“Rozloom could have been asleep for hours,” Vallus said as he shut the door.
“Days,” Teldin corrected without humor. Experience had taught him that sagecoarse was potent stuff, and despite Rozloom’s immense capacity for spirits, Teldin was surprised that anyone could put away an entire bottle and live to snore.
But even if Hectate could and did leave the cabin, Teldin did not believe that the bionoid was responsible for the first mate’s injuries. As much as he hated to admit it, Pearl was a more likely suspect. The attack on Gaston was too much like her violent response to Rozloom’s overeager courting. With her shape-shifting talent, she certainly could have taken on the armored form that Vallus had described. It had to be Pearl, unless …
“Paladine’s blood,” Teldin swore, raking both hands through his sandy hair. He turned back to the elven wizard. “You’ve searched the ship?” he asked sharply.
Vallus blinked. “For what?”
“An insectare,” Teldin said. “I have no idea how it got on the ship, but I think we’ve got an insectare aboard.”
“You want us to search the ship for an
insectare?”
Vallus echoed in disbelief.
Before Teldin could explain, the sound of fighting drifted up from the cargo deck.
“Don’t bother,” Teldin shouted as he sprinted down the stairs to the lower deck. “I think someone already found it.”
Chapter Nineteen
Teldin and Vallus raced down the steps to the cargo hold, their swords drawn. They found several other members of the crew clustered at the base of the stairs, gaping at the peculiar battle.
Chirp and Trivit stood a dozen yards apart, using their enormous tails to bat a flailing, brown-robed creature back and forth between them. Despite the playful appearance of the scene, both dracons’ faces were grim and tears ran in rivulets down Trivit’s green cheeks.
Still in her moon elf form, Pearl came running down the stairs and pushed her way through the group. “I’ve got him, Captain,” she announced. Drawing herself up, she inhaled slowly and deeply. Fearing the dragon intended to breathe a magic missile, Teldin clapped a hand over her mouth. Her gold and silver eyes widened in shock.
“Don’t,” Teldin said simply. He released her, then he drew her broadsword from her scabbard and handed her the ancient weapon. “If you have to fight, use this. Not as effective, but it won’t blast another hole in the hull.”
“Damned nuisance, being an elf,” she muttered, looking with distaste at the sword in her hands.
Teldin turned away and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Trivit! Chirp! That’s enough. Stop the insectare, now.”
Chirp obediently stopped the tumbling creature with one foot, then quickly planted that foot on its prone body, moves that appeared to have been learned on a kickball field. Teldin hurried to the dracon’s side. Although the insectare looked battered and dazed, it glared up at him with malevolent black eyes.
Teldin reached down and jerked back the creature’s cowl. Knowing what he would find did not make the sight any less strange. The face was elven in form, but the peculiar color of green apples. Long black antennae rose from a thick thatch of wavy, flaxen hair to curl above its pointed ears like fiddlehead ferns. Remembering that Vallus had said those antennae could be used as lethal whips, Teldin seized the tip of one and thrust it into Chirp’s hand.
“Hold this. Trivit, you come grab the other. Keep them taut.” He prodded the insectare with his foot. “You, on your feet.”
The dracons quickly got the idea and soon they had the furious insectare standing immobilized between them. Teldin was not insensitive to the humiliation he’d inflicted on the creature, but he didn’t want it using its antennae on the crew.
“Search it,” Vallus directed, and two of the elves moved to obey. In the pockets of the insectare’s robe they found a small lump of dried clay and an oddly shaped key. Vallus examined these items closely, and his jaw tightened.
The elven wizard walked up to the insectare. “Who are you, and what use have you for the ship’s log?”
“You may know my name,” the creature said in a dry, brittle voice. “I am called K’tide. My purposes, however, are my own.”
“Sir,” Trivit addressed Vallus in a tremulous voice, “if you would be amenable to such, Chirp and I would be most happy to encourage the creature to talk.”
The insectare’s eyes darted between his dracon tormentors and the elven wizard. Obviously determined to get in the first strike, the insectare began to chant a spell in a strange, clicking language. His long green fingers gestured, and his eyes glittered with hatred.
“Pearl!” Teldin shouted. “Silence it!”
The elf-shaped dragon responded with a quick smile and a countering spell of her own. A sphere of silence enshrouded the insectare, neatly cutting off his spellcasting.
“Now there’s a philosophical question for you, wizard,” Pearl casually said to Vallus, an edge of contempt in her voice. “If a spell is spoken but not heard, was a spell cast? Fits right in with the if-a-tree-falls-in-a-forest-and-no-one-hears-it nonsense your sort likes to ponder.”
The insectare threw back his head and howled a soundless oath. Frustration and rage twisted his green visage as he drew a long, gleaming sword from the folds of his robe. All the crew members in the hold took a reflexive step back, in their surprise forgetting that the dracons had the creature immobilized.
No one expected K’tide to free himself by slashing off his own antennae. In two lightning-fast moves the insectare cut himself free and pushed Vallus Leafbower aside. Ichor flowed down the insectare’s face and dripped off his chin as he rushed at Teldin. The creature’s ghastly snarl was as rigid as a skull’s as he charged forward, sword held overhead with both hands.
The startled captain groped for his sword. Time slowed down as the cloak’s magic took over, and Teldin managed to raise his short sword overhead in time to meet the descending blow. The swords met with a bone-jarring clash, uncannily silent. The dragon’s sphere of silence encompassed them both, absorbing all sounds of battle.
The insectare fought with a desperate, despairing madness, flailing wildly with its sword. Try as he might, Teldin could not get inside the creature’s reach to land a blow. Even with his altered perception, it was all he could do hold off the frenzied insectare. From the corner of his eye Teldin saw several elves circle the battle, swords drawn. Elyen blades struck silently and ineffectually against the insectare’s armor, and more than one of Teldin’s would-be rescuers reeled back under the force of the insectare’s wild swings. Then a backhand slice caught Teldin’s sword arm and opened a gash from wrist to elbow. An explosion of pain penetrated Teldin’s cushion of slow, dreamlike magic. Time shattered and began to careen dizzily around Teldin as the short sword dropped from his bloodied hand.
Acting on instinct, Teldin raised his other hand and pointed it at the insectare. Magic missiles shot from the Cloakmaster’s fingers, one after another. The insectare stiffened, his body jerking in spasms as it was jolted again and again by the magic weapons. During the magic assault, Pearl’s spell dissipated and a horrible searing hiss replaced the silence. The green face blackened, and fetid smoke rose from under the creature’s exoskeleton. Finally the insectare tottered and fell to the floor with a dull clatter.
The stunned crew stared at the smoking remains. What moments before had been an insectare now was a pile of blackened plating and charred robe, nothing more. The creature’s body had simply disintegrated from the force of Teldin’s missiles. Awed and speechless, the elves and dracons raised their gaze to the human. Teldin, clasping his bleeding arm, stood over the dead insectare. His expression was dazed, and he looked disoriented and none too steady on his feet. Even so, power clung to him like a mantle.
“That was for Hectate Kir,” Teldin said faintly, addressing the smoking pile.
Deelia Snowsong was the first to collect herself. She darted forward and helped Teldin sit down on a storage crate. After a quick examination of the man’s injury, she ripped away his torn sleeve and doused the arm with a foul-smelling herbal wash from a small vial. She’d already begun to stitch the wound before Teldin’s startled oaths died away. The dracons suddenly realized they still held the insectare’s severed antennae. Both shuddered and threw the things aside. Chirp produced a kerchief from a pocket of his leather armor and fastidiously wiped off his clawed fingers, and Trivit dashed tears from his green cheeks with the back of his hand. No one noticed the troubled, speculative expression on Pearl’s face as she fingered her long raven braid, and no one saw her slip away from the cargo hold.
A subdued Vallus quietly came over to the makeshift infirmary. He watched silently as Deelia put the last of many stitches in Teldin’s arm. The tiny healer poured another quick dose of her liquid fire over her handiwork, then she quickly wrapped Teldin’s forearm in bandages.
Only once before had Teldin seen Vallus at a loss for words, and the elf’s silence unnerved him. Looking about for something to say, he noticed that Vallus still held the items taken from the insectare. Teldin rose to his feet, ignoring the new waves of pain that radiated from his arm.
“How do you think the insectare got those keys?” Teldin asked through gritted teeth.
“I believe I can answer that,” Trivit broke in tearfully. The dracon turned and led the way toward the stern. The crew silently followed him past the machinery that drove the wing and paddle mechanisms. On the floor, in a scattered circle of tiny tools, lay Om’s body. It was sprawled facedown, its head bent at an impossible angle. Around the neck was an angry red circle where the insectare’s whiplike antennae had struck and killed. Teldin swallowed hard, and Trivit’s tears began anew.
“Why would Om work with an insectare?” Vallus wondered, looking down at the gnome’s body.
“More likely she bumped into it, like Gaston did,” Teldin suggested. The elf shook his head and handed Teldin the key taken from the insectare. A glance at the outlandish handle betrayed its gnomish origin.
“If I were to choose the least likely person on board to play the traitor, it would have been she,” Vallus mused. “To all appearances, Ora cared for nothing but her machines. What could convince her to do something like this?”
Teldin’s eyes widened as an answer occurred to him, and he groaned softly in self-recrimination. Once again, the truth had been just too damned obvious.”
Who
convinced her, not what,” he corrected in a dull voice. “Om didn’t make those keys for the
insectare.
I doubt she even knew an insectare was in the picture until she met up with it.”
Without offering an explanation, Teldin turned and strode back to the cargo hold. He picked up his sword and hurried up the stairs to his own cabin, worry dulling his pain and speeding his steps. If his theory was right, Hectate could be in grave danger.
Teldin kicked open the cabin door. As he suspected, the aperusa was no longer sleeping off the pilfered sagecoarse. Rozloom was standing, bent over the writing table. The gypsy whirled to face Teldin, and his black eyes widened at the sight of the blade leveled at his heart.
“She is yours,” the aperusa stated baldly, holding up his huge bronze hands in surrender. “From this moment, Raven is the captain’s woman and Rozloom will kill any man who says otherwise.”
“Just for the record, her name is Pearl, and you know damn well this isn’t about her,” Teldin said evenly. The sword felt awkward in his left hand, and he hoped he didn’t appear as unsteady as he felt. The aperusa seemed suitably cowed, however, and he raised one hand to flick beads of sweat from his gleaming pate. Teldin’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that green stuff on your hand?” he demanded.
“Green?” Rozloom spread his hands before him and studied his fingers as if he’d just acquired them. Understanding lit his broad face, and gold teeth flashed in relief. “Ahh. Is nothing. Merely the healing herbs I grind to feed the captain’s friend.” The gypsy gestured to the small mortar and pestle on the writing table.
“Let me have them,” Teldin said, holding out his free hand. Panic flared in the aperusa’s black eyes, but his smile never dimmed. “I think not, Captain,” he said. “Herbs, they can be dangerous if one knows little of them.”
“You might as well know that K’tide is dead,” Teldin said bluntly. Rozloom’s jovial expression vanished, and he sank heavily into the chair. “So is Om,” Teldin added quietly, but the second piece of information did not seem to register with the aperusa.
“I see.” The gypsy’s usually booming bass voice sounded strangely subdued, and his face sagged in the resignation of defeat. “And of course there are many questions. What would you have me to tell, Captain?”
The thunder of approaching dracons drowned out Teldin’s response. Two green heads poked in through the door, their puzzled faces framing Vallus. “Get Deelia,” Teldin told the elf.
“I’m here.” The healer pushed her way into the room.
Teldin pointed to the dish of crushed herbs and asked her what they were. Puzzled, Deelia went over to the writing table and touched the tip of one finger to the mixture. She sniffed it, tasted it, and spat.
“Nightsorrel,” she breathed, glancing at the gypsy with dawning understanding. “No wonder the half-elf never woke up.”
Rozloom sighed and removed a small green flagon from the folds of his sash. “This will help,” he said, handing it to the healer. Again she tested it. Satisfied, she quickly poured the liquid into Hectate’s slack mouth. She produced a vial of her own, a healing potion of some sort, and administered that to Hectate as well. Almost immediately the half-elf’s color looked a bit better, and he sighed in his sleep.
“He should start coming around soon now,” Deelia murmured. Teldin nodded his thanks and sheathed his sword. Feeling a little light-headed, he pulled the room’s only chair over to Hectate’s bedside and dropped into it. Leaving Rozloom to the furious elven wizard, Teldin renewed his vigil over his half-elven friend.
“How long have you been working for the insectare?” Vallus demanded, coming forward to stand over the aperusa.