The Cloakmaster Cycle - The Radiant Dragon Part 11

"But we must destroy Lionheart first," K'tide said firmly as he hurried to keep up with the scro.

"Must we? Perhaps you'd be so kind as to explain why," Grimnosh said with dangerous calm.

He stopped to examine a black-hided scro warrior who, despite a number of grievous wounds, had propped himself against a wall in a ramrod straight pose. Even so, the scro's eyes were glazed and his breathing shallow. It was apparent to K'tide that the warrior would die if not tended soon. Grimnosh reached for the scro's toregkh. There were but five trophy teeth, and all but one were human or dwarven. The general dropped the trophy with a derisive sniff, then scanned the room.

"Oh, Nimick," he called out, spotting his gray-green adjutant in the doorway. "Be a good fellow and put this soldier down."

Nimick hurried to his general's side and carried out the order by running a single claw across the wounded scro's throat. He watched with detached pleasure as the black scro gurgled and fell heavily to the floor, then he turned to his general and saluted. "Will there be anything else, sir?" he asked, raising his voice over the yapping, howling anguish of the nearby kobolds."Actually, yes," Grimnosh said dryly. "You might jettison the kobolds. They're becoming rather tiresome."

Lacking Grimnosh's macabre sense of humor, the green scro took the comment at face value and gave a sneer of agreement. "Load them into the catapult, sir? The last of the elven s.h.i.+ps might still be within range. Might as well get some use out of the miserable ankle-biters."

Grimnosh looked pleasantly surprised. "What a clever notion. You do that." His a.s.sistant saluted again and began to herd the unfortunate creatures above deck. K'tide watched this with a mixture of apprehension and relief. Having vented his ire, perhaps Grimnosh now would be receptive to K'tide's plans. Perhaps.

"You were about to explain your last impertinent comment, I believe," Grimnosh prompted.

K'tide did not consider the scro's choice of words to be a good sign. "The goblin navy needs additional time for training-battle training," he stressed. "Small raids, minor battles. If you send green troops against current elven strength, the goblins will be decimated and all the risks of the Armistice project will be for nothing."

Grimnosh did not miss the implied reference to scro command, and his colorless eyes narrowed dangerously.

"And think of this: What success would be more highly esteemed than the destruction of Lionheart?" K'tide hastily added.

The scro general regarded K'tide with cold, calculating eyes. "Let's say we do attack Lionheart. How do you propose to find the base, much less penetrate it?"

"We will send the weapon in aboard an elven vessel, an oddly appropriate one. The captain is a direct descendant of Aldyn Leafbower, the elf whose vile bargain condemned the Armistice goblins to an icy h.e.l.l."

The albino chuckled, a harsh canine growl of genuine amus.e.m.e.nt. "Why, K'tide, you have the soul of a poet. Quite a valuable thing in a spy master, I must say. You must tell me how you plan to accomplish this miracle of poetic justice."

"We have placed an informant on board the s.h.i.+p."

"An elf? Is that so?" The scro's amus.e.m.e.nt deepened, but his eyes also betrayed his fascination with the concept.

K'tide s.h.i.+fted his shoulders, not committing either way. "The swan s.h.i.+p is being followed by some of my allies. The informant pa.s.ses information on to them, who, in turn, relay it to me.

According to my latest report, the s.h.i.+p is bound for Lionheart. They will put down on Garden for supplies, and we will load the weapon on board at that time. It has already been dispatched and is being held for the swan s.h.i.+p's arrival. Our informant is placed highly enough to get the weapon smuggled aboard and then see it released once the swan s.h.i.+p reaches Lionheart."

Grimnosh was silent for a long moment. "A risky proposal, I would think. The weapon could destroy the swan s.h.i.+p long before it reaches the elven base."

"Believe me, we have taken precautions. The s.h.i.+p will be amply protected."

Something in the spy master's fervent response caught Grimnosh's attention. "What is so special about this s.h.i.+p?"

Teldin Moore, K'tide answered silently. He hesitated, weighing the benefits of telling Grimnosh against the risks. "There is a human aboard who possesses an artifact of great power."

Like many warriors, the scro general held magic in low esteem. "If you wish me to die of suspense, you'll have to do better than this," Grimnosh said with dry sarcasm.

"The human's name is Teldin Moore, and he possesses the Cloak of the First Pilot. Whoever wears the cloak can control the great s.h.i.+p Spelljammer," K'tide said bluntly.

The spy master's response shocked Grimnosh into silence. Then his lupine face twisted into an expression of savage rage. "Why haven't you told me this before?"

"I just recently learned of it," K'tide lied smoothly.

With visible effort, Grimnosh pulled control over his face as if it were a mask. "You have no designs on this cloak yourself, I suppose," he asked in an arch tone.

"Hardly." K'tide punctuated his denial with a dry, brittle chuckle. "My people survive by weighing odds and choosing battles carefully-"

"Your people survive by getting others to fight their battles," Grimnosh pointed out.

"Be that as it may, the fact is that whoever takes the cloak faces a wide variety of powerful enemies. That is not our way."

"Indeed," Grimnosh agreed. "Who might these foes be?""The neogi, the mind flayers of Falx, the arcane, a band of pirates sponsored, I believe, by the reigar, and especially the elves. The Imperial Fleet is attempting to recruit the human to the elven side. Any attempt on the cloak at this point would draw too much attention to you and your other activities."

"I see your point," Grimnosh acknowledged thoughtfully. "If I were to acquire the cloak from this Teldin Moore now, I also would inherit all his enemies."

"Precisely. The elves must be dealt with first. As for the cloak, our informant is prepared to rescue Teldin Moore from Lionheart and bring him here. Once the Imperial Fleet is in disarray and the cloak is in your hands, you will have both the means and the opportunity to establish a true base of power."

Grimnosh thought over all the spy master had said. He had heard scuttleb.u.t.t about this cloak and about General Vorr and Fleet Admiral Halker's incompetent attempts to retrieve it. Grimnosh had the scro contempt for failure, though he expected little more from Vorr, an orc-ogre mongrel.

He could do better himself, of that he had no doubt.

The legendary Spelljammer, under his command, trailed by the Armistice goblin fleet.

Grimnosh permitted himself a smile. There would be no trouble with the scro command. As captain of the Spelljammer and the scro responsible for the destruction of Lionheart, he would be the scro command. The plan had a Tightness that he could not deny. Grimnosh nodded slowly.

"Very well, K'tide," he said, it will be as you say."

Chapter Ten.

Toril was a blue-and-white spot in wilds.p.a.ce by the time Teldin and Vallus had finished filling Hectate in on the details of the elven meeting, including the newly discovered power of the medallion. "Vallus thinks we should take the amulet to Lionheart," Teldin concluded, "on the theory that once the elven experts there tell me what I'm seeing, we'll know where to find the Spelljammer."

A strange expression crossed Hectate's face, and one hand absently drifted up to the red-brown tuft at the crown of his head. "I suppose you'll be wanting me to leave the s.h.i.+p then, sir," he said quietly as he reflexively flattened his cowlick.

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 s.h.i.+p."

"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 s.h.i.+p'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'venever 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 Realms.p.a.ce." 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 Realms.p.a.ce's crystal sphere. Maybe once we're out in the phlogiston, I can get a better idea where the s.h.i.+p 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 pa.s.sed quickly. On the whole Teldin was satisfied with the way things aboard the swan s.h.i.+p 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 circ.u.mstances.

On the third day of travel, Teldin and Hectate ended a watch together and headed toward the mess for eveningfeast. They nearly b.u.mped 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 s.h.i.+rt 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 amus.e.m.e.nt. 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.

"Wilds.p.a.ce," Teldin murmured, and his voice seemed to come to them through time and 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 cl.u.s.ters? 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 cl.u.s.ter, very small, that looks a little like an hourgla.s.s," 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 hourgla.s.s join," Hectate directed. "Any pink?"

"A little," Teldin agreed. His brow furrowed suddenly. "The formation's gone now. The s.h.i.+p 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 Winters.p.a.ce."

"Winters.p.a.ce," Vallus echoed dully. With dread he remembered the armada ghost s.h.i.+p. Was it possible that the Spelljammer somehow had destroyed the crew of the elven battles.h.i.+p? If so, what kind of being controlled the s.h.i.+p? If somehow the scro had gotten control of the most powerful s.h.i.+p in the void, it could mean the end of the elven nation. "Are you sure it's Winters.p.a.ce?"

"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.