The Radiant Dragon

by Elaine Cunningham

  Teldin blinked. “No. Why would you even ask?”

  “The location of Lionheart is a closely guarded secret,” Vallus explained. “Those of other races are not admitted. In your case, obviously, the Imperial Fleet will make an exception, but I’m afraid the other n’tel quess would have to leave the ship.”

  “N’tel quess?” Teldin echoed with a touch of anger. His cloak did not translate the elven phrase for him, but he didn’t care for the sound of it.

  “Anyone who is not elven,” Hectate supplied hastily. Teldin did not miss the warning glance the half-elf shot at Vallus, and he made a mental note to pursue the matter with Hectate at some later time. Teldin took the medallion from his bag and laid it down on the navigation table.

  “We’re not going to Lionheart, Hectate. I’m going to use this again, and I want you to tell me what I’m seeing.”

  Understanding, then the excitement of a professional challenge, dawned in the half-elven navigator’s eyes. Teldin sat down in the captain’s chair and took the medallion in his hands, and Hectate took a place nearby at a table spread with star charts.

  Vallus stepped back, leaned against the wall, and watched as Teldin dropped into deep concentration, much more quickly this time that he had in the moon elf palace. Before Vallus could draw three breaths, the cloak began to glow with the eery molten bronze hue that signaled its connection to the magic medallion. The human’s expression became remote as his vision focused on a place far from the ship’s bridge.

  Although the elven wizard had witnessed the process just the day before, he was shaken by Teldin Moore’s transformation. Vallus had seen that degree of focus and concentration many times, but only on the faces of highly skilled wizards or priest. What the untrained human had achieved amazed him, and it steadied his faith in the stand he had taken against the grand admiral.

  “What do you see?” Vallus asked softly.

  For a long moment Teldin did not answer, then the molten bronze glow faded from his cloak, and his face settled into a mask of pure frustration. “A purple cloud, a river of rainbow colors. I’ve never seen the phlogiston in quite that way.”

  “The Spelljammer’s in the phlogiston? It could be anywhere,” Vallus said in dismay.

  Hectate took a step forward, “Can you describe what you saw the first time?”

  Under Hectate’s detailed prompting, Teldin recalled some of the details of his first vision. Hectate identified them as constellations around Toril.

  “So the Spelljammer was in Realmspace.” Teldin felt both excited and frustrated by this news. “It must move incredibly fast to have already left the crystal sphere.”

  “So where do we go now, sir?”

  Teldin shrugged. “Set the shortest possible course for the edge of Realmspace’s crystal sphere. Maybe once we’re out in the phlogiston, I can get a better idea where the ship is bound.”

  “Are we going to stop on Garden first?” Hectate asked.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Vallus broke in. “We obtained all the supplies we’ll need from the Evermeet elves.”

  Hectate nodded and turned to the navigator’s table. Picking up a triangular tool, the half-elf bent over a star chart and quickly became lost in the task he loved. Teldin left the bridge behind to acquaint himself with his new command.

  The first two clays passed quickly. On the whole Teldin was satisfied with the way things aboard the swan ship were progressing, though he still noted a marked coolness in the bridge. The first mate, in particular, made little effort to hide his displeasure over Hectate’s promotion. The half-elven navigator handled the slights with more grace than Teldin thought he himself could manage under similar circumstances.

  On the third day of travel, Teldin and Hectate ended a watch together and headed toward the mess for eveningfeast. They nearly bumped into the exiting dracons. Chirp and Trivit exchanged guilty, furtive glances and looked at the dinner tray in Chirp’s mottled green hands.

  “Er, lovely night, wouldn’t you say, sir?” fluted Trivit nervously. He stepped forward, deliberately blocking Chirp from view. Chirp looked frantically around for a place to put his tray. Seeing none, he reached around and placed it on his own broad green back.

  “Lovely night,” Teldin agreed, struggling to keep a straight face. “Carry on with whatever you’re doing.”

  Trivit snapped off a salute and scuttled off down the corridor. Chirp fell in behind, in his haste forgetting about the dinner tray balanced on his back. Both creatures took on a nonchalant, four-footed swagger as they headed for their cabin.

  “What do you suppose they’re up to?” wondered Teldin.

  Hectate shrugged. “Maybe we could look into it after we’ve eaten,” he hinted delicately.

  Teldin suppressed a smile. After they got their meal, he noticed that Om was sitting alone, and they went over to her table. Her dinner sat untouched and she was absently toying with a gnome-sized wrench. “May we join you?” Teldin asked,

  “Why not?” she responded glumly.

  “Problems?” Hectate asked sympathetically as he dropped into a chair.

  The gnome’s only response was a morose grunt. A quick glance at the neighboring table revealed what was bothering the tiny technician. Rozloom was sprawled on a couple of chairs, regaling three elven women with a wild tale of adventure that, though obviously fabricated, nonetheless was entertaining. Teldin noticed that the aperusa had preened himself to an almost blinding degree. His blue satin pantaloons were embroidered with stars and tucked into boots that had been polished to a mirrorlike finish. He wore a shirt of flowing red silk with voluminous sleeves and a leather vest upon which was tooled several complicated abstract designs. Intrigued, Teldin squinted at one of the designs. The picture was a clever illusion that under his scrutiny focused into a scene of campfire revelry. The explicit gypsy “art” brought sudden heat to Teldin’s face. As he hastily averted his eyes, he aught a whiff of the faint, spicy odor that wafted from the small silk sachet suspended around the aperusa’s neck. The scent reminded Teldin of the similar pendant worn by the gypsy seductress in the tavern back on Garden, and he asked about it.

  “Love potion,” Om grunted.

  “What gnomes are to machinery, aperusa are to herb lore,” Hectate elaborated. “They have potions for everything. This is the first time I’ve seen Rozloom resort to a potion, though.”

  “For whose benefit, I wonder?” Teldin mused.

  Om’s brown eyes narrowed dangerously. “I don’t know … yet,” she intoned. As she spoke, she smacked her palm with the wrench in an unconscious, ominous rhythm.

  Teldin and Hectate exchanged a quick glance of guilty amusement. Although the gnome obviously was disconsolate over Rozloom, it was difficult to take her infatuation seriously. Back on Krynn, Teldin once had owned a bantam rooster that became attached to the plow horse, following it around and even roosting on the horse’s back. To his mind, anything between the tiny, serious Om and the flamboyant gypsy was almost as improbable. When several attempts to engage the taciturn gnome in conversation failed, Teldin and Hectate finished their meal as quickly as decently possible and left Om to enjoy her misery alone.

  That night Teldin’s sleep was restless and broken, haunted by a recurring dream. When he finally rose, he retained only fragmented images and an impression of the dream. He remembered a questing voice, powerful but wounded, and he sensed a web of magic being cast, seeking all those who might answer. A few phrases, too, stuck in his mind: “Winged captain resistant … followed her, lost her. Another captain on the ribbon, might be ready … Must find!”

  Deeply troubled, Teldin went in search of Hectate. The half-elf was already on the bridge, and he listened intently to Teldin’s story. He eagerly agreed when Teldin suggested they try the medallion again. As Teldin dropped into concentration, Vallus came quietly into the bridge, drawn by the powerful magic and the bronze glow.

  “Wildspace,” Teldin murmured, and his voice seemed to come to them through time a
nd distance. “Stars, but no constellations that I know.”

  “Can you describe what you see?” Hectate spoke softly, so as not to disturb the Cloakmaster’s concentration. “Any clusters? Formations? Worlds?”

  Teldin nodded to acknowledge the question, and he tilted his head back slightly as if going deeper into himself. “There’s a distant cluster, very small, that looks a little like an hourglass,” he said finally.

  Hectate looked up abruptly, and apprehension was keenly etched on his face. “Are the stars all white, or do any of them show color?”

  Teldin squinted at something only he could see. “Umm, yes. Near the top, one of the stars has a faint yellow tinge.”

  “Look at the center star, right where the top and bottom of the hourglass join,” Hectate directed. “Any pink?”

  “A little,” Teldin agreed. His brow furrowed suddenly. “The formation’s gone now. The ship must be turning, because the backdrop of stars is moving. It’s moving incredibly fast,” he repeated in an awed whisper.

  “If I’m right, you should be able to see a sphere soon,” Hectate said. “It’ll be very faint, so look carefully.”

  “What are you looking for?” Vallus asked quietly. Hectate just shook his head and held up a hand for silence.

  “I think I do see a world,” Teldin said in that odd, detached voice. “It looks like a strange-colored smudge, though.”

  “Reddish gray?” prompted Hectate. His shoulders were hunched and his wiry frame knotted with visible tension. Feeling a little unnerved by the half-elf’s reaction, Vallus drifted closer.

  Teldin nodded. “Yes. That’s right.”

  “What is it?” Vallus hissed in Hectate’s ear.

  “Radole,” Hectate said quietly, though his tension did not noticeably abate. “The world he sees is called Radole.

  Merciful Ptah,” he swore in a harsh whisper. “That means that the Spelljammer is in Winterspace.”

  “Winterspace,” Vallus echoed dully. With dread he remembered the armada ghost ship. Was it possible that the Spelljammer somehow had destroyed the crew of the elven battleship? If so, what kind of being controlled the ship? If somehow the scro had gotten control of the most powerful ship in the void, it could mean the end of the elven nation. “Are you sure it’s Winterspace?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Hectate replied. The horror on his face echoed Vallus’s feelings with uncanny precision. Suddenly the intensity of the half-elfs reaction worried the elven mage.

  “You know elven history, I see,” Vallus said softly.

  Hectate averted his eyes. “My ancestors had a part in it,” he replied.

  Vallus nodded. It was possible that Hectate’s elven forebears had fought in the first goblin wars. Still, the half-elfs response was a little too immediate and too extreme to be based on family history. Before Vallus could explore the matter, the cloak’s glow faded and Teldin shook himself as if to dispel the effects of the magic.

  “Where is this Winterspace? How long to get there?” Teldin asked, his blue eyes alight with excitement.

  The half-elf considered. “There are rivers in the phlogiston between Realmspace and Radole’s crystal sphere, small rivers that are unusually fast but very hard to find. If you can catch them, a swan ship should be able to make landfall in about forty-five days,” Hectate calculated. He turned to Vallus and shrugged apologetically. “Of course, that’s just an educated guess. Not knowing whether you’ve made any changes to the ship’s basic design, I can’t say for sure what the Trumpeter could do.”

  “That’s going to change right now,” Teldin decreed. “Hectate, you’ve just been promoted to chief navigator. I want you to set a direct course for Radole. Vallus will see that you get whatever information you need about the swan ship.”

  Teldin Moore turned to the elven wizard, and a cocky smile lit his weary face, making it look almost boyish. “Well, Vallus, I hope you don’t mind taking back your insignia soon. It looks as though I’m going to be getting my own ship after all.”

  *****

  The Trumpeter had traveled the phlogiston rivers for several days before Teldin discovered the dracons’ secret. He was rounding a corner in the lower deck when he bumped into a solid female frame. Instinctively he caught the woman’s elbows to steady her and began to murmur an apology —

  And stopped dead.

  The woman was taller than any other female on board, slender but hard with muscle. Her hair was a sea of wavy black satin, and her pale, blue-tinted skin reminded him of cream and summer skies. Most arresting were her eyes, one of which was a typically elven shade of silver, the other an unusual shade of amber so pale it was almost gold. Her leather garments were of a quaint cut Teldin had never seen, and ancient weapons were tucked into her belt, boots, and shoulder strap.

  Teldin stared at the moon elven woman for a long, startled moment. He’d never seen her on board, so he assumed she had boarded at Evermeet. Why hadn’t Vallus mentioned a passenger?

  His mind had barely formed the thought when his vision shifted and swam. Suddenly he saw superimposed over her lovely face a reptilian visage that looked like a nightmare rendition of Trivit’s. As suddenly as it had come, the moment was gone and a moon elf stood before him, regarding him with a quizzical smile. When he did not speak, she lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug and pulled away, gliding down the hall toward the dracons’ cabin.

  “A beauty, eh, Captain?” rumbled a voice next to Teldin’s ear.

  He whirled to face Rozloom, feeling a little sheepish about being surprised. He’d forgotten how silently the aperusa could move. “Do you know her?” he asked, taking note of the gypsy’s avid interest.

  “Not yet,” Rozloom said, and his tone was both a vow and an innuendo.

  “Who is she, and why haven’t I seen her around the ship?” he wondered aloud.

  “The woman is called Raven Stormwalker. Beautiful she is, but not friendly. And what good is beauty locked away?” Rozloom asked rhetorically, nodding toward the converted storeroom that served as the dracons’ cabin.

  “So you do know a little about her,” Teldin prompted.

  “Only what I could make the dracons say in exchange for her food,” the aperusa said. “She is a warrior – a sell-sword, as you say – who wishes passage to Radole. How long before we are there, Captain?” Rozloom asked with an abrupt change of mood.

  “What? Oh. About forty days.”

  “Hmmm.” Rozloom fingered the sachet-potion as if considering his chances. “Is maybe too little time,” he mused.

  So that was the way the wind blew, Teldin thought. “I take it the lady is immune to your charm?” he asked.

  The gypsy turned serious black eyes toward Teldin. “Who would have thought it possible?” he marveled.

  “Well, let’s go meet our new passenger,” Teldin decreed, turning away before he insulted the gypsy by smirking in his woebegone face. Together they approached the dracons’ door and the mysterious moon elf. Teldin’s knock was answered by a long, heavy silence. He pounded again, and finally Trivit asked who was there.

  “Your kaba,” Teldin said firmly. Rozloom rolled his eyes at the title but for once did not comment. Behind the door they could hear a nervous, whispered consultation. When Trivit finally opened the door a crack, Teldin pushed through and came into the cabin.

  The dracons hung back, Trivit nibbling his claws and Chirp wringing his hands in a picture of prissy distress. The elven woman stepped forward to greet Teldin, however, and her odd eyes held his in a steady, compelling gaze.

  “Well met, Captain Moore. I understand that I have you to thank for my passage,” she said. Teldin’s surprise must have shown, for she fell back a step and gestured toward the distraught dracons. “Is that not so, Captain? Chirp and Trivit assured me that they spoke for you when they invited me aboard.”

  Teldin leveled a glare at Trivit. The dracon bit his lip, and his eyes darted between the captain and the moon elf. “Well?” Teldin prompted. Raven smiled sweet
ly at the dracons.

  “Yes!” blurted Trivit. “Yes, indeed, that’s the utter and absolute truth. It certainly is.” His words burst out with the force of a small explosion.

  The captain bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud at the dracon’s fervent fib. “Perhaps you believed you could speak for me on this matter, Trivit, but you should have checked first before bringing on a passenger,” he chided gently. “Apart from such issues as adequate air and provisions, the elves have a right to know who’s on their ship.” The miserable dracon nodded and hung his head.

  “What do you plan to do with me, Captain?”

  Raven’s voice was low, smoky, and slightly husky, and it brought vividly to Teldin’s mind both the flavor and the wallop of sagecoarse liquor. Rozloom seemed to have been similarly affected, for his sudden leer assigned her innocent question any number of salacious responses.

  “You’re not to blame for the dracon’s misunderstanding,” Teldin said, not too sure that it was an accurate assessment of the situation.

  “That’s right!” Trivit shrieked in nervous agreement.

  “All the same, I would like to know more about you. Please report to the bridge at three bells,” he said to the elf, naming a time about an hour away. “You will meet with the ship’s officers, and a decision will be made then. If you are to stay aboard the Trumpeter, duties will be assigned to you.”

  “As you wish,” she agreed.

  “We’ll be there promptly, sir,” Trivit vowed. “Indeed we shall.”

  “Three bells it is,” put in Chirp.

  Raven caught Teldin’s eye, and his sudden quandary brought a glint of humor to her gold and silver eyes. She turned to the dracons and placed a hand on the shoulder of each. “Thank you for your kind offer, Little Ones, but I’ve created enough trouble for you. I will talk to the officers alone.”

  “As you wish, Celestial One,” the dracons murmured in unison. They bowed deeply to the elven woman, and Teldin’s brow furrowed in sudden concern. He had become accustomed to the dracon’s formality and their obsession with rank and title, but there was something different in their treatment of Raven Stormwalker, something that disturbed him.