The Cloakmaster Cycle Four
THE
RADIANT DRAGON
Elaine Cunningham
THE RADIANT DRAGON
Copyright © 1992 TSR, Inc.
All Rights Reserved
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of TSR, Inc.
Random House and its affiliate companies have world wide distribution rights in the book trade for English language products of TSR, Inc.
Distributed to the book and hobby trade in the United Kingdom by TSR Ltd.
Cover art by Kelly Freas.
SPELLJAMMER and the TSR logo are trademarks owned by TSR, Inc. © 1992, TSR Inc. All Rights Reserved.
First Printing: November 1992
These ePub and Mobi editions by Dead^Man February, 2012
Printed in the United States of America.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 91-66488
987654321
ISBN: 1-56076-346-9
TSR, Inc. TSR Ltd.
P.O. Box 756 120 Church End, Cherry Hinton
Lake Geneva, WI 53147 Cambridge CB1 3LB
U.S.A. United Kingdom
To Sean, my avid swordsman
and elfling extraordinaire,
despite whom this book was written.
Prologue
For untold centuries, many had sought the truth behind the legend of the Spelljammer, but few had returned to tell of their quest. Now, in a distant corner of Realmspace and in the shadow of the great ship itself, the crewmen of a reigar vessel wondered if they soon would join the thousands whose stories had ended in silence.
The awestruck crew members could not judge the Spelljammer’s size; at times they perceived it only as an immense blackness that curtained the stars behind it. Their navigator informed them that they had orbited the vessel twice, a feat that had taken many hours. In truth, it was a ship a third of a mile long and half a mile across, shaped like an enormous manta ray with a shining city atop its back. It was the largest ship in all of known space, and persistent rumors said it was both a ship and a living entity.
The other ship, a reigar esthetic, was a rather unorthodox vessel for such a voyage of exploration. The race known as the reigar was famous for its unusual ships, but the flamboyant artiste who captained this vessel had taken reigar individuality to new extremes. The ship’s base was a conventional wooden hull with a deep keel, but upon the deck was a small forest and a stretch of green meadow. On the stern of the ship a tree-shaded mountain rose abruptly. A stream cascaded down the mountain, ending in a pond filled with bright fish and surrounded by flowers.
The beautiful sylvan scene was all the more remarkable for its origin: the reigar had magically grown everything – including the singing birds, fish, and other woodland creatures – from multicolored crystal. Each plant was so realistic as to appear alive, even to swaying in the magical breezes, but the whole had a color and sheen more intense than any found on even the most magic-laden elven world. A small, sunlike globe orbited the outer edge of the ship’s atmosphere, casting an illusion of day and night even in the midst of wildspace. At the bow of the ship was a small, retractable platform on which the sun-globe could come to rest when the ship’s helm went down, and the bridge was aft, located at the top of the mountain. There the ship’s captain, a reigar woman known as Cholana, sat cross-legged in the shade of a giant crystalline oak.
Around the reigar huddled a semicircle of arcane, the blue-skinned humanoid giants who served as the ship’s crew. To one side of Cholana paced her lakshu bodyguard, a muscled amazon warrior, and on the other side sat the ship’s wizard in a unique helm that was carved directly into the crystal rock of the mountain. Cholana was lost in magical revery, and tension and foreboding encircled the small assembly just as surely as the glory – a glowing, glittering halo of twinkling motes – surrounded the entranced reigar.
“By the Departed Elders!” swore one of the arcane in a harsh whisper. His six-fingered blue hand trembled as he pointed to the reigar captain. “Look at Cholana’s glory. It’s fading!”
For a time even the great ship was forgotten. The arcane muttered among themselves, debating in hushed tones what the omen might portend for their revered captain. Viper, the lakshu, stopped her fierce pacing and studied Cholana with narrowed eyes. In sharp contrast to the arcane’s concern, the lakshu’s scrutiny of Cholana’s glory held no hint of distress.
Yes, the bright mist that surrounded the reigar had faded.
How interesting, Viper noted with cynical detachment. Of course, she found it interesting that the reigar was there at all.
Viper had been on board the esthetic during Cholana’s last, spectacularly unsuccessful experiment. The reigar had taken a small longboat out into the flow, where she had attempted to magically channel the rainbow-hued phlogiston into a wildspace mural in her own honor. After the explosion’s aftershocks had finally died away, the crew’s search had yielded no trace of Cholana or her small boat. The reigar had been presumed dead, and, despite the evidence seated before her, Viper saw no reason to believe otherwise.
Many years before, on the very day she had reached her full fighting weight, the lakshu had pledged her strength and her life in the service of Cholana. As was the custom, Viper had been named for the reigar’s shakti, a magical animal totem of great power. The lakshu had been given a matching shakti, the stylized jeweled snake that curled around her wrist and matched the one entwining Cholana’s forearm. These shakti were powerful weapons, powerful enough to protect the physically fragile reigar and to secure the allegiance of the wild and warlike lakshu. A single word of command would change the ornament into an enormous, deadly snake, big enough to ride upon. A second command word could transmute the shakti into a suit of scaled armor that gave its wearer the ability to strike with viperlike speed and to spit blasts of deadly venom at even distant attackers. Each shakti was different, but each was a fearsome weapon. Viper wore hers with pride, as befitted a reigar-pledged lakshu warrior.
Since the explosive mishap in the phlogiston, however, Viper’s shakti had been nothing more than a pleasant ornament, as dead as the lakshu believed her master to be. The return of the reigar Cholana had not restored the shakti’s power.
With a patience uncharacteristic of the wildspace amazons, Viper kept her weapons sheathed and her tongue still as she studied the entranced reigar. The lakshu did not know who or what presumed to sit in her master’s place, but she would wait and she would learn. And then she would kill.
Still deep in trance, “Cholana” made a small, restless motion, and her hand grasped the sapphire pendant that hung around her neck. Her narrow fingers curved around the huge gemstone, which shone with a deep, magical blue light. The reigar’s fidgeting brightened the motes surrounding her and sent them into dizzying motion.
She did not hear the arcane’s collective sigh of relief, nor did she notice the lakshu’s suspicious glare. Lost in her magical inquiry, she was barely aware of the body that had been so amusing to assume. Reigar! she mused silently. Pretentious little creatures, really, but they did have a certain flair.
This one had been a female with short, red-gold ringlets, a body as slim as a snake’s, and flamboyant facial makeup consisting of tiny, iridescent scales that transformed her triangular face into an exotic parody of the shakti on her arm. Except for the ancient, sapphire-studded pendant, the reigar’s clothing showed the usual creative flair. She wore tight green leggings of some pebbly,
shining fabric and a matching silky shirt that bared her midriff. An elaborate tattoo wound up one thin arm, and jewelry in abstract forms glittered at her ears and fingers. Even the nails on Cholana’s hands and bare feet showed typical reigar elan; they had been gilded, dusted with crushed precious stones, and then ensorcelled to show elaborate designs that changed colors in random patterns. As guises went, it was amusing enough.
Amusing, but not entirely effective. She had assumed the reigar’s form in an attempt to avoid detection by the great ship, yet even in her frail and flashy new body she sensed that the ship had detected her. She was, however, a creature of great power and will.
For some time now she had resisted the questing, demanding voice of the ship, intending to learn all she could about it before landing on it. Celestial Nightpearl had not lived all these centuries by being imprudent. Since the day the magical pendant had come into her possession, she’d spent an elf’s lifetime exploring its powers and promise. She had defeated enemies who had wanted the pendant for themselves, and she had overcome Others – beings who had held similar magical objects. Now that she’d found the Spelljammer, the first part of her quest was complete. She had yet to determine what would come next.
And so she sent out her seeking thoughts upon the magical stream flowing from the pendant. She searched for the minds of Others, creatures who either aspired to take or formerly had become the great ship’s helmsman.
Without warning, her thoughts hit a magical wall. The creature’s glittering reigar hand gripped the sapphire tightly, and she poured all her own considerable magic through the stone in an attempt to breach the barrier. Before the power of her will and her magic the wall wavered, became insubstantial, and finally dissipated. The great ship yielded its secrets.
To her surprise, there were three Others on board. Three! she raged silently. Was she supposed to share power with three?
Her fierce concentration slipped and the wall slammed down again. Once again, by sheer force of will and magic – and, she suspected briefly, the intrinsic power of her ultimate helm – she again forced aside the magic barrier.
Three Others were there, yes, but what had they become? Stripped of power, locked in a dark tower, and condemned to a life of imprisonment and isolation? Perhaps they had seen the ship’s wonders and had learned its powers, but what good had their knowledge done them? They were pitiful, helpless.
Rage rose in the creature like a dark tide, washing away her desire to delve into the minds of the Others. The information she had sought for centuries seemed insignificant beside the living death she had glimpsed. This fate could not befall one of her kind. Celestial Nightpearl vowed to find another way.
The “reigar’s” trance broke, dispelling the glory that surrounded her and sending the tiny glittering motes flying outward with the force of an explosion. Roaring her dismay, the creature leaped to her feet.
The assembled arcane tumbled back, stunned by the explosion, but Viper had the presence of mind to fling herself out of range the moment “Cholana” cried out. The lakshu rolled away and came up in a fighting crouch.
What she saw did not surprise her. The being that had taken the form of the reigar Cholana was now changing, growing into a creature of almost unimaginable size and power.
As a good warrior, Viper knew when to attack and when to retreat. She lunged for the arcane wizard. Grabbing his long blue hand, she yanked him out of the helm. With a vicious push, she sent the stunned arcane tumbling down the mountain, then she followed him in a barely controlled roll. They hit the ship’s deck hard, but Viper was on her feet instantly. With one hand she grabbed the wizard by the scruff of the neck, and she sprinted toward the esthetic’s longboat, easily dragging the dazed twelve-foot giant behind her. She tossed him into the small craft and dove in after him, keeping her head low as her nimble fingers loosened the ropes of her escape craft.
When the longboat was free, Viper peered cautiously over the edge. The creature’s transformation was almost complete, and the wooden frame of the esthetic groaned under the weight of a body some five hundred feet long. A rapidly growing tail snaked around the mountain, twitching and stretching as it reached its full length. Every movement of the tail sent crystal shards splintering off into wildspace, and the creature’s roars seemed to vibrate deep in Viper’s bones. Scales the color of wildspace covered the immense beast, catching the starlight with an opalescent shimmer. Finally, the creature unfolded its wings and beat them like a newly hatched butterfly would as it lay drying in the sun. Anger blazed in its intelligent golden eyes, and a huge sapphire gleamed from the enormous pendant that hung around its neck.
With a final, mighty roar, a full-grown radiant dragon burst away from the reigar ship and sped off into the blackness of wildspace. In its rage, it did not notice that a switch of its tail had shattered the reigar ship, sending debris and the broken bodies of Cholana’s faithful crew into the void.
Chapter One
Teldin Moore edged his way through the crowded marketplace, ignoring the exotic wares and the hawking cries of the merchants whose stalls crowded both sides of the narrow streets. For all its enticements, the market was a scene Teldin had seen many times before and on a dozen different worlds. Here, on the cluster of entwined asteroids known as Garden, he wished only to supply his ship and snatch a few hours of peace before resuming his quest.
A year earlier, Teldin had been a solitary farmer scratching out a living on faraway Krynn, unaware of the worlds beyond his own. Then a spelljamming ship had crashed on his farm and its dying reigar captain had bequeathed Teldin the cloak he now wore. Since that night he had searched for answers to the cloak’s mysteries, always with deadly rivals in close pursuit. He had learned that the cloak was an artifact that would enable him to command the legendary Spelljammer, and he had vowed to find the great ship. Recently a brilliant wildspace sage, an enormous slug known as a fal, had advised Teldin to seek the Spelljammer’s birthplace: a broken crystal sphere. Teldin knew nothing of such a place, but after a disastrous experience with the elven Imperial Fleet he was not willing to depend on legend and hearsay for answers. He had purchased his own ship using money given to him by the fal One Six Nine, and he had stopped on Garden to stock up for a long voyage of exploration.
Because of Garden’s peculiar shape, sunset came with the speed and drama of an eclipse. Before Teldin’s eyes could adjust to the sudden darkness, a passing centaur jostled him, sending him stumbling into one of the gray lizard men engaged in lighting the gas lamps along the street.
The creature turned and hissed at Teldin. Its reptilian eyes narrowed in challenge and its clawed hand curled around the hilt of a dagger. Teldin was not afraid of the lizard man, but neither did he wish to draw attention to himself with a street fight. He held up both hands in a temporizing gesture and murmured a few words of apology. Even as he spoke, he realized his mistake. To such a creature an apology was a sign of weakness, a virtual invitation to attack.
Far from attacking, the lizard man fell back a step as if in surprise: After a moment of silence it burst into hissing laughter. Its scaly shoulders shook as it nudged its partner and repeated something in a sibilant language. The other lizard man wheezed out a chuckle and bobbed an appreciative nod in Teldin’s direction.
It took the nonplussed human a moment to realize what had transpired; somehow the magic of his cloak had translated his ill-advised apology into a gem of reptile humor. As Teldin walked away, he could hear his mysterious bon mot making the rounds of the lizard men, and the amused hissing behind him brought to mind the sputter of a gnomish steam engine. With a quiet chuckle of his own, Teldin slipped gratefully into the obscurity of the crowd.
As usual, Teldin was careful not to bring attention to himself, but even in the colorful bustle of the marketplace he drew enough glances to make him feel uncomfortable. The cloak again, he thought with a touch of resignation. He recently had learned that its extraordinary magical aura acted as a lure, even to those who were u
naware of the cloak’s significance. Indeed, some of the beings who cast glances Teldin’s way did so with a distinctly puzzled air, as if the magic they sensed could not be reconciled with its rather commonplace incarnation.
In Teldin Moore an ordinary observer would see only a tall young man wearing a black shirt and trousers and a laced tunic of suede leather. His passably handsome face no longer bore the mustache he’d once worn, but now was clean-shaven, and his light brown hair was brushed back from a decided widow’s peak. His shoulders were broad and draped by a long, dark cloak.
A more perceptive eye would note that the man’s lean muscles were the sort earned by a life of unrelenting labor. He wore his short sword with assurance, but his stance and walk were not those of a trained fighter. His square jaw and craggy features gave him the type of face that in later years would be said to “have character;” on a young man that face suggested blunt honesty and a stubborn nature.
In startling contrast were his eyes, bright cornflower blue eyes that lent him an almost boyish mien. The network of fine lines at their corners suggested a sense of humor; the dark hollows beneath spoke of recent struggle and loss. Finally, there was something unusual about the man’s cloak. It was an elusive hue, a deep, intense purple that was almost black. The cloak seemed to adjust its color and length almost imperceptibly as its wearer edged his way through the crowded streets.
A little unnerved by the curious glances, Teldin drew the cloak closer as he walked. It had brought him great danger, but it also offered a measure of protection. By now, Teldin had learned many of the cloak’s powers through a painful process of trial and error and by its own response to danger. Several times its magic had taken over during a critical situation, giving him a preternatural clarity of mind and seemingly slowing down the action around him so that he could think and react. Teldin could also use the cloak to change his own appearance into whatever form he chose.
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