The Maelstroms Eye (9 page)

“The
Spelljammer?”
mumbled the pop-eyed gnome, his face covered with amazement. “Now, you don’t mean just any spelljammer, do you? Or do you mean the big
Spelljammer,
the really big one? The one-and-only Spelljammer? Or is this a joke? I can never tell with you elves. You must mean some other kind of —”

“If you will bear with him,” said Cirathorn patiently, “you will find his advice most helpful, though you may have to remind him when he should eat, and perhaps when he should bathe as well. We will —”

“Wait!” yelled the gnome in a panic. “No one’s told me if you’re talking about the one-and-only
Spelljammer
or not yet, and besides I did take a bath not long ago. You elves think you know everything, and if you’re doing this just to trick me, well, I’m not just anyone’s fool, but first tell me if you really mean the one-and-only
Spelljammer
or not so I know what you’re talking about, because if you really mean the one-and-only
Spelljammer,
well, that’s another kettle of lug nuts, because I wrote an article on the
Spelljammer
to Spelljamming Week amp; Wildspace Technology, which will see publication in just five years, once they get their printing presses working again after the last explosion, but more to the point —”

Teldin glanced at the admiral. Cirathorn’s head bobbed slightly in rough rhythm with the gnome’s pressured speech. “You will become accustomed to him, as have we,” the elf said softly, turning in Teldin’s direction again. “Trust me that it will be worth the trouble.”

Teldin shrugged his shoulders. “It depends on the
Probe’s
captain, but I don’t think he’ll have a problem with one more passenger. If he can help us when we find the
Spelljammer,
it will be worth any amount of trouble.”
Almost
any trouble, he added to himself.

“It is settled, then.” Cirathorn sighed and rose to his feet, stretching his legs and ignoring the gnome’s continued rambling and questions. “Let us rest for an hour, then return here when all have been refreshed. You have given us much to consider, Teldin Moore, as well as much wonder and entertainment, which I am sure was not your purpose. Please remain with us in our embassy until we reconvene. We will present you with our papers on the
Spelljammer
as soon as possible, then will see you on your way.”

“That will be fine,” said Teldin, but it wasn’t as fine as all that. He would have to see if someone else could translate the papers for him, especially if they were in Elvish or used unnaturally long words, which he feared would be the case. Maybe Aelfred could translate them. Anything would be better than having the gnome try to explain them.

Something else bothered Teldin. It was great that Cirathorn was being so helpful, but why? Teldin had been betrayed and attacked so many times that he found it impossible to believe that anyone would help him out of pure goodness. What was the admiral’s take in all of this? Or had Teldin merely become too cynical? He had to clear this up before his ship left. Elves weren’t inclined to be blunt like humans, but he had to know the truth.

Cirathorn motioned with his hands toward the door, and the other elves stood and left the room in twos and threes. All of them stared at Teldin and his cloak from a comfortable distance. No one tried to touch it – or him.

The admiral remained behind with his two aides as everyone else left. Teldin went out with the gnome, who was still babbling away, accompanied by an elf who would show them what supplies could be offered.

As the footsteps faded, one of the aides leaned close to the admiral. “Your forgiveness, Your Grace,” he said softly, “but you were less than forthright with our guest. That you said nothing of your own research on the
Spelljammer
I can understand, but confusing the song-told madness of the First Pilot with ‘enthusiasm’ could only have been delib —”

One of the admiral’s hands came up and pressed itself lightly against the elfs chest. The aide stopped speaking at once. Cirathorn’s eyes were fixed on the doorway.

“We live in interesting times, Alsilor,” whispered the brown-haired elf. “Have my battlewizard, watchmaster, and loremaster report to my chambers at once. The captains of the
Leaping Hart, Free Wind’s Fury, Unicorn’s Wing,
and
Emerald Hornet
are to put their ships at ready within the hour, under the code of the leopard – no sound, no sign. Signal the
Empress Dorianne
that I will be aboard soon, but cannot say when. It, too, is to be readied for flight under the leopard’s code. Go and do.”

Paler than he had been a moment before, the elf hurried away, accompanied by the other aide. The admiral stood in silence, alone, and listened to them leave. He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping as he pulled off his gloves. On the middle finger of his right hand was the signet ring of his family: a golden eagle in flight against a burning sun. An arrow pierced the eagle’s heart – his father’s addition after the retaking of Aerlofalyn and the laying to rest of the old, wronged bones. Cirathorn had long debated with himself over what changes, if any, he would make to the crest.

A sword, he decided, clutched in the eagle’s talons. A dying eagle with the blood of its slayers upon it. It was worthy of thought. There would be time enough and plenty to decide.

“Go and do,” he said, though no one was present. He pulled the glove back on and set off for his chambers to prepare for his meeting.

*****

“The
Spelljammer!”
exclaimed the gnome for the dozenth time. “You know, certainly, that elves are notorious for not saying what’s really on their minds, and their love of metaphor will one day be their downfall, mark my words, and they will give way to those who say what they mean, like the gnomes – ah, and humans, of course – who are many times more clear in their speech, so when that elf said you were going to find the one-and-only
Spelljammer,
I was taken aback for a moment, because I’ve read everything there is about the
Spelljammer,
with the possible exception of the sources kept at the libraries of Doth B and Zphidnin, and maybe the Academy at Lirak’s Cube, but, as I was saying, you could have knocked me over with a size-four gear wrench when I understood that he actually meant the one-and-only
Spelljammer.
Where are we going?”

“What?” said Teldin, who had not been paying attention. The two were past the Greater Market now, on the way downhill toward the warehouses and docks. He had trouble believing his good fortune. The admiral had given him access to a warehouse full of supplies. Undoubtedly, it would be too much to carry aboard the hammership, but still —

“I said, where are we going? You’ll have to forgive me, but I haven’t gone outside very much in the last few years, and I’m not very familiar with the city here, since I was working in the libraries in the embassy —”

“We’re going to the ship that brought me here,” Teldin said, cutting him off. “Then we’re going to take you to Iron-piece, get the maps to Herdspace, and go see the fal for more information.” Teldin chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Afterward, I suppose we’ll find the
Spelljammer,
and … do whatever we need to do there.” Just what did he mean to do at the
Spelljammer?
Teldin realized he didn’t have a clue.

“Ah, that’s just excellent,” said Dyffed with obvious relief. “I have a suspicion that the careful study of the
Spelljammer
could produce a revolution in every kind of science, most especially in the field of cold dweomerfusion, which as you know is the most up-and-coming field of energy research, possibly to replace even hydrodynamics, given a century or two and some successful field trials ….”

The rest of the gnome’s monologue was lost in the ruckus of a shouting match between two red-faced dwarves, both stinking with ale, outside an equally noisy tavern. Teldin hurried by before blows could be exchanged. The docks appeared down the street ahead. Barely a minute later, he waved his arms at Aelfred, who leaned against the ship’s railing on the
Probe’s
forward castle, directing the unloading operations on the main deck.

“About damn time!” roared Aelfred in a good humor, noticing Teldin at last. “Did you get lost, or did the elves have you seeing one flunky after the other? And who’s the dwarf? You want me to hire this one on, too?”

“I’ll tell you in just a moment!” Teldin shouted back. “This is Dyffedionizer … ah, Dyffed. I’ll explain everything later. Why did you ask about hiring him?”

‘“Cause I hired the other one. I was going to ask you why you sent her over, but I guessed that you knew what you were doing, and she’s working out fine.”

Teldin was trying to imagine what Aelfred was talking about when a dreadful possibility came to mind.

“Aelfred,” Teldin called, his voice rising with tension, “who did you hire?”

“Hey, Teldin!”
screamed a young girl’s voice. With a jolt of sudden horror, Teldin looked toward the ship’s stern, where someone small with long black hair, a colorful dress, and a magenta headband waved at him with both slim arms.
“Teldin, how’d it go!”

“Paladine save me,” Teldin whispered. From what, Teldin didn’t want to imagine.

Chapter Four

As he placed his hand on the waiting room door, General Vorr took a moment to touch his sword hilt and reassure himself of its weight. Vorr had long ago discarded any worship of the uncaring gods, except perhaps for the hero-ancestor Dukagsh. Vorr placed his faith instead in his strength, skills, and willpower. Still, if he never admitted to having fears, he sometimes felt doubt, and getting the feel of a weapon before a battle was as close as he would ever come to praying. He did not fear the undead, but he did not like them either. Victory was the healthiest antidote for doubt.

His previous injuries were now largely healed, thanks to his regenerative powers, but his right arm still ached deep in the bone where the knight had stabbed him, and his left shoulder still burned from the poisoned axe. With Admiral Halker waiting impatiently behind him in the hallway, he opened the door and stepped into the cool air of the room beyond.

The room, in a building adjacent to the one in which Vorr had his headquarters, once had been the spacious stone chapel of a local elven deity. After the fall of Spiral, it had served as a prisoner-holding station and was now just a room where scouts and other visitors were quartered before meeting with high officials. Enthusiastic orcs, scro, goblins, and others had demolished or stolen everything of value in the area during the assault, leaving the chapel as barren as if it never had been inhabited at all. Only the great brass lanterns, hanging on long chains from the vaulted ceiling, remained of the elves’ original furnishings, their magical glow illuminating the room despite the battering they had taken from debris hurled at them by bored visitors.

Vorr did not know what to expect when he entered, except for the lich. Indeed, standing in the room’s center, by the faceless and almost unrecognizable statue of an elven god, was a skeletal human in dark velvet robes. From its thin rope belt hung a single gray pouch. At Vorr’s entrance, the creature turned from the statue with a startled movement to face him. Its bony hands came up with its fingers spread in an obvious spell-casting movement. The stench of long-dead meat assailed the general’s nostrils almost immediately.

It was then that Vorr saw the four huge creatures standing farther back in the room, their black carapaces gleaming in the light overhead. The monsters turned as one to face the general, then raised their great clawed hands and widened their yard-long mandibles in anticipation, hurrying forward with a lumbering gait to pass the lich and plant themselves before him.

Vorr immediately blocked the doorway with his huge body ‘and threw a hand out to stop the admiral’s advance. “Umber hulks!” he shouted as he drew his sword. Then he saw that the room already had perhaps two dozen ogre guardsmen lining the walls, weapons at the ready. He also saw that the umber hulks’ dangerous magical eyes were shrouded with torn strips of black cloth, preventing their mind-destroying vision from affecting the ogres already in the room. He hesitated, sensing that he had reacted too quickly.

“Halt!” The lich’s rasping voice was strained and barely understandable. Striding forward between the huge monsters, the undead being placed a gentle, skeletal hand on the thick arm of one of its wide-bodied beasts. “You must slower walk, and less loud be, or difficulty with my servants I will have,” the lich said, cold yellow-green light burning within its eye sockets. “Their eyes tightly bound are, but guarantee your safety I cannot, if them again you startle.”

“This is my fault, I’m afraid,” said Admiral Halker. He stepped past the general and entered the room, casually wiping sweat from his forehead. “I was careless and did not mention that your bodyguards were umber hulks, Skarkesh. I hope I got your name right.”

“Skarkesh, it is.” The lich dropped its fleshless hand from the umber hulk’s arm. “Apologize for their presence I must. Trust in all things I lack, having this lesson in unfortunate ways learned. Like pets to me now they are.”

Vorr sheathed his broadsword after another look around the room. Thanks to the eye shrouds, his ogres were not affected by the terrible madness that seized anyone who looked into an umber hulk’s eyes – anyone but himself, of course, since magical effects couldn’t touch him. The ogres, who had tensed at Vorr’s arrival, relaxed slightly, keeping their pole axes and huge swords at the ready. Vorr was pleased to see their courage in the face of the lich, whose magic usually drove its foes mad with panic before it. Vorr frowned suddenly, sensing that something was wrong.

“To you two plainly I must speak,” rasped the lich, turning to walk back to the battered statue. “At my news with excitement I am seized, but with you to speak alone I had hoped. Too many guards we keep, and my news best in quiet surroundings is given. Possible this is?”

The general and admiral carefully exchanged looks. “There is a small room in the back of this one, where we could discuss things,” said the admiral, looking back at Skarkesh, “if General Vorr feels it would be safe enough.”