Wrapped in his gloomy thoughts, the mate did not at first see a shadowy figure slipping through the cargo hold. He caught a glimpse of a trailing robe – or blanket – as someone entered the room housing the wing and paddle machinery.
“You there!” Gaston called. There was no response, and the angry mate sped after the silent figure. He burst through the door and immediately staggered back from a fierce blow to his face. Gaston hit the deck hard and bounded to his feet, spitting out bits of broken teeth. The room was dark, but he could make out a tall elven figure swathed in flowing robes. Gaston’s vision slipped into the night vision spectrum. To his horror, the elf-shaped assailant registered in a pattern of cool blue and green light, not the healthy red one expected of a warm-blooded elf.
Gaston drew his short sword and lunged. He connected – hard! – to the creature’s midsection. The sword should have gone up and under the rib cage, but the only result was the sharp clunk of blade meeting tough plate armor. Before the first mate could recover from the failed lunge, he received a backhanded blow that shattered his nose and sent him reeling. The stranger advanced, raining blows so fast and vicious that Gaston could do no more than bring his arms up in a futile attempt to shield his face. The elf fell to his knees, and the room closed in on him with a rush of blood and darkness.
*****
Sleep would not come to Teldin. He returned to the hammock in Hectate’s cabin. Despite his exhaustion, he could not dispel from his mind the image of gray monsters with swords for hands and insatiable appetites for elven flesh. Vallus had called them Witchlight Marauders, and he’d also muttered something about them destroying entire worlds. From what Teldin had seen, he didn’t doubt for a minute that such a thing was possible.
Also disturbing to Teldin was the choice that lay before him. He wanted to join forces with Pearl, and not only for what she could offer him. In many ways, the dragon was a kindred spirit. Her curiosity and love of adventure reminded Teldin of both his grandfather and Aelfred. She was an irreverent character, always poking sardonic fun at conventions and authority figures. Solitary by nature, the dragon prized her independence, yet, like Teldin, she enjoyed being with others from time to time. That, he realized, was one of the main attractions of the alliance. He’d been alone for too long. So many of his friends and companions had fallen victim to his quest that he’d isolated himself, fearing to bring danger to those he loved. A dragon would be not only a good companion, but a durable one. And he had a responsibility to make his comrades’ deaths mean something.
On the other hand, Teldin felt torn by a growing sense of duty. The Witchlight Marauders had to be stopped. He wasn’t sure what he could do about the monsters, but neither did he feel that he could just walk away. Like Hectate, he hadn’t wanted to get involved in the spreading conflict between the elves and goblinkin, but it was starting to look as if he wouldn’t have a choice. Until he’d seen the gray monsters on the man-o-war, Teldin wasn’t sure he could have chosen one side over the other. Granted, the scro were vicious, brutal characters, but the elves’ methods were not exactly beyond reproach either.
Teldin thought back to his first war, the War of the Lance, back on his native Krynn. He’d entered it believing in black and white, heroes and villains; he’d left it believing in very little and deeply suspicious of those in positions of power. Cynicism came easily; at least, it did until he himself had been faced with the necessity of making a decision. He was beginning to understand some of the problems of leadership, some of the pitfalls that came with power. There were no right answers, only the struggle to find the greater good – or the lesser evil. And power! He’d survived the attempts of a dozen races who were willing to kill him and others to possess the magic cloak. What would he himself become in the process of wielding the cloak? And what would he become as captain of the Spelljammer? Even now, there were days when he looked in the mirror to shave and felt as if he were confronting a stranger.
After half of a watch slipped by, Teldin was no closer to either sleep or answers. With a sigh of surrender, he swung himself out of the hammock and went in search of the dracons. They both were on duty this watch, and maybe one of them would be free to drill with him. Perhaps the activity would clear his mind. At the very least, it would help sharpen his skills for the next battle. If there was one thing Teldin was sure about, it was that there would be more battles.
*****
Teldin was fending off Chirp’s battle axe when Vallus came to the upper deck. “We must talk about Hectate Kir,” the elf said without preamble.
Breathing heavily, Teldin wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded to the dracon. Taking the hint, Chirp tucked the ornate weapon into its holster and ambled off, whistling as he went. “What is it?” Teldin asked anxiously, sheathing his own sword. “Did Hectate finally wake up?”
“So it would appear,” Vallus said solemnly. “I am sorry to have to tell you this, but you must know. The first mate was found in the hold, beaten almost beyond recognition and left for dead. Under Deelia’s care, he revived enough to describe his attacker.”
Teldin’s blue eyes narrowed. “I don’t like where this is leading.”
“Gaston claims that the being who attacked him was covered with plate armor, like an insect. There is only one person aboard who could fit that description.”
“And that person is unconscious in my cabin,” Teldin returned heatedly.
Vallus shook his head. “According to Deelia, the bionoid’s injuries are not sufficient to explain his condition. Isn’t it possible that he is feigning sleep to keep us off guard?”
“Let’s say you’re right. How did Hectate leave the cabin undetected?” the captain asked. “Someone has been with him at all times. If not Deelia or me, then Rozloom.”
In response, Vallus merely turned and led the way to Teldin’s cabin. When the elf eased open the door, they were greeted by a sonorous snore. Puzzled, Teldin peered in. Hectate still was unconscious. His breathing still was weak and shallow, and his unruly red hair was a shock of color above his pallid face.
Rozloom also slept. He lay on the floor, his booted feet propped up on Teldin’s writing table and his vast belly rising and falling with each raucous blast of sound. An empty bottle from Teldin’s sagecoarse hoard lay on the floor beside the snoring gypsy.
“Rozloom could have been asleep for hours,” Vallus said as he shut the door.
“Days,” Teldin corrected without humor. Experience had taught him that sagecoarse was potent stuff, and despite Rozloom’s immense capacity for spirits, Teldin was surprised that anyone could put away an entire bottle and live to snore.
But even if Hectate could and did leave the cabin, Teldin did not believe that the bionoid was responsible for the first mate’s injuries. As much as he hated to admit it, Pearl was a more likely suspect. The attack on Gaston was too much like her violent response to Rozloom’s overeager courting. With her shape-shifting talent, she certainly could have taken on the armored form that Vallus had described. It had to be Pearl, unless …
“Paladine’s blood,” Teldin swore, raking both hands through his sandy hair. He turned back to the elven wizard. “You’ve searched the ship?” he asked sharply.
Vallus blinked. “For what?”
“An insectare,” Teldin said. “I have no idea how it got on the ship, but I think we’ve got an insectare aboard.”
“You want us to search the ship for an insectare?” Vallus echoed in disbelief.
Before Teldin could explain, the sound of fighting drifted up from the cargo deck.
“Don’t bother,” Teldin shouted as he sprinted down the stairs to the lower deck. “I think someone already found it.”
Chapter Nineteen
Teldin and Vallus raced down the steps to the cargo hold, their swords drawn. They found several other members of the crew clustered at the base of the stairs, gaping at the peculiar battle.
Chirp and Trivit stood a dozen yards apart, using their enormous tails to
bat a flailing, brown-robed creature back and forth between them. Despite the playful appearance of the scene, both dracons’ faces were grim and tears ran in rivulets down Trivit’s green cheeks.
Still in her moon elf form, Pearl came running down the stairs and pushed her way through the group. “I’ve got him, Captain,” she announced. Drawing herself up, she inhaled slowly and deeply. Fearing the dragon intended to breathe a magic missile, Teldin clapped a hand over her mouth. Her gold and silver eyes widened in shock.
“Don’t,” Teldin said simply. He released her, then he drew her broadsword from her scabbard and handed her the ancient weapon. “If you have to fight, use this. Not as effective, but it won’t blast another hole in the hull.”
“Damned nuisance, being an elf,” she muttered, looking with distaste at the sword in her hands.
Teldin turned away and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Trivit! Chirp! That’s enough. Stop the insectare, now.”
Chirp obediently stopped the tumbling creature with one foot, then quickly planted that foot on its prone body, moves that appeared to have been learned on a kickball field. Teldin hurried to the dracon’s side. Although the insectare looked battered and dazed, it glared up at him with malevolent black eyes.
Teldin reached down and jerked back the creature’s cowl. Knowing what he would find did not make the sight any less strange. The face was elven in form, but the peculiar color of green apples. Long black antennae rose from a thick thatch of wavy, flaxen hair to curl above its pointed ears like fiddlehead ferns. Remembering that Vallus had said those antennae could be used as lethal whips, Teldin seized the tip of one and thrust it into Chirp’s hand.
“Hold this. Trivit, you come grab the other. Keep them taut.” He prodded the insectare with his foot. “You, on your feet.”
The dracons quickly got the idea and soon they had the furious insectare standing immobilized between them. Teldin was not insensitive to the humiliation he’d inflicted on the creature, but he didn’t want it using its antennae on the crew.
“Search it,” Vallus directed, and two of the elves moved to obey. In the pockets of the insectare’s robe they found a small lump of dried clay and an oddly shaped key. Vallus examined these items closely, and his jaw tightened.
The elven wizard walked up to the insectare. “Who are you, and what use have you for the ship’s log?”
“You may know my name,” the creature said in a dry, brittle voice. “I am called K’tide. My purposes, however, are my own.”
“Sir,” Trivit addressed Vallus in a tremulous voice, “if you would be amenable to such, Chirp and I would be most happy to encourage the creature to talk.”
The insectare’s eyes darted between his dracon tormentors and the elven wizard. Obviously determined to get in the first strike, the insectare began to chant a spell in a strange, clicking language. His long green fingers gestured, and his eyes glittered with hatred.
“Pearl!” Teldin shouted. “Silence it!”
The elf-shaped dragon responded with a quick smile and a countering spell of her own. A sphere of silence enshrouded the insectare, neatly cutting off his spellcasting.
“Now there’s a philosophical question for you, wizard,” Pearl casually said to Vallus, an edge of contempt in her voice. “If a spell is spoken but not heard, was a spell cast? Fits right in with the if-a-tree-falls-in-a-forest-and-no-one-hears-it nonsense your sort likes to ponder.”
The insectare threw back his head and howled a soundless oath. Frustration and rage twisted his green visage as he drew a long, gleaming sword from the folds of his robe. All the crew members in the hold took a reflexive step back, in their surprise forgetting that the dracons had the creature immobilized.
No one expected K’tide to free himself by slashing off his own antennae. In two lightning-fast moves the insectare cut himself free and pushed Vallus Leafbower aside. Ichor flowed down the insectare’s face and dripped off his chin as he rushed at Teldin. The creature’s ghastly snarl was as rigid as a skull’s as he charged forward, sword held overhead with both hands.
The startled captain groped for his sword. Time slowed down as the cloak’s magic took over, and Teldin managed to raise his short sword overhead in time to meet the descending blow. The swords met with a bone-jarring clash, uncannily silent. The dragon’s sphere of silence encompassed them both, absorbing all sounds of battle.
The insectare fought with a desperate, despairing madness, flailing wildly with its sword. Try as he might, Teldin could not get inside the creature’s reach to land a blow. Even with his altered perception, it was all he could do hold off the frenzied insectare. From the corner of his eye Teldin saw several elves circle the battle, swords drawn. Elyen blades struck silently and ineffectually against the insectare’s armor, and more than one of Teldin’s would-be rescuers reeled back under the force of the insectare’s wild swings. Then a backhand slice caught Teldin’s sword arm and opened a gash from wrist to elbow. An explosion of pain penetrated Teldin’s cushion of slow, dreamlike magic. Time shattered and began to careen dizzily around Teldin as the short sword dropped from his bloodied hand.
Acting on instinct, Teldin raised his other hand and pointed it at the insectare. Magic missiles shot from the Cloakmaster’s fingers, one after another. The insectare stiffened, his body jerking in spasms as it was jolted again and again by the magic weapons. During the magic assault, Pearl’s spell dissipated and a horrible searing hiss replaced the silence. The green face blackened, and fetid smoke rose from under the creature’s exoskeleton. Finally the insectare tottered and fell to the floor with a dull clatter.
The stunned crew stared at the smoking remains. What moments before had been an insectare now was a pile of blackened plating and charred robe, nothing more. The creature’s body had simply disintegrated from the force of Teldin’s missiles. Awed and speechless, the elves and dracons raised their gaze to the human. Teldin, clasping his bleeding arm, stood over the dead insectare. His expression was dazed, and he looked disoriented and none too steady on his feet. Even so, power clung to him like a mantle.
“That was for Hectate Kir,” Teldin said faintly, addressing the smoking pile.
Deelia Snowsong was the first to collect herself. She darted forward and helped Teldin sit down on a storage crate. After a quick examination of the man’s injury, she ripped away his torn sleeve and doused the arm with a foul-smelling herbal wash from a small vial. She’d already begun to stitch the wound before Teldin’s startled oaths died away. The dracons suddenly realized they still held the insectare’s severed antennae. Both shuddered and threw the things aside. Chirp produced a kerchief from a pocket of his leather armor and fastidiously wiped off his clawed fingers, and Trivit dashed tears from his green cheeks with the back of his hand. No one noticed the troubled, speculative expression on Pearl’s face as she fingered her long raven braid, and no one saw her slip away from the cargo hold.
A subdued Vallus quietly came over to the makeshift infirmary. He watched silently as Deelia put the last of many stitches in Teldin’s arm. The tiny healer poured another quick dose of her liquid fire over her handiwork, then she quickly wrapped Teldin’s forearm in bandages.
Only once before had Teldin seen Vallus at a loss for words, and the elf’s silence unnerved him. Looking about for something to say, he noticed that Vallus still held the items taken from the insectare. Teldin rose to his feet, ignoring the new waves of pain that radiated from his arm.
“How do you think the insectare got those keys?” Teldin asked through gritted teeth.
“I believe I can answer that,” Trivit broke in tearfully. The dracon turned and led the way toward the stern. The crew silently followed him past the machinery that drove the wing and paddle mechanisms. On the floor, in a scattered circle of tiny tools, lay Om’s body. It was sprawled facedown, its head bent at an impossible angle. Around the neck was an angry red circle where the insectare’s whiplike antennae had struck and killed. Teldin swallowed hard, and Trivit’s tear
s began anew.
“Why would Om work with an insectare?” Vallus wondered, looking down at the gnome’s body.
“More likely she bumped into it, like Gaston did,” Teldin suggested. The elf shook his head and handed Teldin the key taken from the insectare. A glance at the outlandish handle betrayed its gnomish origin.
“If I were to choose the least likely person on board to play the traitor, it would have been she,” Vallus mused. “To all appearances, Ora cared for nothing but her machines. What could convince her to do something like this?”
Teldin’s eyes widened as an answer occurred to him, and he groaned softly in self-recrimination. Once again, the truth had been just too damned obvious.” Who convinced her, not what,” he corrected in a dull voice. “Om didn’t make those keys for the insectare. I doubt she even knew an insectare was in the picture until she met up with it.”
Without offering an explanation, Teldin turned and strode back to the cargo hold. He picked up his sword and hurried up the stairs to his own cabin, worry dulling his pain and speeding his steps. If his theory was right, Hectate could be in grave danger.
Teldin kicked open the cabin door. As he suspected, the aperusa was no longer sleeping off the pilfered sagecoarse. Rozloom was standing, bent over the writing table. The gypsy whirled to face Teldin, and his black eyes widened at the sight of the blade leveled at his heart.
“She is yours,” the aperusa stated baldly, holding up his huge bronze hands in surrender. “From this moment, Raven is the captain’s woman and Rozloom will kill any man who says otherwise.”
“Just for the record, her name is Pearl, and you know damn well this isn’t about her,” Teldin said evenly. The sword felt awkward in his left hand, and he hoped he didn’t appear as unsteady as he felt. The aperusa seemed suitably cowed, however, and he raised one hand to flick beads of sweat from his gleaming pate. Teldin’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that green stuff on your hand?” he demanded.
“Green?” Rozloom spread his hands before him and studied his fingers as if he’d just acquired them. Understanding lit his broad face, and gold teeth flashed in relief. “Ahh. Is nothing. Merely the healing herbs I grind to feed the captain’s friend.” The gypsy gestured to the small mortar and pestle on the writing table.
The Radiant Dragon Page 26
