The Ultimate Helm (30 page)

Na’Shee kept the others at bay with a flashy display of swordsmanship that easily broke through the mind flayers’ meager physical defenses. Blood oozed from half a dozen shallow wounds across their limbs as the woman effortlessly deflected their sword thrusts and turned away their virgin steel. She flicked out her blade, and an illithid dropped to her feet, its hand neatly severed at the wrist. The mind flayer dropped back, and its partner closed in. She dispatched it with relative ease, hammering away its blade with her shield, then running her sword through its chest. As the illithid fell, she reached for the long dagger tucked in its belt and hurled it expertly at the wounded illithid, now limping away with its bleeding stump. The dagger caught the mind flayer squarely between its shoulders, and the unhuman fell forward, flat onto its tentacled face.

Teldin was attacked by three mind flayers, shouting,
Beware his powers!
and
The cloak will be ours!
His blade lashed out faster than the mind flayers could comprehend, drawing a long line of scarlet down one illithid’s arm and driving deep into another’s unprotected neck to sever an artery in a great fountain of blood.

Teldin had never fought so fast or so furiously. His strength, his being, was noticeably different. The tingle of cold energy from the cloak no longer seemed to be present. Teldin’s sense of perception was not distorted in any way either; time did not slow for him as he protected himself with his steel, and his strong frame did not shiver with the energies of the cloak. He knew that he alone could not fight as furiously as this, and he wondered if the cloak’s apparent lack of power was the cause.

He felt it on his shoulders; he knew the cloak was there, was always there, flowing around him as though he had been born with it. He felt it with him like one feels the hair on one’s head, as though it belonged.

Teldin knew instinctively, as his sword whipped out to meet his assailants’ pitiful physical offense, that now the cloak and he were one. It was no longer a tool that he should try to control, nor had it ever really been. In the short time since the attack of the Fool’s undead, the cloak’s energies had become his own. The cloak had become nothing less than a second skin, a sentient, protective limb that worked with him, not for him, and had been waiting until Teldin’s need had driven it to bond with him.

Five illithids charged through the skirmish, armed with nothing but their innate mental powers. The group parted, and the leader of the mind flayers stepped through. Behind the Cloakmaster, Estriss screamed,
Beware! Lord Trebek wants you dead!

Trebek stood before the Cloakmaster in regal black robes and hissed angrily at him. His tentacles quivered in hatred.
It is my honor to destroy you,
Trebek said. The mind flayer stood tall, and Teldin could see his concentration turn inward, focusing his mental power.

Teldin’s mind reeled with a shout of
Nooooo!
as Estriss levitated across the deck and landed between them. Estriss turned to Lord Trebek and held up his hands, warning the illithid away.
Do not do this, Trebek. This is more complex than you can imagine.

Trebek glared at him. The leader’s opaque eyes narrowed.
You are a traitor to your own race,
phlbasta.
You consort with food, with humans. Have you no pride in your race at all?

Trebek’s eyes became slits. Estriss suddenly felt a pinpoint of hot pain blossom in his mind, and he staggered back, moaning under the attack.

You are not a true illithid!
Trebek nearly screamed.
Our brethren die bleeding under the onslaught of the elves, and you chase after humans as though you were their pet or a goblin slave!

Estriss’s head jerked back as a powerful mind blast from Trebek sent him reeling. He shook his head, trying to clear the haze that had fallen across his eyes. Dimly he saw Trebek’s silhouette nearing him. He focused his thoughts and cast out with his innate mental blast. He heard Trebek grunt loudly, then his eyes cleared and he watched the illithid leader stagger back, hands on his head.

Trebek, his eyes narrowed and red, stared at him, and it seemed as though a lightning bolt of sizzling energy shot into Estriss’s mind and exploded in his brain.

Estriss fell to his knees, his head ringing with fire. His thoughts would not hold together, and he knew he needed time to regroup and concentrate properly.

You are the enemy!
Trebek screamed in his mind.
I knew I should have killed you when you first arrived! I smelled even then the taint of human influence on you!

Trebek’s tentacles wrapped around his head. He felt the illithid’s ragged teeth scrape his scalp, and Estriss lashed out instinctively, defensively, with a blast stronger than any he could conceive. Trebek’s eyes widened as a jolt of fire flared in his mind; then Estriss pulled himself from Trebek’s grasp, and he concentrated, levitating swiftly above the leader and across to his other side.

Trebek spun around, his hands again to his head.
Coward! Pace your superior like a true illithid!

I am not a true illithid, as you already said. In blood, yes. But I believe in life. And I believe in honesty. You believe in nothing but your own hunger, and your own self-interest.

Estriss stared Trebek in the eyes. They met in the center of the room. Their powers were great, evenly matched, but Estriss had less of a stomach for fighting, for hatred, and Trebek had staked his claim on the
Spelljammer
with his uncompromising skill as an illithid warrior, and as a very smooth diplomat.

Trebek knew that he would win.

Estriss tired easily under Trebek’s mental onslaught. The physical plane was forgotten as their mental powers hammered at each other with blows of electric pain. Estriss lost ground as Trebek pressed hard against him, and found himself cornered against a line of Trebek’s warriors.

He knew that all was lost if he could not reach within himself and fight as he should. He was a researcher, a scholar. He was an anomaly, a friend, an individual.

He knew what the battle was really about. It was not about mind flayers and humans, or the cloak, or the Dark Times. It was about hatred, about the fear and hatred that many have for those who are different.

He was the first illithid to know the meaning of friendship. And he was the first to throw off the mantle of group identity and rejoice in his individuality.

He brought himself up. Shaking, focusing his powers, Estriss felt his mind harness all his reserves for one last burst of mental energy. His muscles stood out under his purple skin, and he tensed, seeing only Trebek’s evil face in his eyes. He pushed with his mind until he felt as though his brain would snap under the strain, and he reeled as the power flowed out of him in a single, concentrated bolt of energy.

Trebek screamed and fell to his knees. His mind was a white blur of stabbing pain, exploding, spreading across his field of vision, hammering behind his eyes with needles of ice.

Estriss doubled over and gasped, his focus released. Trebek swayed, then forced itself up on one knee. He hissed weakly, defiantly at his nemesis. Estriss shambled over, sword in hand, and casually slapped Trebek across the face with the flat of his blade. He lowered his sword to a point between the leader’s eyes.

Surrender,
Estriss said mentally.

Trebek grabbed the illithid’s ankle.

Estriss flicked the point of his sword into Trebek’s tentacles. The mind flayer snapped back his head and tightened his grip on Estriss’s ankle.

Surrender, Trebek.

You use the weapon... of a human
, the fallen leader said.
I will never surrender... to a traitor.

Trebek shook with the strain of toppling Estriss, but the illithid stood firm and slashed his sword across the side of Trebek’s purple face.

I do not want to kill you. What would you have me do? We have no real quarrel. You have shown me hospitality. You are my brother.

Trebek’s answer was an angry grunt as he tried to stand. Estriss shoved him down with one hand upon his head.

Then Trebek’s voice shouted in Estriss’s mind.
Then act like a true mind flayer, brother,... not like a human!

Estriss nodded slowly. He threw down his sword. His tentacles tightened around Trebek’s head, and his teeth sank deep into the leader’s thick skull.

The warriors around them stepped back. Chaladar and CassaRoc sprang to Estriss’s sides as Trebek’s limp body fell to the deck. Blood oozed from the round orifice concealed under Estriss’ tentacles, and he slurped the last of Trebek’s brains into his mouth.

He picked up his sword and took a deep breath. His head swam with the invigorating taste of Trebek’s memories, his desires. Then Estriss’s eyes cleared and he saw his companions and the enemy mind flayers. They stared at the blood dripping down his tentacles, down the front of his tunic.

Trebek is dead,
Estriss said to the illithid warriors.
The mantle of leadership is now mine.

The mind flayers shifted uneasily.
Go now,
Estriss commanded.
Destroy the enemies of the illithids, but leave the Cloakmaster to me. Go!

The illithids turned and trotted away toward their tower. Estriss looked over at the Cloakmaster.
They will not harm us now,
he said, though he was not truly sure of that.
We must leave as well.

A hand clapped the Cloakmaster on the shoulder, and Teldin spun around angrily, his sword raised. CassaRoc stepped back. “Whoa!” he said. “Are you all right?”

Teldin turned around. His opponents were all laid out in a bloody heap before him, killed by his own hand while he had been thinking about the cloak. “What happened?”

Stardawn came over, sheathing his sword. “I’ve never seen anybody fight like that before. You cut through them like they were ghosts.”

Teldin thought out loud. “It’s the cloak. It has... merged with me in some way. I can’t control it – I guess I never could – but now I’ve somehow absorbed its powers.” He stood up straight. “I feel better and stronger than I’ve ever felt before, and the cloak feels as if I never should have been without it.”

The warriors stared at him. Djan smiled and whispered under his breath, “
Verenthestae
.”

“Where do you think Gaye is?” CassaRoc inquired.

“Gaye is no fool,” Teldin said. “Apparently she’s more powerful than I ever knew. I don’t know much about psionics, but I’d guess that she could transport us using her abilities, but not transport herself at the same time.”

“That sounds right,” Na’Shee said.

They paused for a moment and looked around them, surrounded by the bodies of their foes. Sounds of battle came from all sides: the screams of the dying, the clangs of steel against steel. The
Spelljammer
was covered with puddles of blood, and the many towers seemed fragile, vulnerable.

“It’s irreversible now,” Teldin said softly. “The war lust has started. This isn’t just about me and the cloak anymore. This is about hatred. Each race thinks that it is superior to the others, and no one will be satisfied until all the others are dead.”

Stardawn watched him solemnly. The elves
are
superior, he thought, and I will soon be dancing upon all of your graves.

“We should go,” Djan said to Teldin.

The Cloakmaster nodded. “Yes, I know,” he said. “I just hope there’s something left of the
Spelljammer
after I reach the
adytum
.”

They broke into a run and headed around the corner of the beholder ruins toward the elf tower. The deck was strewn with the bodies of minotaurs, of a few mind flayers and elves and humans. Fighting was going on here between the ruins and the elf tower. A huge hill giant pummeled his way through the ranks of elves and illithids, who fought among themselves with bloodlust in their eyes. One dying beholder lay gasping against a cracked pillar of the ruins. Its great eye widened as it spied them, and it screamed out a loud, shrill cry that grated like the soulless clawing of fingernails across slate.

A beholder floated out of the ruins, followed by two of its scaly kinsmen. They spied the Cloakmaster and his group. One beholder hurried back to the doorway, and a beam of light lanced out from one of its wavering eyestalks with a hiss of burning air. It shouted, “The Cloakmaster has come! Attack him! Attack!”

The doorway of the beholder ruins darkened. Ragged shadows floated from the entrance, bobbing unsteadily above the deck, as though light, and the outdoors, were unnatural to them. The beholders spread out and away from the dark shapes emerging from the ruins. Their enslaved minotaurs raced from the ruins, their horrified gazes focused on the things escaping from the ruins. Several minotaurs broke ranks and ran toward the relative safety of the war elsewhere on the
Spelljammer.
They knew that unholy death had been unleashed, and that escape was their only prayer.

“Why are they running?” CassaRoc asked. He turned then and saw a few of the dark shapes floating toward him.

Djan helped support Na’Shee, who touched her forehead tenderly. They stared toward the ruins.

“By the Dark Queen,” Teldin said. He had his sword ready in his hand. “What in the Abyss are they?”

They floated out, bobbing drunkenly, as though drugged, barely aware of their surroundings. Their great eyes blinked at the light from the chaotic flow. Teldin heard Na’Shee gasp in horror. “They’re... they’re so...”

CassaRoc said, “Ugly.”

“Obscene,” offered Chaladar.

The things clearly had been beholders, but they were true beholders no longer. Their great, round bodies were blackened, malformed, as though burned from the inside out, and wrapped with stained and moldy bandages. There were thirteen of them, and each of their ten eyestalks hung shriveled, withered, and blind upon their crowns. Their long, gnarly mouths were pulled back in endless pain, exposing rotting, ragged teeth, and their great red eyes blinked slowly, taking in their surroundings as though they were but a dim memory.

Djan said, “They look undead.”

“Mummies,” Stardawn guessed.