He was looking death in the face, Teldin realized. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the figure of Estriss, racing to his aid, but he knew the illithid would arrive much too late. His killer's sword flashed downward. With an inarticulate cry, Teldin reached out toward the descending sword arm, a futile attempt to fend off destruction.
And power flared-behind him, around him, within him. The cloak around his neck crackled with power. His skin tingled with it; his bones burned with it. The feeling was like lying naked under the noontime sun, but: infinitely magnified. He felt that the very bones of his body must be glowing with the blue-white radiance of lightning, their brilliance shining right through his skin. He flung his head back and he howled, as though the sound had been ripped out of him. He thrust his hand out-no longer to block his attacker's slash, now directly toward the big man's chest.
His howl turned to a scream of agony-or was it ecstacy? Tiny, burning lights burst from his outstretched fingers. Intense, three-pointed stars-dazzling, almost blinding- sizzled through the air, forming a curtain, a curved shield of light, between him and his adversary. Teldin could see the shock dawn in the swordsman's eyes, but it was much too late for the man to check his swing. The sword struck that hissing curtain.
There was a crack like thunder. The sword's blade stopped as suddenly as if it had hit a stone wall. For an instant it was frozen there, glowing with the same actinic radiance as the curtain itself, then it exploded into tiny fragments. The swordsman reeled back, screaming in terror. His body was covered, head to toe, with tiny nicks from the splinters of his own sword. He stared with horror and disbelief at Teldin, then he turned and fled the foredeck.
As suddenly as it had sprung into being, the sizzling curtain of light vanished. Teldin lowered his arm. The sense of power was gone; no trace of it remained. In its place, coldness and weakness washed through him. His heart pounded, and he gasped with exertion and horror.
How? How could he have done that? He knew that the power came from outside of him, from the cloak-there was no doubt about that now. But how? How was it triggered, and why? What was its purpose?
He shook his head. Now was definitely not the time. With an ultimate effort, he forced his questions, his doubt, from the forefront of his mind. Later, he told himself, if there is a later.
The balance of the battle had swung in favor of the Probe's crew, Teldin saw quickly. The majority of the attackers-human and monstrous-lay dead on the hammership's deck. Most of the remainder were actually trying to withdraw, back onto tie deathspider from the killing ground that the Probe's deck had become. There were pockets of resistance where the attackers were still holding out-mainly centered around the two surviving umber hulks-but in most other places aboard the hammership the battle had degenerated into mopping up.
There was still fighting on the Probe's foredeck. Aelfred, now assisted by Bubbo and Estriss and two other crewmen, was driving a desperate group of attackers back. There was nowhere for them to go except out onto the upper surface of the officers' saloon. From there, they'd have to clamber back onto the deathspider's grappling leg and thence to the big ship's bridge, all the while being harried by the Probe's best warriors. If they didn't make it, they'd fall into space. From his vantage point, Teldin could see a dozen bodies floating in space along the deathspider's gravity plane. They bobbed gently as though floating in water and were slowly moving outward from the ship. It was as though they were being drawn toward the margin of the air envelope that surrounded the ships. Presumably, when they reached the edge of that envelope-and the edge of the ship's gravitational effect- they'd drift in the phlogiston, free of any gravity.
Most of the remaining bodies were obviously and messily dead, but a few still moved and called feebly for help. Nobody aboard the deathspider paid them any attention, and the crew of the Probe was too busy to help them.
There was a cry from the foredeck. One of the attackers, with a sudden burst of fury, had broken through the cordon of hammership crewmen. The man was bleeding profusely from a dozen wounds, but he was still very much alive. His wild, empty eyes fixed on Teldin, and he rushed forward, swinging his notched broadsword.
Desperately, Teldin snatched up the short sword he'd dropped and brought the weapon up to block the mighty cut that would have taken his head off. The blades clashed, and Teldin cried out at the agony that shot through his wrist at the impact. He backpedaled quickly, keeping the sword out before him. Sweat blurred his vision, and the tendons of his forearm burned like fire. The light sword in his hand felt like a bar of lead. He sought within him, desperately, for the calm, the focus he'd felt earlier, but there was no response-either from the cloak or from within himself. Maybe the flare of power had drained all energy from the cloak, or perhaps in his exhausted state he was simply unable to call it forth.
If he'd ever been able to call it. Even at the best of times, the power he'd felt had never been anything he could really depend on.
He blocked another swing, deflecting his opponent's blade so that it clove the air above Teldin's head. While the man was open, Teldin tried to lunge, but his movements were slow and his enemy jumped back in plenty of time. It was all Teldin could do to get his own blade in position to parry the man's cat-quick riposte.
There was no hope that he was going to last, Teldin realized dully. The man he faced was a good swordsman, infinitely more skilled than Teldin, and the man seemed almost fresh, unaffected by the wounds that had turned his clothing burgundy. Teldin had just managed to block his preliminary attacks, but there was no way that would last. If nothing else, the man would be able to wear Teldin down until he couldn't hold his sword up anymore, then the broadsword would end his life.
He had to do something desperate. He backed away again to give himself a few precious moments. With his left hand he drew his belt knife and turned the weapon so he held it by the broad base of the blade. His enemy stepped forward again, readying for another cut.
Teldin yelled-a last-ditch attempt to distract the swordsman-and simultaneously flipped his knife out in an underarm throw. The blade flashed in the flow-light, and sank into the left side of the man's belly. He cried out with pain. Teldin lunged, but his enemy was better than that. Even distracted by the agony of the knife in his guts, he was easily able to bring his sword down and parry Teldin's thrust.
Teldin threw himself back again, barely evading his opponent's riposte. The swordsman stepped forward once more, and Teldin looked into his eyes. They were dull with pain, and with something more than pain. The man was dying; he knew it and Teldin knew it, but the swordsman also knew that he'd have more than enough time for one last kill before he collapsed. Teldin tried to yell, to scream for help, but his throat was too tight. The only sound he could make was a pitiful croak. The man raised his sword for a final strike.
Teldin heard a swish and a meaty truwk. The swordsman lurched forward, the broad head of a spear growing- magically, it seemed-out of his chest. Teldin looked for a moment into uncomprehending eyes, then the eyes closed and the man collapsed.
Teldin saw Aelfred across the forecastle. The big man was still following through after his spear cast. The spear, Teldin realized, was the one that had been buried in the forward turret wall. The warrior bad torn it out and thrown it at the last instant. Aelfred smiled grimly, then drew his sword again and rejoined the fray on the foredeck.
Exhaustion and the aftereffects of terror hit Teldin like a blow. His belly cramped, and it was all he could do to stop himself from retching. His sword arm hung limply by his side. If another enemy came upon him like this, he realized, he wouldn't even be able to move while the other struck him dead.
But there were no other enemies on the forecastle. Vallus stood by the starboard rail, as unruffled as always. He gave Teldin a reassuring smile. Teldin crossed the deck to join him. As he did, the Probe lurched slightly beneath his feet. The helm is operating. Estriss's "voice" was crystal-clear in his mind.
"Vallus, do it!" Aelfred ordered.
The elf mage hadn't waited for the instruction. Once more his hands wove the threads of magic. His voice echoed across the deck. Again the blinding lance of green light shot from his fingertip, this time striking the root of the remaining grappling leg beneath the Probe. Black crystal exploded into dust, and the slender leg sheared off cleanly at its base. The hammership lurched again.
"Get us out of here!" Aelfred bellowed.
Slowly at first, but with ever-increasing speed, the Probe dropped away from the deathspider. With both lower legs gone, there was nothing to hold it from beneath, nothing to prevent its escape. As the hammership drew away, Vallus delivered one final stroke. Multicolored beams of light slashed through the void once more, this time striking directly through the spidership's bow port that had been shattered by an earlier spell.
"I take it the helm is on the bridge?" the elf said dryly. Aelfred smiled broadly. "You take it right." He patted Vallus on the shoulder. "That should slow them down, maybe permanently. Good move."
The hammership accelerated away from the deathspider. It changed course rapidly, just once, to avoid the severed leg that was wheeling slowly through space, then it poured on the speed. The distance between the ships grew rapidly. As if to bear out Aelfred's words, the hideous ship remained stationary, presumably unable to pursue. It would only be minutes before the Probe could accelerate to its full spelljamming speed, then there would be little chance that the neogi could catch them.
Teldin watched the receding spidership. The space around it was littered with debris-fragments from the shattered leg, small chunks of hull, and the small shapes that were the dead and dying. He was glad when the distance was so great that he could no longer see those figures.
When the hammership pulled away from the deathspider, the situation on deck changed drastically. There were half a dozen human attackers and one umber hulk still alive. As soon as it was obvious that the Probe had escaped, most of the humans immediately threw down their weapons and surrendered, begging the hammership's crew for mercy. The others turned on the single remaining hulk, attacking it ferociously. With the full surviving complement of the Probe plus the erstwhile slaves attacking it, the monster didn't last long. Teldin heard its barking shrieks getting fainter and fainter, then the monster was silent.
Teldin looked around the ship. Casualties had been horrendous. Most of the dead were the unarmored and lightly armed slaves from the deathspider, but many of the Probe's crew had fallen as well. Sweor Tobregdan lay on the main deck, coughing out his last breaths in bright blood. Teldin spotted Miggins crumpled against the port rail. The young gnome was still alive-barely-but he clutched the torn ruin of what had been his left arm. Liono, the spear still transfixing his chest, lay on the starboard side of the forecastle. The cloying smell of blood was thick in the air, and Teldin's ears were filled with the moans of the injured and dying. The Probe was like a charnel house.
Teldin slumped down against the forward turret and let the sword slip from his cramped hand. His stomach knotted with nausea. So many dead. He remembered the other battlefields he'd seen and recalled Aelfred's words: To the Nine Hells with the fools who think it's glorious. The big warrior was right. There was no glory in battle, just horror, pain, and death.
Dully he looked up to see Aelfred standing at the forecastle's aft rail, surveying the carnage below. The big man had bound a cloth around his brow to staunch the bleeding of his head wound. Small wounds showed almost everywhere on the warrior's body, but he seemed unaware of them. He shook his head and bent down to clean his blade on the shirt of someone who had no further use for it.
A junior officer-Julia, Teldin thought her name was-climbed the ladder from the main deck to the forecastle Teldin had always thought she looked pert and attractive with her short-cropped red hair and petite figure. Now she was covered in blood, and she looked utterly exhausted.
Aelfred looked up as he heard her approach. "Report," he said quietly.
The woman's voice was dull, as though she were tired unto death. "Limited structural damage," she responded, "nothing serious. We're spaceworthy."
"Casualties?"
"Fourteen dead, to my knowledge. Four missing that I know about: Shandess, Morla, Zeb, and Kevan. Probably overboard and dead-" she paused "-maybe captured."
Aelfred shook his head. "Let's hope dead," he said flatly.
Teldin recognized one of the names. Shandess was the old man who'd spoken to him on the foredeck immediately after they'd passed into the flow. He looked back at the receding deathspider and remembered the tattoo on the shoulder of one of his attackers, the wild, soul-destroyed look in his eyes.
He nodded to himself. Let's hope dead.
"Can we run the ship?" Aelfred continued.
Julia nodded. "Just. If we use the slaves to help, we should be all right. In no shape for another battle, but all right."
Estriss joined the two at the rail. There was blood on the tips of his facial tentacles: red blood, human blood. Teldin tried to blot the significance of that from his mind. Do we trust them, the illithid asked.
"We have to," Aelfred said flatly, then amended, "to some extent, at least. I've seen this before. They'll work for us-we saved them from the neogi, remember?-and they'll follow orders. It's the slave mentality." He swore viciously, then forced himself to be calm. "They'll follow orders," he repeated, "but that's all they'll be good for. Don't expect any initiative, any motivation. Sometimes they can come back, learn to think for themselves. Sometimes. It all depends on how long they were on the deathspider, what happened to them there." Teldin looked away. His fear was draining from him, but horror and disgust still remained.
"Teldin."
He turned at the sound of his own name. An exhausted-looking Horvath was approaching across the forecastle. He was carrying something, a bundle not much smaller than the gnome himself. "Teldin," he said again.
Teldin struggled to his feet. He read in the gnome's expression, in the dullness of his voice, what the burden must be, but knowing and seeing were two different things. He didn't want to look at the bundle that the gnome had set gently down on the deck, but he had to. He stood beside his friend and looked down.
It was Dana, as he knew it had to be. Her face was peaceful, at rest, for the first time in his experience. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were curved in a faint smile. She could have been asleep, if it hadn't been for the great wound in her chest.
"She wanted to see you," Horvath said, his voice cracking with emotion. "She wanted me to take her to you, but she went before I could reach you."
Teldin's heart was cold in his chest, and tears that he couldn't let himself shed stung behind his eyes. If he let himself cry, he thought, he'd never be able to stop. Hers was another death, another innocent laid at his feet, this time quite literally. The responsibility was his. He and his burden had brought death to another friend. He knelt beside the still shape and laid a hand tenderly against her cheek.
The cold in his breast burst into fire. He threw back his head and howled his torment and fury at the colors of the flow. "Damn you!" he screamed. "Damn you to the Abyss!" If anyone had asked, he couldn't have told who he was cursing. The neogi, the dying stranger who'd laid this burden-this curse-on him… or maybe himself.
A soft hand was on his shoulder. He tried to shake it off, but the grip strengthened. He looked up into Sylvie's troubled eyes. "I'll take you below," the half-elf said gently.
His anger faded to a dull ache. He hung his head. "All right," he mumbled. Horvath and Sylvie helped him to his feet, and she led him away.
*****
Prissith Nerro walked through the red-lit slave quarters of the deathspider. All around, the neogi could hear the sibilant speech of others of its kind, the rattling growls of umber hulks, the moans of the surviving slaves. Normally it would feel the fierce and burning pride that came with viewing its possessions: its slaves, its umber hulk lordservants, its lesser neogi kin-slaves, most of all the great ship itself, the Void Reaper. Now the pride was submerged under a tide of anger. Nerro hissed its rage and frustration. It wanted to lash out with its jaws, to tear the flesh of a human slave, to taste its victim's hot blood, but it knew that too many slaves had already died today, that it couldn't spare another even for the worthy purpose of settling its own troubled spirit.
Another neogi was in the hallway ahead of Nerro, sidling forward tentatively, its claws clicking on the crystal deck. The pattern of colored dye on the other neogi's fur identified it as second in command of the Void Reaper. Prissith Ulm, its name was. Prissith Nerro could smell its brood-brother's fear, and that, at least, was some consolation. The prize that Nerro sought was still out of its reach-perhaps farther than ever, after today's failure-but at least the overlord knew that it still commanded the fear and respect of its underlings.
"Prissith Nerro Master," the subordinate neogi hissed, bobbing its head in a gesture of respect. "The captive meat is prepared, as you commanded."
Nerro snarled its satisfaction. "Take me to it," it ordered. The captive human was in one of the slave cells. He lay on a hard wooden pallet, his limbs bound to prevent escape or attack. His clothing had been ripped away, leaving him naked and defenseless. Nerro examined him with a stirring of interest. The man was old, obviously, older than any neogi slave would be allowed to become. His body was withered, his white skin wrinkled. Nerro found itself wondering how the prey's flesh would taste, whether age would improve or worsen the flavor, then it dismissed the thought. This food was probably too old to be palatable, except in an emergency. Once again, Nerro found itself wondering at the strange habits of these humans. Why would they leave one such as this to survive for so long? To eat the food that could be given to other, more deserving, creatures? To decay? It was sheer waste, and waste disgusted and angered Prissith Nerro.
The human was unconscious, Nerro noted. Possibly blood loss from the deep wound that marred the man's chest. Nerro brought its head closer to that wound and sniffed. Withered or not, the creature's blood still smelled appetizing.
"Prissith Nerro Master," Prissith Ulm said softly.
Nerro turned on it with a spit of anger. "What?" it demanded.
"We believe it is dying, Prissith Nerro Master."
Nerro considered for a moment. "If this is true," it hissed, "it is well you told me." There was much to do, to learn, and if the time remaining to do so was limited, it was best to know it. "Wake it," Prissith Nerro ordered.
*****
All Shandess knew was pain. His body burned with it, his thoughts were filled with it. Darkness was all around him, and the darkness danced with pain.
He was vaguely aware of his body. He knew that he lay on his back upon a hard surface, and he knew that he wasn't cold. Most of all, though, he knew that his chest hurt with an agony that spoke unmistakably of approaching death.
Something grasped his jaw, forced his mouth open. He felt something cold and hard being driven cruelly between his teeth, then a liquid struck the back of his throat, a liquid that burned like all the cheap liquor he'd drunk on a dozen planets, all combined into one harsh draft. He coughed, and agony tore at his chest. This must be death, he thought.
Somehow, though, he didn't die. In fact, he felt a little control returning to his body and mind. After the initial burst of torment, the pain seemed to retreat to a manageable level. He forced his eyes open.
For a moment, his brain couldn't make sense of what he was seeing, then the meaning penetrated. He screwed his eyes shut again to block out the scene-to deny the reality of it, if he could. He would have screamed in horror, but he couldn't draw a deep enough breath.
He was in a small room or a cell, perhaps five feet wide and not much more than that long. Walls and ceiling were dull black, and the only illumination came from a small disk over-head that glowed with a dim, blood-red light. Two faces were above him, looking down at him. Not human faces. They were more like the heads of giant snakes-or perhaps the moray eels he'd seen on one of the worlds he'd visited. Their grinning mouths were filled with needlelike teeth, and their small eyes were red-tinged and staring.
Shandess knew he was dying, but he also knew, suddenly, that there were some things he feared more than death. Instinctively, he tried to fend off the hideous creatures with his hands but found his wrists-and his ankles, when he tried to move them-securely bound. He whimpered deep in his throat.
"Withered meat, eyes open." That voice could never have come from a human throat. It was the voice of a giant snake, if such a creature could have the power of speech. From the order of the words, Shandess could tell the monster was struggling with a foreign language. "Meat eyes open," the sibilant voice repeated, "or master eyelids from meat tear."
Shandess forced his eyes open once more. One of the monsters had backed away. It was the nearest one that had spoken. "Good," the neogi said. "Meat master 'Prissith Nerro Master' call. Meat speak." Shandess couldn't force his throat to work. The monster lashed down with its head until its teeth were a mere hand's span from the old man's face. Its breath, reeking of corruption, washed over him, and its saliva dripped on his face. "Meat speak!"
Shandess forced the words out. His voice was a croak. "Prissith Nerro Master."
The neogi reared back. "Yes," it spat. "Master. Meat obey. If no-" the creature's mouth opened wider into an evil grin "-if no, master meat tear. Master meat rip. Master flesh from bone pull. But meat obey, master meat kill swiftly." The monster's voice became almost wheedling. "Now. Meat questions answer?"
"Yes," Shandess croaked. With blinding speed, the second neogi lashed out with a claw and opened a gash in the old man's arm. "Yes, Prissith Nerro Master!" Shandess shrieked.
"Good," Prissith Nerro breathed. "First. Ship where bound?"
Shandess hesitated. The Probe's destination was no secret, but… The second neogi's claw ripped his flesh again. "Realmspace," he screamed.
Nerro nodded. Its wicked smile remained unchanged. "Meat aboard ship," it went on, "master must know about. Meat cloak has. Cloak-" the neogi hesitated "-power has, value has. Such power, meat commander must be, inconceivable else. Old meat master tell, of cloak, of meat aboard ship. Old meat master tell everything."
Shandess was confused. Fear, and the monster's garbled language, were making it hard for him to understand what the neogi wanted. Something about a commander… Aelfred Silverhorn was the highest-ranking human aboard the Probe. That had to be whom the monster was referring to-but to Shandess's knowledge, the first mate had no cloak… at least, nothing magical, nothing that could interest this neogi. "I know our leader," he said quickly, "we call him Mate." There was no reason to give this monstrosity Aelfred's name, he decided. "But as to the rest," he went on, "I don't know what you're talking about. He has no cloak."
"Meat lie!" the neogi spat. Then its smile widened, showing more of its needle teeth. "And glad I am. Meat no resist, I feared. Pleasure master denied, I feared."
"I'm not lying!" Shandess yelled. "I'm telling the truth!"
The neogi hardly seemed to be listening. "Pleasure I have now. Knowledge I have later," the creature hissed, almost to itself. "Pleasure." Slowly the monster brought its mouth down toward Shandess's throat. "Now, withered meat," it said quietly, "your taste I will know, after all."
Shandess fought vainly against the bonds. The creature's breath was on his face, then his chest, then his belly…. Horror overwhelmed him.
Shandess knew it would serve no purpose to scream, but he screamed anyway.
*****
Teldin Moore sat alone in the Probe's saloon, gazing out at the flow. Although it was nowhere nearly as beautiful as the star-specked sky of wildspace, today the view of the phlogiston served the same purpose. Gazing at the universe, Teldin could temporarily forget-or at least minimize the torment of-his responsibilities, his fears, and his memories. He felt drained, both emotionally and physically. When Sylvie had led him belowdecks, she'd started to take him to his cabin, but he'd had enough mental spark left to know that wouldn't be the right place. Dana was gone, Miggins was in the infirmary-expected to live, but probably missing an arm-and Horvath's presence would have been a reminder that it was all his, Teldin's, responsibility. He'd insisted on visiting the officers' saloon instead, and Sylvie had agreed without argument. As she'd left him, she'd touched his hand and given him a gentle smile. "There are those who can help you," she'd told him softly, then had left him alone, shutting the door behind her. He hadn't known just what to make of her cryptic words, but had recognized that he was hardly in the best condition to puzzle them out. There would always be later.
Teldin could hear the crew moving around the Probe's decks: cleaning up the blood, repairing the damage, and throwing the bodies of the dead overboard. Elsewhere, he knew that the ship's healers were treating those who could be saved and easing the last hours of those who couldn't. Julia, promoted to second mate after the death of Sweor Tobregdan, was seeing to the erstwhile neogi slaves, teaching them what she could about ship routine and explaining their duties. Everybody had duties, the officers most of all, so it wasn't surprising that he was alone in the saloon.
Everyone has duties except me, Teldin thought. They don't know what to do with me. From the start, he'd been more-or perhaps less-than a full member of the hammership's crew. His friendship with Aelfred and the way the big warrior treated him set him apart from the others, and, over the days, that had only increased. The rest of the crew had seen him hobnob with the captain and the first mate, and this he felt was the reason for the respect in which the crew seemed to hold him. Even when he was standing watch, the crew always treated him more like an officer than as one of them. And now?
As Sylvie had led him down from the forecastle, he'd seen the crew's reaction. They'd watched him-all the while trying to pretend they weren't watching him-and had moved out of his way, as though they expected three-rayed stars to burst from his fingertips and form a hissing curtain about him. He'd heard somebody mutter, "Fighter-mage," but when he'd turned to see who had said it, no one would meet his glance.
He'd always seemed to come, somehow, to the forefront of any group he was a member of, Teldin had to admit. In general, he got on well with the vast majority of people. Not that they always liked him, or he them, of course, but there was something about his manner that made it possible to deal with virtually anyone. There was no conceit in this admission; it just happened to be the case. After a while, people came to him for advice, and they listened to his answers. Even when he intended to keep his opinion quiet on a particular subject, people would try to secure that opinion from him as though it were something of value. It seemed that the more he remained aloof, the more he tried to stay out of the focus of an issue, the more people would believe his silence was a kind of calm wisdom. Teldin had never been able to understand this. He knew from personal experience that he was no more wise than the majority of people; quite the opposite, perhaps. He found it amusing, albeit somewhat irritating, at times. His grandfather had been like that, too, Teldin remembered, but the old man had shrugged it off with a typical grandfatherly comment: Better to keep your peace and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. Of course, the aphorism wasn't appropriate: nobody thought grandfather a fool, except for perhaps his son.
The respect-no, more like awe-that he'd seen on the faces of the Probe's crew was something totally different. It wasn't him they respected, he was convinced, it was the power that he'd displayed on the forecastle. They thought of him as a wizard now, someone like Vallus or Sylvie, who could wield spells to protect them, to strike down enemies. They wouldn't understand or believe that he had no control of that power no knowledge of its source, purpose, or significance. They'd come to depend on him-as he'd come to depend, at least in part, on the focusing power of the cloak-and then the power wouldn't be there, and they'd suffer or die. This realization chilled him. It was yet another burden to bear.
"Ahem." Someone coughed behind him. He turned quickly to see Aelfred standing in the middle of the saloon, hands on his hips, his lopsided smile in place. The warrior had replaced the bandage around his head with a clean one, Teldin noticed, but Aelfred still looked dirty and tired. "How long have you been there?" he asked.
Aelfred shrugged. "Long enough for you to solve the problems of the universe, maybe." He pulled a chair up near Teldin and flopped down into it.
"How goes it above?"
For a moment, the big man seemed to sag. His exhaustion showed, making him look twenty years older. "Messy." He drew a scarred hand across his eyes. "We lost a lot of good people."
"I know."
Aelfred looked at him a moment, his eyes steady. "Yes," he said quietly, "I suppose you do, as much as any of us. Well." He slapped his palms against his muscular thighs, shaking off his fatigue like a dog shakes off water. "Estriss will be down in awhile to speak to you, but, in the meantime…" The warrior leaned forward, his voice low and intense, his eyes boring holes into Teldin. "Just what in the name of all the demons of the pit went on up there? First you're fighting like an old hand, much better than you have any right to, and then…" He shook his big head in amazement. "And then you're throwing spells like Elminster himself. And then you can't even defend yourself against someone who's already half-dead." His voice took on a joking tone, but his eyes remained deadly serious. "Don't you think there's something you should tell me?"
"Yes," Teldin sighed heavily. "I would have told you earlier, but…" He paused. "Some of it's as much a surprise to me as it is to you."
And to me. Liquid words formed in Teldin's mind. He looked up to see Estriss standing in the doorway. My day to be surprised, he thought. May I join you? the illithid asked. Both Aelfred and Teldin waved the mind flayer to a seat. "I don't really know what to say," Teldin told his warrior friend. "I should have been honest with you from the start. I just…"
Aelfred gestured him to silence. "Water under the keel," he said flatly. "You didn't know if you could trust me, so you held your tongue. If you want to keep breathing in this universe, that's what you've got to do. In fact," he added thoughtfully, "you should still ask yourself that question: Do you trust me? Don't answer too fast. You can always say something later, but you can't unsay it." He sat back, watching Teldin calmly.
Teldin considered the big warrior's words for a moment, then nodded. "I'm going to tell you," he said firmly. "What happened today-"
The illithid's mental voice cut him off. Background is often important, Estriss said, and in this case I feel it is key. Perhaps you should start from the beginning.
Teldin nodded agreement. Quickly but thoroughly he repeated the tale of how he'd come to possess the cloak, of his encounters with the neogi, and how he'd escaped from Krynn with the gnomes. Throughout, Aelfred remained silent, taking it all in. Teldin watched the big man's intelligent eyes. He quickly recognized the flicker that indicated that he'd left something out or hadn't given enough detail, and made sure to remedy that immediately. As a result, there was no need for questions. "That takes us up to today," Teldin eventually concluded.
Aelfred rubbed his tired eyes. "Improbable, incredible, impossible," he grumbled. "If I hadn't seen what I saw today, I wouldn't believe a word of it."
The power is there, Estriss interjected, and the tale has its own kind of consistency.
"I know that," Aelfred countered, "and I don't disbelieve you, Teldin. It's just that…" He waved his hand in the air to indicate confusion. "I don't understand magic… and truth be told, I don't trust it or like it much, not deep down." He sighed. "You've got no idea who these… these creators are?"
"Estriss believes they might be the Juna," Teldin answered slowly.
Aelfred let out a bark of laughter. "Well, he would, now, wouldn't he? No offense meant, Estriss. It's just that you-or anybody, I'm no different-you're going to see everything through your own interests and preconceptions." He shot Teldin a keen glance. "What do you think?"
Teldin hesitated a moment, then shrugged.
The first mate laughed again. "Playing it close to the chest, I see. Of course you don't know who the creators are. Of course you don't have any suspicions. And of course your interest in the arcane was just coincidental. Well, I freely admit I know nothing of such things." The big man's humor faded, and his face grew serious again. "This cloak has cost a lot," he pointed out quietly.
Teldin felt cold. The cost weighed heavily on him, probably always would. All the deaths-the gnomes in Mount Nevermind, the crewmen aboard the Probe-were his fault, and would haunt him for the rest of his life. He nodded miserably. Aelfred's hand grasped his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. Teldin looked up. The warrior's expression was still grim, but there was understanding in his eyes. "Don't get me wrong," the first mate told him. "It's cost you, too. I'm not blaming you. Nobody who knew the facts could. You had no choice through any of this." He spat a curse. "Neogi. May the gods damn them to the lowest pits of the Nine Hells. How did they find us anyway?"
It seems possible the neogi are able to somehow track the cloak, Estriss remarked.
"How?" Teldin demanded, very glad that the conversation was on another subject. "You said you could only sense magic from it when it actually did something."
Estriss gave a broken-backed shrug. Through the use of my limited abilities, yes, he admitted, but that does not mean that others cannot sense it even in its dormant state. In fact, there are many legends that tell how various artifacts have other artifacts that are attuned to them. The illithid paused. There is also another possibility. Perhaps, when the cloak's power is used, the characteristics of that power can be detected and recognized from a distance. Did you first experience the powers of the cloak before or after the neogi pursuit began?
Teldin searched back through his memory to the start of this whole affair: not long ago, in the grand scheme of things, but it seemed now like a lifetime. Memories had begun to fade…. When had he first realized there was something unique about the cloak? Surely it was soon after the ship crashed, but was that before or after the first spidership had arrived? "It was after," he said slowly, "I think."
"You're not sure," Aelfred said flatly, "and how could you be? How could you know just what the cloak was doing, and when? Hells, it could have been protecting you from bird droppings from the first moment you saw it, and you just thought the birds had lousy aim." The warrior grumbled into silence for a moment, then took off on another tangent. "Neogi aren't common in Krynnspace," he mused. "It's one of the few places you're reasonably safe from them, but what happens? We take you-and your cloak-aboard, and we get intercepted by a deathspider. Coincidence?"
Perhaps, Estriss replied. It happens.
"I know it happens," Aelfred rumbled, "but think. We know there were neogi in Krynnspace, the ones who were after Teldin. It's possible-vaguely-that we were just unlucky enough to run into them, but do you know what the odds are of passing another ship in the flow so close that you're dropped to tactical speed?"
It happens, Estriss said again. Neogi, by nature, will attack my ship they encounter. That means nothing one way or the other.
Aelfred growled in frustration. "I know, I know, but I can't help thinking. If the neogi can track the cloak somehow, that explains how they intercepted us. It makes me wonder, Teldin. Those pirates who attacked the gnomish dreadnought, were they pirates? Just pirates? Or were they after the dreadnought for a reason?"
You may as well ask why the Probe happened along when it did, Estriss put in mildly.
Aelfred had no answer for a moment, then he smiled ruefully. "Aye, I know," he said, "that way lies paranoia." He turned to Teldin. "We've been arguing past you as though you've got nothing to say, while you're the person who can probably say the most. Have you got anything to add, or ask, or anything?"
Teldin had to admit he'd welcomed the respite while the other two shot comments and theories back and forth. While they debated, he could pretend the whole thing was an intellectual exercise, the kind of discussion he'd sometimes overheard between his grandfather and the old man's friends: interesting in its own way, but with little relevance to the real world of crops and plantings. Now he was forced to accept how deadly serious the whole thing was.
The other two were looking at him steadily, expecting an answer. He sighed, bone-weary of the whole burden. Why him? he asked yet again. But the burden was his, and he had to bear it as best he could. It hadn't been laid on Dana, or Sweor, or Shandess, or any of the others who'd died aboard the Probe. It had been laid on him and him alone.
"If the neogi can somehow track the cloak," he said slowly, "if they can-and I think we have to assume they can-then I have to leave the ship."
Teldin wasn't sure what kind of response he expected from the other two. What he didn't expect was the reaction he got from Aelfred.
The first mate threw back his head and roared with laughter. "You'll find it a long walk back to Krynn, old son," the warrior said.
Teldin felt his cheeks coloring. ""You can drop me on some other planet," he said sharply. "Anywhere will do."
Aelfred sobered immediately and laid a calming hand on Teldin's shoulder. "Sorry, friend," he said earnestly. "I shouldn't have laughed. What you said was nobly said, but none too practical. If the neogi can track the cloak, then they'll come and get you wherever you hide. If you're by yourself, they'll kill you and get the cloak." He grinned deprecatingly. "Truth be told, I'm just an old mercenary. I know little about magic, and that's just the way I like it, but I do know one thing." His voice hardened. "I've got good reason to hate the neogi, and just because they want something-whatever it is-well, that's quite enough reason to keep it away from them."
For me as well, Estriss put in. It seems to me that the best way to keep the neogi's prize from them is to learn how to use it, to control its power. The creature's featureless white eyes settled on Teldin. But not now, the illithid finished. You are tired. Perhaps after sleep we can continue this.
Teldin felt exhaustion wash over him like a wave. Despite his attempts to keep them open, his eyes began to hood.
"Use my cabin," Aelfred told him. "It's certain I'm not going to get the chance for a good while."
"Thanks," Teldin said weakly. He was tired. Maybe it was something the illithid had done-he remembered an attacker collapsing under the mind flayer's mental attack-or maybe it was something to do with the cloak. Or maybe it was something less mysterious: the stress, fear, and exertion of the day finally getting to him. In any case, he was only barely aware of Aelfred helping him across the hallway to the first mate's cabin, and sleep swallowed him the instant he lay on the bed.