The Ultimate Helm (32 page)

The
Spelljammer
quietly sailed in orbit around the Broken Sphere. Its mighty wings swept through fields of insignificant debris that had once been enemy ships. All of the doors of all its primary towers had been opened, and the peoples of the
Spelljammer
were abandoning their battles with the ship’s other inhabitants and were preparing to defend their ship – and take the last invading orc or neogi with them.

Mages upon several tower roofs sent their arcane spells into the flow. Rays of light and power emanated toward the attacking ships and blew holes into their hulls. Upon the roof of the Guild tower, Leoster and his most accomplished wizards stood in a circle, chanting their individual spells and focusing the powers of the magical plane through their bodies. Rings of scarlet light and energy emanated from their hands and were blown toward the enemy fleets like the smoke rings of giants. They encircled a pirate hammership in a concentric cage, and the vessel crumbled under the feet of the crew, its planks and nails and hull falling apart, disintegrating like brittle, ancient plaster.

Crimson lightning shot from the eyes of an elven mage upon the tower of the Armory, and an illithid ship exploded in the phlogiston in a flash of ethereal red fire, which, for some reason, did not ignite the volatile flow.

A sleek vipership angled up toward an octopus and increased its speed. Its piercing ram gleamed in the light of the flow as the distance between them grew smaller. The octopus saw the viper immediately and fired its heavy ballistae at too close a distance. The missiles hummed past the viper and disappeared into the flow. The viper impaled the octopus through its bulbous hull, erupting into the chart room and captain’s quarters. Then the decks of the viper ran busy with its crew, shooting grappling lines across the gap between the ship. Weapons sang out and swords clashed as the octopus was quickly boarded and taken.

The two ships were then surrounded in a bubble of green light, cast from a coordinated group of psionicists upon one of the
Spelljammer’s
main batteries. The two ships quivered, then shook apart, fluttering into dust and chips of wood, to be blown forever on the winds and eddies of the flow.

Five thousand feet off the
Spelljammer’s
bow, two bee-class wasps furiously engaged an angelship. The wasps fired six ballistae straight into the hull and wings of the angelship. Then one wasp disengaged while the other grappled the angelship and boarded it. The wasp flitted around, as though it didn’t know what ship to attack next, then it homed in on the
Spelljammer
and sped forward in a graceful, descending arc.

Laughter came from the top of the giff tower. Lord High Gunsman Rexan “Diamondtip” Hojson had spied the wasp in the corner of his eye, and he instantly decided that this was the perfect test for his quadruple bombard. He shouted the order to lower the tower’s sides to reveal the weapon. The walls slid open, and the light of the flow played gloriously off the surface of the giffs explosive bombard.

Diamondtip kept the wasp in his sights and carefully plotted the ship’s planned trajectory. He shouted orders to his gunnery crew, outfitted in thick, protective helmets that fully covered their heads. Their uniforms were heavily padded and woven with an elven material that would not catch fire.

The giff’s secret weapon swiveled smoothly around on its platform, and one of its four bombards was aimed precisely according to Diamondtip’s orders. The other bombards were loaded and ready to fire, should the first bombard miss its target.

The wasp flew closer and closer, buzzing almost like its insect counterpart. As it made its approach to the
Spelljammer,
Diamondtip could see the wasp’s extra ballistae being loaded for a close run.

Then the wasp was inside the
Spelljammer’s
air envelope, and Diamondtip screamed, “Fire!”

The bombard’s recoil shook the giff tower as the sound of the explosion reverberated through Diamondtip’s thick skull. At the same time, the phlogiston-permeated air in the tower burst into flame. Diamondtip was thrown into a wall by the shock wave, and the giff strapped to the bombard seats struggled to regain their composure, shaking off the effects of the phlogiston. Luckily, their uniforms, scorched as they were, kept back the heat of the explosion.

Above the
Spelljammer,
the wasp was engulfed in a ball of flame that bounced across the landing field to scatter into flaming shards of debris. Where the burning wasp skipped, a wake of explosions followed as the phlogiston ignited.

The gunner who fired turned to Diamondtip and raised his hand in salute. Then the giff tower rang with low, hearty laughter, the sound of victory. The ride had been a little rough, but the quadruple bombard worked. The tower, Diamondtip estimated, could take perhaps a score or more explosions before it would threaten to collapse beneath them, and definitely less if they used all four bombards simultaneously.

To die in an explosion...

Diamondtip congratulated his gunners, then pointed into the flow. “I see our next target!” he shouted happily. The gunners turned to their bombards, and Diamondtip rejoiced in the exhilaration of an explosive, honorable death, which only a giff could appreciate.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“... Fear can take many forms and can affect people in many ways. Jokarin the Bold, fearless in all endeavors and champion of Reorx, would not disclose to me what occurred in the place he calls the adytum.

“Even the bravest of us all can sometimes have a shadow fall across his heart...”

Namu, philosopher of the Guild;

journal

Na’Shee was the last to pass through the great doorway, and as she crossed the threshold into the Armory, the double doors behind her closed by themselves. She spun as she heard the doors slam against the door frame, and she grasped the handles and twisted hard. The doors were shut solidly. “Locked,” she said. “We’re locked in.”

Teldin turned slowly. His eyes seemed blank, glazed over. “Don’t worry. It’s just a precaution so others cannot enter. The doors will open when it’s necessary.”

“What exactly does that mean?” CassaRoc asked.

Teldin smiled as he heard voices and saw images that were his alone. They seemed to come easier now, since he had touched the globe in the library’s loculus. “It means that I will take care of it.”

They stood in a dark, circular hall, surrounded by tables and cases and shelves bearing dim, rectangular shapes. The warriors took a few steps, spreading out to explore, and the light panels in the ceiling winked on automatically, casting dim, bluish light throughout the cavernous hall.

This is amazing,
said Estriss, his eyes wide with wonder at the assortment of items spread throughout the long gallery.
Absolutely amazing. The history, the things we could learn here...

The chamber seemed larger now that they were inside, far larger than was apparent from the outside. The tall walls and rows upon rows of tables were crowded with transparent cases made of an impervious glasslike material. Inside them, protected against the elements and any potential thieves or glory-seekers, were hundreds of objects of both mundane and exotic design. Some were clearly of recent make; others were obviously ancient, showing signs of disuse and age. Many other objects were so obscure that Teldin and his allies could not discern exactly what they were, or what their functions were.

One portion of the hall boasted an enormous collection of walking sticks and staffs, even two scepters of long-forgotten kings. Another section contained more jewelry and precious gems than the warriors had ever imagined in one place. The light gleamed off the jewels as if they were alive, seething with untapped powers. The gold appeared so pure, so warm, that it might melt in one’s hand. One particular metal coin hummed inside its case. Other cases held strange vestments and articles of clothing: a pair of boots with silver wings; a tunic that seemed to glow a vibrant green, then red in the
Spelljammer’s
pale light.

A portion of one wall held within it a large library of books and scrolls and bound yellow manuscripts. One tome bore the title
Tomb of Torture,
written in Elvish script. Estriss ran his scholar’s hand across some of the titles:
The Epistle of Lord JaykEl of the Blue Order of the
Spelljammer;
The Helmsman’s Companion
by Gorg Blasterbeam, Once Scribe of Humptown. Another read
The Star Quest of Bryn
and promised “A Ribald Adventure of Treachery and Untold Perverse Delights.”

Estriss hissed in wonder and drew back his hand. He had found a strange book bound in a brittle, flesh-colored leather. Its ancient cover was tattooed with designs and sigils that made the humans nauseated to look too long at them. Estriss looked up.
You do not want to know,
he said.

“What is this place?” Na’Shee wondered aloud. Her voice echoed hollowly through the gallery.

Teldin stood frozen in the center of the room. His voice seemed far away when he answered. “This whole tower is the
Spelljammer’s..
.” He concentrated, letting the knowledge wash over him in a soothing wave. “This is the
Spelljammer’s
memory, containing all its experiences and adventures throughout the spheres, collected here in physical form. This room holds...” He paused, seemingly searching for the words. “These are most of the magical items that have ever come aboard the
Spelljammer.
Their owners are long dead, and they wait here as individual memories, of events that mostly occurred long before any of us were born.”

“How can the
Spelljammer
have a memory?” Chaladar asked.

Teldin smiled as he turned slowly, taking in all of the chamber. “The
Spelljammer
is more than a city sailing between the spheres, or a vessel that can be owned by whoever has the most men and weapons. The
Spelljammer
is... alive.”

“Alive?” Chaladar said. “I don’t understand. How can that be?”

“It is alive, and it is sentient,” Teldin told them. “And it has brought me here because I bear the Ultimate Helm, because it needs me to fulfill its own destiny, just as its destiny is my own.”

“Can we take them?” CassaRoc asked. He had not listened to Teldin’s revelation. He was standing over a case containing a metallic vest, shimmering with all the colors of the spectrum.

Teldin grinned slightly. He slipped his sword out of its scabbard. “You may try. Be ready, everyone.”

The others quickly pulled out their blades. “Be ready for what?” Djan asked.

“You’ll see,” Teldin said. Then, “CassaRoc, go ahead.”

CassaRoc examined the case and could not find a lock. He brought the hilt of his sword down hard upon the case, and his arm reverberated with the impact.

It happened so fast that no one had time to see where the creatures had come from. There were six of them: huge, lumbering gray shapes that at first seemed amorphous at their approach. Then the warriors could make out individual features: strangely shaped arms that ended in whiplike hands, and pale, fleshy bodies that resembled neogi and beholders and centaurs.

The guardian shivaks converged on the humans, ready to protect the Armory and the ship’s collection of memories. Faceless, composed entirely of a thick, leathery flesh, and without internal organs, the shivaks served the ship and tirelessly defended its secrets. The warriors were simply intruders to them, and were to be dealt with as any intruder would be dealt with: first apprehended, then defeated and rendered unconscious, then returned outside to the decks of the
Spelljammer.

Djan was knocked to the floor by the huge arm of a centaurian shivak. It pulled back a great, curled fist, and sent its arm in a downward swing toward Djan’s head.

In the instant before impact, Teldin shouted
“No!”

His voice echoed impossibly loud throughout the chamber and carried with it a tone of authority, which the shivaks dully recognized as a sign of the Helmbearer. Each shivak halted in its tracks. One shivak had Estriss clasped within its three curled arms. Another tightly clasped Stardawn’s wrist within its thick hand, ready to pummel the elf into unconsciousness.

Light blazed out from Teldin’s ancient amulet and flickered into the eyes of each shivak, casting the image of a three-pointed star across each face. Teldin turned instinctively, letting the light pass over each shivak in turn. As though it were a message, or a command stimulated by the amulet’s intrinsic magical energies, the shivaks released their holds on the humans. The amulet ceased its flashes of light, and the shivaks stood immobile where they had stopped.

“We will meet no more resistance,” Teldin said.

“Will you please tell me what in the Nine Hells just happened?” said CassaRoc, sputtering.

“They have recognized the sign of the
Spelljammer,”
Teldin said. “They listen to no other command. We now have unlimited passage through the Armory, and no shivak will try to stop us.”

A shadowed spiral staircase against the far wall led Teldin and his friends down to the next level of the Armory. Djan whistled as light panels in the wall winked on as the warriors proceeded down to the next floor. “How does the
Spelljammer
know we’re here?”

Teldin did not answer. He took each stair confidently, as though he had walked these steps before.

Then the stairs ended, and the group found themselves in another huge gallery. The light panels above them brightened as Chaladar brought up the rear, and they stood silently as they gazed upon a chamber filled from wall to wall with display cases of various sizes, arranged in orderly rows that seemed to go on into infinity.

Estriss immediately approached the closest case.
Amazing,
the mind flayer said.
Teldin, come here and look. The detail on this is amazing.

The others surrounded Estriss and peered into the case, then eagerly spread out to examine the other cases throughout the gallery.

Like the chamber above, the walls and tables were covered with uncounted displays, but these cases did not contain magical items like those above.