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.
“Wildspace,” 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 clusters? 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 cluster, very small, that looks a little like an hourglass,” 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 hourglass join,” Hectate directed. “Any pink?”
“A little,” Teldin agreed. His brow furrowed suddenly. “The formation’s gone now. The ship 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 Winterspace.”
“Winterspace,” Vallus echoed dully. With dread he remembered the armada ghost ship. Was it possible that the
Spelljammer
somehow had destroyed the crew of the elven battleship? If so, what kind of being controlled the ship? If somehow the scro had gotten control of the most powerful ship in the void, it could mean the end of the elven nation. “Are you sure it’s Winterspace?”
“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.
“You know elven history, I see,” Vallus said softly.
Hectate averted his eyes. “My ancestors had a part in it,” he replied.
Vallus nodded. It was possible that Hectate’s elven forebears had fought in the first goblin wars. Still, the half-elfs response was a little too immediate and too extreme to be based on family history. Before Vallus could explore the matter, the cloak’s glow faded and Teldin shook himself as if to dispel the effects of the magic.
“Where is this Winterspace? How long to get there?” Teldin asked, his blue eyes alight with excitement.
The half-elf considered. “There are rivers in the phlogiston between Realmspace and Radole’s crystal sphere, small rivers that are unusually fast but very hard to find. If you can catch them, a swan ship should be able to make landfall in about forty-five days,” Hectate calculated. He turned to Vallus and shrugged apologetically. “Of course, that’s just an educated guess. Not knowing whether you’ve made any changes to the ship’s basic design, I can’t say for sure what the
Trumpeter
could do.”
“That’s going to change right now,” Teldin decreed. “Hectate, you’ve just been promoted to chief navigator. I want you to set a direct course for Radole. Vallus will see that you get whatever information you need about the swan ship.”
Teldin Moore turned to the elven wizard, and a cocky smile lit his weary face, making it look almost boyish. “Well, Vallus, I hope you don’t mind taking back your insignia soon. It looks as though I’m going to be getting my own ship after all.”
*****
The
Trumpeter
had traveled the phlogiston rivers for several days before Teldin discovered the dracons’ secret. He was rounding a corner in the lower deck when he bumped into a solid female frame. Instinctively he caught the woman’s elbows to steady her and began to murmur an apology —
And stopped dead.
The woman was taller than any other female on board, slender but hard with muscle. Her hair was a sea of wavy black satin, and her pale, blue-tinted skin reminded him of cream and summer skies. Most arresting were her eyes, one of which was a typically elven shade of silver, the other an unusual shade of amber so pale it was almost gold. Her leather garments were of a quaint cut Teldin had never seen, and ancient weapons were tucked into her belt, boots, and shoulder strap.
Teldin stared at the moon elven woman for a long, startled moment. He’d never seen her on board, so he assumed she had boarded at Evermeet. Why hadn’t Vallus mentioned a passenger?
His mind had barely formed the thought when his vision shifted and swam. Suddenly he saw superimposed over her lovely face a reptilian visage that looked like a nightmare rendition of Trivit’s. As suddenly as it had come, the moment was gone and a moon elf stood before him, regarding him with a quizzical smile. When he did not speak, she lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug and pulled away, gliding down the hall toward the dracons’ cabin.
“A beauty, eh, Captain?” rumbled a voice next to Teldin’s ear.
He whirled to face Rozloom, feeling a little sheepish about being surprised. He’d forgotten how silently the aperusa could move. “Do you know her?” he asked, taking note of the gypsy’s avid interest.
“Not yet,” Rozloom said, and his tone was both a vow and an innuendo.
“Who is she, and why haven’t I seen her around the ship?” he wondered aloud.
“The woman is called Raven Stormwalker. Beautiful she is, but not friendly. And what good is beauty locked away?” Rozloom asked rhetorically, nodding toward the converted storeroom that served as the dracons’ cabin.
“So you do know a little about her,” Teldin prompted.
“Only what I could make the dracons say in exchange for her food,” the aperusa said. “She is a warrior – a sell-sword, as you say – who wishes passage to Radole. How long before we are there, Captain?” Rozloom asked with an abrupt change of mood.
“What? Oh. About forty days.”
“Hmmm.” Rozloom fingered the sachet-potion as if considering his chances. “Is maybe too little time,” he mused.
So that was the way the wind blew, Teldin thought. “I take it the lady is immune to your charm?” he asked.
The gypsy turned serious black eyes toward Teldin. “Who would have thought it possible?” he marveled.
“Well, let’s go meet our new passenger,” Teldin decreed, turning away before he insulted the gypsy by smirking in his woebegone face. Together they approached the dracons’ door and the mysterious moon elf. Teldin’s knock was answered by a long, heavy silence. He pounded again, and finally Trivit asked who was there.
“Your
kaba,”
Teldin said firmly. Rozloom rolled his eyes at the title but for once did not comment. Behind the door they could hear a nervous, whispered consultation. When Trivit finally opened the door a crack, Teldin pushed through and came into the cabin.
The dracons hung back, Trivit nibbling his claws and Chirp wringing his hands in a picture of prissy distress. The elven woman stepped forward to greet Teldin, however, and her odd eyes held his in a steady, compelling gaze.
“Well met, Captain Moore. I understand that I have you to thank for my passage,” she said. Teldin’s surprise must have shown, for she fell back a step and gestured toward the distraught dracons. “Is that not so, Captain? Chirp and Trivit assured me that they spoke for you when they invited me aboard.”
Teldin leveled a glare at Trivit. The dracon bit his lip, and his eyes darted between the captain and the moon elf. “Well?” Teldin prompted. Raven smiled sweetly at the dracons.
“Yes!” blurted Trivit. “Yes, indeed, that’s the utter and absolute truth. It certainly is.” His words burst out with the force of a small explosion.
The captain bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud at the dracon’s fervent fib. “Perhaps you believed you could speak for me on this matter, Trivit, but you should have checked first before bringing on a passenger,” he chided gently. “Apart from such issues as adequate air and provisions, the elves have a right to know who’s on their ship.” The miserable dracon nodded and hung his head.
“What do you plan to do with me, Captain?”
Raven’s voice was low, smoky, and slightly husky, and it brought vividly to Teldin’s mind both the flavor and the wallop of sagecoarse liquor. Rozloom seemed to have been similarly affected, for his sudden leer assigned her innocent question any number of salacious responses.
“You’re not to blame for the dracon’s misunderstanding,” Teldin said, not too sure that it was an accurate assessment of the situation.
“That’s right!” Trivit shrieked in nervous agreement.
“All the same, I would like to know more about you. Please report to the bridge at three bells,” he said to the elf, naming a time about an hour away. “You will meet with the ship’s officers, and a decision will be made then. If you are to stay aboard the
Trumpeter,
duties will be assigned to you.”
“As you wish,” she agreed.
“We’ll be there promptly, sir,” Trivit vowed. “Indeed we shall.”
“Three bells it is,” put in Chirp.
Raven caught Teldin’s eye, and his sudden quandary brought a glint of humor to her gold and silver eyes. She turned to the dracons and placed a hand on the shoulder of each. “Thank you for your kind offer, Little Ones, but I’ve created enough trouble for you. I will talk to the officers alone.”
“As you wish, Celestial One,” the dracons murmured in unison. They bowed deeply to the elven woman, and Teldin’s brow furrowed in sudden concern. He had become accustomed to the dracon’s formality and their obsession with rank and title, but there was something different in their treatment of Raven Stormwalker, something that disturbed him.
Reverence. That’s what it is, he realized suddenly. Chirp and Trivit treated the elf as if she were a demigod. Deeply puzzled, he nodded a farewell and turned to go. Rozloom elected to stay, and for the first time Teldin noticed the bottle of pilfered elven spirits tucked under the aperusa’s arm. Somehow, Teldin doubted the offering would do Rozloom much good. The thought gave him a quick stab of satisfaction that he didn’t want to examine too closely.
Compelling and beautiful though she might be, the unexpected passenger was deeply disturbing. Why had she virtually hidden away since they had left Evermeet? What about her had the dracons in thrall? And what about the other face he had seen superimposed over her beautiful elven features; what could such a thing mean? Rozloom had said she’d requested passage to Radole, but …
Radole.
The thought took form suddenly, exploding in his brain and immediately settling in his gut in a hard knot. As Teldin hurried down the corridor, he damned himself for a fool for not picking up on that sooner. Certainly the moon elf had boarded before the new destination was chosen, which meant that she probably had expected to be taken to Lionheart. It looked as if Raven Stormwalker was some sort of spy. Vallus would have to know.
Teldin hurriedly made his way to the bridge in search of Vallus. The elf was there, writing in the log required by the Imperial Fleet. All other duties pertaining to the ship’s captain had been relegated to Teldin, but Vallus faithfully kept the log and no one else was permitted access to it. When he wasn’t writing in it, the elf kept the log in a locked cabinet in his own cabin.
Vallus looked up when the agitated human burst into the bridge, and his pale green eyes widened. “Is there a problem?” he asked, immediately laying down his quill and rising from his chair.
Teldin raked a hand through his hair. “Maybe. Do you know anything about someone called Raven Stormwalker?”
“Yes, of course,” Vallus replied with a puzzled smile.
Relief flooded Teldin. If Vallus knew her, she wasn’t likely to be a spy. “Then I suppose you know she’s on board?”
The elf stared at him blankly. “That’s impossible.”
“No, I just spoke with her.”
“Describe her,” Vallus demanded. As Teldin did so, horror and denial fought for space on the elf’s countenance. He sank back down into his chair. “Where is she now?” he asked in a dull whisper.
“On her way to the bridge,” Teldin said, deeply puzzled by the elf’s reaction. His surprise deepened when Vallus abruptly rose jerking to his feet like a puppet on a tangled string. In the doorway stood Raven Stormwalker, looking somehow mythic with her ancient weapons and quaint garments. The elven wizard backpedaled, rapidly putting as much distance between him and the moon elf as possible.
Teldin had never seen the sedate elven wizard so nonplussed, and for some perverse reason he found it vastly amusing. He covered his mouth with one hand and coughed delicately to keep from laughing aloud at the expression of horrified recognition on Vallus’s face. Whatever dealings Vallus had had in the past with Raven Stormwalker had not ended well, apparently. Since Teldin couldn’t see Vallus skipping out on a debt, he imagined that the moon elf was a former lover.