“She’s already here, Vallus, so you might as well stay,” Teldin observed dryly.
The elf continued to back away until he had reached the far side of the bridge. “You say your name is Raven Stormwalker,” Vallus said tersely, his words dispelling Teldin’s entertaining notion.
“And with good reason,” Raven replied with a smile.
“When did you come aboard?”
“On Evermeet,” she asserted as she came to stand at Teldin’s side, “at the invitation of your dracons.”
“Why?”
She looked long and deeply into Vallus’s eyes before replying. “I have lived for centuries on one world. It occurred to me that I would like to see something of other worlds, to know a little about many places.”
“Sounds a lot like your philosophy, Vallus,” Teldin observed.
The elven wizard turned strangely pale. “You have never traveled the stars, then?”
“Did I imply that?” Raven asked innocently. “I did not intend to.”
“I’ve been told you requested passage to Radole,” Teldin interrupted, coming back to the question that most disturbed him. “Is that true?”
“Not especially,” she said. “I wanted an adventure, and I didn’t particularly care about the destination. I was happy enough to learn that the swan ship was bound for Radole. There’s an elven settlement there that might have use for a hired sword.” She patted the strap of the shoulder harness that held her broadsword.
“Radole is a peaceful place,” Vallus said coldly. “Do you have any reason to believe it might soon be otherwise?”
The moon elf shrugged. “Even the most sedate world has an occasional tavern battle.”
“But you are accustomed to much larger conflicts,” Vallus said softly.
Again Raven held the elven wizard’s gaze for a long moment, then she cast a roguish glance around the bridge. “I’m accustomed to larger
everything,”
she rejoined gaily. “No offense, but this ship is not as roomy as some.”
“Then you
have
traveled the stars.”
“Oh, we’re singing that tune again, are we?” the moon elf said with acerbic sweetness. She cast Teldin a sidelong glance through half-lidded eyes. “Persistent fellow, isn’t he?” she asked out of one side of her mouth.
Teldin grinned, and felt himself warming to the elven woman despite his lingering reservations. “You might say that,” he said, folding his arms and preparing to enjoy the sparring match.
“I would appreciate an answer,” Vallus said.
“I’m sure you would,” she said in the manner of one humoring a small and unreasonable child. “Very well then, I have traveled the stars before.”
The elven wizard looked away, deeply shaken. After a moment’s silence he rose abruptly. “I have duties elsewhere. If you’ll excuse me, Captain?” He fled from the bridge without waiting for Teldin’s response.
“Hmm. Persistent
and
jittery,” Raven observed wryly. “Tell me, is he always like this?”
“Well, no …” Teldin paused, feeling he ought to apologize for the elven wizard.
“Never mind,” Raven said as if she discerned Teldin’s intent. She took his arm and flashed him a comrade’s grin. “Is there a spot anywhere on this ship where I can get a mug of ale?”
Suddenly Teldin felt a little dry himself. “The mess, I think. I’m sure you could charm Rozloom out of a couple of mugs.”
A flicker of distaste crossed the elf’s beautiful face. “Charm the aperusa?” She dropped Teldin’s arm and shuddered delicately. “I’d need more than a couple of mugs before I’d consider that.”
Her sardonic tone sent Teldin into a burst of surprised laughter. The elf’s beauty was so delicate that her sharp-edged wit came as all the more unexpected. What appealed most to him was her straightforward manner. In that she reminded him very much of Aelfred Silverhorn.
“Come on,” he said suddenly. “I’ve requisitioned a bottle of sagecoarse, if you’d like to come by my cabin for a drink. It’s an acquired taste, I’m afraid,” he added somewhat lamely, faltering a little under Raven’s steady, amused gaze.
“Sagecoarse! I’ve already acquired
that
taste.” A mischievous glint lit the elf’s unusual eyes, and she reclaimed Teldin’s arm. “Lead on, Captain.”
Chapter Eleven
At first the pounding seemed to be part of the dream. Teldin was back on Krynn, a mule skinner in the War of the Lance, trudging toward yet another battle and choking on the dust kicked up by the league of soldiers in front of him. He awoke slowly, painfully, and his first waking observation was that his mouth felt as dry as that Krynnish road. Dimly he recalled a possible explanation for his condition. He groped for the bottle of sagecoarse – which had been full the night before – and upended it. A single, smoky drop fell to the floor. Strange. He didn’t remember drinking that much. Raven had matched his every drink with at least two.
The pounding continued, more insistent. Before Teldin could respond, the door of his cabin flew open so hard it slammed against the cabin wall. Teldin winced and clutched at his temples, glaring weakly at Vallus Leafbower.
“Raven Stormwalker must leave the swan ship immediately,” Vallus said without preamble.
Teldin blinked stupidly, trying to make some sense out of the elf’s pronouncement. As he did, he hefted the bottle in his hand, giving brief but serious consideration to flinging it at the invader. “All right, I’ll play,” he said wearily. “Why does she have to leave the ship?”
Clearly agitated, Vallus raked both hands through his silvery hair. “This is not a matter for jests. You have no idea what she is. She’s dangerous, and if she remains on board, she could destroy us all.”
A memory flickered through Teldin’s numbed brain, an image of the scaly, night-black head he had seen reflected in the elven woman’s face. “What is she?” he asked cautiously.
Being an elf, Vallus did not answer the question directly. He began to pace distractedly, and the expression on his face made it clear that he was weighing his next words carefully. Watching the wizard made Teldin dizzy, so he closed his eyes and sank back on his cot. With a sigh of resignation he waited for the latest elven saga to unfold.
“There is a legend from Toril, from a time when humankind was still young, its cities and civilizations still centuries in the future. A certain magical land, a group of living islands, was besieged by an alliance of evil dragons. These creatures attacked not only the elven, fairy, and animal populations, but the good dragons as well. Soon only a handful of the magical fairy dragons still drew breath, and even the powerful silver dragons seemed destined to follow them into extinction.
“Then an elven warrior, an adventurer named Raven Stormwalker, gathered an army from the far-flung elven kingdoms. She was a fierce fighter, a master of the bow and broadsword, and she had an uncanny ability to rally her troops. Under her banner came a score of races, including good and even neutral dragons. The evil dragons were driven from the island, but Raven Stormwalker was grievously wounded in the final battle. She was carried away by a gold dragon whom she had befriended, and from thence she passed into folklore. She was not seen again, and although there were rumors and legends, no one learned what her true end was.”
Teldin massaged his aching temples. “A point,” he pleaded.
“Raven Stormwalker was a moon elf of exceptional beauty,” Vallus continued, as if he had not heard the man. “She wore her night-black hair in plaits that fell to her knees.
Her most striking feature, however, was her mismatched eyes. One was gold, the other silver. The good dragons considered this a favorable omen, I believe.” Vallus paused to let the import of this sink in. “It goes against elven culture to name someone after a hero or a historic figure. I have every reason to believe there is only one Raven Stormwalker.”
Teldin opened his eyes cautiously. “Wait a minute. You think your Raven Stormwalker and mine are one and the same?”
“Yours, is she?” Vallus asked sharply.
Teldin flapped one hand in a vague, helpless gesture. “A figure of speech, that’s all.”
“I hope so,” Vallus mused, looking deeply disturbed. He gazed at Teldin with somber eyes. “There is more to my tale, and it gets more disturbing. Have you noticed that the dracons all but genuflect before her, and the dogged perseverance with which the aperusa pursues her? You should have seen her holding court in the mess at dawnfry. Almost without exception the crew is quite taken with her.”
“So? Maybe they share your fascination with elven history,” Teldin said with heavy sarcasm.
“No.” Vallus shook his head emphatically. “The legend of Raven Stormwalker is well known to all dragon races – including dracons – but, except for Toril’s elves, few who are not scholars or historians know it.”
“Enough about this thrice-damned legend,” Teldin snapped, getting unsteadily to his feet. “How an you tell a tale like this with a straight face? How old would she have to be? One thousand years? Two?”
“Four,” the elf said softly.
Teldin’s eyebrow flew up. “Do elves live that long?”
“Not normally, no.”
“Then how —”
“She’s not an elf!”
The wizard’s shout shocked Teldin into silence. Vallus composed himself quickly and continued in a softer tone. “Even four thousand years ago, some ships traveled the stars. I believe that Raven Stormwalker took to the stars and met some mishap. She became a
survivor.
Do you know that term?” When Teldin shook his head, Vallus continued. “A being who is set adrift in the phlogiston does not necessarily die. Some remain in a suspended state for centuries, floating in the rainbow rivers until rescued by some well-meaning fool.”
“I’ve no idea how you came up with this,” Teldin observed with honest astonishment.
“How, then, do you explain her appearance? Her antique weapons? Even her name?” Vallus asked sharply.
Teldin gave a helpless shrug. “Look, I’ll admit that there’s more to Raven Stormwalker than meets the eye, but this theory of yours is beyond belief. Even if – and that’s a very big if – you’re right about this, what’s the harm of it?”
“A survivor changes,” Vallus said quietly. “It becomes an altered demihuman driven by insatiable hungers. To make up for centuries of sensory deprivations, she will take over the minds of every member of the crew, draining us of thought and emotion and intellect like a vampire drains his victims of blood. Not to think, not to know,” he concluded softly. “It would be the worst kind of living death.”
Teldin laughed outright, earning a shocked look from the wizard. “I’m sorry, Vallus, but I just can’t believe any of this.”
“Oh no? It’s happening already. Remember yesterday in the bridge? When we asked her why she took to the stars, she gave
my
answer. She took it from my mind.”
“Actually, Vallus, it just might mean you two have something in common,” Teldin suggested with false gravity. “Are you in the market for a Mistress Leafbower?”
The elf chose to ignore his gibe. “The aperusa’s obsession with her is not normal, and the dracons haven’t been themselves since she came on board. Those three have had the most contact with her. I fear for you, Teldin Moore,” he said earnestly, “and I fear what would happen to the cloak if she were to hold you in thrall. Next to the power of a survivor, the effect of Rianna Wyvernsbane’s charm spell would be nothing.”
Teldin sucked in a sharp, surprised gasp. For a long moment he felt as if someone had gut-punched him. No matter how upset Vallus Leafbower might be, the reference to Rianna was unforgivably tactless. Teldin nodded pointedly toward the cabin door.
“I’ll give your words all the consideration they deserve,” he said coldly.
“Not enough,” Vallus insisted. “Any delay could be disastrous. She must leave the ship at once.”
Teldin cast a glance at the cabin porthole. The rainbow hues of the phlogiston tumbled by in lazy, random patterns. Out there was vast space and unimaginably brilliant color, but nothing else. “How do you proposed to accomplish that?” he asked. “We’re several days from any port, and we haven’t a small craft to spare.”
“Jettison her,” Vallus said firmly. “It’s that or lose everything we are.”
Teldin stared at the elven wizard, utterly horrified. He shook his head in disbelief, then, without a word, he yanked on his boots and strode from the cabin.
Left alone, Vallus sank wearily onto the cabin’s only chair. If the human was coming under the sway of a survivor, Vallus would have to take the cloak after all. The elven wizard dropped his head in his hands, and for several long moments he mourned for Teldin Moore and for the loss of his own freedom.
*****
Teldin came on deck just in time to see the damselfly touch down. A small crowd was gathering around the spindly, insectlike craft, and the elves had their weapons handy. The ever-curious dracons were there, of course. Teldin also spotted Estriss in the crowd and hurried over to him. He had not seen the illithid for several days; Estriss had kept to his cabin and had declined visitors.
“What’s going on here?” he asked the illithid.
The damselfly appeared, suddenly, just outside of the swan ship’s air envelope,
Estriss informed him. Teldin noted that the illithid’s mental voice seemed somehow edgy, agitated.
They raised the flag for ship in distress and then landed. It all happened so suddenly that there was no time to summon you or Vallus.
Before Teldin could speak, the door of the craft swung open and a lone arcane, bent almost double to keep his blue domed head clear of the door, ducked through the too-small opening. The creature awkwardly descended the rope ladder to the deck. He unfolded himself to his full twelve-foot height, then spread his six-fingered blue hands to show he was without weapons. “I am called Npamta. We mean you no harm. We come seeking trade,” the arcane said in the oddly expressionless voice Teldin had come to associate with the race.
A second figure exploded from the craft, disdaining the ladder and landing on deck beside the arcane with a clank of armor. Immediately elven steel flashed as the crew circled the newcomer, an exotically beautiful female warrior dressed in plate armor and intricate body paint. The woman glared defiantly at the elven warriors. “Where’s the dragon?” she demanded.