The Cloakmaster Cycle - The Radiant Dragon Part 17

Wynlar's face crumpled into a mask of despair. "My people are doomed."

"Not at all," K'tide said pleasantly. "If all goes well, I should be able to get a message through to the bionoids aboard the Elfsbane before we release the primary Witchlight Marauder on Armistice. They can be safely away before Grimnosh learns of his ultimate failure." The insectare's eyes fixed meaningfully on Hectate. "If all goes well," he repeated with quiet emphasis.

For a long moment, Hectate weighed his options: On one hand, the destruction of a planet of goblins and the haughty elves' high command; on the other, the lives of his adopted family and his first love.

"Hectate..." Tekura whispered, her voice a barely audible plea.

Finally he bowed his head. "It would seem that I have only one choice," he murmured.

"Splendid," the insectare said with quiet triumph. "Now, suppose we plan how we'll get you back into the good graces of Vallus Leafbower and Teldin Moore."

Aboard the elven man-o-war Windwalker, a battle wizard sat in deep trance despite the eery, low-pitched hum that pulsed from the magical alarm. An ancient disk hung from the ceiling of the bridge on a thick chain, and each pulse of sound that came from it pushed the fears of the a.s.sembled crew to new heights.

The battle wizard was oblivious to the other elves in the room. Waves of golden hair fell around her, curtaining her abstracted face and the narrow hands that cupped a scrying globe. On the wall before the entranced elf was a large, mirrorlike panel, a thin, s.h.i.+mmering oval sliced from the heart of a giant crystal. The captain and officers of the patrol s.h.i.+p Windwalker stood behind the wizard, and their eyes were fixed on the crystal panel in tense antic.i.p.ation.

For centuries the elven s.h.i.+ps that patrolled Armistice had been alert for the magical alarm, but this was the first time one had ever been activated. Its ancient voice warned them that a s.h.i.+p had breached the Armistice net. Slowly the battle wizard's magic reached out through the scrying globe, seeking the intruder. As a picture formed in her mind, the panel before her began to glow as magical energy transferred her mental image to the ensorcelled crystal panel, so that all could see what she saw. It was an impressive feat of magic, one for which she had trained since childhood, but it was not a unique skill; every patrol s.h.i.+p carried at least two wizards with this ability. As the picture on the panel firmed into detail, the humming alarm faded away.

"One of ours," the elven captain marveled as he stared at the image before them. Framing the downed s.h.i.+p were two distant mountains, the distinctive fang-shaped peaks that marked the domain of the Rakharian goblinkin. The s.h.i.+p's standard plainly identified it as a vessel of the Imperial Fleet. Closer scrutiny identified it as a swan s.h.i.+p, though, with the swan-head tower gone and the tail section shattered, it was difficult to cla.s.sify. The battered swan s.h.i.+p tossed in the restless seas of Armistice, obviously seaworthy. It clearly had not crashed, so it presumably had a working helm and was therefore s.p.a.ceworthy as well. The only possible conclusion was that it had landed deliberately.Rage coursed through the captain like a cold tide. What elf would land on Armistice, so close to the land of Rakhar, and risk putting a spelljamming vessel in the hands of the powerful orc tribe there? To choose this over death was more than an act of cowardice; it was an act of treason!

The captain's jaw tightened. Whomever the swan s.h.i.+p's captain might be, he or she would answer to the grand admiral. And he, as the Windwalker's captain, would find intense pleasure in escorting the rogue back to Lionheart in chains.

"Stay with it," he murmured to the battle wizard, speaking softly so as not to disrupt her concentration. "When you are tired, Circe will take your place, but we must keep that s.h.i.+p under observation. She can fly, have no doubt about that, and sooner or later she'll escape into wilds.p.a.ce. And whether her crew at that time be elven or orcish, we'll be there to meet it."

The first night on Armistice was spectacularly beautiful. Few stars were visible through the ribbonlike wisps of clouds that whirled and spun in the strong wind, yet the night was not dark.

Three huge moons lit the skies; a pale lavender moon, one a rich amber reminiscent of winter ale, and the third-the closest and largest moon-white faintly tinged with green. The multicolored moonlight was reflected in vivid, ever-changing patterns by the restive sea that surrounded the battered Trumpeter, as well as on the snow-covered mountains on the distant sh.o.r.e.

The surviving crew of the swan s.h.i.+p began work on the repairs as soon as the s.h.i.+p splashed down, with nearly every crew member pitching in. Rozloom, naturally, took advantage of the excessive moonlight to press his suit with Raven Stormwalker. When word reached Teldin of the aperusa's rather spectacular failure, he smirked, sighed, then headed down to the infirmary to check on the gypsy's injuries. As the s.h.i.+p's captain, he had a certain duty to the well-being of his crew.

Teldin found Rozloom seated on a cot, flirting outrageously with Deelia Snowsong. The elven healer's tiny fingers flashed as she st.i.tched a small gash on Rozloom's forehead, pausing periodically to bat aside a straying, bronze hand. Teldin noticed that the elven woman did not seem offended by the gypsy's playful advances, and he wondered why Rozloom persisted in his pursuit of Raven when there were more receptive targets aboard s.h.i.+p-not to mention less dangerous ones. In addition to the cut, Rozloom had collected some colorful bruises. One eye already had swollen shut.

"Why?" Teldin asked simply.

His question startled both the aperusa and the elf. Rozloom's hand froze, cupping air several inches from the elven woman's derriere. Deelia's face flushed with embarra.s.sment, and she edged away from the gypsy and hurried out of the room, murmuring something about needing herbs for a poultice.

"Why Raven?" Teldin repeated, this time with a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt.

Rozloom considered Teldin's question for a long time, a faintly quizzical expression on his battered face. Finally he shrugged his great shoulders and shook himself as if to dispel the uncharacteristic moment of introspection. A wicked gleam lit his one good eye, and he gave Teldin a gold-toothed grin.

"Believe me, Captain, there is much to be said for a woman with fire," he said, his jaunty air restored.

The image of a dragon flashed through Teldin's mind, and he laughed aloud. If you want fire, Rozloom, you're closer than you know, he thought with a surge of black humor. The aperusa's one good eye narrowed as he drew his own conclusions about Teldin's outburst.

"You also know this to be true?" Rozloom asked with an effort at nonchalance. Teldin's amus.e.m.e.nt died abruptly. He had heard the odd rumor linking him and Raven, and he immediately got the gist of Rozloom's inquiry. As Paladine's my witness, Teldin thought, what do I do with a question like that'

As if in response, Rozloom's huge hand drifted to the hilt of the jeweled dagger in his sash.

Teldin's eyes widened, then he realized that Rozloom's gesture was no more than a reflex; knife fights over women were so common among aperusa that reaching for a dagger was a response as natural as sneezing over spilled pepper. To Teldin, the idea of Raven as a prize to be won was utterly ludicrous. He was tempted to tell Rozloom so, but such a notion lay too far outside an aperusa's way of thinking.Teldin was spared the necessity of making any response by the return of Deelia Snowsong.

Rozloom's jovial leer returned and his hand drifted away from the dagger's hilt to preen his curling black beard. Murmuring captainlike plat.i.tudes that no one heard, Teldin backed out of the infirmary.

As he mounted the stairs to the upper deck, Teldin debated what he should do about the fight.

He'd often thought it was just a matter of time before one of the s.h.i.+p's female crew had more than enough of Rozloom. Even in light of the gypsy's unflagging and often irritating pursuit, Raven's response was a little extreme. Protocol probably demanded that he talk to her, but even he if was inclined to discipline her, he'd no idea how he could make it stick. As he did a dozen times a day, the captain wished he had the wisdom of a sage. Never a fal around when you need one, Teldin thought wryly.

A new thought hit him with the force of a fireball. Raven had a volatile temper, and she'd shown considerable magical ability in silencing Vallus's spell. Had she, not Estriss, cast the magic missile that had killed the lakshu warrior?

If she had, Teldin didn't blame her. He knew all too well that wearing an ultimate helm meant fighting to stay alive. His concerns were practical; magic missiles were powerful weapons, and if Raven could command them, that was one more thing he could add to the a.r.s.enal of skills possessed by the surviving crew members. They had lost far too many in the battle, including Hectate Kir. Teldin's bionoid friend had simply disappeared, which had prompted a lot of speculation by the surviving elves. Gaston, in particular, seemed annoyingly gratified that his suspicions about the half-elf had been justified.

When he reached the deck, Teldin noted that the repairs were progressing much too slowly.

The elves' thin silver uniforms offered little protection from the bitter winds, and the intense gravity force of Armistice slowed their movements to a sluggish, exhausting struggle. Walking was difficult enough, but with the gravity force making everything feel three times its normal weight, lifting was nearly impossible and climbing became hazardous. A wiry elven sailor attempting to climb the s.h.i.+p's rigging tore through the st.u.r.dy net and earned himself a painful fall. The final blow was a literal one: while perched on what was left of the tower, Ora "accidentally" dropped her gnome-sized wrench on the latest recipient of the irrepressible Rozloom's flirting, sending the unfortunate elven woman sprawling, senseless, to the deck.

Teldin immediately sent one of the wizards to the secondary helm, guessing that conditions would be more tolerable if the swan s.h.i.+p maintained its own air envelope and gravity field. The results were immediate, and the elves worked much more effectively. Teldin also reasoned that it wouldn't hurt to have the helm up in case Vallus's goblins materialized in force.

Three watches came and went before dawn broke over the distant mountains. Vallus, who apparently was somewhat of an authority on the ice world, informed Teldin that days on Armistice were about sixty hours in length. The presence of three moons made the tides unusually strong, and as the sun rose the morning tides receded in a turbulent, compelling surge. The swan s.h.i.+p strained against its anchors and several times was nearly swept out to sea. Teldin suggested that they bring the swan s.h.i.+p closer to land, hoping that they might find a sheltered cove, but Vallus insisted that they were in less danger from the tides and weather than from the goblins. Teldin suspected that Vallus was being paranoid, and he agreed only with reluctance. Since the battle with the bionoids, relations between Teldin and the elven wizard had been strained, for Teldin's faith in the wizard's judgment and character had been badly shaken.

Teldin had never believed that the Imperial Fleet would give him a true choice of whether or not to use his cloak for the elven war effort, but up to the moment when Raven had stopped Vallus's spell, Teldin had trusted the wizard personally. Now, having seen Vallus's willingness to sacrifice his crew rather than allow the goblinkin to get hold of the cloak, Teldin was not so sure this trust was warranted.

And what about Raven Stormwalker? Her use of the sapphire pendant to land the swan s.h.i.+p proved that she wielded another ultimate helm. Yet she had done nothing to challenge Teldin for the captaincy of the Spelljammer, in fact, she had been nothing but helpful. In bringing the s.h.i.+p down safely, she'd probably saved them all. Teldin remembered little about the landing on Armistice, other than a vague sense of unease and a dim memory of dreams filled with golden light.

As for Raven, Teldin got the impression that she considered him an ally rather than an adversary. What that meant to her, he couldn't begin to guess. Whatever her game, Teldin wasgetting tired of waiting for her to play out her hand.

Since the night he first had fastened the clasp of the cloak around his neck, Teldin had had little control over the events that shaped his life. He often vowed that the situation would change, but so far he'd had no inspiration on how to accomplish this. As the days on Armistice pa.s.sed in ever-increasing frustration, at times Teldin could barely contain his urge to seize Raven's shoulders, shake her, and scream, "What do you want from me?" into her beautiful face.

It was almost a relief when supplies began to run low; at least it gave Teldin something tangible and immediate to address. At first he directed the crew's efforts toward the sea. The strange fish they managed to catch were ugly, spiked, eellike creatures, but under Rozloom's skilled hands the fish became palatable enough. The elves also tried harvesting some of the abundant kelp; fortunately Deelia Snowsong intervened before anyone sampled the seaweed. The ice elf suspected anything that could grow in the frigid water, so she tested the weeds and found them highly toxic. She guessed that volcanic activity under the ocean bed warmed the deep water enough to produce the kelp, but also pa.s.sed poisonous gases into the seaweed. Whatever the case, Chirp and Trivit took a dark and unexpected glee in distilling the kelp into poison.

A more serious problem was the water supply; somehow the storage tanks had been damaged in the landing. Soon it was plain that-goblins or not-they would be forced to go ash.o.r.e in search of potable water.

And so, in the darkest hours of the Armistice night, a small longboat slipped away from the swan s.h.i.+p and struggled through the waves toward the forbidding sh.o.r.eline of Rakhar.

Chapter Fifteen.

Teldin was on the upper deck when the returning longboat was sighted. The search party brought water and tales of a hot spring inhabited by a monster similar to a remorhaz and guarded by yetilike creatures. The elves guessed that the yeti probably were bugbears-one of the more abundant goblinoid races-who had uniquely adapted to the climate of Armistice. These creatures had put up a token fight but had not given chase.

Vallus was puzzled by this uncharacteristic behavior. According to his theory, the Armistice goblins would do anything to obtain spelljamming materials. In addition to this, bugbears were notorious and vicious carnivores, highly unlikely to let such tempting game as an elven search party escape their stew pots. After a typically long-winded elven discussion, Vallus conceded that they should further investigate the situation on sh.o.r.e.

Teldin volunteered to lead the search party, a notion that Vallus quickly shot down. The elven wizard argued, convincingly, that taking the cloak into goblinoid territory was a foolhardy risk.

Raven stepped in to fill the breach, and, with a uncharacteristic burst of bravado, Rozloom quickly signed on with her. Om followed the aperusa like a small brown shadow, and they rounded out the party with a couple of elves, both of them skilled rangers and fighters.

With a deep sense of unease, Teldin watched the longboat pull away a second time. It was difficult for him to send others into danger; he would have preferred to go himself.

Raven, on the other hand, felt grateful for a change of scenery. The swan s.h.i.+p was becoming much too confining, and her gold and silver eyes gleamed at the prospect of adventure. Her sojourn aboard the Trumpeter was tedious but necessary. She needed time to observe Teldin Moore, to make sure he really was the one she sought.

Think of it, she mused dreamily as she struggled with her oar. Her name, Celestial Nightpearl, forever a part of the Spelljammer legends. In every known sphere songs would be sung about her, and races not yet discovered would know her name and stand in awe of her glory. By Bahamut, it was wonderful! she mused, in praise of the G.o.d of good dragons.

She had learned something about the Spelljammer that few others had imagined: it was a living being of vast and mysterious intelligence. Centuries of study had brought her to the grudging conclusion that the s.h.i.+p-creature was even more powerful and brilliant than a radiant dragon, and she'd decided early on that the venerable Celestial Nightpearl would never play second zither to an overgrown boat.

Yet the pull of the great s.h.i.+p was difficult to resist, and several times the dragon had nearly succ.u.mbed to the seeking, compelling voice of the Spelljammer. In Teldin Moore she saw a possible solution: a captain to take her place. The way she saw it, the only other way to be free of the Spelljammer was to die, and she had no intention of doing that anytime in the next millenniumor two.

The question remained: Was Teldin Moore an appropriate choice? After observing the human for many days, she'd become quite impressed with him. People tended to like and trust him, which was a mark in his favor. He had an honest, decent core to him, and she had little doubt that he'd stick with whatever bargain they struck. She'd had a hard time dragon-charming the man, which, though annoying, was another huge mark in his favor. The dragon was very close to offering him a deal, but something held her back. To her way of thinking, an aspirant to the captain's chair of the Spelljammer should have a deep, true love of adventure and a bold spirit.

Teldin Moore did not lack strength, nor was he timid, but he didn't seem inclined to take charge.

To her eye, he was drifting in the stream of events. She suspected that unless things changed, he would never survive the challenges that awaited a potential captain aboard the great s.h.i.+p. She knew a little of these things, enough to make her fear for the man she had chosen to be her surrogate. Guilt was out of the question, of course. Such trivial emotions were utterly foreign to a radiant dragon.

The sc.r.a.ping of rocks against the bottom of the longboat brought Raven's attention back to the mission. She wasn't exactly thrilled with her crew. Gaston Willowmere, the first mate, had an unreasonable grudge against moon elves. The other elf, a gorgeous female warrior of sorts who was named after some plant or other, had a nasty habit of upstaging her. Om was a gnome-enough said-though remarkably taciturn for the species, Bahamut be praised. Fear and cold had reduced the voluble Rozloom to silence, which was just fine with Raven. The aperusa had crossed the line between adulation and familiarity once too often.

The odd search party came ash.o.r.e without incident and skirted the hot springs, not wanting to alert the bugbears to its presence. The night was uncommonly clear, and the winds were calm.

After wading through the snow for an hour or so, the party members found two sets of bearlike tracks and followed them to the base of one of the two large mountains. Beneath a rocky overhang was a tunnel into the frozen ground. The search party exchanged uncertain glances.

"I say we go in," Raven voted, stooping down to peer into the opening. "That boring wizard of yours says the goblin people live underground."

"Agreed," Rozloom said firmly. He struck a heroic pose, one meaty fist clasped over his heart.

"I will stand guard here."

With an amused smile, Raven nodded to the aperusa. A coward he undoubtedly was, but even if he were as brave as a dracon, he'd have to stay behind. Rozloom stood several inches above six feet and was prodigiously broad; she doubted he'd fit the tunnel ahead.

Rozloom forgotten, Raven turned her attention back to the tunnel. It sloped downhill at an alarming angle and rounded a sharp corner after a few feet. It was wide enough, but none too tall.

Either the orcs on this world were a pet.i.te variety, or they'd stumbled upon the servant's entrance, noted the disguised dragon.

She slipped into the tunnel, followed by the elves and gnome. Fortunately her elven body came equipped with night vision, so she was able to discern patterns of heat in the rock. There was little heat to be had anywhere on Armistice, but a faint red glow gradually increased as they made their way along the winding path.

Finally they came out on a walkway that overlooked a vast, natural cavern. Raven grabbed Gaston's arm and pulled him down behind the cover of a large boulder, then she motioned for the others to do the same. Thus hidden, she turned her attention to the bizarre scene that sprawled out before them.

A large hot spring bubbled and gushed in the center of the chamber-that would account for the heat, Raven supposed, not counting the scattering of dung-fueled fires. Phosph.o.r.escent fungi grew along the base of the walls and lent a sickly green glow to the cavern. This light was augmented by a few oil lamps made from large mollusk sh.e.l.ls. The lamps emitted more rancid smoke than light, but after the darkness of the tunnel the chamber seemed as bright as highsun.

Although the scenery was as dismal as any Raven had seen, more disturbing was the chamber's occupants. The place was littered with goblinkin of every description. There were the squat, deeply furred bugbears the first elven party had mistaken for yeti, packs of tiny, pale gray kobolds, and slightly larger goblins. The orcs were the most grotesque mutation. Although they still had the tusks, wolflike ears, and upturned snouts common to orcs, centuries of living underground had compacted more orc into less s.p.a.ce. They appeared to be no taller than five feet, and their barrellike chests and large arms brought to mind dwarven warriors. They had nofur, but their hides appeared to have thickened to an unnatural degree. All of the creatures ranged in color from pale gray to dirty white, and almost without exception they were unclothed. Most of the weapons Raven saw were crude mallets: carved stone lashed to a long bone with a length of dried sinew. A few orcs carried deeply pitted blades or axes-family heirlooms or war trophies, Raven supposed. Armistice was metal-poor and lacked fur-bearing animals, so the goblin races didn't have much to work with. The "culture" that had evolved was squalid, brutal, and apparently chaotic.

But someone had brought order to it. After she watched for a while, Raven could make out certain patterns. Amid the chaos, the creatures went about tending their motley vessels in an inefficient but purposeful manner.

"s.h.i.+ps?" she asked in a whisper. "If this is their fis.h.i.+ng fleet, I'll put good odds on the fish."

Om shook her tiny brown head. "Spelljammers. Working spelljammers."

The first mate rounded on the gnome. "Impossible," Gaston hissed.

In the longest speech any of the others had ever heard from her, the gnome insisted that the s.h.i.+ps, despite their appearance, were s.p.a.ceworthy and ready for flight. Om concluded her argument by pointing up. The others looked. Far overhead was an opening big enough to reveal all three moons. The cone-shaped cavern apparently was the interior of a long-dead volcano. Raven guessed that any s.h.i.+p in the motley fleet easily could make it through.

"I've seen enough," Gaston announced. The others nodded, and they made their way out as quickly as possible, fighting both the steep incline and the punis.h.i.+ng gravity force.

Rozloom was where they had left him, half-frozen and edgy. He claimed he'd seen nothing, which struck Raven as odd. She would have expected him to invent a battle with fearsome creatures, a story that cast him in the hero's role. Dismissing the aperusa, she headed back toward the sh.o.r.e. She would have liked to stick around for a better look, but Gaston Willowmere was nearly turning himself inside out in his anxiety to return to the swan s.h.i.+p to report.

By the time they reached the longboat, Rozloom had regained his usual ebullient nature. As he rowed, he sang an obscene aperusa ditty in his deep ba.s.s voice, punctuating it with an occasional wink or leer. By the time they reached the swan s.h.i.+p, Raven was ready to throttle him.

Vallus received their news with alarm and insisted that they must send word of this development to elven high command as quickly as possible. The elves redoubled their efforts to repair the swan s.h.i.+p, but not for this reason alone.

The three moons of Armistice were almost in alignment.

"Well, where is it?" snapped Grimnosh.

The bionoids of Clan Kir, now back in their elven forms, exchanged uncertain glances. They barely had docked their shrike s.h.i.+ps aboard the Elfsbane when the scro general came striding into their midst, followed by his surly, gray-green adjutant. Wynlar, who usually dealt with the insectare and scro, had not yet arrived.

"Sir?" one of the bionoids ventured.

"The cloak!" thundered Grimnosh. He grabbed the bionoid who had spoken by the front of his s.h.i.+rt. "Where is Teldin Moore's cloak?"

Another bionoid, a female warrior with the crooked nose and fierce amber eyes of a hawk, stepped forward and met the scro's glare squarely. "I am Ronia, a lieutenant under Captain Wynlar. In his absence I will speak for the battle clan. We do not have the human or his cloak."

Grimnosh's lip curled into a disdaining sneer. He tossed aside the first bionoid and faced down the female warrior. "Teldin Moore was lost with the swan s.h.i.+p? That was careless, even for elf-sp.a.w.ned insects."

Ronia's amber eyes narrowed to slits at the deadly insult. "In a manner of speaking, he was lost, but carelessness had nothing to do with it."

"Enough of these elven subtleties," Grimnosh snarled. "Give your report, Lieutenant."

The bionoid warrior was soldier enough to respond to a direct order, and she drew herself up to attention. "When we withdrew from the elven vessel, it was damaged but not destroyed. I do not know what course the swan s.h.i.+p took, but almost certainly the human was still aboard."

"Withdrew? Against orders, you retreated?" Grimnosh echoed, his voice rising in a roar of rage and disbelief. In perfect Elvish he began to berate the group for their inept.i.tude andcowardice. By using the language of a race the bionoids both resembled and despised, he amplified his already scathing insults threefold.

At length Ronia could take no more. The Change came over her as she closed the distance between her and the general. In her insectoid form she loomed a good three feet over the ranting scro. One armored, spike-studded hand shot out toward the general's throat, circling his ma.s.sive neck and effectively cutting off his tirade. She easily hoisted the seven-foot scro so that his snout was inches away from her multifaceted eyes. The glowing crystal eye in the center of her forehead cast an angry red light on the scro's pale hide, turning it a ghastly purplish blue as he struggled for air.

Two other bionoids quickly transformed into their monster forms and moved to hold back the general's adjutant. The gray-green scro put up a token struggle, but he watched his superior's distress with a manic gleam in his yellow eyes.

"You name us cowards, orc pig," Ronia told Grimnosh coldly, "when even a kobold knows that a bionoid warrior never withdraws from a fight of his own accord. If any showed cowardice, it was your minion, K'tide. He called off the attack."

Contemptuously, the monstrous insect tossed the scro to the ground, then folded her ma.s.sive, armor-plated arms in a gesture of defiance.

For several moments Grimnosh dragged in long, ragged breaths, one white paw gingerly ma.s.saging his throat. When he rose to his feet, he had collected himself and his unnerving, urbane facade was firmly back in place. "You state your case forcibly, Lieutenant," he managed to croak out. "Where is our green friend?"

"I don't know. Several of the clan are missing as well."

"What is that d.a.m.nable insect up to?" Grimnosh muttered to himself. He turned to regard the bionoid who had attacked him, giving the audacious monster a lengthy appraisal. She would suffer for her actions later, but at the moment he had a use for her. "Tell me, Captain Ronia, how much longer before the orcs of Armistice are flight ready?"