The Maelstrom Eye

Chapter Ten

The scro who broke the news did not sweeten its bitter taste, simply gave the facts.

"Sit, five ships out of Captain Sharak's force of twelve have reported back from Ironpiece. The rest were disabled by ground fire. Our casualties are estimated at one hundred and fifteen troops. The gnomes were somehow able to detect Sharak's approach even after our fleet had distracted or disabled their orbital scouts, as the gnomes were quite ready for us on the ground. Neither Teldin Moore nor his companions could be found. He may have escaped us."

The eight naval and marine commanders crowded into General Vorr's office said nothing in their humiliation. Vorr looked calmly at the tall, black-armored scro, who stared back without apparent qualms. "Captain Geraz, do you have any idea of where Teldin might be?"

"Sir, I've heard several reports of gnomish ships fleeing during the fighting," Geraz said, slurring his words a bit. "One ship crashed through the rooftop of a hangar and fled into the sky, another took off normally, and a third crashed into the lake. Our troops were able to capture enough papers to indicate that one of the ships that got away was of an experimental design, a long-range craft, but Intelligence is having trouble translating the gnomes' notes.

"We followed the lich's directions for finding Teldin in the infirmary. One of our ogres, your bodyguard Gargon, found him in the infirmary, but Gargon was slain. We recovered the body for questioning by the war priests and learned that the ogre was killed by a human in a cloak-Teldin, we believe. Two scro reported seeing a man in a cloak with a female half-elf and a gnome enter a hangar just before a black spelljammer craft smashed through the roof and fled."

So, Teldin had killed Gargon. Lost in thought, Vorr drew in his breath. This human would spend hours in torture before he died. It would be an interesting show for the troops.

"Exactly what damage was the force able to inflict on the gnomes?" said a slow, venomous voice. All heads turned to the speaker, propped up in a heavy chair. Admiral Halker's face was pale and his expression haggard, but an unnatural light burned deep in his eyes.

Captain Geraz's lifeless eyes looked into the admiral's. "Sir, we destroyed five small craft in orbit, and two small and two large craft on the ground. At least four buildings, two of them hangars or storehouses, were set ablaze with class-two aerial bombs. Of the gnomes' casualties, we estimate that they suffered forty dead and wounded at the very least."

"So, the ground mission was a failure," finished the admiral, an edge to his voice. He leaned forward in his seat.

Captain Geraz stared back without blinking. "Yes, sir. We were apparently anticipated, as I mentioned earlier."

Silence drew out in the cramped command room aboard the Tarantula's Trident. "How could that be possible, Captain?" asked the admiral in a voice like a serpent's hiss. "Why are you so sure that the gnomes knew in advance of the attack?"

"Sir, for all their cleverness, gnomes are still gnomes, and they almost never fight efficiently without strong, decisive leadership. A surprise attack is only rarely repulsed by them. Yet ground fire began immediately after our ships broke cloud cover, and it remained heavy throughout the attack. The entire base was effectively on alert status when Captain Sharak's force arrived. Gnome units had already sealed most of the critical base buildings, and ground fighting was reportedly severe and without quarter. I cannot believe that the gnomes were capable of this without foreknowledge of the assault, though I am at a loss to say how they possibly could have learned of it."

Halker sucked in his cheeks as he looked at the captain.

"You sound regretfully close to saying we have a spy among us, Captain."

The thought hung in the air for a few moments before Vorr broke in. "Or the gnomes have spell-casters or mechanical devices that can do their spying for them."

"Or our most venerable foes have decided to send their own intelligence on to the gnomes," added an aged voice. Everyone turned to look at the withered Oriental man in flower-print robes of silk. Usso casually gestured at the ceiling, as if to the stars. "The elves have cloaking helms, have they not? They could have seen Captain Sharak's ships depart from our fleet while one of their man-o-wars was barely more than hailing distance away. With but a spell or two, they could have sent warning to the gnomes, despite their earlier differences in the battle, Remember, the elves stood to lose nothing by telling the gnomes of our plans, and they stood to gain much: the restoration of some of the gnomes' goodwill, the destruction of our ships and soldiers, and the safety of Teldin Moore and his cloak. I must consider this the most likely alternative, as I have detected no sign of weakness or treason among our own fleet. I must dismiss General Vorr's concerns, as I have armored the command offices of our fleet with lead mesh to prevent outside agencies from scrying upon us, and the reports filed by the survivors of the expedition gave no sign that the gnomes made use of any wizardry, whether their own or hired. I believe the elves have again made fools of us."

Admiral Halker broke the brief silence that followed. "Of all the alternatives," he said softly, "I find that one to be the most disturbing. A traitor can be rooted out. A wizard's spells can be blocked. But to think that the elves have outfoxed us, that they can become invisible at will.." Halker's fingers dug into the arms of his chair. "The elves whipped our ancestors like mongrels, broke their fleets, drove them from the rich worlds, shut them out of the light of a hundred suns, gave them dust to drink and rock to eat and filth with which to clothe themselves, and laughed at the thought that we, the children of Dukagsh, would ever repay the blood debt owed them. That we must swallow this elven vomit for our meals, that we must endure the laughter that must surely ring in their ships-Almighty Dukagsh must long to put out his own eyes to spare him our shame." The admiral's grip tightened on the chair arms until his hands were corded knots.

One of the admiral's hands suddenly arose, a narrow finger sweeping the room. "But I say now, 'no more.' I charge you to find a way, a dozen ways, a thousand ways to counter this threat. I want to find those elves with all the effort we are putting into finding this Teldin Moore, and find a thousand ways to destroy them. I want to see their lifeblood spill into space. I want their heads to hang from our ships and their bodies to grace our tables as dessert. I want them to fear us. I want to avenge our lost brothers and ancestors, to avenge the lives and spirits that were crushed under the golden heel of the elves! Find those ways, and avenge us!"

"Sir," said Captain Geraz, his face still expressionless, "our strategies appear to have been laughably weak of late. When we cannot outsmart gnomes, we should look elsewhere for military advice. The lich might have a better idea of what to do than we have had. Perhaps we should consult him."

General Vorr flushed with shock and rage. No scro had ever spoken so to a superior officer, much less a room full of them. The other scro captains and commanders stirred with equal rage, teeth bared and murmuring curses.

"Captain Geraz-ex-Captain, I should say-you are out of line." Admiral Halker's eyes burned into the young captain. "This is a matter for scro and the living, not for the mad and the dead. Moreover, you are disrespectful, and you will pay for that." The admiral's words dropped in volume but redoubled in intensity. "It is likely that you will pay with your life." He dropped a hand to the golden ceremonial dagger on his belt. General Vorr, at the same moment, reached down for his sword hilt. He could see almost every other scro captain do the same thing. Scro justice was nothing if not fast.

"You cannot collect from that which has no currency," said the scro captain, making no move to draw his own weapons. He raised his hands and pulled away his helmet.

The admiral's eyes grew large, and his mouth fell open, revealing hardened gums. Two of the scro ship captains sitting near Geraz leaped to their feet with shouted oaths.

The top of Captain Geraz's head was gone, the skullcap cut away. The vile odor of rotting flesh spilled into the room. A red-brown crust of blood matted Geraz's short, bristly hair. The wound obviously had been cleaned sufficiently to be hidden by the helmet. Those closest to Geraz saw that his brain was gone, his skull left empty, and they withdrew from the animated corpse as if it were poisoned.

"I am beyond the world of the living now," said the scro captain dully. "I was killed by catapult shot from an elven ship during the attack by the elves. My body was recovered from the Cursed Shadow and enspelled to serve you on Ironpiece and bear a message from your ally Skarkesh."

Vorr stared in disbelief at the undead scro. The false lich did this? He dared do this to a scro and show off the results? Something caught fire in his blood and spread to the core of his soul. That someone would do such a thing was unthinkable, a violation that had but one punishment.

Admiral Halker, for all his rage, had the presence of mind to respond. "Your message from Skarkesh is?" he asked hoarsely, fingers still clutching his golden dagger.

"Skarkesh has located Teldin Moore in wildspace, aboard a gnomish ship. He is on course for one of this crystal sphere's portals. Here is his heading." The undead scro pulled a flattened, tolled parchment from his belt, offering it to the admiral. General Vorr intercepted it, knowing that his touch would nullify any cursed item designed to harm a living being, but he didn't look at the paper.

"And here," the scro said, untying a belt pouch and pulling a second sheet of parchment from it, "are a few ways to counter the cloaking helms of the elves. Skarkesh, in his wisdom, has seen fit to present these to you as gifts, to better enable you to do your jobs." General Vorr took that, too.

"Have you any further requests?" asked the undead scro.

"Only one," said Admiral Halker, breaking a short, tense silence. The admiral half stood from his seat and raised his right hand, bearing the steel symbol of the eyes of Dukagsh from a necklace he wore. "By the powers invested in me as a war priest of the Chosen of Dukagsh, I command you, undead, to be destroyed and return to dust."

Geraz's body rocked on its feet, then collapsed on the floor. The other scro edged back in case there was another trick, but nothing further occurred.

General Vorr carefully reached down and checked the body. Captain Geraz had definitely been dead for some time; his skin was cold to the touch. The spell cast over him had overcome the corpse's natural rigidity, which was even now taking effect. Vorr took his fingers from the scro's neck and sat back on his heels. Captain Geraz had been a good warrior. It was a mortal insult to have abused him like this.

Vorr looked back at the admiral, then stood up. "Sir," he said, "this would be a good time to adjourn and have Captain Geraz's body cared for."

The old scro nodded, his expression unreadable. "I agree," he said quietly, letting his holy symbol fall. "Everyone but General Vorr is to leave and await further orders, lake Captain Geraz with you and see to his proper burial in space."

The other officers immediately stood and saluted, their voices shouting the Elvish curse in unison. They filed out, some carrying Geraz's remains, to talk among themselves on the squid ship's main deck. Usso left with a thoughtful look on his aged man's face. Admiral Halker seemed lost in a reverie, staring at the far wall from his chair.

When the door had closed, the admiral turned to Vorr. "Whatever else we do on our little jaunt through the spheres," he said, "I want to see something done about the lich. He has made a fool of me before my officers. I want him to burn for this-not now, but one day, and soon. We've got the ships and the soldiers he needs to recover that cloak, but we'll have precious little of our command and respect if we let that filth pile get away with this. Start making plans for an assault on his pyramid ship, to be carried out at a future date."

"Yes, sir," said Vorr crisply. He had been toying with this very idea since he had first met Skarkesh.

The admiral craned his head at the papers Vorr held. "You may as well see if there's anything useful there. I don't want to lose Teldin's course, so you should get that first message to the helm. When you've done that, let's look at the second message and see what our… partner recommends as prudent courses to foil the elves. I'll meet you back here in one hour." The admiral slowly got to his feet.

Vorr headed for the door and saluted on his way out. Behind him, he heard the admiral call, "Remember that first order first, General."

I will, Vorr promised himself. I will.

The humanoid fleet took up a new, tighter formation as it set out in pursuit of the lone gnomish ship. Invisible now because of the thousands of miles between them and the humanoids, the four surviving elven warships tracked their foes. Before long, two of the man-o-war spelljammers moved in to reconnoiter the humanoid ships.

One ship came back.

"They found us, my admiral," said Captain Melwan, who just two days ago had been the second officer of the Free Wind's Fury. "We sustained considerable damage to the forward areas of both the main and battle decks in the orcs' initial volley. The Leaping Hurt lost its helm at once and was set aflame. We could not render aid. Captain Sirithea was wounded on the bridge, and First Officer Eal Dornal was killed by a shot outside the spelljammer's cabin. Three others were killed, sixteen wounded. I took command and ordered a retreat, using a false movement pattern to avoid giving away the location of our fleet. I had to assume after the attack that the orcs were able to track us as they wished, and we made all speed back once we were certain we were not being followed."

Admiral Cirathorn raised a finger from his command throne. "How do you know," he said tonelessly, "that you were not followed?"

Melwan, a tall elf with dull gray hair and eyes, hesitated. "Sir, our battlewizard's spells assured us that-"

"Are you certain?" Cirathorn's voice was quiet and ruthless. "Are you certain? You were, after all, detected while your ship was cloaked. If the ores could do that, how can you be sure they did not track you all the way back here?"

The captains and battlewizards in the Empress Dorianne's conference room looked at one another. The idea that a cloaking helm could be defeated was unthinkable. Cloaking helms were distributed by the Imperial Fleet to only a handful of ships, and these had never been known to suffer casualties while cloaked. If the cloak was dropped early, the ship could be attacked at will.

"Sir," said the tall elf, his face nearly white, "I did not order the Free Wind's Fury to uncloak. Our closest approach to the orcish fleet was five hundred feet from the trailing vessel, an ancient vipership. We suddenly encountered a minor nebula, and the enemy fleet opened fire upon us moments afterward. I took command-"

"Ahh." Cirathorn leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "I see now. The ores detected the image of your ship as you passed through the nebula. It is the same principle a groundling adventurer would use against an invisible foe- hurling a sack of flour in the air to detect the opponent's body after the flour coats it-only your ship blundered into a natural trap." Cirathorn leaned forward in his chair. "Why did Captain Sirithea allow the Fury to enter the nebula? Was she not aware that this would happen?"

"I… haven't any idea, sir," said Melwan. "She's in a coma and is being tended by-"

"I'm aware of her condition," said Cirathorn. His hands were clasped together in front of him, elbows resting on the arms of his throne. "I want your opinion."

The tall elf was silent for a few moments; "None of us saw the nebula, sir, before we entered it. It appeared suddenly as the orcish fleet was passing through it."

The admiral stared down at the new captain. "Could it be that the orcs have suddenly become rather clever and have merely found a way to detect our ships by, say, firing flour, dust, or other paniculate debris from their jettisons and catapults, in essence creating their own temporary nebulae?"

Melwan's eyes widened as he considered this. "Sir, after the incident, I did notice that our ship was covered with a fine white powder, which I assumed to have been from the nebula. We are still cleaning up the ship as well as repairing it, but I can have the material checked for its composition."

"Do so immediately," said the brown-haired admiral, his eyes sharp. "Report back before this watch is out."

Melwan snapped off a salute and left with his battlewizard within five seconds. When the door shut behind him, Cirathorn turned to the other elves in the spacious room beneath the crystal chandelier. Paintings of landscapes hung on the walls, softly lit by the chandelier's many candles.

"The ores have become much brighter since we last met them on the field of battle," the admiral said tiredly. He looked up without seeming to see anyone present. "Perhaps they are far smarter than we would like to believe. Perhaps they are far stronger and far better fighters, too. The loss of the Unicorn's Wing gave me pause, but this disaster while under cloaking has instilled me with dread. I have the gravest concerns for our safety, and for the safety of our entire Imperial Fleet and people. I believe a second Unhuman War is upon us, and we might not live to see it through."

The other elves stared at Cirathorn in shock and disbelief. "Sir," started one, an amber-haired male with a white mask painted on his face, "I don't believe the orcs could possibly have the intellect to plan such undertakings as you have described. We are speaking of orcs, and they are incapable of any form of foresight and planning beyond a day's time."

Cirathorn smiled grimly. "Then how have they done so well so far?" he asked. "In the old days, we would have consumed their fleet by now with but the forces we have here. Yet we harry them from hiding like guerillas, not like the lords of wildspace we imagine ourselves to be. We dare not approach them again in direct battle without an invincible edge, one that will allow us to crush them quickly and decisively. As of yet, we lack that edge. Even the firepower of this armada is not sufficient. We need something more."

None of the other elves spoke. Several looked away- whether in shame or thought, Cirathorn could not tell. It was obvious that no one had any new ideas.

Cirathorn let out his breath and leaned back in his throne. "We are less than a fortnight from this crystal sphere's portal. Teldin Moore and his ship will not likely be caught before then if he is able to use the powers of his cloak to take his ship out of harm's way. Once beyond the portal, it is twenty-nine days, with an error of three days, to Herdspace and the falmadaraatha. We must prepare ourselves as best we can for our next meeting with these orcs, or whatever they are calling themselves these days. We shall reconvene this evening for a discussion of tactics in such an event. You will each come prepared with at least two workable tactics, one fleet tactic and one ship tactic, given the caustic knowledge in which we have bathed ourselves this day."

The other elves slowly came to their feet and made their way out of the room to their own chambers on a lower level of the armada. Cirathorn rubbed his eyes, feeling an ache in his head flow and ebb with each beat of his heart.

"Are you well, my admiral?" came a silk-soft voice.

"No." He dropped his hands and looked at his battlewizard. "No, I am not well. Our people are not well, and our future is ill-but we have a chance, one pathway to salvation. You have been our best guide, and your direction has served us well. I must trust to the gods that it will be enough."

The pale battlewizard nodded but said nothing.

"Have you heard any more from the lookouts about the signal light emitted from the gnomes' ship?" Cirathorn asked. "Has anyone been able to translate the code?"

Mirandel mumbled a response to the negative.

"We will need to warn our ally with Teldin, then." Cirathorn's gaze ran up and down the female elf s thin frame. "You still grieve for your sister," he said. "Why?"

"She and I were very close," said the battlewizard, her voice failing. Her shoulders slumped. "Since the battle, I… I feel lost. She was my only friend when we were children. I…" Her voice trailed off as she looked at the floor, unable to speak further. She appeared to be ready to cry.

Cirathorn frowned, sitting up. "I need you, Mirandel. Don't leave me now to fall inside yourself. I lost six generations of my family when Aerlofalyn was taken. We are in the crucible. For all that we have lost, we will lose far more if we give in to weakness now. Be strong, my Mirandel. We will avenge your sister Yolantha and all who died with her."

The battlewizard nodded her head slightly, barely enough to detect. "Yes," she whispered. "I am sorry to be so weak, my admiral, but it is hard. I miss her."

The admiral got up from his throne, his robes rustling, and stepped down to put a hand on the battlewizard's warm cheek. With a careful stroke, he brushed her long white hair with his fingertips. She never looked up.

"You are my strength," he said softly. "You devised the plan by which we can keep a closer watch over Teldin Moore, and we were able to use that plan to warn the accursed gnomes of the orcs' invasion. I need your brilliance in this darkness. Help me find a way to fight the orcs. Save us."

The battlewizard nodded after a pause. "Yes, my admiral." Her voice was so weak that he could barely hear her.

Cirathorn smiled. He would wear the Cloak of the First Pilot before long, of that he was certain. He would then have the Spelljammer, and the ores across all space would feel the flaming spear of elven rage. Mirandel would come through with something clever. She would not fail him now.

He pressed his lips to Mirandel's smooth forehead as his arms encircled her and her thin body leaned into his for comfort. She was the best of all battlewizards, the best of all spouses, the truest of lovers. It was a shame he did not love her back, but surely she knew that and accepted it. There was no time for love now in these days of blood and war. There was time now for only vengeance.

"Well," said Dyffed heartily, as he sat down to breakfast, "I have some good news and some bad news."

As one, Teldin, Aelfred, Sylvie, Gaye, and Gomja paused, exchanging glances. They then put down their wooden spoons and looked in the gnome's direction. The group was packed so closely together in the ship's narrow dining area that Teldin feared he would go mad from claustrophobia if the diet of creamed soaked grains did not kill him first. Gomja sat on the floor beside the table, unable to squeeze into one of the absurdly confining wooden seats, each mounted to the wall. Whoever was at the far end of the table was trapped there by everyone else who took a seat afterward. On this day, the eighth one out from Ironpiece, Teldin was the one who got to be trapped. The air was overly warm and stale, reinforcing his sense of confinement. His stomach was queazy and tense.

Dressed in the same clothes he'd worn since landing on Ironpiece, Dyffed spooned large dollops of sludgy gray creamed soaked grains into his bowl, taking them from the steaming pot resting at the near end of the table. He took a deep sniff of its flavorless aroma, sighed with contentment, and took a seat next to Aelfred, who looked at Sylvie with a why-me expression and shrugged. Sylvie fought back a smile.

"What's the news?" said Teldin, unable to wait any longer. "Your good and bad news."

"Hmm?" said Dyffed absently, about to take his first bite. "Oh! Yes, of course. I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that we're about to run out of food." With that, he began to consume huge spoonfuls of creamed soaked grains, each bite accompanied by much lip smacking and "Mmmmmm!" sounds.

Teldin felt an irrational urge to jump on his chair, run across the tabletop, and strangle the unkempt gnome. He closed his eyes and counted to ten instead. It didn't help.

"I suppose that can be considered good news," remarked Aelfred dryly. His bowl was half finished, consumed only to avoid starvation. "So, what's the bad news?"

Dyffed took a moment to swallow. "Ah!" he said, spitting out a few bits of cereal, "the bad news is that we won't be able to steer or take showers." He chuckled to himself. "That's quite the funniest thing, really." The gnome shoveled another spoonful of creamed soaked grains into his mouth.

There was a fragile silence. Gomja used the break to carefully heave his enormous bulk up from the floor and help himself to his sixth bowl of gray mash this morning. Unlike everyone else but the gnomes, Gomja, a vegetarian from birth, loved creamed soaked grains ("Gnomes know how to cook!" he once had confided to Teldin).

"Dyffed," said Teldin, his patience virtually gone, "what are you talking about?" He was aware that everyone but the gnome was staring at him, and he tried with little success to stem his rising anger. He had spent the last eight days stumbling over gnomes in hallways, finding them repairing springs in the middle of the night under his bed, and wedging himself into impossibly small spaces that obviously had been built for gnomes and no one else. Aelfred ran things aboard the ship, directing the gnomes in their duties, but he couldn't be everywhere at once. The gnomes were restless and ill at ease these days, and they were always in the way.

Gaye put a hand on Teldin's arm and squeezed to distract him. Teldin tried to relax, contenting himself with imagining now terrible it would be if he were to give in to his baser urges and begin throwing gnomes off the ship.

"Well," said Dyffed, wiping his mouth on his once-white shirt front, "once we run out of the creamed soaked grains, we shall have nothing left to feed the two giant hamsters in the hydrodynamic pumping station, and we shall be forced to eat them instead, and once we butcher them, we shall, of course, have nothing to make the water pumps operate, so our showers will stop, and we will also be unable to connect the steering gyroscope's drive shaft to the pumping station, since our hamsters are being baked, unless we gnomes run inside the giant wheels in place of the hamsters. It's quite simple."

Gomja stopped eating his cereal and wrinkled his nose in disgust at the mention of eating the giant hamsters. Gaye looked positively stricken, her mouth falling open in shock.

"What happens when we run out of hamster meat?" asked Sylvie, clearly not looking forward to the answer.

"Oo, wuh fine sunthun en thuh galley," mumbled Dyffed, his mouth full again. "Don worra aboud id."

"Can't we find something else to eat besides hamsters?" asked Gaye, her voice breaking. She turned to Teldin and pulled on his sleeve. "Teldin, please talk to them! I know how to cook! Don't let them do that! Do something!"

Breakfast disintegrated shortly thereafter. Teldin retired to his room, having extracted a promise from the gnomes that they would "check the galley carefully first" before serving up hamster meat. He found out a few minutes later that Gaye had gone rearward and managed to lock herself in the hydro-dynamic pumping station with Ruff and Widget, the giant hamsters, and was refusing to let any gnome near them. He wished he had a strong drink.

"Do you have a moment, sir?" came Gomja's deep voice from the hallway.

"Sure." Teldin got to his feet from the cramped bed, his back aching, and stretched out. He opened the door and let the massive giff inside, moving to the far side of the narrow room to give Gomja a chance to sit on the edge of the bed. It was the only furniture in the room strong enough to hold the giff s weight. Nonetheless, the bed groaned and cracked as Gomja settled his weight on it.

"I was talking with one of the gnomes, named Loomfinger, sir," said Gomja. "He's turned out to be a novice mage who says he took up illusions as a hobby. I made him an assistant helmsman to Sylvie, and he's also helping her with navigational duties. He says the trip to Herdspace will take about thirty days after we enter the phlogiston. I think we should use the time to drill the gnomes and set up a chain of command. I would be the logical choice to lead them in a fight, but I would not like to command the ship. Aelfred would be the best one for that. Having no one in charge is troublesome, and it could hurt us if the orcs catch up to us."

Teldin nodded briefly. "I have no problem with that. I've been thinking the same thing. But this is the gnomes' ship. Maybe they'd want a say in who ran things here."

"Yes, sir, but I suspect they'll go along with whomever we designate as leader. None of the gnomes on this ship have any military experience. They're just technicians that I rounded up as soon as I heard the initial alert sirens. They're used to being given orders, not to giving them. It's worse than the situation at Mount Nevermind."

Teldin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "If they and everyone else agree to it, it sounds fine to me. I only wish this ship was bigger. It helps to go out on deck, but then I hate to come back inside."

Gomja nodded sympathetically. Teldin knew his big friend was forced to sleep on the ship's upper deck, as there was no place to put him without blocking hall traffic; the giff fit no bed aboard. Gomja also snored like a lion roaring.

"It's uncomfortable, I know," said Gomja, "but we were lucky just to have gotten this far, sir. Once Aelfred and I get the gnomes organized and teach them some basic tactics and drills, we should have a chance in case the orcs attack us again and try to grapple and board us."

"It's your fate to command gnomes all the rest of your life," Teldin said, managing a grin. "I hardly envy you that."

Gomja smiled, too, his little ears perking up. "There are worse troops, sir," he said. "I would be afraid to command a force of kender, for instance."

Teldin nodded in agreement. "Speaking of which, I've just heard that she's gone and-"

"She's still there, sir," Gomja finished. "I was going to ask if you can talk her out. This ship has plenty of supplies hidden in the galley. I found them not five minutes ago. Even with the creamed soaked grains gone, we have lots of food left before we'd ever have to eat a hamster." The giff made a sour face. "I'm afraid I'm in agreement with Gaye on that, sir."

Teldin frowned. "That's odd. Dyffed told us earlier that no one had gotten around to loading up the ship with food supplies, much less putting in the helm and weaponry."

Gomja looked at him blankly. "I hadn't heard that, sir. I suppose that Dyffed wasn't aware whether things had been loaded on or not. Perhaps they supplied the ship and forgot about it." He shrugged his gigantic shoulders. "Who knows?"

The giff got to his feet, stooping to avoid striking the ceiling. "Carry on, sir," he said, giving a quick salute. "We've nothing left to do until we get to Herdspace. I'm looking forward to finding out why it's called that. None of the gnomes know but Dyffed, and he laughs when I mention it. Oh, and don't forget about Gaye, sir."

"I'll tell her," Teldin said, returning the salute with feeling. "I'll see you later."

When the giff was gone, Teldin considered lying down again for a few moments more, but decided not to bother. His back was killing him, and he couldn't rest with Gaye all stirred up. He straightened his clothes and prepared to leave for the besieged kender.

It wasn't until he was going to see Gaye that Teldin though about Gomja's comment about the alert on Ironpiece. Hadn't the first siren been one that only the gnomes could hear? Yet Gomja had said he'd begun rounding up gnomes at that time. The giff had never displayed any ability to hear the high-pitched sounds gnomes could detect, but maybe he could anyway. Maybe the gnomes had heard the first siren and had told him about it. It was only a mildly interesting thought, and Teldin decided he would ask Gomja about it the following day. He promptly forgot all about it.

Thirty-four days passed. Gaye cooked. The gnomes trained. Everyone waited.

And the scro caught up with them.