,” he said, grinning happily. “Nice day.”

  “After a nice night, too, I warrant,” Aelfred put in innocently. Rianna dug an elbow none too gently into his ribs, and the big warrior added in the same ingenuous tone, “The weather, I meant.”

  Teldin chuckled. Initially he’d felt a little uncomfortable about the first mate’s somewhat … indelicate … humor, but now he was secure enough to accept it in the manner intended: as one friend ribbing another, with no harm or insult meant.

  Estriss was watching the byplay with little comprehension. He can travel with humans, Teldin thought. He can even take the face of a human, but he’ll never really understand us. He took pity on his alien friend. “The auction’s today, isn’t it, Estriss?” he asked.

  The disguised illithid seemed happy to get back to a topic he could grasp. Yes, he replied, in an hour or so. The tender has already been summoned to take us to shore. He paused. Would you like to join us? he asked, a little diffidently. You would be most welcome.

  “I want to go,” Rianna said brightly. “It’ll be fun, and maybe I’ll learn something. I’ve never learned that much about history before.” She turned to Estriss. “You’ll tell us what’s happening, won’t you?”

  Teldin smiled, a little indulgently. Rianna’s enthusiasm was really running high this morning. He enjoyed seeing her like this, untroubled, unburdened by decisions. And
why not? She was right: the auction would be interesting, and maybe he’d learn something of importance. In any case, even if he didn’t, it might be the perfect opportunity to get his mind off the issue of what to do about the cloak. His grandfather had often told him that sometimes the best way to make a decision was to force yourself to forget it, to occupy your mind with something else. That way you freed up your subconscious, and quite often, when you went back to the problem, you’d find you had an answer plus all the reasons to back it up. It wouldn’t hurt to try it out.

  “Sounds like an experience,” he told his friends. “I’d love to come along.”

  *****

  The Merchants’ Rotunda was a large building just off a wide street similar to the Processional, near the docks. When he’d first heard the name, Teldin had pictured a building like a warehouse, filled with sacks of grain, and baskets and crates of other goods. Rianna had explained that it wasn’t like that at all. All trading was done in contacts for goods. Representatives for the various guilds, the trading coasters, and the carriers would meet in the hallways or in the central hall. Deals would be offered, terms would be agreed to, and contracts – only contracts – would change hands. Ownership of hundreds of tons of goods and thousands of coins would shift, but no party would even have to see the goods involved if they didn’t want to. As Teldin finally grasped the concept, he shook his head in amazement. Compared to this place, his farming community on Krynn was indeed backward, still depending largely on the farmers’ markets to conduct business. Market day meant hours of backbreaking labor, loading and unloading goods, and the twilight ride home with a pouch jingling with coins. How much easier it would be to ride out and back with nothing but pieces of parchment.

  The auction itself was taking place in the rotunda’s central hall. This was a huge, circular room, a hundred feet or so in diameter. At its center, the hall was more than three stories tall. Ground level – the trading floor – was an expanse of polished marble, now covered with scores of wooden chairs moved in from who knew where. The floor above sported an open gallery, supported by fluted pillars, giving spectators a perfect view down onto the trading floor. Above that was a great domed roof, decorated with great murals that Rianna said depicted the growth of Rauthaven from a tiny village to a major metropolis. Light came from large windows set around the base of the dome and through a circular crystal skylight in the center of roof.

  Matters were already underway when the disguised Estriss and his entourage arrived. Three quarters of the seats were filled by participants and spectators. More spectators craned over the railing of the second-floor gallery. As they found seats near the back, Teldin surveyed the attendees with interest. It was generally easy to pick out the real participants from the interested onlookers. The latter were dressed like anyone on the streets of Rauthaven. The former, however, wore clothes that immediately set them apart. Silk robes were trimmed with fur or cloth-of-gold, and ears and fingers flashed with gold and gems. It was easy to tell that these people had money and were willing to spend it.

  A wooden stage had been constructed near one side of the rotunda, and it was here that the items were being auctioned off. Three young, burly men, similar in build to Aelfred, were available to hold and display items … and, presumably, to offer some kind of security. The auctioneer himself was a scrawny old man with a face that reminded Teldin of a dyspeptic buzzard, but with a rich voice that effortlessly filled the rotunda.

  As Teldin took his seat, he saw that the item up for bid was a portrait. He stifled a grin. If he ever felt as sickly as the old gentleman in the painting, he’d certainly not choose that time to have a portrait done. The face in the painting was slightly asymmetrical, as though one side of its head were swollen, and its skin had a decidedly green tinge. Not the kind of thing you’d hang in your dining room, Teldin thought, or your bedroom.

  “Final bid,” the auctioneer was saying. “Final bid? … Sold.” He rapped on his podium with a brass gavel. “Sold for ten thousand gold pieces.” One of the young men carried the painting off, while another produced a heavy oaken chest. “This next item …”

  Teldin didn’t listen to the auctioneer’s description of the chest. Ten thousand gold pieces? he repeated to himself. Aelfred had told him one hundred thousand gold pieces would buy him a hammership plus a mosquito. That meant the price that miserable painting fetched would be an excellent down payment on a major spelljamming vessel. This just confirmed something he’d always suspected: he knew absolutely nothing about art.

  The next few items didn’t fetch prices anywhere near that of the painting. After the novelty – and his amazement over the sum of money involved – had worn off, Teldin found his interest waning. He turned to his right, tried to get Estriss’s attention, to ask how long until the significant items would be open for bid, but the illithid’s eyes and attention were fixed un-shakably forward. Rianna, sitting directly to his right, felt Teldin’s restlessness and laid a calming hand on his arm. “Not much longer,” she whispered to him, “then it’ll get interesting, I promise.”

  He nodded, a little glumly. This was nowhere near as exciting as he’d expected. Instead of taking his mind off his decision, the auction was giving him too much time to think. And he thought better when he was free to pace. Well, Rianna was probably right. He’d give it a little longer. To relieve the tedium, he looked up at the ring of faces above him – the spectators encircling the second-floor gallery and staring down into the hall.

  His gaze drifted idly around the ring. Suddenly, his peripheral vision caught a face that looked familiar. He focused on the spot, but the face was gone. There was movement there, though; apparently someone had moved away from the gallery rail.

  Even though he’d seen it for only an instant, he was sure he knew that face: Tregimesticus, the ex-slave, the same person he thought he’d seen at the tavern.

  Teldin leaned over to Aelfred. “Where’s Tregimesticus?” he whispered.

  Aelfred blinked in surprise. “Aboard the Probe,” he answered. “Where else?”

  “I thought I saw him in the gallery.”

  The warrior smiled. “That’s doubtful,” he pointed out. “Tregimesticus still has the slave mentality real bad. If he wanted to come ashore, he’d have to ask for permission to catch the tender. And before that, he’d have to decide he wanted to. Can you see Tregimesticus doing either of those things?”

  Teldin remembered the exchange with Garay, how the ex-slave didn’t even have the initiative to pick up the marlin spike that had fallen at his feet. Teldin grinned back. “Not really. I guess I just saw his twin.”

  “You mean there’s someone who looks like Tregimesticus?” Aelfred asked in mock alarm. “Poor bugger.”

  Teldin chuckled as he settled back into his seat.

  The auctioneer’s drone suddenly stopped in mid-bid. There was silence for a moment, then the rush of whispered conversation. Throughout the rotunda, heads turned.

  Teldin looked behind him. Another figure – obviously a participant – was entering the rotunda. The new arrival certainly stood apart from the others. Twelve feet tall, bald head brushing the underside of the gallery, T’k’Pek, the arcane, made his entrance. Standing, with his long robe hanging in unbroken swaths to the floor, the creature looked little like the gangly figure Teldin had seen aboard the Nebulon. Now he moved regally, imperially ignoring the consternation his arrival was causing. There was an empty chair in the back row. T’k’Pek seemed to consider it, then discard the idea. He would have looked ludicrous trying to squat on a human chair much too small for him, Teldin realized. The arcane turned his dark eyes on the staring auctioneer. “Pray continue,” the giant said in his thin, high-pitched voice.

  The auctioneer didn’t respond for a moment, then swallowed visibly. “Of course,” he muttered, “of course. The bid is —” for the first time, he had to consult the notes he was continuously taking “— three hundred fifty gold pieces. Do I hear four hundred?”

  The au
ction quickly returned to normal. The participants refocused their attention on the stage, and even the spectators in the gallery eventually stopped whispering and muttering about the alien figure standing at the back of the crowd. “Bale Estriss” kept his head turned to the rear, his eyes fixed on the arcane.

  Why? Teldin wondered. The illithid knew T’k’Pek was interested in the same items as he was. Why the surprised stare?

  Maybe it was because the illithid had expected T’k’Pek to send his human representative, Barrab. That could explain it, Teldin decided. And it was a good point. Why would the arcane draw so much attention to himself – attention that could very well disrupt the auction – unless that was the giant’s whole intention ….

  “The next item,” the auctioneer was saying, “is a long knife of unique design and unknown provenance.” Estriss’s face snapped to the front, his gaze unwavering. Teldin could almost feel the illithid’s excitement. On the stage, one of the young men was holding a long knife – a short sword, really – of unusual design.

  Unusual, but also familiar. Teldin had seen that smoothly curved blade before, that same long hilt, built up into a complex pattern of ridges and channels. It was a twin to the weapon Estriss had shown him aboard the Probe, soon after Teldin’s scrap with the scavver. The knife that Estriss believed had been forged – no, grown – by the Juna.

  The disguised illithid was almost quivering with tension. He was leaning over toward Aelfred, their heads almost in contact.

  “Bidding is open,” the auctioneer announced. “Do I hear five hundred gold pieces?”

  There was a murmur from the crowd. Even though Teldin hadn’t been paying close attention to the auction, he realized this was a high starting price for something so apparently mundane. Obviously somebody apart from the illithid suspected the significance of the knife. He glanced over toward Estriss. Maybe that would work to the illithid’s advantage, however, he mused. It would certainly discourage anyone with only casual interest from pushing the price up.