The Maelstroms Eye (42 page)

Teldin exhaled slowly and looked across the trampled grass to Aelfred’s hunched figure. From this position, Teldin could not see Sylvie’s body, and for that he was glad. “So you’re saying we should surrender.”

Gomja snorted and gave Teldin a disgusted stare. “No. We should make the elves regret their unprovoked attack.”

“Make them regret it?” Teldin asked in disbelief. “How in the name of all the gods can you just say something like that? You have got to be the craziest person I’ve ever met in my life. When I first met you, you gave me this incredible speech about how you were going to kill me, then your pistol blew up. You lead an attack on a neogi deathspider with a few dozen gnomes, and you crash the whole ship into a lake. You were helping out the elves —” Teldin broke off, sensing he had said too much.

The giff looked down, carefully pulling his uniform’s front together and buttoning it where it had come loose. “I freely admit that the elves used me, sir, but they have killed our navigator and chief helmsman. We must make them regret it by being prepared to take advantage of their every mistake from this moment forward. They have two ships above us, but neither ship can land. We are at an impasse unless the elves have more of their small flitters to come after you personally. Ever, if the elves win, their casualties will cause them to mourn their victory.”

Teldin said nothing at all to this. He looked down at the grass on which he sat, with his cloak bunched up beneath him. After a moment, he turned to his right, where Dyffed and Gaye sat, almost within arm’s reach.

Gaye’s tear-streaked face was almost hidden in her black tresses. She still watched Aelfred but made no sound at all. Occasionally she would sniff and wipe her nose on her sleeve. Dyffed sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, idly picking at a thumbnail. He sensed that Teldin was watching him, and he looked up blankly and shrugged, carefully avoiding any glance in Aelfred’s direction.

Something clicked in Teldin’s mind but wouldn’t quite surface. Something about Dyffed and the
Halibut.
Something with an unpronounceable name.

“Your secret weapon,” said Teldin. “Dyffed, where’s your secret weapon? The birthday party?”

The gnome peered through his thick spectacles and blinked rapidly. “The what?”

“The birthday party, damn you! You told me that you had a secret weapon aboard the ship, something you and One Six Nine had been working on. Where’s your weapon?”

Dyffed’s blank look vanished. “Yes, it’s …” The gnome hesitated and looked around, but no one else had the slightest interest in either him or what he was saying. “It’s here with me, all finished. Why? What did you want with it?”

I must be dreaming, Teldin thought. “What did I want with it? I want you to use it! Use it on the elves! Can you use it to blow up their ships?”

Dyffed’s eyes glazed over as he became absorbed in the idea. “What a thought,” he finally mumbled. “It could certainly do that. I have no idea if there’s any limit to what it can do. We should set up some tests, then arrange for a field demonstration, then —”

“You idiot!” Teldin yelled. Everyone but Aelfred turned to look at him. “We have no time for testing it! We have no time left for anything! Pull out that secret weapon and show us the damned thing!”

Again, Dyffed looked around. Seeing all eyes upon him, he made a decision and sighed heavily. “This goes against all my better judgment and scientific ethics,” he said, “not to mention the members’ code of Ironpiece Dweomerfusion Industries, Ordnance, and Technology, but perhaps you have a point.” He reached into his dirty vest and carefully extracted a slip of folded paper. This he handed, after a moment’s hesitation, to Teldin. “Here it is.”

Teldin took the paper in disbelief. After staring at the gnome, he looked down and slowly unfolded the paper. He read it without comment. “This is it?” he finally said.

The gnome looked down and nodded somberly. “Took me decades just to get it right,” he said with a trace of satisfaction. “One Six Nine was a jolly help, just perfect. Fine old boy."

"Is this a spell?” Teldin asked.

“Oh, no, no, not at all. That’s just the theory. We’ll have to get the raw materials and some equipment, assemble a device or two, develop a delivery system, conduct at least a few tests, then we’ll be ready to put it into production.”

Teldin said nothing. After a few moments, the slip of paper dropped from his fingers. His head sagged forward until it dropped into his upraised hands, his palms and fingers covering his face.

Duffed grabbed for the paper, but Gaye caught it first and held it up to her wide, dark eyes. All that was written on the scrap was a simple notation:

E =mc2

“Eee mik two,” she said, just before Dyffed snatched the paper away. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s actually rather simple,” Dyffed said irritably, folding the paper up again and putting it safely away in his inside vest pocket. “It’s the relationship between mass and magical potential in all the spheres, throughout the cosmos. The equation shows clearly that —”

“The armada’s sending down a flitter, sir,” said Gomja in a flat, deep voice. He was looking up into the sky. His large, blunt fingers closed on the butts of two of the pistols at his belt. “You and the others had better get inside the ship. I can stall the flitter crewmen if they still think I’m helping them. I might be able to force my way inside and take the crew hostage, using them to get our freedom.” The giff shoved himself unsteadily to his feet. He looked down and saw that no one else had moved. “Sir, you and the others had better get inside now,” he repeated.

Teldin’s face turned to look into Gomja’s own. The giff shifted uncomfortably. There was something new in Teldin’s face that the giff did not recall ever having seen before. It was so intense that Gomja swallowed, almost turning away.

“I’m going with you,” Teldin said, and abruptly got to his feet. His cloak was at full length, so blue that it seemed almost purple. He waved at the gnomes and Gaye. “Get the hell inside the ship, right now. Move.”

With only the slightest pause and without even the slightest comment, the kender and the gnomes did exactly as they were told, though Gaye stopped before him long enough to look into his face. Her hand came our as if to touch him, but it then pulled back, and she followed the others to the rope ladder to climb inside.

Teldin and Gomja glanced up at the tiny green-and-white striped flitter that slowly descended from the orange butterfly ship in the sky. Teldin looked over for a moment at Aelfred.

The big warrior was stroking Sylvie’s face with his fingertips, still cradling her head with his other hand. His face was hidden. Teldin looked away and began walking in the Sitter’s general direction. After a moment, Gomja straightened his posture, lifted his chin, and followed.

*****

Mirandel watched the flitter fall toward the ground. It was impossible to tell at this close distance that what lay beneath them was the surface of the head of a creature larger than many worlds, whose footsteps could span continents. The
Empress Dorianne
hovered over what seemed like a high hill, with a patchwork sky of green, blue, and brown overhead. With her husband gone to meet Teldin Moore, she felt a faint stirring of interest in things, no longer having to face his frigid, uncompromising expression and hide her feelings. It was still best to keep busy, however; the ghosts within her mind would gain control the moment she gave them a foothold. It was impossible to think straight.

A noise caught her attention. The battlewizard, now acting captain for the armada, stepped away from the window when she heard footsteps and rattling armor hurrying toward the open bridge door. An officer burst into the room, his face flushed and obviously out of breath.

“Captain!” he gasped, staggering to a stop. “Captain, the
Fury
has sent a message that it has been found and is under attack. The whole orcish fleet is behind the four pursuing craft, each ship protected by fog clouds and illusions. The sun blocked our view!”

Mirandel started toward the speaking crystal that would transmit her voice to the helm room, then stopped. She had thought to order the
Empress
to move in to support the
Fury,
but she remembered then that Cirathorn was below on the unarmed flitter – an unavoidable target for any orcish ship that came near enough to see it.

“Order the
Hornet
to support the
Fury!”
she shouted at the officer. “Have Second Battlewizard Ervar contact the flitter and request its immediate return! We must stay long enough to get the admiral back before we can join battle with the orcs.

All weapons crews are to fire on any enemy ship that threatens either the
Empress
or the flitter. Abandon all ground targets. Go and do!”

*****

“The
Trident
has rammed!” Usso’s squeal rang throughout the tiny helm room. She gripped the arms of the ill-made helm chair with trembling fingers, her face alive with the vision of the battle outside. “It drove through the back of the man-o-war. There’s considerable debris falling.” She pulled back from the scene, blinking with surprise. Her eyes registered nothing in the room where she sat. “The man-o-war lost its port wing. It’s begun to fall apart. The
Trident
is going down with the hull and starboard wing. It cannot pull free – it’s falling now. The man-o-war must have lost its helm. They’re both falling. The
Trident
is losing deck gear. A deck hand has fallen free …” Usso stopped. For several seconds, she pursed her lips together. “Both ships are falling out of control,” she continued. “They’re … they’ve both crashed.” She exhaled slowly, then looked up at the armored giant who stood before her. “A search for survivors is not advised.”

Vorr nodded curtly, making a brief fingerspelling gesture with his left hand. He then stuck out his other hand and made a cutting gesture across his wrist with the blade of the left hand. His expression could not be read through the many scars and burns across his face.

Usso nodded at Vorr’s last command, her long black hair swaying gently. “Within the next two minutes, General. The last man-o-war has engaged the fleet but is now trying to break off and escape. We are almost in position for the final blow.”

And so I am, she thought. So am I.

*****

The flitter glided down in complete silence. Only the wind in the tall grass sounded around Teldin and Gomja as they stood to greet the ship.

“Forgive me, sir,” muttered Gomja from behind. “It’s better this way.” Teldin heard the hammer being drawn back on a flintlock pistol, then felt something like a thick finger poke him in the back of the head.

Teldin felt that he couldn’t be surprised any longer. “So you’re still working for the elves,” he said evenly, looking up at the striped flitter.

The giff drew in his breath as if to make a reply, then let out his breath, saying nothing. The flitter dropped until it was only a dozen feet above the ground, thirty feet away. Gradually it drifted down and closer, its four spindly legs soon making contact with the ground and settling down under the weight of the ship. It was barely twenty feet away and facing them. A lone elven pilot was visible through the darkened forward window, his face impassive and calm.

A door opened in the back of the flitter. Teldin heard boots thump into the grass, then saw a figure slowly walk around the starboard wing of the flitter. It was an autumn-haired elf in silver armor, his helmet in the crook of his left arm. The elf smiled slightly as he stopped a dozen feet short of Teldin and Gomja, eyeing both the human and the thick-bodied giff. He wore no obvious weapons but appeared relaxed and sure.

“Teldin Moore,” said Admiral Cirathorn. “I have come a long way to find you.”

Teldin stared at the elfin undisguised hatred. “Go to hell."

"I might for what I’m about to do,” the admiral said. “I need your cloak, Teldin Moore. The elven people need it. We are at war, and your cloak is the key to victory. I must take that cloak from you in any way I can. If First Colonel-Commander Herphan Gomja will oblige me, I will perform the deed myself.” With that, Cirathorn raised his right hand, appearing to pull a leafy decoration from the top of his helmet. He raised his hand, now clenched around a silvery pistol-like device, which he aimed directly between Teldin’s eyes. “Your cloak is likely to block magic or weapons aimed at your body, but not a lead bullet aimed at your head,” he said. “Cloaks, even magical ones, are not the best of armor.”

“I wish to perform the deed,” Gomja rumbled suddenly. The object sticking in the back of Teldin’s head poked him slightly, though Teldin did not move. “I have been waiting for this moment for some time, sir.”

Cirathorn grinned. “Then wait no more.”

A huge hand grabbed Teldin by the left shoulder and shoved him out of the way. As Teldin fell back, he caught a momentary glimpse of Gomja hurling himself forward and bringing his pistol directly into the admiral’s face. Then Teldin struck the grass and rolled.

Two shots tore the air, coming so close together that Teldin could barely tell them apart. He sprang to his feet, giving a wild look at the combatants by the flitter. A thick haze of smoke almost obscured the both of them.

“Stupid giff,” said Cirathorn with scorn. His hand and pistol were still extended. There was not a mark on him.

Gomja stepped forward one more pace, then went down on his knees. The pistol fell from his fingers. His. broad hippopotamus face looked down at his dirty red uniform front in disbelief. Teldin saw the giff put a thick blue hand to his great chest. The hand came away as brightly colored as the crimson uniform once had been.

“Not even lead bullets can penetrate a spell that is proof against nonmagical missiles,” said Cirathorn. “It’s a fairly basic spell in the Imperial Fleet, but I recall that you giff have little faith in magical things. A pity.”

Gomja looked up at the elf, who was on eye level with him. His thick lips and jowls moved.

“Before you die,” the giff said, pronouncing each word with care, “know that your slayer is Herphan Gomja, commander of ship’s … marines, assigned to the …
Perilous Halib
 
—”