“Work?” The gypsy shrugged off that concept like an ill-fitting garment. “My people salvage old ships. K’tide’s money was good. The insectare, he wished also to buy information. The money for that was even better.”
“What information?”
“Harmless things: Where the captain goes. What he does. What he wears. Very much K’tide liked stories of the cloak that changes color, so I tell what I see. Is business,” he concluded with another shrug. Teldin, who had looked up when Rozloom mentioned the insectare’s interest in the cloak, got the distinct impression that Rozloom had little notion what the fuss was about.
“Who else was with the insectare?”
A bushy brow arched. “The insect-elves, but this you know already, yes?”
Vallus winced visibly. “So it was K’tide and the bionoids who supplied spelljamming vessels to the Armistice goblinborn. Why?”
“That, I did not ask.”
“All right, then, are the scro involved?”
“Scro!” Rozloom snorted. “Who is to say? What scro do is hidden even from those who read the cards. The aperusa trade but little with such creatures.”
“Is anyone else working with you?”
“From time to time,” the aperusa allowed. “For a good price, a beholder helped me to make the captain’s acquaintance.”
“In the tavern on Garden,” Teldin said slowly, remembering the beholder who had fired over his head and sent him, the dracons, and Rozloom into flight. Rozloom’s revelations also explained the insectare’s appearance in the tavern that night, just before the aperusa troop’s arrival. Still, Teldin was puzzled. The insectare wanted the cloak, yet its bionoid allies easily could have acquired the cloak and had failed to do so. There was something else going on, probably something that went far beyond Rozloom’s involvement. Teldin didn’t need his medallion’s power to discern that: no reasoning being would trust an aperusa with all the details of a plot. There
was,
however, one mystery the gypsy could clear up.
Teldin turned to the aperusa. “Why did you keep Hectate from waking up? What possible purpose could there be in that?”
For the first time, the aperusa seemed at a loss for an answer. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, then his face went blank and he shut his mouth with a click. The aperusa’s befuddlement surprised Teldin: Rozloom had never before stumbled over the creation of an entertaining explanation.
“Sir?”
The faint whisper brought Teldin’s attention back to the half-elf. Hectate stirred, his eyelids struggling to open.
“I’m here, Hectate,” he replied in a soothing tone. “You’re back aboard the
Trumpeter.
You’ve been asleep for a long time, but you’ll be fine.”
Hectate went very still, and despair flooded his thin face. “Then I’ve failed,” he whispered. Teldin’s brow creased in surprise.
Vallus came to stand at Teldin’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask him some questions.”
“Later,” Teldin declared, not bothering to look up.
“They cannot wait,” Vallus insisted gently.
With a long sigh, Hectate opened his eyes and gave Teldin a sad, reassuring smile. “It’s all right, sir. There is much you both should know.”
With Teldin’s help, the half-elven bionoid struggled to sit up, then began his story.
“After the insectare raid that destroyed my own family, Clan Kir took me in as one of their own. I still carry their name, but I left the clan years ago. You may know that bionoids are usually solitary folk, living alone or in small family units. On a few occasions, larger groups known as battle clans have been formed. Clan Kir is a battle clan, its formation fueled by hatred of elves. It was they who attacked the
Trumpeter.
One of them overpowered me and brought me aboard the insectare ship.”
“I saw it happen,” Teldin broke in softly. “The woman bionoid went right for your crystal eye, your vulnerable spot. I thought for sure you were dead.”
Hectate shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the direction the discussion was taking. “She pulled her punch,” he muttered.
“Nice girl,” Teldin said in a sardonic tone. He regretted the quip immediately, for Hectate looked as though he’d been struck through the heart. It took the half-elf a moment to collect himself. When he was able to speak, he went on to explain the bionoids’ plan and their alliance with the insectare and scro, including the insectare’s treacherous plan to release the primary Witchlight Marauder against the goblin races of Armistice.
Vallus questioned Hectate closely about the intended attack on Lionheart, but Teldin was almost equally disturbed by the proposed destruction of the ice world. He’d seen for himself the tertiary Witchlight Marauders’ feeding frenzy, and Hectate asserted that the primary marauder was many times more fearsome, a giant land slug that could reduce the planet to a lifeless hull within a year or two. Teldin could well imagine the destruction a rampaging monster of that size might accomplish. He resolutely put the disturbing images out of mind, but he suspected that Witchlight Marauders would edge the spiderlike neogi out of his nightmares for many nights to come.
“I regret to have to ask you this, Hectate Kir,” Vallus said in a soft voice when Hectate had finished his story, “but we must know where you stand in all of this.”
Hectate held up a hand to stop Teldin’s protest. “No, sir, it’s a reasonable question. My clan fights for the scro, and I’ve been flying with an elven ship. That alone marks me a traitor. From either point of view, come to think of it.”
The bionoid met Vallus’s eyes squarely. “Those who choose not to fight in time of war are often named traitor. I had hoped to live in peace, but that was not among the choices offered me. The insectare K’tide put the lives of every member of my clan against the death of Armistice and the destruction of Lionheart.” Hectate stopped and cleared his throat.
“I chose a third option,” he continued in a barely audible voice. “I could not sanction the taking of so many lives. Yet, if I had defied the insectare, he would have found a way to carry out his plans without my help, perhaps even without Clan Kir. The small band of bionoids who traveled with K’tide eagerly supported his methods. Seeing no other way to stop them, I sabotaged the insectare’s craft so that it would crash on Armistice and kill all those aboard. It was … I could think of no other way.”
A subdued silence filled the room.
“That was a noble choice,” Vallus said in an awed voice, but Hectate smiled sadly and shook his head.
“I’m not sure there’s much nobility to be had in war,” he replied. He turned to Teldin. “There were four other bionoids aboard the klicklikak. They all died in the crash?”
“Yes.”
Hectate nodded, quiet resignation on his face.
Pearl spun into the room, her long black hair flying wild and unbound around her borrowed elven face. “Sorry to break up this tea party, but we’ve got company.
Lots
of company.”
Teldin was on his feet immediately. His cloak flowed around him in sweep of dark maroon. The last time it had been that color was on Ironpiece, in the battle with …
“Scro?” he asked Pearl.
“First guess,” the dragon dryly congratulated him. “There’s a scro battlewagon out there, and they brought along a bunch of those weird patchwork ships for company. It’s going to be a big one.”
With a sigh of frustration Teldin turned to the aperusa. “We’re not finished here, Rozloom. I can’t spare anyone to guard you. Can we at least trust you to keep out of the way?”
The aperusa answered with an absent nod, his black eyes fixed on Pearl. Her beautiful face shone with excitement, and, as she dashed from the captain’s cabin, her unbound hair swirled around her like a silken banner.
Rozloom walked slowly from the cabin, unnoticed by those who hurried to do battle. When he reached the relative safety of the galley, the gypsy pulled a leather thong from the pocket of his voluminous silk trousers. For a long moment he stared at the homely object, which to his eyes was lovelier than gilded ribbon. The strip of hide had bound the hair of Raven Stormwalker, the elven woman who now called herself Pearl. She had given it to him in the pledge he had so long sought, asking only that he deepen Hectate Kir’s slumber. Of course, Hectate would have died from such a dose as Rozloom had prepared, but what was one half-elf to him?
After the battle,
Raven had promised him, after the battle.
An unfamiliar emotion stirred in the complacent heart of the aperusa. Concern for a life not his own rose in his breast like a swelling tide, and for the first time Rozloom suspected that there might be worse things to fear than death, and greater gains than riches.
Chapter Twenty
As Teldin sent the crew members to their battle stations, he read on every face the belief that the battle ahead was to be their last.
The sheer numbers that had been brought against the swan ship were staggering. There were at least thirty orc ships, ranging from tiny, buglike flitters to crude versions of scorpion ships. The vessels flew in dizzy, drunken, seemingly random paths around the
Trumpeter.
Despite the lack of navigating skills shown by the orc spelljammers, it was apparent that they were acting under a seasoned commander. None of the ships ventured within ballista range and within an amazingly short time they had the swan ship surrounded.
The source of command was apparent; lurking in the distance was the ogre dinotherium, a long, massive oval plated with gray metal. It looked a bit like a void-traveling whale, except for the two long, curving rams that protruded from its bow like the tusks of an elephant. Lashed to the underside of the dinotherium’s hull were several blunt, wedge-shaped vessels.
“Kobold arrows,” a worried Vallus told his wizards, pointing to those small ships. “Their use is exactly what the name implies. The scro pack them with smokepower so that they will explode on impact. If one is launched at us, hit it with every spell you can summon before it gets close.”
Yet there was no attack. The ships came to a halt as soon as they’d surrounded the swan ship. The
Trumpeter’s
crew stood by and waited, but the goblinkin showed unusual patience. After a time most of the elven crew drifted to the upper deck, their worried eyes flitting from one orc ship to another.
“Why don’t they
do
something?” an unnerved Trivit wondered, nibbling at his claws. He and Chirp again flanked Teldin, ordered to his side by a vigilant Celestial Nightpearl. Teldin was becoming accustomed to having large green bodyguards.
“Maybe they plan to drop some of those creatures on us and watch the fun,” Teldin said in a voice intended only for Vallus’s ears.
The elf’s face turned gray at the very thought, but he shook his head firmly. “They know you are on the ship, Teldin Moore. They would not be likely to risk the destruction of your cloak.”
“Captain?”
The unexpected bass voice behind him made Teldin jump, and he turned to face Rozloom. With the threat of battle before him, he had forgotten about the traitorous aperusa.
“I wish to help,” the gypsy declared.
Teldin hesitated. They certainly could use every fighter they could get, but —
“It might be safer to keep him out of the way,” Vallus commented, echoing Teldin’s thoughts.
“Oh, let him stay,” Chirp said. “The aperusa could be of great assistance if we are boarded. The moment an enemy turns his back, Rozloom could stick a knife in it,” he suggested with bitter sarcasm. The dracon glanced at the goblin ships.
“Will
we be boarded, do you think?” he asked Teldin.
“They probably expect us to surrender,” Teldin observed.
With such a massive show of force, it seemed a reasonable assumption.
Rozloom nodded in avid agreement. “That would be the sensible thing, Captain,” he said, earning himself scathing glares from both dracons.
“To surrender is to die,” Vallus said simply. “When the scro conquered the world called Bondel, they systematically tortured and murdered the elven population. Their goal is the destruction of the elven people.”
In that moment Teldin made his decision, and he turned and headed for the bridge. “Then let’s make them work for it,” he called over his shoulder in ringing tones. Surprised and strengthened by his answer, the elven crew responded with a cheer and hurried back to their stations. The dracons unceremoniously hoisted Rozloom between them and tossed him down the steps to the deck below, loudly suggesting that he occupy himself in the galley, baking cream puffs.
Teldin relieved the elven helmsman and seated himself in the chair. As he did, the captain told Quon to shoot at anything he thought the swan ship might hit. The weapon master flashed Teldin the peculiar, distinctively elven salute, and his eyes were fever-bright in his tattooed face. Teldin’s cloak quickly became a mantle of brilliant pink light, and, as his will became motive force, the
Trumpeter
shot forward with incredible speed.
The swan ship hurtled toward one of the larger orc ships, a patchwork scorpion equipped with pincers that looked a couple of sizes too large for its hull. The moment the swan ship was within range, Quon fired the fore ballista. The giant bolt shot forward, tearing through the insect ship’s left shoulder and into the claw machinery. The left claw drooped, useless, to the ship’s gravity plane, and the weight of it tipped the ship dangerously to one side. orcs on the upper deck tumbled overboard.
Before the surviving orcs could react, Teldin abruptly pivoted the ship in a tight, fast circle, bringing its tail catapult to bear on another scorpion. Chirp and Trivit immediately sent a load of Om’s spiked bolas hurtling toward the ship. The scorpion took only minor damage, but the dracons had no time for a second shot. The swan ship already was hurtling out of weapon range.
A familiar, whistling whine began approaching the swan ship, and in response the door to the captain’s cabin flew open. Pale and far too thin from his long, drug-induced sleep, Hectate made his way unsteadily to the rail where the battle wizards gathered.
“The bionoid ships have a weakness,” he said, speaking quickly in a race against the invisible, approaching shrike ship. “They’ve replaced the forecastle ballista with a magical crystal eye – can’t explain that right now. A direct hit should make a magical backlash big enough to destroy the ship.”