Teldin tensed, his hand going to the clasp of his cloak. He’d received such offers from the arcane before, but never one that began like this. The magical garment gave him the ability to change his face and form, and although he’d never tried so drastic a change as a dragon, he supposed it was possible. Perhaps one of its previous owners had done so. “The cloak is not for sale,” he said firmly.
“Cloak? What cloak?” The arcane blinked, then stunned realization dawned on its blue face. “You are Teldin Moore, I take it? This is an unexpected turn of events. I have heard of your cloak.”
Then the cloak is not the artifact you seek? Estriss asked sharply.
“Stick to the point,” snapped the female warrior, not hearing the illithid’s mental question. She strode forward through the circle of elven blades, batting them aside as easily as another woman might tear through a cobweb. Teldin motioned for the elves to hold peace. She came toe-to-toe with Teldin and glared down at him. “You in charge here?”
“I am,” he said.
“Good. I want the dragon. That’s all. All you have to do is point her out to me, and I’ll do the rest,” she said.
For some reason, Teldin remembered his first encounter with Raven Stormwalker and the fleeting image of a dragon he had seen on her face. Now that he thought about it, the perception had all the earmarks of the flashes the medallion brought him. Was it possible that Raven once had owned the cloak? Had she met the lakshu while in a dragon form? Perhaps before losing the cloak she had taken the form of Raven Stormwalker, and had somehow became stuck with it. It was an odd theory, but it was certainly easier to swallow than Vallus’s explanation. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Trivit slip away from the crowd and hurry below deck, undoubtedly to warn Raven of the fearsome newcomer.
“Well?” snapped the warrior, impatient with the man’s delay.
“I’m sorry,” Teldin said, flashing the woman his best smile, “but dragons seem to be in short supply on this ship.”
“It could have taken any form,” added the arcane. “You will know the creature by the pendant it wears, an antique gold piece set with a dark sapphire. Have you seen such a piece?”
“I’m sorry, no,” Teldin said firmly.
“But the artifact is on this ship, of that I’m sure,” protested the arcane, its blue face wrinkling in an expression of petulance.
How do you know this? Estriss broke in, broadcasting his words this time so that all could hear them.
The lakshu sniffed. “When the dragon was a reigar, this obsequious blue bastard couldn’t kiss her pendant often enough.”
The meaning of the warrior’s cryptic statement hit Teldin like an icy fist. The fal had spoken of other artifacts, objects with powers similar to those of his cloak. The arcane was a wizard – he’d have to be to propel the damselfly – so he could track such an object. Teldin cast a quick glance at Estriss, wondering whether the illithid had come to the same conclusion. Estriss’s expressionless eyes gave no indication of his thoughts.
Teldin took control of the situation. “You raised the distress flag to gain access to the swan ship. Is this how you usually do business?”
“Our apologies,” the arcane said, his voice utterly without regret. “A necessary deception. The ship is perfectly functional.”
“Couldn’t hurt to check her over, though,” put in Om. The tiny gnome woman had edged her way through the growing crowd to Teldin’s side, and she eyed the damselfly with a disturbing degree of fascination. Her ubiquitous wrench glinted in her brown hand.
Teldin placed a restraining hand on the gnome’s shoulder, and turned to address the arcane. “I have no knowledge of the object you seek.”
“Forget the pendant,” growled the lakshu. She leaned in closer, her eyes glinting. “I want the dragon.”
“You’ve made that quite clear,” Teldin said coolly. “Now I’ll be equally frank. You have boarded this ship under false pretenses, and by your battle garb and demeanor you threaten my crew. I want you off the swan ship immediately.”
The lakshu glared, then shrugged. “Your funeral. Maybe you’d sing a different song if you knew that the last crew who sailed with the dragon is floating through Realmspace in bits and pieces.”
“Viper!” protested the arcane. The lakshu shot him an unrepentant glare, then folded her muscled arms and defied Teldin with her eyes.
“Realmspace?” Teldin asked. Viper gave one curt nod. “It seems we may have a something to talk about after all,” he said slowly. “I will gather the ship officers and meet you on the bridge in an hour. Since there are no dragons to slay on this ship, perhaps you would consider removing your battle armor before the meeting?” He gestured to the wary, armed elves. “It puts the crew off.”
Viper considered the offer. She whipped off her helmet, to reveal rows of tightly braided, vibrantly green hair. The end of each tiny braid was decorated with colored beads, and the flamboyant style complemented the warrior’s unusual beauty. Her face was broad, defined by high, sharp cheekbones, fierce black eyes, and green brows that slanted sharply up at the corners.
“Armor or no, if I find the dragon, she’s dead,” Viper growled. Despite her harsh words, the lakshu’s tone offered a concession.
“That sounds perfectly reasonable,” Teldin agreed with a touch of sarcasm. Deal made, he pointed to the first mate. “Gaston, post a guard to protect our guests from passing dragons. The rest of you, return to your stations.”
Teldin left the strange duo in the care of the elven warriors and went in search of Vallus Leafbower. As soon as most of the crew members had drifted away, Estriss glided silently up to the damselfly. Projecting his thoughts to the arcane and the lakshu, he said, If you wilt trust me, I believe I can help you both obtain what you desire.
*****
The anger Teldin felt over Vallus’s callous attitude toward Raven had not faded, but Teldin felt that the wizard should hear about the new developments immediately. If Teldin’s suspicions were right, the quest for the Spelljammer could be more difficult than either of them had dreamed. Not only would Teldin have to battle and evade the many who would take the cloak from him, but he might also have to overcome other potential captains. If Raven Stormwalker was one of these, if she did have the pendant the arcane sought, why else would she be on board but to destroy him?
To Teldin’s surprise, Vallus was quite willing to discard his own theory in favor of Teldin’s. In fact, the elf seemed relieved to discard the notion that Raven might be a “survivor.” He agreed, however, that the moon elf would have to be watched carefully.
“Our more immediate concern is the lakshu,” Vallus observed. “If Raven does indeed possess another ultimate helm, I’m assuming she used it to take the form of Viper’s reigar master. If that is true, the lakshu is looking for vengeance and will not willingly leave the ship until she is satisfied. Even one lakshu can do a great deal of damage, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t plan to hand Raven – or whoever she is – over to the lakshu,” Teldin said firmly. “I know what it is to be hounded for the cloak.”
The sound of a muffled explosion interrupted their conversation, and Teldin and Vallus quickly made their way to the main deck. The damselfly was gone, and where the ship had stood lay the bodies of the three guards Gaston Willowmere had posted. They had died quickly and silently, their throats cut before any of them could draw a weapon.
The lakshu,” Vallus explained to Teldin. Assuming that the revenge-bent warrior would stay aboard the swan ship until she found what she sought, the elven wizard sent teams of heavily armed elves out to search the ship for her.
They found Viper – or what was left of her – in the cargo hold. A blast of enormous power had gone through her armor and body, leaving little more than shattered ribs and a few shards of steel and flesh. In stark contrast to her ravaged body, her beautiful, sharp-boned face was untouched. Her eyes were wide, but the fierce glare had faded with death. Beyond the hollow shell of the lakshu was
a black-edged hole in the wall of the ship. Clearly visible through it were swirls of green and purple phlogiston that curled around the far side of the swan ship’s air envelope.
Teldin’s gut twisted at the sight, but Vallus knelt to examine the body and the damaged wall with dispassionate interest. “A spell of unusual power,” he mused. “This is beyond our wizards. None could summon a spell in time to stave off a lakshu’s attack. Who could have done such a thing?”
Hectate Kir could, Teldin thought with horror. He recalled the ball of force that Hectate in his bionoid form had thrown at the band of attacking elves. It would have taken something that powerful to do the type of damage they saw before them. As logical as the conclusion was, Teldin found he could not believe it. “The arcane?” he suggested weakly.
Vallus shook his head. “Not likely. The damselfly took off before the attack on the lakshu, I believe. Once the arcane realized he was unlikely to acquire either artifact, he probably saw no need to stay. I’m guessing the lakshu insisted on staying behind to seek out her revenge. She has not been long dead.”
The elf rose slowly to his feet and ordered a second search. He and Teldin first questioned Raven Stormwalker, but Chirp and Trivit fervently swore that she had never left their shared cabin. Frustrated but unable to refute the dracons’ claim, they carefully questioned the rest of the crew. Om noted that Estriss had gone up to speak to the arcane, so they sought out the illithid to see what light he might shed on the matter. Estriss, however, was nowhere to be found.
After much discussion, Vallus concluded that the illithid, who possessed magical abilities far beyond those of most of his kind, had killed the lakshu and gone off with the arcane. No one could fathom why. The illithid had been strangely elusive since the trip to Evermeet.
Deeply shaken by Estriss’s desertion, Teldin returned to his cabin to think the matter over. He entered and stopped short; someone had been in the cabin and had left the lid of his sea chest open. Curious, he stepped closer and peered down. In the chest, next to a book he’d borrowed from Vallus several days earlier, was a small figurine.
The piece obviously was very old, and it depicted a creature fashioned on tripartite lines, holding in each of its three hands a familiar three-petaled flower. Teldin flipped over a corner of his cape and looked closely at the elusive pattern woven into the silk lining. The flowers were identical. Was this statue, obviously a souvenir of Estriss’s endless hunt for the Juna, some sort of parting gift?
Teldin could not bring himself to touch the strange figurine. Feeling oddly betrayed, he swallowed hard and raked both hands through his hair. Just when he had laid to rest his doubts over Estriss’s strange behavior, the illithid had left without a word.
Teldin retrieved a bottle of sagecoarse from the sea chest, then he quietly closed the lid. Filled with a sense of despairing recklessness, he went in search of his new drinking companion.
As Teldin made his way down to Raven Stormwalker’s quarters, he noted that he still had no idea who or what she might be, or what she wanted from him. At the moment, that hardly mattered. In Teldin’s current frame of mind, those doubts put her on an equal footing with any of his most trusted friends.
Chapter Twelve
“How could such a thing happen?” thundered the scro general.
“There is a certain, unavoidable delay in getting information from the elven swan ship. Since our last dispatch, it seems that the human, Teldin Moore, changed the ship’s destination from Lionheart to Radole,” K’tide said. “It was most unexpected.”
Grimnosh stopped his pacing to level an icy glare at the spy master. “I pay you to make sure I know what to expect. So far, your efforts have created little benefit and much potential for disaster.”
“But our informant is still in place. In time, the elven ship will return to Lionheart —”
“We don’t have time, you imbecilic insect,” Grimnosh growled, thrusting a menacing forefinger into the spy master’s chest. “Understand this: Lionheart is no longer the issue.” He punctuated each word with a sharp stab, his claw banging painfully against K’tide’s exoskeleton.
“But destroying the elven high command —”
“Was a pleasant fantasy,” Grimnosh concluded firmly. He shook himself down as if to dispel both his rage and the notion of destroying Lionheart, and he strode purposefully over to his desk and lowered himself into his seat. “Now then. Under the circumstances, the Armistice project has become a problem. Given the elves’ interest in Teldin Moore, as well as the fact that half the races of known space seem to be chasing the human’s cloak, Winterspace soon will be infested with more ships than a bugbear has fleas.” He paused to let K’tide absorb his words. “Now, where are the bionoid ships?”
K’tide blinked, startled. “Nearby. Why do you ask?”
“Summon them. Have them all land on the Elfsbane immediately.”
“But that is impossible,” the spy master stammered. “The bionoids work with me only with great reluctance. They will never take direct orders from you.”
“Oh, come now, K’tide,” Grimnosh chided. He folded his beautifully manicured hands on his desk. “Don’t you think it’s time we dispense with this ridiculous pretense?”
“But —”
“Call them!” thundered the scro.
Seeing that he had little choice, K’tide removed a small scrying globe from a pocket of his robe and sank deep into concentration. The telepathic argument was every bit as fierce as he’d anticipated, but finally he called upon the bionoids’ pledge loyalty and demanded that they land on the dinotherium. Finally, feeling drained and depleted, he looked up at the glowering scro.
“It is done,” he said.
“Excellent.” Grimnosh turned to his ever-attentive adjutant. “Nimick, I want you to go to the landing deck. Wait for the shrike ships, then bring the officers to me at once.”
“Sir?”
“The officers?” Grimnosh prodded, seeing that Nimick’s astonishment had rendered him immobile. “I would like to see them? Here?”
The adjutant saluted and turned to carry out the order. “Oh, Nimick,” Grimnosh drawled as if a new thought had just occurred to him. “You might stop by the barracks on your way. Select a dozen or so of my personal guard to help you escort our allies to my office. If some of our scro become overly conscientious in their duty, I should hate to have to break in a new adjutant.”
Nimick disappeared through the doorway. “What is all this about?” K’tide demanded, rising from his chair and moving forward with several jerky strides.
“Sit.”
The scro’s suggestion was offered through a snarl of pure menace. K’tide took the chair Grimnosh pointedly indicated and waited for the bionoid officers.
Their approach was heralded long before their arrival; the presence of the guard did not prevent scro from shouting highly articulate, alliterative insults at their unlikely allies. The commotion grew progressively louder until Nimick’s knock signaled their arrival.
“Enter,” Grimnosh called sharply. He looked first to his adjutant. “Nimick, take the guard and inform the troops that this unseemly display is to stop immediately. The rest of you, please do come in.”
“Leave you alone with them, sir?” the gray-green scro asked in disbelief.
“I’m touched by your solicitude, Nimick,” Grimnosh said with dangerous calm. The adjutant saluted and shut the door behind him.
The scro general turned his attention to his allies, hiding his disdain for their elflike appearance only with great effort. He got the impression that the bionoids were struggling to maintain similar facades. There was little love lost between the scro and the bionoids at the best of times, but since times were not good for either race, they had decided to make a mutual exception.
“I have an assignment for you,” he said, rising to his full seven feet so that he towered over the deceptively fragile creatures. Their leader, a male named Wynlar, cast a quick glance toward K’tide. “Si
nce time is of the essence, perhaps we should discard the pretense of an intermediary,” Grimnosh said.
“As you wish,” Wynlar replied in an even voice, meeting the sera’s gaze squarely.
The general nodded slightly, pleased by the bionoid leader’s control. Less disciplined were the other officers: a red-haired female’s eyes flashed fire, another wench kept smoothing back her silver hair in an unconscious gesture of agitation, and their wizard looked as if he were ready to weep. It was hard to equate these wretched, elflike creatures with the magnificent fighting machines they could become at will, but, since one could not be had without the other, Grimnosh was prepared to make allowances.
“Some of your people have been following the elven vessel called Trumpeter, so you know that this ship soon will be entering Winterspace, bound for the planet Radole. On that ship is a human who is attracting an unseemly amount of interest. Rather than risk drawing attention to our work on Armistice, I want the human out of the picture. You will find his ship, board it, and retrieve him. I want him. Dead or alive makes no difference. His name is Teldin Moore, and he is distinguished by the long, dark cloak he wears.”
“An easy task,” Wynlar said, a question in his quiet voice.
“Make it look difficult,” Grimnosh said flatly. “Take every ship you have. Make a display of force, as if the elves themselves are your primary target.”
“And the elves?” asked Wynlar.
Grimnosh smiled, thinking that he understood the bionoid leader’s concerns. The combined bionoid forces numbered more than a score, and the fierce creatures would hardly be content with a surgical strike. Under similar circumstances, he would be hard pressed to hold back scro warriors from seeking trophies, and he was prepared to be generous with his allies.
“Kill as many elves as amuses you. I want only the human.
Find him and bring him to me, Captain,” Grimnosh said with quiet emphasis. “I want this group to see to the task | personally. The rest of your people need not know the true target of this attack.” There was a warning in the gentle suggestion that the shrewd bionoid could not miss, and Wynlar nodded.
The Radiant Dragon Page 17
