In the center of the stone chamber slept a hideous creature. Larger than a swan ship, the unhealthy gray thing resembled an enormous slug. Its flesh rippled and undulated as if its slumber were a tenuous thing. Surrounding the monster was a ring of orc priests, chant-singing endlessly in a coarse, guttural language.
Rozloom spread a collection of knives out before him. He waited until a second group of goblinkin, these hobgoblin witch doctors, entered the cavern to change shifts. To the aperusa’s way of thinking, the more food the marauder had upon awakening, the longer he himself would have to make his escape back to the waiting ship. The moment had come.
With rare skill, the aperusa began to throw. One after another, the blades spun into the cavern and found homes in the hearts or spines of orc and hobgoblin priests. The chant faltered, and the marauder stirred. With barely a twitch, the creature sucked three of the fallen orcs into its cavernous central maw.
Rozloom noted this with dark glee as he continued to hurl his weapons. Soon all the goblins on this frozen hell would meet the same fate. As the chant faded, the monster awoke and oozed forward, sucking in the goblin-creatures with frightening ease.
Rozloom backed out toward the tunnel, intending to make his escape. Then the monster belched, and foul gas roiled up toward Rozloom in a greenish cloud.
“Poison,” murmured the aperusa, who knew enough of that dark art to recognize it in the hands of a master. The green gas worked quickly, and the last knife fell from his paralyzed fingers. The aperusa knew he was dead, but suddenly that knowledge was not disturbing. Rozloom had done what he’d come to do, and he was ready to die.
*****
Teldin awoke two days later in a small tavern room somewhere on Radole. Vallus explained to him that he’d been unconscious for many days, gravely wounded in the crash and utterly drained, both by the use of magic and the marathon trip that had brought the swan ship to Radole. The captain listened to the explanation with little interest.
“Is Rozloom back yet?” he asked bluntly.
Vallus’s eyes widened. “You heard our conversation?”
“Enough.”
The elf lowered his eyes as if he were ashamed. “No. Rozloom has not returned.”
That was almost too much for Teldin to take in. The instinct for self-preservation ran so strong and deep in the aperusa that Teldin could not imagine it failing to govern Rozloom’s actions. “Was his mission successful?” he asked quietly.
“We do not yet know. It may well be that it was.”
A wave of nausea washed over Teldin. If the enormous land marauder had been set free, an entire planet would be laid waste before the creature and its hideous descendants turned on each other. The magnitude of the carnage sickened Teldin, and he looked at the elven wizard with horror in his eyes.
Vallus did not shrink from the man’s unspoken accusation. “I did what I felt I had to do, Teldin Moore. If you were in my position, you might have done the same thing.” He rose quietly and left Teldin alone.
Several hours and much soul-searching later, a troubled Teldin concluded that Vallus may well have been right.
*****
The Cloakmaster made his way unsteadily down to the main taproom, where he found Vallus deep in conversation with Hectate Kir and Trivit.
“I’ve come to say good-bye,” Teldin said quietly.
The elf rose from his chair and extended his hand. “I shall miss you, Teldin Moore.”
“That’s it? No argument?”
A faint smile curved the wizard’s lips. “There’s an old saying that he who would argue with a dragon is either a fool or a corpse.”
Teldin shifted uncomfortably. “I doubt I’ll ever try to take that form again. It was, well, too …”
“I understand,” Vallus said when the human faltered. “Yet the ability lies within you. The elves have problems enough without taking on a radiant dragon,” he said with a touch of humor. “Therefore I will recommend that the Imperial Fleet break off its attempt to control you and the cloak. Once the grand admiral hears my report, I am sure she will concede. In her name, I offer you a separate peace … an armistice, if you will.”
The elf extended his hand. Teldin accepted the pact, then on impulse he drew Vallus into a comrade’s brief, hearty embrace.
“For a while, I thought I could fight with the elves,” he said when they broke apart, feeling that he owed Vallus some explanation. “If Armistice turns out to be destroyed, well, I know you did what you had to do, but I can’t be a part of it.”
“Believe me, I understand,” the elven wizard said quietly. “I wish I had that choice.” A sad smile lit his angular face. “The gods go with you, Teldin Moore.”
The elf turned and walked away. Trivit watched him go and turned to Teldin. “With your consent, Kaba, I would like to remain on Radole,” he said hesitantly. “There is a dracon settlement here, and I, well —”
“Of course,” Teldin broke in. The young dracon had been disconsolate since the loss of his brother, and a fictional clan comprising one lone human was no replacement for real family. “Give your new clan my regards, Trivit,” he said warmly.
Wiping a tear away with one green hand, the dracon nodded and ambled out of the tavern. Teldin took the seat Vallus had vacated. “What’s it like, being something you don’t want to be?” Teldin abruptly asked Hectate.
The question took the bionoid by surprise. “You find ways to cope, sir, ways to compensate.”
Teldin acknowledged the comment with a nod, but he wasn’t satisfied. He’d seen what power had done to others, and he feared for what he might become as he wielded it. Would the duties of leadership crowd aside all other considerations until he was fully governed by that nebulous and demanding master Expediency? Or would power be like a drug that would take over his mind and overshadow dearly held values? Who was he? Teldin Moore or Cloakmaster?
“What if one part takes over?” he murmured, more to himself than to the half-elf.
“That’s something we’ll always have to live with, sir,” Hectate said quietly.
Teldin looked up, and in the half-elfs brown eyes he saw sympathy and understanding. He nodded his thanks, then he untied the small bag that held the medallion and held it out. “Are you ready to try again?”
A surprised smile lit Hectate’s narrow face, lending the half-elf a decidedly elven appearance. The transformation no longer bothered Teldin, and he returned his navigator’s smile with a conspiratorial grin. Together the two friends sought the privacy of Teldin’s chamber. With the oaken door shielding the cloak’s bright magic from curious eyes, Teldin Moore removed the medallion from its pouch and studied it for a long moment.
He took the artifact in both hands and began again the journey out of himself and into the Spelljammer’s eyes, not knowing where the new vision would take him.
The Radiant Dragon Page 30
