The Maelstroms Eye (45 page)

He had just started to reach down for the black fork when he saw a tiny female figure only thirty feet away. Vorr blinked. It appeared to be a young human or elf girl dressed in dirty, smeared clothing that once had been bright and colorful. Her thick black hair was mussed and wild. She was carrying some sort of stick.

Vorr rubbed his eyes briefly, then looked again.

“My sensei is going to hate me for this,” said the little, black-haired female.
“Sayonara.”

Bracing herself, Gaye pulled both triggers of the harpoon-bombard at the same time.

Usso was halfway up the ladder out of the cargo bay when everything changed. A blast of wind suddenly stirred the air in the cargo deck, then arose to an ear-splitting roar. At the same moment, the pyramid tilted, as if its internal gravity had shifted slightly – then the gravity was gone.

Suddenly weightless, Usso clutched the ladder’s iron rungs in numbing-cold terror. If there was no gravity when the pyramid reached the gravity field of the Herdspace sphere, that meant the helm was abandoned – or destroyed.

The cloak! She suddenly recalled that she could use the powers of the cloak to control the pyramid. She reached back with one hand to grasp the soft fabric as she prepared to concentrate and activate the cloak’s powers.

Her hand closed on nothing. The cloak was gone. Her hand flew to her throat but found no silver chain and clasp. It was as if the cloak had never existed. That wasn’t possible. She knew it. The cloak must have fallen off. There was no time to retrieve it now. She had to get to the helm.

Usso reached the top of the ladder leading into the helm room barely three minutes later, having had to polymorph herself into a spider at one point to cross a ceiling to the next ladder. The pyramid was apparently rotating slowly in free fall, heading for the ground of Herdspace at hundreds of miles an hour. Against the roaring from the cargo deck Usso could hear the screams and curses of the scro and ogres below as they left their quarters on the lower floors of the pyramid to tumble about helplessly in the stony rooms and corridors.

The door to the helm room had been broken open by someone with reasonably great strength. Usso froze when she saw it. Vorr? Was Vorr alive and here in the pyramid? Impossible! It took all her willpower to keep from fleeing down the ladder. How could he have gotten aboard?

Trickles of blood ran down the sides of the hatchway from the floor above. Usso readied a spell, one hand gripping the ladder rung until the metal dug into her hands. Forgetting all caution in her panic, she stood up on the ladder and looked into the room.

The bloodied face of Admiral Halker looked back at her from the floor by the hatch, one sleeve of his armor snagged by a metal staple in the floor. Someone had cut his throat. Blood trailed across the floor around him in long streams.

She raised her shocked gaze. Beyond Halker’s pale green face was the helm – what was left of it. Someone had hacked at it with an edged weapon, either a sword or axe, and it was in ruins. Both arms were missing from the chair, and the back was split in two. Splinters rattled across the walls and floor.

Without a helm, the pyramid was going to hit the ground so hard that nothing larger than gravel would be left, scattered across the bottom of a crater hundreds of feet deep and wide. Usso knew she had to flee the pyramid at once. She might still have the time to polymorph into a bird before —

Someone grabbed her by her long black hair and pulled her off the ladder with a single jerk. She screamed from the sudden pain and felt a powerful arm clutch her to a muscular chest. Whirling, she looked into the face of her assailant. Vorr, it must be Vorr.

But it wasn’t Vorr.

Her assailant was a human male of indeterminate age, tall and broad, with short, curly blond hair. His face was contorted with the effort of holding Usso with one hand while clutching a metal hook on the wall behind him with the other.

“Now it’s your turn to lose a ship,” he said as the room slowly spun through the air.

*****

Things hadn’t made any sense to Aelfred Silverhorn since that first night on Ironpiece. He had already planned to go with Teldin Moore to avenge the loss of his ship, the
Probe
(and maybe to see Teldin become the captain of the
Spelljammer,
too – you never knew how things would go), but there was that awful dream that he couldn’t talk about, coming on the morning the group had left Ironpiece on the
Perilous Halibut
during the scro attack. Someone had been in the dream, making him into a slave of some kind, and he woke up still feeling he was a slave. It had made no sense.

Worse, he had done things he could not understand. He found himself compelled to set up a signal light in the rear of the ship, next to the jettison, and send messages to the scro chasing them. He would forget about it while he was awake, but his dreams were thick with terror, and before awakening every morning he knew he had been up and about in his sleep, carrying out his task. No one had known what he was doing. Everyone had trusted him completely.

Over time, he pieced together an image of his taskmaster. It was an undead thing, he knew, but he knew little more. He suspected it was part of the scro fleet. He had some mental image of a pyramid-shaped ship, probably the one he’d seen off Ironpiece. He knew it was hopeless to fight his compulsion to betray his friends – so he stopped worrying about it. Instead, he planned his revenge.

It was Sylvie’s death that had freed him. As he knelt in the grass beside her body, he had felt the chains of the compulsion melt from his soul like ice in the sun. It must have been the stress, he thought. He was overcome with guilt that his unwilling behavior had brought on her death. She had been his best friend, his anchor to his new life in space. He could not put all the blood back into her body. He could only leave her behind and find someone on whom to vent his fury.

Aelfred had watched as the elves who had killed Sylvie died themselves. The elves’ killers, however, had come down to earth right afterward – in a giant pyramid ship.

It had been easy to rush forward through the burning wreckage – easy, perhaps, given that he had ignored the burns and injuries he had suffered on his run. He had made it aboard the pyramid just before it left for good, climbing on as it rested above the ground for a moment. It had taken a long while to find an upper hatch and climb inside. No one was home, as far as he could tell, so he had gone looking for the helm. He’d heard the helms on pyramids were on top.

It was a scro ship, he had found. He knew he was on the right ship, the one from which he had been possessed, but he didn’t know who or what had done it. It didn’t matter. It took only a moment to chop the old scro on the helm into bloody meat and hack the helm into splinters. The last descent began immediately after that.

Getting back to the hatch was troublesome but necessary. Someone might come up to see what was the problem, and he wanted to stop any attempt to fix the helm. He was holding onto a hook in the wall behind the hatch when an Oriental woman came up the ladder, and he grabbed her. He wasn’t sure at first if she was a friend or foe. When she turned into a python, he decided she was a foe, and he held on as she changed shape over and over in her panic to escape him. It was when she had turned into a wolf and had almost gotten away from him that the pyramid struck the ground at a speed many times faster than a hawk could dive. There was an instant of chaos and impact, then nothing at all.

*****

Teldin awoke, feeling something cool wash across his face. He blinked and looked up into a too-bright sky, the sun directly overhead as always. He shut his eyes again, half raising his hands to shield his face.

“Relax,” came a young girl’s voice. It sounded familiar but he couldn’t place it. “Everything’s fine.” A wet cloth began to wipe his face again, spreading its coolness across his brow.

It felt like heaven. Teldin sighed and rolled his head to one side. A wadded blue cloak supported his head. His cheek rested against something cool and metallic.

Thin fingers reached under his cheek and removed the large bronze disk and chain that lay on the ground there. After a brief look at it, Gaye tucked the medallion down the front of her blouse and into the magical bag that was carefully strapped across her chest. The bag opened into another dimension and would hold almost anything – poles, coins, extra clothing, food, even lost thingfinders. She’d give the medallion to Teldin later when he recovered. It had belonged to the gray ogre, having been tucked into his chest armor, and had come partially free when he had fallen to the ground, but picking it up had been difficult, given that she couldn’t bare to look at what the two harpoons had done to the ogre’s face. Her body still ached from the bombard’s recoil.

The effects the medallion had on her when she first touched it had been shocking. What deep-space vista was that? What otherworldly view was she seeing? It had been tempting to keep the medallion for herself, but Gaye knew that Teldin might make better use of it wherever he was going on his search for the
Spelljammer
 
–
and she knew he would be going without her. He’d make sure of it now, with all the deaths and horror he had faced.

And she would be left far behind, she who loved him.

“You never knew, did you?” she said softly as she picked up the cloth and wiped Teldin’s face again. “You never did figure it out.” Her free hand came up to stroke Teldin’s cheek as he faded into sleep. Hearing the change in his breathing, Gaye slowly released the cloth and leaned over Teldin’s still form. Her black hair fell across his chest and covered his face like a tent. Eyes closed, she pressed her lips to his. His mustache tickled her nose. “You never will know,” she whispered, then bent down again and with delicate fingers, reconnected the silver clasp at Teldin’s neck.

He was once again the Cloakmaster.

*****

“I’d like some answers, if you have them,” said Teldin.
You may ask,
said the spelljammer-sized slug. Its pulpy body shook and rippled like black jelly as it rose up to turn its head in Teldin’s direction.

Teldin swallowed. He would never get used to the fal’s foul appearance. After returning to heal Teldin and Gomja, the fal – or its image, Teldin wasn’t sure which – had reported that the surviving elven and scro ships were leaving and probably were on their way out of the sphere. Once Gaye had given Teldin the bronze medallion, the fal then informed Teldin of the medallion’s purpose – it having been mentioned in a few old epics about the
Spelljammer
 – and had devised a set of instructions on how to use the ancient item to track the mighty ship. One Six Nine also had brought the news of Aelfred’s fate, much to everyone’s distress.

“Why couldn’t you have done something to help Aelfred?” Teldin asked. He knew the fal would have a good answer, but he had to know. “You have so many powers, but … why?”

I greatly regret that I was unaware of his actions, but I was maintaining a set of mental illusions in my attempt to draw away the scro fleet. I dropped the illusions only to divine his fate too late to intervene, as he apparently had completed his sabotage and was beyond my reach.

Teldin snotted softly. It was useless to beat the issue. He rubbed his eyes. It was so hard to believe both Aelfred and Sylvie were gone. “I don’t understand what you mean when you talk about psionics, for another thing,” Teldin said, dropping his hand and changing the topic. “I have enough trouble understanding magic. You said something about mental illusions just now. Were you talking about psionics?”

You
are
correct.
The enormous bulk of the fal gave an oily ripple in the sunlight.
I am implanting in your mind my
own
image, to which you ire speaking. You could touch my image but would discover that I feel quite real to you, though I am not truly in your vicinity. I am able to so control your perceptions that I am, for oil purposes, real to you. I can do this only with a limited number of beings, however. I do not enjoy duplicity, except when it serves to protect my person or my allies.

You may have guessed that General Vorr, whom you fought, fell victim earlier to one of my mental decoys. I wished for the scro to depart without further bloodshed, and my plan was almost entirely successful. You were thought by the general to be dead, based on a mental illusion he and an ally of his had observed earlier. I did not intend for the general to be left behind by his cohorts, for which I offer my apologies, just as I had not meant for Aelfred to die aboard the pyramid ship that he apparently sabotaged.

“No one’s plans work perfectly,” said Teldin with a bitter smile, “least of all mine. I’m still confused, though, because the general claimed he was immune to magic. How could psionics have affected him?”

You must understand that psionics is like magic, but it is not magic. I would like to explain the subtle differences between them, but it would serve no purpose. You need know only that the two do not affect one another, so Vorr’s immunity to magic helped him not against any psionic attack I cared to make against him. I created what I wished him to see and feel, and that he did.

What if I was seeing only what you wished me to see right now? thought Teldin uncomfortably. Not just your image, but everything, even this whole megafauna-being we’re on. What if everything I saw and felt was unreal?

He shook himself, quickly abandoning the thought. “I’ll let it go,” he muttered. “It’s beyond me. Anyway, we should get underway and start looking for the
Spelljammer
before some other fleet comes looking for us. We still have to bury Sylvie with Aelfred on our way out, too, if we can find out where he … you know.” Teldin waved his hand vaguely.

I will guide you there, Teldin. I assume that you also will need funds, as well as guidance, to fulfil our bargain for you to find the
Spelljammer.
You will find at your feet a pouch containing several dozen small gems, which you may convert into currency at your next destination. You may wish to purchase a new ship if you must eventually part from the giff and gnomes.