The Cloakmaster Cycle - The Radiant Dragon Part 3

A shadow touched the edge of the pale violet disk. The small group watched with horrified fascination as the shadow grew, slowly metamorphosing into the silhouette of a huge, twisted b.u.t.terfly.

"Man-o-war," murmured the captain, stating what they all knew. An elven man-o-war was one of the most powerful and feared s.h.i.+ps of wilds.p.a.ce. Their shrike s.h.i.+p was a sleek, birdlike vessel that could dart and maneuver like a s.p.a.cebound sparrow, but in battle it would present little challenge to the elven s.h.i.+p. If the stolen cloaking device did not hide the shrike s.h.i.+p from the elves, their illegal cargo would not reach Armistice and their dream of revenge would die with them.

"It's coming straight at us," Soona reported in a voice tight with fear.

And coming fast, Tekura noted silently. The man-o-war had changed its course and was growing larger with frightening speed. Within moments they could see plainly both the s.h.i.+p and the dark purple shadow it cast back upon the moon.

"Tell me, Tekura, is your plan worth tackling that?" demanded Zeddop, nodding toward the approaching s.h.i.+p.

A small, hard smile twitched the young woman's lips, but her gaze never left the man-o-war.

"If the cloaking device works, Zeddop, we won't have to fight," she replied, absently tucking a strand of silvery hair behind one pointed ear.

It has to work, Tekura thought fiercely, as if the force of her will could strengthen the magic cloaking device. The price she'd paid to obtain it was simply too high for her to accept the possibility of failure. The cloaking device already had cost years of her life, years spent pretending to be everything she abhorred. Pa.s.sing as an elf, she had worked as a technician on one spelljamming vessel after another until her reputation earned her a post with the Imperial Fleet.

Finally, her mission had required her to kill. The ironic justice of this did not escape her-after all, the elves had designed her kind as living weapons-but the necessary act had bruised and sullied her spirit. Whenever the burden grew too heavy, Tekura remembered the look on those elves'

faces when she had gone into the Change: first shock, then terror incongruously mixed withdisgust. They had disdained her even as she had cut them down.

The man-o-war came on, pus.h.i.+ng aside Tekura's memories. Soon they would have to either run or fight. Tekura shot a glance at the captain. As she expected, Wynlar's angular face was contorted by powerfully conflicting emotions. Although their mission depended on getting past the elven patrol s.h.i.+p, every instinct urged the captain toward battle. It was a compulsion Tekura knew too well, a compulsion she read upon every face in the room. To their race, running from a fight was not only unthinkable, but almost impossible. They were, after all, living weapons.

Tekura gritted her teeth, fighting the gathering battle-l.u.s.t that threatened to overwhelm her every thought and sinew.

Her hands yearned for the feel of a weapon, and she rubbed her palms against her thighs as if the pebbly fabric of her uniform could quiet the itching, insistent desire to fight. She forced herself to ignore the weapons that the officers kept close at hand-the enormous swords and the two-pointed halberds that they could barely lift until battle brought the Change upon them. Tekura knew that, throughout the shrike s.h.i.+p, every member of the crew had similar weapons at hand.

Perhaps some already had succ.u.mbed to the Change.

The man-o-war moved steadily closer, and throughout the shrike s.h.i.+p there was not a word, barely a breath. The sensitive bodies of the s.p.a.ce-bred race could feel the first persuasive tugs of the large s.h.i.+p's approaching gravity field. If the shrike s.h.i.+p continued on its carefully charted course, the man-o-war's atmosphere would engulf it even if the stolen cloaking device did work.

After a long moment of silent struggle, the captain's features settled into taut resolve. "Evasive action, Zeddop, at full speed," he said in a soft tone as he briefly touched the helmsman's thin shoulder.

The wizard nodded, looking faintly relieved. His hands clenched around the arms of the helm as he transformed magic into motion. The shrike s.h.i.+p turned in a tight arc and sped away, quickly putting distance between them and the man-o-war. Suddenly the elven s.h.i.+p banked sharply, leaving the pale violet moon behind and soaring with silent majesty into the darkness.

The small group expelled a collective sigh. The shrike s.h.i.+p had not been seen after all.

"Congratulations, Tekura." Wynlar laid a hand on her shoulder. "Your vision and sacrifice have saved our plans."

Now that the immediate danger had past, Tekura felt a little giddy. "I steal only the best," she quipped, then she joined the others in a burst of tension-breaking laughter. Predictably, Zeddop remained immune to humor. The wizard clutched the arms of the helm with white-knuckled hands, and his thin, elflike face predicted disaster. Theirs was a contemplative race, but Zeddop habitually took this trait too seriously and too far.

"Now we face the simple task of dealing with orcs and ogres," Zeddop noted. His words brought an involuntary grimace to every face. Fueled by this reaction, the wizard continued. "Odds are, the savage beasts will tear us to shreds, then kill each other fighting over our cargo," he intoned with the grim satisfaction of those who expect the worst and are seldom disappointed.

"Thank you, Zeddop. That was truly uplifting," snapped Soona. She tossed a handful of red curls over her shoulder and glared at the wizard. "Instead of blinding us with your sunny disposition, why don't you concentrate on the shrike s.h.i.+p? We're off course."

"I know my job," Zeddop said stiffly.

"Then do it, both of you," Wynlar told them, fixing a stem gaze on the pair. The captain's tone indicated that further bickering would be imprudent, and the navigator and helmsman returned their full attention to their tasks. Within moments the birdlike vessel slipped through the invisible gap in the elven warning net, apparently without incident, and began the spiraling descent toward Armistice.

Tekura resumed her place at the forecastle window, dimly aware that Wynlar had left the bridge to address the crewmen gathered on the main deck just outside the forecastle.

"There is danger ahead, but we've laid our plans with care. The orc tribe under Ubiznik Redeye is one of the strongest groups on all of Armistice. It rules the land of Rakhar virtually unopposed. But remember, we must Change before meeting with the orcs. They would be, shall we say, put off by our elven forms." A polite chuckle greeted the captain's wry understatement.

Wynlar continued to speak, but Tekura's growing excitement crowded out his words. Her dreams were edging closer to reality with each downward spiral of the shrike s.h.i.+p. The end of the elven domination of s.p.a.ce had never seemed so close at hand. Beneath her feet, packed away in the s.h.i.+p's hold, was a cargo that would steal the overwhelming advantage now held by theImperial Fleet.

The cargo was not terribly impressive: a few battered s.h.i.+p fragments, two small, dead helms.

It was but the first s.h.i.+pment of many. Over time, her expertise would help a.s.semble the parts into a fleet, and her people would raise a new navy from among the ice world's inhabitants. With these new allies, they would change the course of the War of Revenge. It was an ambitious plot, and it held terrible risks.

For centuries, the goblin races of Armistice had been trapped on a world of icy winds and violent earthquakes. Denied wilds.p.a.ce travel and driven underground by the brutal climate, the goblinborn had grow more primitive and warlike with each generation. Yet they remembered that others traveled the stars and they coveted spelljamming technology above all else. In exchange for the shrike s.h.i.+p's cargo and skills such as Tekura's, the Rakharian orcs had agreed to release an ancient, terrifying weapon. With it, the elven forces that patrolled Armistice could be systematically destroyed, and in time a powerful new goblin navy could escape into wilds.p.a.ce undeterred.

And after that, Tekura prayed silently, may Ptah protect us all.

Rumors were the standard currency of wilds.p.a.ce. A good rumor could buy a round of drinks, or help to fill the tedious hours of void travel. Apart from the Spelljammer itself, few topics provided more speculation than the ambitions of the goblin races. Rumors abounded of vast orc fleets, ogre kings holding grim court, terrifying new war s.h.i.+ps. But these were, after all, just rumors, stories designed to pa.s.s the time and bring a pleasant s.h.i.+ver or two. Few believed them to have any basis in fact.

Grimnosh, scro general and commander of the Sky Shark battalion, preferred to keep things that way for as long as possible. Even his s.h.i.+p, a newly built version of the ogre mammoth called a dinotherium, was the stuff of legend. Entirely built of metal and weighing almost a hundred tons, it was a grim and efficient war machine fitted with two long ramming tusks, six heavy ballistae, and four catapults. With good reason, the dinotherium had been named Elfsbane. Most elves did not expect to find such a monster lurking in the phlogiston rivers, and so far none who did had survived to spread the tale. It was the Elfsbane's mission to meet and destroy elven s.h.i.+ps on their way to the Winters.p.a.ce crystal sphere, and thus weaken the elves' formidable presence in that sphere. Grimnosh was doing his job well-far better, in fact, than his superiors suspected.

Not that his a.s.signment was so difficult, Grimnosh mused with scorn. The elves were disorganized; they lacked vision, discipline, and leaders.h.i.+p. It was ironic, really, that the very failings that had brought down the goblin races in the first Unhuman War now characterized their elven conquerors. But what had destroyed the goblins would just as surely destroy the elves.

Soon the elves would prove the old bromide that those who disregard history are condemned to repeat it.

Actually, the elves made Grimnosh's job pitifully easy. Communications between the elven s.h.i.+ps and their elusive command base were notoriously bad; a s.h.i.+p could disappear almost without notice. Elves abounded who had been drummed out of the Imperial Fleet or who preferred a larger measure of autonomy than the elven command permitted. By restricting their attacks to lone s.h.i.+ps or isolated elven worlds, the scro had inflicted significant damage over a period of time without drawing the notice of the elven high command.

The scattered and disorganized elves finally were awakening to the scro threat, however, and, once it bestirred itself, the Imperial Fleet could put up a credible fight. Of late scro losses had been heavy. When full-scale war finally erupted, Grimnosh intended to be ready. The scro general had glorious victories planned for the Sky Sharks, ambitions that vaunted far beyond his a.s.signed mission.

Of course, such gains were not without risk. The plan required regrettable alliances-scro as a rule disdained lesser races-but finding others who hated the elves and enlisting their aid had not been difficult. More challenging was keeping the fools in step with the plan: Grimnosh had learned that the d.a.m.ndest difficulties could arise when dealing with the lower goblin races and elf-sp.a.w.ned freaks such as the one seated before him, swathed in that ridiculous cowled robe.

"My dear K'tide, I'm afraid this ancient weapon of yours is proving far too costly," Grimnosh observed mildly.The speaker's calm demeanor did not fool K'tide. As head of intelligence for the scro general, he collected information. Everything he knew about Grimnosh confirmed his own belief that the scro was a deadly foe and a dangerous ally.

"It is true that a few orcs were killed when the weapon was released," the spy master said, deliberately choosing his words to minimize the loss. Although mere centuries of evolution separated the scro from their orc ancestors, the scro considered all other goblin races to be inferior and barbaric.

"As a rule, the death of a few orcs would not be a matter for concern," Grimnosh conceded, folding his well-manicured hands on the polished wood of his desk, "but few orcs have the ability to control this weapon. Seven orc priests and three hobgoblin witch doctors are therefore a significant loss. Is it possible that the depleted ranks will prove insufficient to keep the situation, shall we say, under control?"

"Our allies on Armistice a.s.sure me that this is not the case," K'tide said firmly.

"I should hope not, for all our sakes." The statement was calm, offered in the deep, rounded tones that often made listeners pause and puzzle to identify an accent.

K'tide nodded briefly, acknowledging the implied threat. A wise person never took any scro threat lightly, and K'tide was a highly trained observer who was not fooled by Grimnosh's cultured manner or elegant surroundings.

The office in which they met was a civilized marvel of polished wood and deep leather chairs, tastefully decorated with objets d'art from a dozen worlds. Books from many cultures lined the walls, as well as exquisite framed maps and star charts. It was, without doubt, a gentleman's study.

The gentleman in question, however, still was a scro. Over seven feet tall and powerfully muscled, the general was the single discordant note in his elegant study. Grimnosh was a rare albino, with a white hide and almost colorless eyes. He wore the regulation black leather armor studded with small sharp spikes, but, while many scro painted the studs in bright patterns or even subst.i.tuted cut gems, his studs were fas.h.i.+oned from a dull, expensive silver-toned metal. The scro version of understated elegance, K'tide noted.

Although Grimnosh's garments suggested a certain refinement, his ornaments revealed his true nature. His large canine teeth had been sharpened and decorated with mini-totems," and his pointed, wolflike ears were festooned with tatoos. About his neck hung a toregkh, a necklace made of teeth taken from opponents who had met their deaths upon the general's fangs. By scro custom, no other tokens of battle prowess were worn, though the scro carried many weapons and were expert with each. It was taken for granted that a scro warrior had many kills to his credit.

The toregkh was therefore a nose-thumb gesture, a way of saying that scro could kill quite handily with no weapons other than those granted by nature. Perhaps Grimnosh had taken the recent evolution toward culture farther than most scro-indeed, farther than most members of any race-but he was no less deadly for it.

Other scro tended to overlook Grimnosh's pretensions, as snide comments tended to lead to dismemberment. In fact, the general's a.s.sistant, a sullen olive-green scro who skulked in a nearby corner, was missing one ear and the small fingers of both hands. Rumor had it that Nimick had offered some small insult to Grimnosh during their training. Grimnosh kept the green scro around as his adjutant, knowing that the maimed soldier's presence was a powerful object lesson to others.

"Perhaps it is time to rethink our strategy," Grimnosh suggested. "This weapon might not be worth the risks."

K'tide inclined his head, acknowledging the scro's remark while respectfully disagreeing. "Its first use was highly successful. The creature was catapulted aboard an elven armada, and it destroyed the entire crew. More than one hundred elves," he concluded, weighing each word with quiet emphasis.

The scro seemed somewhat mollified. "Most impressive," he murmured, fingering his toregkh reflectively. "What of the armada?"

"It is virtually unharmed."

"This is good news," Grimnosh said, at last visibly pleased. "Has the s.h.i.+p been secured?"

"Not yet." K'tide paused, choosing his words carefully. "It will be some time before the weapon runs its natural course. We needn't fear losing the armada. Since it is much closer to Radole than to Armistice, it will escape discovery by the elven patrols that protect the ice planet. If anyoneshould find the s.h.i.+p and attempt to board, the creature will simply destroy them."

"How long before we can claim the armada?" Grimnosh demanded.

The spy considered. "Once the supply of elven flesh is depleted, the creature and its inevitable offspring will turn on each other. The whole process will take only a few score days. The creatures do not live long without a food supply."

"Excellent." The scro general nodded crisply. "Our first concern, however, must be getting the new troops s.p.a.cebound. To do so we need spelljamming battle wizards and priests. At this point we cannot afford to risk more goblinkin mages to this weapon."

"Perhaps we cannot afford not to," the spy said.

Dark, cold wrath welled through the scro's cultured veneer. The expression on Grimnosh's face would have sent most battle-hardened scro warriors into flight. "I should hope you have a good reason for contradicting me," he said in clipped tones. "It is not an experience I enjoy."

K'tide held his ground. "Indeed I do. We are preparing a second target, one even more attractive than a mighty elven armada."

Grimnosh raised one bone-white brow. "You have my attention."

"Lionheart."

A long silence followed K'tide's triumphant announcement. "Lionheart," repeated the scro commander, his colorless eyes lighting with interest. "An intriguing notion."

"In your estimation, destroying the elven high command would be worth a risk?"

"If such a thing can be accomplished, certainly," Grimnosh agreed pleasantly, "though I'm not certain that your smug tone is worth the risk that accompanies it." The scro smiled, baring gleaming tusks. "Now, your progress report."

"The Armistice goblinkin soon will be flight ready," the spy master a.s.sured him. "We are building a small fleet of s.h.i.+ps and training the orc priests in the basics of spelljamming." K'tide's fleeting sneer spoke of utter contempt for the orcs. "Progress in that matter, you understand, is painfully slow."

"Indeed," returned Grimnosh dryly as he leaned back in his chair. "As depleted as scro ranks have become, I sometimes question the wisdom of seeking orc allies on Armistice. Centuries of living underground has hardly improved the strain. That Ubiznik fellow of yours looks like some unholy cross between a dwarf and a goblin. Appalling chap."

"The orc chief is a strong ally. All the Armistice orcs have great physical strength," pointed out K'tide. "The gravity on the ice planet is three times that of most worlds. Once the goblin races are s.p.a.cebound or fighting world-to-world, their strength will give them a distinct advantage in close combat. I'm a.s.suming that you intend to use them as, shall we say-"

"Cannon fodder," supplied Grimnosh with uncharacteristic bluntness. He glanced down at his hands, grimaced, and held up a thumbnail for closer inspection. "Oh, Nimick," he said, looking over toward his adjutant, "be a good fellow and put an edge on this claw, won't you? While you're at it, you might touch up the engravings as well."

The greenish scro shot his general a look of pure hatred, but he rose with instant obedience and retrieved a small set of tools from a nearby desk drawer. He dragged a stool over to Grimnosh's side, and, taking up a tiny chisel, Nimick began to work on the huge white paw, tracing the tiny, elaborate scenes carved onto each of the general's claws. The murderous expression on the adjutant's face left no doubt that he was contemplating other, more satisfying uses for the tool. Grimnosh took this in with a bland, urbane smile and turned back to K'tide.

"Your argument has merit. As first-strike troops, the Armistice reinforcements are ideal: strong, motivated, and expendable. Now," the scro said briskly, "why don't you tell me a little more about your plans for the good elves of Lionheart?"

Chapter Four.

"We do so appreciate pa.s.sage, Captain Teldin Moore," Trivit said for what Teldin guessed was the twentieth time. "Our kaba certainly is most concerned about our welfare, and once she learns of our rescue I'm sure she will wish to reward you handsomely."

"That's not necessary," Teldin said absently, again.

"Oh, but we insist," said Trivit. "At the very least, perhaps we can share information.''

Suddenly the dracons had Teldin's full attention. Seeing this, Chirp's face brightened and he draped a convivial green arm around Teldin's shoulders."Our clan travels to the secret homeworld of the dracon people," Chirp confided. "We will cross uncharted crystal spheres and travel seldom-used phlogiston rivers."

"Our kaba is wise," Trivit added, his soprano tones rounded with hero wors.h.i.+p. "Her knowledge surely can aid you in your own quest."

"What do you know of it?" Teldin demanded. Reflexively he ducked out from under the dracon's chummy embrace. Chirp and Trivit seemed harmless enough, but he didn't want a clan of lizard-centaurs joining those who hunted for the cloak.

"You're bound for the Broken Sphere, are you not?" Chirp asked, clearly surprised by Teldin's suspicious tone. "If that is supposed to be a secret, it has been badly kept. Your destination is common knowledge around the Valkyrie."

"You must meet our kaba," the pale green dracon repeated. "She has been traveling the far corners of the void for nearly three centuries. Surely her knowledge will serve you well."

Teldin regarded the twin dracons carefully, his eyes darting from one to the other. Their green faces were earnest and open, and Teldin doubted it was in their nature to dissemble. At one time Teldin had considered himself a fairly good judge of character, finding that when he trusted his instinct he seldom went wrong. But since the cloak had come into his hands, life had changed.

Telling friend from foe had become difficult, and he had made some near-fatal mistakes. Teldin wasn't sure he could trust his instincts anymore.

Chirp interrupted Teldin's thoughts with an excited squeal. Hugging himself in his excitement, the dracon began a heavy-footed little dance of glee. "There! Look over there!" he burbled, pointing toward a distant light. "That's the Nightstalker, or I'm the Dark Spider's next dinner."

Teldin squinted out into the darkness of wilds.p.a.ce. There was a light, all right, but something about it was wrong. From this distance, most s.h.i.+ps had a faint, whitish glow and looked a bit like faint stars. This one was like no star he'd ever seen. It glowed with a dim but intense purple light.

The strange sight drew the other crew members to the railing, and a worried muttering spread across the drakkar. Teldin reached for the bra.s.s tube that hung from his belt and raised it to one eye. Seen through the gla.s.s, the dracon s.h.i.+p appeared to be a giant, deep purple wasp. It looked very much like an elven battles.h.i.+p.

"Man-o-war," said Dagmar, confirming Teldin's suspicions. The first mate had sprinted to the railing during Chirp's impromptu dance, drawn by fear for her beloved s.h.i.+p. After curbing the dracon's board-breaking glee, Dagmar stood at the rail by Teldin's side, gazing out into the void.

Worry deepened the lines around her eyes. "That's the dracons' s.h.i.+p?" she asked.

"So they say," Teldin replied, studying the s.h.i.+p with growing concern. He'd never heard of any race other than elves flying a man-o-war. Was this some sort of trap, or did dracons legitimately use such s.h.i.+ps? Teldin lowered the gla.s.s and turned his attention to Chirp and Trivit. Their delight in the coming reunion with their clan was so genuine and childlike that Teldin's suspicions ebbed.

And if their far-traveling clan leader had answers to the riddle of the Broken Sphere, he'd be foolish not to take the opportunity to listen.

Teldin turned to the first mate. "Prepare the longboat and get the dracons on board. I'll be going with them, but we'll need another helmsman. Get Klemner," he directed, naming the minor priest who did double duty as Rozloom's galley helper. Teldin could easily power the small boat himself, but he did not want to use the cloak's spelljamming magic in front of the dracon clan.

"Aye, Captain," Dagmar said reflexively, but her eyes slid involuntarily to Teldin's cloak. When he'd purchased the drakkar, Teldin had told Dagmar a little about the cloak and the various foes who sought it. Every member of his small crew knew that the voyage held great potential for danger, but Teldin felt he owed his first officer a little more.

While the woman got the dracons aboard the longboat, Teldin shrunk the cloak until it was no more than a silver necklace. Again, he didn't intend to take unnecessary chances with the cloak.

With Klemner at the helm and the dracons wielding the oars, Teldin was free to sit in the longboat's bow and observe the man-o-war. He had heard that these s.h.i.+ps were grown by the elves, carefully pruned and twisted into their final shape. He had to admit that the result was beautiful. As they drew near, Teldin noticed that the enormous wings-he guessed a wingspan of at least three hundred feet-were of some glittering, translucent substance that resembled crystal.

The wings were webbed with ribs, as if they were giant purple leaves.

As soon as the longboat entered the man-o-war's atmosphere, Chirp took a small silver pipe from the pocket of his leather armor and began to blow busily on the thing. Teldin did not hear a sound, however, and seeing the human's puzzled expression, Trivit leaned forward on his oars toexplain.