“He’s
alive
?” Teldin demanded.
“Didn’t I just say that?”
Teldin didn’t bother to answer. He hoisted the half-elf over his fur-covered shoulders, and the two yeti-bugbears hurried back to the waiting longboat.
*****
Moving with painful slowness, the insectare hauled himself into the small craft. Despite the loss of the klicklikak and his bionoid crew, K’tide was more determined than ever to go through with his plan. He’d get to Lionheart if he had to ride there on the back of a void scawer.
Battered by the crash and stiff from the cold, the insectare crawled deep into the hull of the longboat and looked for something with which to conceal himself. There were a couple of flotation devices – rings of extremely lightweight wood – and a torn piece of sheeting. With numb fingers K’tide shook out the canvas and covered himself with it, curling up as small as possible. Even if he were discovered, he figured his chances of survival were better with the swan ship’s elves than with the goblins of Armistice. The bionoids always changed into their monster forms before facing the Rakharian orcs, but he had no such ability and his elflike face probably would earn him a slow and brutal death at the hands of the Armistice orcs.
If he could just get aboard the swan ship! His informant there was not among his most reliable employees, but with even a little help he’d find a way to ferret out the information he needed. Then he could send a message to the surviving bionoids of Clan Kir, have them rescue him, and take over the swan ship. The destruction of Lionheart could proceed as planned, and then he would don the Cloak of the First Pilot.
*****
Aboard the patrol ship
Windwalker,
elven warriors stood ready for battle. The man-o-war’s captain left preparations to his first mate, preferring to spend his time on the bridge in fascinated observation of the rogue swan ship.
The swan-head tower that once had housed the bridge had been replaced by a raised deck covered by a hastily constructed shed. The stern had been patched and heavily reinforced. Mounted there was a massive tail catapult that obviously was of gnomish design. By all appearances, the ship was spaceworthy. They had to take to flight soon, the captain mused, or risk destruction during the coming lunar alignment.
They
had
to take flight soon, he repeated silently. The
Windwalker’s
battle wizards were near exhaustion from the effort of keeping the rogue ship in view, day after day. Even as the captain acknowledged that problem, the battle wizard on duty swayed in her chair, and her hands began to slide unheeded down the sides of the scrying globe. The captain squeezed her shoulder, pulling her back into her fading trance.
“Stay with it,” he admonished softly. “The swan ship will take off soon. We must get it as soon as it clears the atmosphere shield.”
Before the elven woman could respond, a second alarm sounded. Her eyes snapped open, and the image of the swan ship vanished from the magical panel. Not having much choice, the captain directed her to investigate the new threat.
Now fully alert, she bent to the task. In response to her magical inquiry, the panel darkened to the star-sprinkled blackness of wildspace. To one side Vesta glowed like a pale amethyst, its purple orb framed by the larger green light of the primary moon behind it.
The alignment, thought the captain, noting the thin rim of amber light visible to the left of Vesta. The three moons would align this night, and, by all reports, Armistice would resemble a frozen version of the Plane of Chaos. For a moment he almost pitied the orcs and goblins that lived there.
A moving pinprick of light caught his eye, ending his charitable thought abruptly. There was a second light, then a third. Before the horrified gaze of the officers, the lights multiplied, and soon a small fleet of spelljammers – patchwork vessels that defied classification – flew crazily into view. A dozen or more of the vessels sped through the atmospheric boundary and into the freedom of wildspace.
“The orcs are escaping,” the battle wizard said in a dazed, distant voice. “How could this happen?”
“It hasn’t happened yet.” The captain spun to face the helmsman. “New course. We pursue those vessels.”
After a hurried consultation with the navigator to determine the location of the goblin ships, the captain set a course toward them. Fortunately, the ragtag fleet was not far from the much faster
Windwalker,
and soon the scene outside the bridge window mirrored that on the crystal panel.
The man-o-war closed rapidly. Following the captain’s orders, the weapons crew fired a catapult at the nearest ship. The shot scored a direct hit, and the fragile ship exploded into flame and scattering fragments.
In their jubilation, the elves did not notice the approach of the second fleet. Or perhaps the fleet was not there to see, for with the suddenness of magic three shrike ships appeared, circling directly above the man-o-war.
One of the elven wizards got off a fireball spell, and it hurtled toward the lead shrike ship in a stream of blue flame. An answering flash of magic burst from their birdlike attacker, and the two spells collided over the man-o-war with an explosion that shook the ship and sent its crew tumbling to the decks.
Alarms sounded throughout the man-o-war, and soon the main deck was crowded with elven warriors. The shrike ships continued to circle, and their path was so close to the
Windwalker
that the elves dared not risk using their larger weapons. With apparent chivalry, the shrike ships held off their attack until the man-o-war’s battle stations were fully crewed. The lead vessel slowed, coming to hover directly over the deck of the elven vessel.
As the puzzled elves craned their necks back, waiting and watching, the cargo doors on the shrike ship’s hold opened. Strange gray warriors, a dozen or so, leaped from the shrike ship and hit the deck with a metallic clatter.
Silence shrouded the elven ship as the invaders rose to their feet. Roughly four feet tall, the creatures were bipedal, and their muscular bodies were covered with hide the color of a garden slug. Their huge, fanged maws worked hungrily, and at the end of their two long arms were “hands” comprising two gleaminging swords that clanked and flashed with the dexterity of lethal fingers.
The creatures advanced in a pack, hurling themselves at the elves in a frenzy of slashing blades. Like berserker warriors, the gray horrors tore through the elven crew, feeding as they went. Their feasting did not seem to slow their attack, and the tertiary Witchlight Marauders killed and ate their way through the elven vessel with grisly efficiency.
Chapter Seventeen
The return trip to the swan ship was swift and perilous. Still in their yeti forms, Teldin and Raven struggled with the oars for only a few minutes before Raven decided to shapechange into one of the giant, eellike fish that abounded in the icy waters, so that she could tow the longboat back. As soon as she made that announcement, she rose and dove into the water, disappearing into the turbulent sea. A dubious Teldin tossed a tow line overboard, and the longboat took off with a jerk that sent him tumbling to the floor. With one paw Teldin desperately clung to the side of the boat; with the other he held on to the unconscious half-elf. The longboat sliced wildly through the choppy waters, leaving behind it a small wake. Again and again the boat thudded painfully down after hitting a particularly large wave. By the time they were within sight of the
Trumpeter,
Teldin felt battered and exhausted just from the effort of staying in the boat, and he feared the effect the wild ride might have had on Hectate.
The longboat’s momentum slowed abruptly, and Raven’s eel head poked out of the water, along with a foot or so of scaly neck. Teldin watched, dumbfounded, as the upper part of the creature changed into the familiar head and shoulders of the elven woman. The part of Raven still submerged in the icy water retained its fish form. As she dragged herself up and into the longboat, the metamorphosis worked its way down her body. Finally she tumbled over the side and into the longboat, fully clothed and completely dry. The elf met his astonished gaze with a tolerant, one-sided smile, and Teldin realized that he was gaping like a beached carp. His fanged jaws closed with an audible click.
Fangs. There was that problem again, Teldin thought ruefully. In his current, goblinoid form he hardly could expect a kinsman’s welcome from the elven crew, but if he reclaimed his human form, he’d board the
Trumpeter
clad in nothing but gooseflesh and a cloak. With a sigh of resignation, Teldin willed the cloak to grow out to its full length. He drew the dark folds over his broad, furred shoulders, hoping that the elves would discern his true identity from the magical cloak.
“Change your face back,” Raven suggested. “Just your face. Keep the fur so you don’t freeze, but scale the body down to something approaching your normal build.”
Teldin quickly followed her advice. As he felt the goblinoid features melting away, he felt only relief. Using the cloak’s power to change his appearance no longer bothered him; he’d come to regard the magic cloak as a tool and a weapon, and refusing to use it when required made no more sense than leaving his sword sheathed during battle.
As they rowed the last few yards to the swan ship, Teldin saw a light in the ballista portal. To his surprise, Rozloom was in the hold, holding a lantern aloft and peering anxiously outward. A broad grin wreathed the aperusa’s face when he caught sight of the longboat, and, as soon as Raven had secured the ropes, the gypsy winched the craft up and into the hold.
“Captain!” he boomed. He grasped Teldin’s furry hand and pumped it vigorously, but his eyes were only for Raven. “I am so pleased that you are not dead.”
Teldin nodded his thanks and tugged his hand free. He stooped to lift the half-elf from the longboat. “Rozloom, can you take Hectate to the healer? I’ll be along as soon as I change.”
For the first time the aperusa’s eyes focused on Teldin’s furred, yetilike body. His bushy black brows shot up, but he merely nodded in agreement. “That, I see, could take time. I will care for the captain’s friend, then I will come and see to the longboat. You need not trouble yourself with it.” The aperusa easily took the half-elf in his large arms, and he bounded up the stairs toward the main deck.
“The elves will have questions,” Raven pointed out.
“They can wait,” Teldin replied firmly. “If you run into Vallus, would you let him know I’ll be around to see him as soon as I can? I’ll be with Hectate, and I’m not to be disturbed. If you think it’s necessary, post the dracons at the infirmary door and mine to keep out intruders.” He met her eyes squarely. “After Hectate’s settled, you and I need to talk. It’s time.”
A slow smile spread across Raven’s face, and she nodded in approval. “I think you’re right, Captain.”
*****
While Deelia Snowsong checked Hectate over for injuries, Teldin paced restlessly around the infirmary until Rozloom pushed him into a chair, insisting that Teldin was giving everyone in the room “the seasickness.”
Still the captain fidgeted, watching the immobile half-elf with deep concern. It still seemed incredible to him that Hectate could have survived the crash at all, much less have escaped serious injury. That was the conclusion Deelia had reached. With a shrug, she claimed she could find nothing wrong with Hectate beyond a mild case of frostbite.
The moment the elven healer left the room, Rozloom shook his bald head in vehement disagreement. “The pale one, she is beautiful but not wise,” he rumbled. “To the captain’s dear friend she should give better care. These elves, they have too little regard for those not their own.”
For once Teldin found himself in wholehearted agreement with the gypsy. He looked appraisingly at Rozloom, remembering that Hectate himself had praised the aperusa’s skill with potions. “What would you do differently?”
Rozloom shrugged. “Herbs and simples, given often with broth, to warm the body, stir the blood. With such care, your friend should soon mend. Also, one should watch over him while he sleeps.”
“Would you do this?” Teldin asked, having little hope that the self-absorbed gypsy actually would agree to such a task.
“I? But of course.”
“You would?” Teldin demanded, startled by the unexpected response. “Why?”
“Why, why. Always with you it is why, Captain,” the aperusa said in a hurt tone. “Must a man always have a reason?”
The door cracked open and Deelia’s pale, lovely face reappeared. “I’ll stop in to check on the half-elf from time to time.”
Teldin thanked her and shot Rozloom an arch glance. Not at all disturbed at having his romance found out, the aperusa merely smiled and preened his curly beard.
Leaving Hectate in the aperusa’s care, Teldin made his way back to his cabin, noting with satisfaction that the attentive Trivit was stationed at the door. The dracon’s face was unusually grave. Raven must have put the fear of the gods into the young dracons, Teldin noted with a touch of amusement.
Raven. Teldin sighed heavily. The time had come to settle matters with his strange ally, but he felt reluctant to seek the answers he needed. He was pretty confident that he wouldn’t like them.
Teldin went to his sea chest and removed the book he had borrowed from Vallus days ago. Before he had it out with Raven Stormwalker, he wanted some insight into her true nature. Maybe then he’d be somewhat prepared for whatever she had in mind. He settled down at his writing table and quickly leafed through the book, scanning descriptions of familiar races as well as creatures that stretched his imagination.
One entry caught his eye and, as he read it, bits of information he had collected about “Raven Stormwalker” fell into place: fleeting visions of golden eyes and a black, scale-covered face; Raven’s natural ability to shape-shift; the dracons’ reverent awe of Raven and her own delight in adulation. Then there was Raven’s pendant. It matched the description given by the lakshu, whose search for the “dragon’s helm” followed a path that had led from Realmspace to Teldin’s ship. The wildspace dragon that he’d seen through the
Spelljammer’s
eyes – and the medallion’s power – had been in Realmspace. It all came around, full circle, to an inescapable conclusion.