Teldin’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “I can’t just leave them here to die.”
The dragon-in-elf’s-clothing glared at him, and her elven eyes changed into compelling golden orbs slashed by vertical black pupils:
dragon
eyes.
One of Aelfred’s stories flashed into Teldin’s mind, a tale of dragons that could weave charm spells with their eyes. Indeed, Teldin could feel the warmth and power of the dragon’s mind sweeping over his own, and the glow of his cloak dimmed a little as his hold on himself – and its magic – waned. Dimly he remembered landing on Armistice, when Pearl used her pendant helm to take over the spelljamming ship. He’d slept deeply and recalled few of the details of landfall. Had she charmed him then? And if so, would she
always
attempt to force his will?
No, Teldin vowed silently. He would not be owned, not by the elves and not by a dragon. Teldin gritted his teeth and struggled to throw off the dragon charm, to pull his gaze away from her compelling golden eyes.
An image forced its way into Teldin’s mind, a memory of a childhood summer. He saw a much younger version of himself lying in the grass, looking up and marveling at the flight of the birds. The boy’s timeless yearning for wings filled him, and he rose from his grassy bed, stretched his arms wide and prepared to soar up into the golden light.
Try as he might, Teldin could not break free of the vision. He summoned all the strength of his will and leaned
into
the waking dream. He recalled other boyhood pleasures – a fresh-picked apple, a swim in the creek, the scent of spring – and he visualized roots slipping from his small bare feet and tethering him to the land. The dream of flight faded.
Pearl tried again and again, projecting images into his mind of moments he’d treasured, people he had loved, all bathed in the warmth of golden light. One by one Teldin overcame them.
Gradually he came to realize that, under the power of a dragon charm, he could see into
her
mind as well. An overwhelming pride and immense vanity formed most of the mental landscape, but the dragon’s image of
him
startled Teldin: Pearl saw him as more powerful than he dreamed possible. A mixture of awe and fear swept over him as he read Pearl’s reluctant belief that he, Teldin Moore, potentially was the equal of a radiant dragon.
Equal. Partner.
Suddenly Teldin knew how to break free from the dragon charm. Teldin concentrated on the pact Pearl had offered him, a pact that offered him a free choice. Next, he form a vivid mental picture of a forsworn dragon being driven from its lair in disgrace.
As abruptly as it began, the golden light vanished, and there was nothing stronger than exasperation in Pearl’s gold and silver eyes. “Humans!” she grumbled. “I promise you a choice, and you have to start out with a bad one. Well, go figure.”
“Thanks, partner,” he said softly.
“Don’t rub it in,” Pearl groused. “If you’re not going to get yourself out of this mess, I suppose
I’ll
have to.” She spun on her heel and stalked out of the bridge.
Teldin’s magical vision followed her as she raced across the deck. She made her way to the railing, hauled herself over it, and leaped far out.
His breath caught in his throat as he watched her float out along the swan ship’s gravity plane, and he willed himself to soar high above the ship so that he could follow her. When she had put a safe distance between herself and the ship, a familiar gray mist enveloped her elven body, then shot out in either direction, firming immediately into shimmering black scales. Teldin had seen the radiant dragon through the eyes of the medallion’s magic, but the full glory of the being called Celestial Nightpearl was overwhelming, frightening in its majesty.
The dragon was enormous; long and serpentine, her body alone was at least five times the length of the swan ship, and her tapering tail added perhaps four hundred feet more. She spread her glittering, translucent wings in flight, and Teldin guessed that a pair of elven armadas easily could sail beneath their shadow. The dragon’s flight was not hampered by limbs, and she moved through wildspace with a fluid, sinuous grace. Her head was long, triangular, and studded with the compelling gold eyes Teldin had glimpsed moments earlier. Around her neck was the golden pendant, now bearing a sapphire the size of a small spelljamming craft. More wondrous still were her pearly sales; although darker than wildspace, they caught and reflected the light of a thousand stars.
Celestial Nightpearl threw back her head and roared, then, like a coiled spring, she lunged at and under the nearest ship. It flew upward like a bobbing cork, buffeted by the creature’s powerful gravity force. As she sped past, she flicked her tail and two orc flitters crumbled into wildspace flotsam.
The orcs resumed their attack, throwing everything they had at the new threat. Almost playfully, Pearl dodged their pitifully small weapons and continued smashing ships with her tail or upending them with her gravity field. It seemed to be little more than sport for the radiant dragon, and the orc fleet crumbled before her might.
So intent on the battle was he that Teldin did not notice the elven man-o-war approaching from beneath them. Firing on orc vessels as it came, the patrol ship drew a tired cheer from the swan ship’s crew.
The dragon spat out the claw she’d just bitten off a scorpion ship, and she hurtled toward the man-o-war. As she blazed past, a casual flick of her tail shattered one of the ship’s enormous crystalline wings. The elven ship began to spiral out of control. Not content with that, Pearl wheeled around and came in for a second pass. Her enormous jaws opened, and blue light shot toward the careening vessel. A fireball of enormous power struck the hull, and the ship exploded into bright orange flame.
Pearl swooped down low, circling the swan ship so that the massive bubble air surrounding her melded with the swan ship’s atmosphere. Her golden eyes sought out Vallus Leafbower, who stood transfixed with horror at the ship’s rail. The dragon’s head reared back, and a tremendous roar rolled over the swan ship. In the fearsome sound was the faint music of an elven woman’s mocking laughter.
Throughout the one-sided battle, the scro command ship hung back. Teldin kept a close watch on it, however, and, with a sense of foreboding, he saw a sleek scorpion rise from the dinotherium’s massive deck and begin a wide circle toward the swan ship. At the same time he noted a movement at the base of the ship’s hull, and one of the small, wedge-shaped ships lashed there hurtled toward the radiant dragon like a giant arrowhead. It stuck her and exploded in a spray of metal shards and flying scales.
Pearl threw back her head and roared, and Teldin could feel both her agony and her rage. Bent on revenge, the dragon sped toward the dinotherium, leaving a trail of blood droplets floating behind her. With a sinuous, winding motion she wrapped herself around the ship. She strained and compressed as she squeezed the ship, crushing it in her coils as if she were a giant anaconda.
The dinotherium’s metal hull protested, shrieked, and finally gave way. A huge crack ran up the dinotherium from keel to upper deck. Still Pearl squeezed, and plates of metal began to pop off. Finally even the ship’s metal frame buckled, and the ship began to break up into pieces. The stunned elves stood gaping at the unusual attack.
With his expanded vision, Teldin was the first to see the strange gray creature emerge from the crack in the cargo hold and climb up the ruined ship as nimbly as a spider. Perhaps twenty feet tall, the creature was dwarfed by the powerful radiant dragon, but it was no less fearsome. It appeared to be an overgrown version of the tertiary Witchlight Marauders. Suddenly Teldin feared for Pearl.
Fast and agile, the monster ran along the dragon’s coils until it reached her neck. The enormous talons on its hands found a purchase amid her scales, and the creature’s enormous maw worked busily. Pearl’s blood flowed freely over the monster, increasing its feeding frenzy.
The dragon roared and twisted, but she could not dislodge the creature from her throat. She released the shattered dinotherium and took flight, weaving and pitching in an attempt to rid herself of the clinging horror. Finally the creature, in its frenzy, bit the gold chain that hung around Pearl’s neck.
Teldin sucked in a quick breath, knowing what was coming. Anyone who’d tried to remove his cloak had received a sharp, painful jolt. Sure enough, a brilliant spark flared from the dragon’s ultimate helm and the gray creature was thrown off. It flailed wildly, and one of its hands managed to thrust deeply into the base of Pearl’s wing.
Six metallic talons tore through the membrane as the monster fell, reducing the dragon’s magnificent wing to bloody shreds. The creature hung on briefly to the tip of the wing before it lost its grip and tumbled back down toward the icy prison that was its homeworld.
Pearl, too, was in trouble. Unable to use her ruined wing for flight, she began to spiral downward.
Change,
Teldin urged her silently, but the dragon seemed to be too dazed to summon her shapechanging magic. He was forced to watch as the fire faded from her golden eyes. Teldin strained his magical ties to the ship, but he could follow the dragon’s descent only so far. He stayed with her as long as he could, until his vision grew dizzy and faint, until he felt himself begin to fall into the darkness of wildspace.
Chapter Twenty-One
With a great effort of will, Teldin dragged himself back to the swan ship. As if in a dream, as if from a great height, he saw himself lying on the floor of the bridge. The pink light had faded from his cloak.
“Teldin Moore.” Vallus’s gentle voice pulled him more fully into the ship. Teldin took a deep breath and suddenly he was back in his own body. He remembered his duty, and in a sudden panic he twisted to look toward the helm.
“Kermjin is on the helm. Do not worry. He took over quite smoothly while you were … elsewhere.”
Teldin slowly got to his feet. “I think Pearl is dead,” he said, and the words seemed to echo in the empty place her absence had left inside him. His knees buckled underneath him, and wildspace threatened to claim him again.
Three sharp metallic thunks, in rapid procession, brought Teldin back to his surroundings.
“Grappling hooks,” Vallus announced, his green eyes wide with foreboding. “The scro are trying to board.”
*****
The crew of the scro scorpion ship swarmed onto the
Trumpeter’s
deck, and the sounds of hand-to-hand combat rang out as the elves struggled to hold back the much larger scro.
One of the invaders, a seven-foot albino in magnificent battle gear, disdained combat and prowled about the ship as if seeking a worthy opponent. He looked merely annoyed when an aperusa stepped out of the shadows of the galley to confront him.
“The insectare is dead,” Rozloom said by way of introduction.
The scro’s pale eyes scorched up and down the gypsy, and his tusks flashed in a burst of derisive laughter.
“You’re
K’tide’s informant? That certainly would explain the confusion. Ah, well, I was rather hoping it had been an elf.” Grimnosh shrugged negligently and drew a dagger – a lesser weapon and a scro insult. “Since I have no further need of information …”
With a flash of steel and gems, an aperusa dagger met and held the scro’s weapon. The two huge combatants stood toe-to-toe, their weapons locked at the hilts and their strength equally matched. It would have been a deadlock, but for the second gypsy weapon that pricked the scro’s side.
“We make new deal?” Rozloom asked, his black eyes boring into the scro’s.
“Your negotiating style is impressive,” the scro said with a note of irony, “but what could you possibly offer me now?”
“Your life.” The aperusa’s knife pierced the general’s leather armor and pressed deeper until it touched a rib.
Grimnosh didn’t flinch. “Well?”
“All is yours: ship, elves, the cloak that changes color. One elven woman I must have. Tell your men to spare the woman with raven hair and eyes of gold and silver.”
“How poetic,” said the scro with a sneer. “Very well, if she’s still alive, you may have her.”
“Swear it!” Rozloom insisted. “On the Tomb of Dukagsh, swear safety for Rozloom and the black-haired elven woman.”
The scro grunted a response. Satisfied, the aperusa eased his knife out of the scro’s hide and took a cautious step back, keeping the jeweled dagger before him.
Grimnosh spun in a swirl of midnight cape and stalked away. He sped up the stairs to the main deck, and his scowl turned to a delighted sneer when he at last saw the object he desired. The Cloak of the First Pilot billowed in a sweep of majestic crimson as its human wielder fended off Ubiznik Redeye’s battle axe. Teldin Moore was rather good, Grimnosh noted with a touch of surprise as he watched the battle. Despite a rather nasty gash to the thigh and armed only with a short sword, the human managed to hold his own against the much stronger ice orc.
Caught up in the time-altering magic of the cloak, Teldin fought for his life against the squat, hideous creature. A strength he didn’t know he possessed filled him, keeping him on his feet despite his exhaustion, the loss of blood, and the painful ringing in his head where the orc’s axe handle had caught him. Dimly Teldin blessed Chirp for the hours the dracon had spent sparring with him. That practice against a battle axe would make the difference now, Teldin vowed silently.
From the comer of his eye Teldin could see Chirp circling the battle, his ornate axe held at the ready as he waited for an opening to chop down his
kaba’s
attacker. Teldin saw a huge white scro burst up from the lower level. With a fearsome sneer, the scro drew an enormous sword and, holding it like a lance, charged toward the preoccupied dracon and buried the sword to the hilt in Chirp’s hindquarters. The dracon’s mouth dropped open in surprise, then he tottered and fell like a downed tree.
Chirp’s eyes sought Teldin, and he murmured,
“Kaba.”
With a final, great effort, he gave one sweep of his powerful tail. The tip whipped around the gray orc’s ankles and knocked it off balance.