The Maelstrom Eye

Chapter Three

"You may go in," said the elven guard politely, opening the door before Teldin's astonished eyes.

Teldin had no idea of what to say in return. He had prepared himself for an argument or for the kind of disdainful dismissal that he had once received from an old elf on whose ship Teldin had sought passage, many months ago on distant Krynn. But the guard had merely listened impassively when Teldin had asked for an audience with representatives of the Imperial Fleet, thought for a moment, then… Saying nothing, Teldin walked carefully through the door.

There was bright light beyond the front door of the elves' embassy building, bright enough to remind Teldin of daylight. Brushing against the doorjamb was a sword-leaf plant, waving in a breeze from inside. Elves must like house plants, thought Teldin, a moment before he realized that in walking through the doorway, he had stepped into a clearing in a forest. In shock. Teldin looked around and saw a brilliant golden sun in a clear blue sky above and a wall of tall pines encircling the clearing, which was perhaps a hundred feet across. Elves in pale robes stood in the clearing, a short distance away, but Teldin hardly noticed them. Tall grasses and plants brushed his trousers. A cool breeze, laden with the smell of fresh earth, wildflowers, and evergreen trees, caressed his face.

He whirled around, looking for the door, but instead stared straight into a flat rock face a dozen feet high.

Momentarily panicked, Teldin put his hands against the cool rock, searching for an exit. The rock was hard and rough and solid. It looked as if it had been there forever.

"Teldin Moore," said an even, strong voice behind him, "you have come a long way to find us."

Teldin turned quickly, his blue cloak whispering around his legs. There were five elves in the clearing with him, standing in random places in the knee-high grass. The closest one was thirty feet away, a male who came up to Teldin's chin. He had thick, autumn-brown hair, the color of rich, polished wood, and a richly embroidered robe of pale gold and white.

Teldin wondered if he was being toyed with, and the spur of anger got him going. "I am looking for the Imperial Fleet," he said, his voice not as strong as he would have liked. "I need advice."

"We are with the fleet," said the elf simply, looking at Teldin with clear gray eyes. A slight breeze passed through the clearing, rocking the daffodils and grass tops.

Teldin risked one more look behind him at the rock face, then turned back and cleared his throat. "I was told that I should find the fleet… you, that is, by one Vallus Leaf-bower, an elf who was the helmsman for a ship I've been traveling on." Teldin stopped, frowning. "How did you know my name?"

"Did you not identify yourself to the watch at the door?" said the brown-haired elf. Teldin couldn't tell if the elf was serious or making fun of him.

"Yes, I…" Teldin hesitated. They must use magic to spy on people at the door, he realized. It made sense. "You just caught me off guard," he finished. "You said you were with the Imperial Fleet? I might be a little suspicious, but-"

"We are with the fleet," repeated the elf calmly. "I am Uliananor Cirathorn, Admiral of the Sphere." The elf gestured behind him at the other figures in the clearing, never taking his eyes from Teldin. "With me is my personal staff. You have our full attention, Teldin Moore."

Teldin eyed his surroundings again, noticing that two of the admiral's staff were women. "I want to know where we are," he said.

"We are still on the Rock of Bral, in a safe place," said the elf. "Our magic protects us. You will not come to harm here, and your words are held in secrecy." Cirathorn raised his chin slightly. "If you have something important to tell us, please do so now."

Teldin swallowed, feeling out of his depth and feeling some resentment, too, at being told what to do. He knew the admiral had a point, though. He had wasted enough time with that kender earlier, and he was wasting it now. He debated about where to start. There was so much to tell.

"I am being hunted by the neogi, among others, because of the cloak I am wearing," Teldin began. He felt a little more confident now, but he had no idea if the elves would even care to help him. "The neogi have murdered many people to get this cloak, and I don't know why. I need some kind of advice on what this cloak is and what it's supposed to do. And I want to know why the neogi want it so much. Vallus said that you- I mean, the elves-had made this, so you might know of it." The elf s gaze dropped to take in the bright blue cloak that waved in the faint breeze. "What do you already know of this garment?"

"Not a lot," confessed Teldin. He considered describing its powers, but it was a little early to spill everything he knew. "It's magical."

"Magical…" The elf put a slight emphasis on this word. "We need more, Teldin Moore." Showing no reaction to his near pun, the admiral became expectantly silent, looking into Teldin's eyes with mild impatience.

Teldin gave up. He'd never get anywhere unless he told all. Or almost all-he still wanted to keep some of the cloak's powers a secret, like its ability to change his shape. Sometimes it was a good idea to have a few secrets left.

"The cloak has a strange history, and I've been swept along with it," Teldin said. "A reigar woman handed it to me as she died, her spelljammer burning on the ruins of my home and farm on Krynn…." He went on, telling a much-shortened version of the tale of his journey with the cloak. It still took about twenty minutes to get it all out. He hadn't always been good with stories, but a story was all he had to offer.

As he spoke, Teldin watched the elves for their reactions. Several of the robed elves in the background gradually moved closer, their alert faces showing considerable interest. Admiral Cirathorn, on the other hand, merely watched and listened. When Teldin told the theory of the mind flayer Estriss, that whoever made the cloak had also built the enormous and legendary spelljamming ship called the Spelljammer, a muscle twitched in the elven admiral's cheek. Teldin guessed that this revelation might be the key he needed to get the elves' help, for good or for ill. Indeed, the admiral moved closer after that point, though he came no nearer than two dozen feet. Paranoia, perhaps, thought Teldin, but he didn't blame them. They were military people, after all.

Teldin finished his story with his arrival on the Rock of Bral, leaving out only his meeting with the kender, Gaye. He paused, then added, "I have little to offer you for your help, but the lives of many depend on what I do about this cloak." Now it was his turn to wait. He was not accustomed to speaking for so long, and he felt drained. His throat hurt, too. If the elves turned him away, he decided, he would simply leave and find help elsewhere-but he didn't know where.

"You came to us," said Cirathorn, breaking the silence, "because one of our people directed you to us. It is known among our people that a meeting with the staff of the Imperial Fleet is not a light matter. There are many of our people who would go to any length to avoid it, preferring to administer their own solutions to matters, whether we approved or not. Why would this Vallus Leafbower have sent you here? What did he think we could do to help you, Teldin Moore?"

Teldin blinked in astonishment. "I haven't the faintest idea what he thought you could do!" he snapped, feeling his self-control slip away. "Didn't you hear what I said? The neogi want this cloak! They've slaughtered more people for it than I can count, and they're determined to have me dead as well." Stirred by his anger, Teldin reached up and undid the button loops on his shirt front, exposing his bare chest-and the dozens of deep, fiery-red scars that crisscrossed it. The eyes of several elves widened with horror.

"I got these from the neogi," Teldin spat. "I was on their meat tables. I've escaped from mercenaries, draconians, and pirates. I've been attacked and betrayed because of this cloak, and I've seen dozens of people slain for it. The neogi said that if they got this cloak, they could destroy or enslave worlds with its powers-elven worlds among them, I would think. I don't know what you can do for me, but you could do a lot more for me and for your people than you are doing now."

With a violent effort, Teldin bit off his next words. He quickly regretted what he had said, but he was still too angry to care much. If they wanted to throw him out, at least now they had a good excuse for doing it. He'd never liked dealing with most officers and authority types, even when he had been in the army during the War of the Lance. They were fools more often than they were true leaders, except for a few who were either just and fair or too cynical to be anything other than honest.

Cirathorn's gaze had become distant while Teldin spoke. He said nothing when Teldin finished, though some of his staff members moved close together to whisper to each other. A new breeze ruffled cloaks and hair.

"I remember Aerlofalyn," Cirathorn said, without emotion. The other elves fell silent at once. "It is a world you would not have heard of, Teldin Moore. Aerlofalyn was a garden world in another sphere, a world of wind and air across which great islands and continents drifted like leaves on the bright surface of a river. My father's father was from Aerlofalyn, and his father before him, and every ten years my family would meet on the island estates for a feasting and celebration that would last for a hundred days. My father's father was married there, and all his fathers before him. It was paradise."

The other elves stared at the admiral as if they were statues. Cirathorn looked at Teldin but did not seem to see him.

"You have heard, I have no doubt, of the Unhuman War," the admiral continued. "It is called that among your people because humans felt it had so little to do with them. The depredations of goblins across the spheres had little meaning for the human masses on the ground. Do not be too offended, Teldin Moore, if I say that an attitude like that is typical of your kind. Humans rarely care about the fate of others."

Teldin's face flushed, and his fists clenched tightly. He was on the verge of calling the elf a liar and worse when Cirathorn started to walk toward him with a slow tread. "A war fleet of the enemy fell upon Aerlofalyn in my father's father's time. My father was sent away with his sisters at the last hour, aboard a secret vessel that escaped to another sphere, where they stayed with relatives. He returned to Aerlofalyn in seven years at the vanguard of a war fleet of his own. He landed upon the island where he had been bora, where he had learned to speak, where he would have taken his wife. There he buried the bones of all who had remained behind. He buried bones that were burned, bones that were broken, bones that were gnawed upon. He buried a world and a family line. The name Aerlofalyn is rarely spoken by our people, except in our memories and when we gather to remember the dead and all that has passed."

Cirathorn stopped. He appeared taller now, though it could have been only a trick of the light. "I have been to Aerlofalyn, Teldin Moore. I know about murdered worlds. Every ten years now, I go there, just as ray father took me, and for a hundred days I mourn."

Teldin and Cirathorn stared at each other. Suddenly the elf roused himself and saw Teldin as if the man had just appeared before him. "We have been poor hosts, and we ask your forgiveness. Please join us for our next meal. We will eat in peace together and speak of your cloak and your concerns." Without waiting for Teldin's answer, Cirathorn turned and called behind him, at the forest. "Siol tath, alwe doe maith" he said. As he turned back to Teldin, the sky grew darker, as if a cloud were passing over the face of the sun.

"Forgive our fantasies, too, Teldin Moore," said the elf, as the entire forest around them faded into darkness. Teldin looked wildly around as the elf continued speaking, unperturbed. "We have become creatures of the past, bound by our memories. This forest was how my father's father's home once appeared, given birth again through the magic of illusion. It is a weakness in which I indulge for the sake of impressing company."

Now, Teldin saw dim, distant walls arching over his head in place of a sky, as if he stood beneath a vast, overturned bowl whose ceiling was studded with tiny starlike lights that gave off light of increasing brightness. Teldin could see great patterns carved into the ceiling itself, weaving around the unfamiliar constellations displayed there. The rock face behind him had faded and become a wooden door, which he could now tell was banded with iron and painted with symbols.

"This is our reality," said Cirathorn, sweeping a hand around him. "We are sheathed in old rock beneath the surface of the Rock of Bral. The doorway on the surface brought you here by our magic, a teleporter of sorts. You may speak and rest in safety, as I have said. My staff will show you to a room where you may bathe and don new clothing if you so choose. You are our guest."

Teldin's voice found its way back to him. "I could probably use a bath," he said. "My ship is in the docks for the next few days. I don't think I'll be missed right away." Even as he spoke, it dawned on him that he sounded as if he was inviting himself to stay here. It wasn't quite what he'd meant.

It seemed to make no difference. Cirathorn, his robes whispering around him, had already turned to leave the domed hall, gesturing for one of his staff to stay behind and the rest to follow him. "We are pleased to have you, Teldin Moore," the admiral said on his way out. "Your visit should be very educational for us all."

A slim young female elf with gleaming black hair showed Teldin through a vine-covered stone corridor, away from the domed hall. Light spilled from hand-sized glass figurines mounted in the ceiling, each one made to resemble a flying bird. Pushing open an oaken door at the first bend in the corridor, the elf showed Teldin the room beyond. It was the size of the largest inn room Teldin had ever seen, and it contained a sunken bath, a bed, several tables and cushioned chairs, some slim books and rolled scrolls on a shelf, and a wardrobe filled with clothing of every size.

The young girl looked uncomfortably like Gaye in certain respects, but she was interested only in explaining how the bath pump worked, where he could find the dining hall, and where the sanitary facilities were. She nodded and left when Teldin said he needed nothing more.

The memory of Gaye reminded him of something else, and Teldin checked his belt pouches and pockets to find out what, if anything, the kender had "borrowed" from him. To his astonishment, he still had everything he had started out with when his ship had docked. No kender he had ever heard of had resisted an opportunity to pick a pocket. He went through his inventory twice, but he was missing nothing. He shrugged and decided a bath was in order before changing.

An hour later, he was standing near a glowing swan lamp, examining a volume of woodcuts showing landscapes and portraits, when the door opened again. It was Cirathorn. Teldin didn't recognize him for a few moments, as the elf had changed clothes, too. He was now wearing a suit of silver-bright plate armor over which a black tabard was hung, bearing a complex design of a many-colored butterfly against a starry background. The elf wore no helmet, but he wore silken black gloves and high, star-speckled black boots.

"Is everything satisfactory?" asked the admiral.

Teldin flushed. "Actually, I wasn't prepared to be served like this." He quickly shut the book and put it on a side table. He could read only with great difficulty, and he was too embarrassed to admit that he had only been looking at the pictures.

"We will be having dinner with other guests in two hours," Cirathorn continued. "You may rest comfortably until then. With your permission, however, I would like to examine your cloak. I wish only to look at it in the light here, without attempting to remove it from you. Would that be possible?"

Others had touched the cloak without incident. "I think so," Teldin said, feeling a little nervous. "Don't try to cut it, though. The cloak will shock you if you do."

Cirathorn spread his hands as he approached. "I have no intentions of harming either you or the cloak." He reached out and carefully took hold of the fabric at Teldin's right arm. Nothing happened. The admiral pulled up the cloak and moved toward the nearby light. Teldin obliged by standing closer to it as the elf began his examination, watching the elf s narrow fingers probe gently at the silky inner lining with its complex geometric pattern. For a moment, Teldin was reminded of Estriss and the movement of the mind flayer's long, four-jointed mauve finger as it pointed out the subtle pattern of a three-petaled flower in the weave of the lining.

The admiral made no comment during the long minutes he spent looking at the cloak. Teldin looked at it as well, wondering what, if anything, the admiral was able to see in it that Teldin or Estriss had not. After a time, the admiral slowly released the cloak and let it fall again.

"Did you find anything?" Teldin could not resist asking.

"It is authentic," said Cirathorn in a distant voice. "I must go back to the library and speak with the loremaster again. I will tell you more later, at dinner." He suddenly turned to leave, looking back once as he opened the door. The admiral's gaze lingered on Teldin's cloak. He then left, pulling the door shut behind him.

The time crawled by so slowly that Teldin believed he would go mad. He was lying on the bed, trying to relax enough to get rid of a headache, when the door opened again. Another young elf, this one a blond male, motioned for Teldin to follow him. "Dinner is about to be served, good sir," the elf said. "I could have waited a while longer," muttered Teldin, pulling on his boots. He decided that maybe he could nibble a few items, just to be polite.

The hemispherical dining hall was smaller than the starry hall, but much brighter and more comfortable-looking. A circular table surrounded by soft chairs took up the middle of the room. No other furniture was present; the entire floor was covered with a carpet, too, Teldin noticed. Bowls of fruits and finger-foods were scattered around the table. Glowing globes and figurines hung from the ceiling, spilling bright yellow light everywhere. To Teldin's surprise, living vines crawled up the walls, encircling carved wooden figures of elves, many with wings, that graced the decorative pillars. The air inside was cool on his face and smelled fresh, as if it had just rained.

Perhaps a dozen elves were already seated at the table and chatting softly and animatedly when Teldin was escorted in. They all looked in his direction, but they never stopped their conversations or made any move to welcome him. He looked about, pulling his cloak around him, and took a place to the right of one of the staff members Teldin remembered seeing earlier in the forest illusion. While he didn't understand Elvish, Teldin found he was able to make out the gist of what the elf was saying-all gossip about the goings-on around the Rock, he realized. He was almost disappointed, though he wasn't sure what he had expected. Teldin sighed and ate a small piece of fruit, trying not to look as out of place as he felt. Why were the elves ignoring him? Was he just some kind of groundling peasant to them?

It was then that he heard a scratching noise, and he turned to his right and noticed a gnome two seats away. He was too short to be seen over the top of his chair. The scratching noise came from the movement of the gnome's pen across a folded-up page of parchment. Like many gnomes Teldin had known, this one had brown skin with short-cut, silky white hair; a large bald spot showed on top of his head. A pair of gold-wire spectacles perched halfway down the gnome's broad nose.

Teldin smiled. What was the Gnomish word for hello? There was a phrase that the gnomes with whom he had traveled into wildspace had always called to each other while they were aboard ship. The cloak hadn't bothered to translate it for him. How did it go?

"Woda ganeu!" Teldin said, leaning toward the gnome and waving a hand in greeting.

The gnome started and looked up, blinking in surprise. "What?" he said in a high, nasal voice. "Why should I get out of your way? Am I blocking your view?" The gnome looked to his right for anything Teldin might be trying to see.

Teldin winced. So that's what the gnomes had been saying! "No, no! Just forget it," he said hastily. "I'm Teldin Moore. Pleased to meet you." He scooted a little closer to hear the gnome better.

The gnome stared at him for a moment. "Teldin Moore?" he asked, his voice rising in puzzlement. "Teldin Moore. You're the one with the magical pants?"

"Cloak," Teldin corrected, picking up an edge of his blue garment. The gnome squinted at the cloak, then sat back, raising his pen and obviously looking to end the conversation. "Ergonomic fabric design was not my life quest," he muttered. "Useful, of course. Got to have clothes. Good business." His bushy eyebrows knitted together in deep concentration as he was absorbed again by his scribbling.

Teldin rubbed at his mustache with frustration. He had a momentary urge to simply get to his feet and leave, but he told himself it was just a question of making his patience last. All upper-class people, elven or human, must be as bad as these elves were. Only a few minutes passed in boredom before footsteps and a faint metallic sound issued from the hall outside.

As one, every elfin the room stood. Teldin clumsily got to his feet, one of his legs having fallen asleep, just as Admiral Cirathorn entered. He was still wearing his silver armor and tabard. The elves bowed and curtsied as he entered, but he took no notice of them. Cirathorn strode directly over to a place across from where Teldin sat, taking an empty chair there. Here he clapped his hands, and two elves sprang to their feet and left the room.

"Teldin Moore," said Cirathorn, settling himself in his chair, "we welcome you to the embassy of the Imperial Fleet, the web of light that binds together all known spheres. You have endured much to meet with us. We offer our hospitality, our rooms, and our food for your physical nourishment and rest. And we offer you our guidance and advice in resolving your most pressing questions."

Regardless of the admiral's words, Teldin still felt a curious coldness in the room. He noticed that none of the other elves were looking directly at him.

Cirathorn went on. "Our library is poor, but our loremaster was able to divine some of the past of your cloak. There is not much that is known, and what is written about it is subject to question. Nonetheless, I will share it. Would you please rise, Teldin Moore?"

Flushing slightly, Teldin did so. What now? "Sisters and brothers of the spheres," said Cirathorn, looking around the room. "We have sung the songs of the past, when the hands of light first forged the great crystal spheres out of deepest darkness, and we have chanted the hymns to the blending of earth, fire, air, and water, for the birthing of worlds of every kind. We have read the poems of those first few who stepped out into the wild dark and called it their home. We have only the fragments of that first sailing, faded legends of that awakening. What was history is now mere dream.

"You know that among the legends on which we were nursed as children are those of the Star Folk, the race that is said to have first crossed those vast reaches within the crystal spheres and without. Of the identity of the Star Folk, we have no clue. Yet before us, about the shoulders of this man, is one of the last known surviving items of their handiwork. Our dreams are proven to have been reality, after all."

The elf turned to look directly at Teldin. "Our guest wears the Cloak of the First Pilot, the favored being who took the helm of the largest ship in all existence, that which we call the Spelljammer and after which we have named all devices and ships that sail the spheres. Of the First Pilot little else is known, though some legends have it that he and his ship and its crew vanished on its journey to reach the edge of the cosmos, hoping there to meet the creator or creators of all. The truth of this, no one can know now."

No one spoke for several long seconds. Teldin tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. So it was true that his cloak was connected to the tale of the Spelljammer, just as Estriss had long ago guessed. But Teldin had never suspected that he wore the same cloak that this First Pilot, whoever or whatever he was, had worn. He looked down and fingered the hem of his cloak, feeling its alien smoothness. Could these Star Folk have been the Juna, the aliens of which Estriss had spoken? Estriss had said the Juna lived millions of years earlier….

A thought came to him, and he cleared his throat, hoping his interruption would not be taken badly. "I was told," Teldin said slowly, "that this cloak was made by the elves. An elven helmsman named Vallus Leafbower asked me to bring it to you-to the Imperial Fleet, rather-because you would know what to do about it." He decided not to mention then that he had also been told that the cloak had been made by the blue-skinned giants known as the arcane; after all, an arcane had told him that, and he might have had ulterior motives in doing so.

"It would not surprise me if the elves had indeed made it," said Cirathorn. "We know nothing of the identity of the Star Folk, and perhaps they could have been elves. Here and there across the spheres, our fleet has found strange ruins or ships, perhaps one in every ten spheres, which are each unaccountably old and bear symbols in a trifoliate pattern-three leaves, three-pointed stars, and the like. These rains are filled with danger, with magic so powerful and old that it has lost its meaning and now strikes out in its madness at all who trespass. A few more fragments of our past we have found in those ruins and wrecks, but no sign of the Star Folk, and no trace of their fate. Your cloak, Teldin Moore, as you probably know, also bears that trifoliate pattern."

Everyone in the room stared at Teldin, which made him acutely uncomfortable. "It's a flower, I believe," he said.

The admiral nodded agreement. "Indeed it is, as I have seen with my own eyes. We wish to copy that pattern for our histories before you leave us. Of the Cloak of the First Pilot, only a few rhymes and tales remain. One speaks of the 'shining garment' the First Pilot wore. Another says that the First Pilot was given a necklace before he set out on his mission, and he wore this gift, though some authorities refer only to the cloak. The most extensive fragment, the 'Song of the First Pilot,' is a short set of verses that tells-of the gifting of the cloak and the First Pilot's enthusiasm for the voyage. Little else is known to us. Long have our people thirsted for knowledge of every sort, but of the distant past, of the origins of all space-faring peoples, we have found little to whet our tongues. You honor us all, Teldin Moore, with your visit."

Teldin was embarrassed. "I'm honored, but I still don't know why this cloak has become so attached to me."

'"You've previously told me how you came to possess it, though you kept your story shorter than it needed to be," said Cirathorn, settling back slightly. "Perhaps you could tell your story in full. We have no end of time to listen."

Relieved that things seemed to be going his way, Teldin did exactly that. It took forever to get the story out, and sometimes he went back to correct something he'd said earlier, but in time he had brought everyone up to the moment when he walked up to the sentinel at the embassy. He decided to give them all the details on his cloak and what it could do, down to its color-changing habits, though he demonstrated only the cloak's power to change its size and turn into a sort of necklace-which explained the confusion in the old tales, Cirathorn said aloud. Teldin left out only the details of the past year that he felt had nothing to do with the cloak, the confused elements of his personal life since the evening when his farm had burned and his life was thrust into chaos. Once he asked for water, and the admiral merely clapped his hands for an elf to hurry away to get it.

Teldin had no idea of how long he had spoken, but his voice was cracked and hoarse by the time he had finished. If I have to do this again, Teldin thought, I'll have to hire someone to write it all down so I can just give the questioners the notes.

None of the elves left the room during his story. Many had not even touched their food. When it became apparent that Teldin was done, Cirathorn stroked his bare chin, staring through Teldin as if he were not really there.

"The cloak may have its own agenda," said the admiral. "I do not believe it is intelligent, but it is likely to be responding to certain commands cast into it at its creation. The cloak probably stays with you because it was meant to always stay with and protect the master of the Spelljammer, and you were merely unfortunate enough to put it on and be mistaken for that master. It is my fear that you still have far to go before you learn the truth. Forgive me for asking, but where had you planned to go next, Teldin Moore?"

Teldin considered. "I really hadn't the faintest idea, Admiral. You and the Imperial Fleet were my last hope of finding any clues about the nature of my cloak and what exactly I should do with it. Wherever it goes, I may as well go. I've no home left, and my only friends are those who travel with me on the Probe. I've come so far now, I'd rather just keep going to the end of it all."

Cirathom looked at Teldin with wistful eyes. "If the cloak would permit it, I would have asked you to let us take it and solve its mysteries. Our lives are long, as you know, and any one of us would have joyfully pursued its secrets to the ends of the Known Spheres. It would appear, however, that this burden has fallen to your shoulders."

Teldin snorted. "Don't think I'm happy about it."

Cirathorn almost smiled. "No, I don't believe you are. You must forgive me, but your decided lack of experience, knowledge, and skills does make you an inviting target." Teldin bristled and was on the verge of making a sharp remark when the admiral cut him off. "If you are to solve these mysteries at all, you must solve them with haste. Given the legends and tales that link your cloak with the great Spelljammer, you would do best to find that ship and let the course of destiny be fulfilled. What direction that course will take and what other powers the cloak may grant you, neither I nor any other creature could say. Except perhaps one."

The admiral paused, considering something. "It would be advisable for you to seek out this one before you search for the Spelljammer itself, if you are minded to do that. You are poorly armed with knowledge, and you are in need of the best weaponry your mind can carry. I would have you meet with the falmadaraatha who calls itself One Six Nine, whose tcha lies somewhere in the sphere that our world-scouts call Herd-space."

"Meet what?" asked Teldin. "I don't know what that is or where it's supposed to be."

"Ah." Cirathorn raised a hand. "Forgive me. A falmadaraatha, which most other beings call a fid, is one of a race of sages whose lifespans are greater even than our own. They adore peace and knowledge, and love solitude only slightly less. For a gift or service, they will answer any questions you might ask them. If there is an answer, they, will know it." The admiral smiled. "If you were an elf, your meeting with the fal would go all the easier. Sometimes they are said to be quite slow in deducing the answer you need, and it has happened that months or years will pass while the fal meditates on a proper and accurate reply."

Gods, thought Teldin, I don't think the neogi would let me have that much time. "Why couldn't my friends and I just start hunting down the Spelljammer now, instead of having to wait around for the fal to make up his mind?" he asked. "We can take on supplies and leave right away."

Cirathorn frowned. "You have no idea of the dangerous course you are proposing, Teldin Moore. What do you know of the Spelljammer?"

The elf s dark expression convinced Teldin to tell the truth. He was obviously missing something here. "Not much," he admitted. "I've heard it is the largest ship in the universe, and that it drifts randomly from sphere to sphere. Most tales about it say that it's a ghost ship, crewed by the dead, but some say it's completely abandoned."

"If you listen only to tales," said Cirathorn without humor, "you will be fatally unprepared when you find the queen of ships. We have heard tales, too, of the Spelljammer. That it was built by goblinkind or devils, that it is overrun with beholders who fight among themselves in endless wars, that it is willful and intelligent, that it is the toy of an evil god, that to even see it will cause death or blindness or a sickness of the spirit. It is said to be the abode of the most monstrous beings in the cosmos.

"We trust in the information within our own archives most, which were painfully built from guesses and luck, supplemented by visits to One Six Nine, who has spent a thousand years studying the lore of wildspace. Of late, we have not troubled One Six Nine with questions about the Spelljammer, as these queries are slow to produce an answer and we have had more pressing business to attend to than the chasing of a rogue ship. One of our own sages spent eight years waiting for a minor detail on its structure and received only a sentence. Knowledge we value, that is true, but there are fewer dreamers among us than there once were. Only a dreamer would chase the Spelljammer." The elf leaned forward. His dark gaze pierced Teldin's own. "Are you a dreamer, Teldin Moore?"

The word "no" hovered on Teldin's tongue. I don't believe in dreams, he thought, not since the war. We crushed evil and left poverty in our wake. Men with dreams, those were the Knights of Solamnia, who left all their dead behind to be buried by us, who followed their bloody footprints. They killed to save the world, but they left only ruin behind them. Hard work in peacetime was not a part of their dreams.

Ever since I was given the cloak, I've had no goals left but to find out what it is and what I should do with it. All of my options have been cut away. I have no dreams left except to follow the cloak's path.

Strangely, for a moment he thought of Cwelanas, the beautiful elven seafarer he had met just before he left Krynn, and of the copper-haired Julia, waiting for him on the Probe. Did he ever imagine now that one or the other might be a good traveling companion on the way to the Spelljammer? Instantly his jaw tightened, and he looked down. As long as he had the cloak, he was more deadly a partner than any lover deserved.

The one time he had trusted enough to take a lover, it had been Rianna Wyvernsbane, who had betrayed him to the neogi and tried to kill him, only to die horribly herself. Love was a nightmare now, not a dream. He dared not think about it.

Teldin roused himself. The admiral stared at him with cool patience.

"I will find the Spelljammer, whatever it takes," Teldin said.

"My question is unanswered, then, but no matter," Cirathorn said. "If you would go hunting, you would do well to learn the lore of your prey. Will you seek One Six Nine's advice before you set out?"

"It doesn't sound like I have much choice."

"You have every choice there is, but few wise ones. We cannot give you the current pathway through the phlogiston to the sphere we call Herdspace, but on a small worldlet in this sphere, only three days from here, you can find the answer. The gnomes have a colony on that planet, which they call Iron-piece, and they were the last to have visited One Six Nine, only a year ago. I do not know the result of their query, or even what it was, but I doubt that what they would ask of a falma-daraatha would interest us. We will give you whatever supplies you need for your journey."

Cirathorn looked to Teldin's right. "Indeed," he continued, finding the subject he was looking for, "we might even be able to find a traveling companion for you, if you have room. Have you met Dyffedionizer Artifactos Lammermaker?"

Even before he turned to look, Teldin knew who was being talked about. Only a gnome would ever stand for a name like that. He immediately saw that he was right. The pudgy gnome stared in shock at the admiral and other elves, his hands still clutching his pen and paper.

"What did you want? What are you saying?" asked the confused gnome in his nasal voice. "Where am I going?"

"Dyffedionizer Artifactos Jammermaker," continued Cirathorn, unperturbed, "is unrivaled in his understanding of spelljamming theory and construction. Dyffed long ago completed his work on ship design for the Imperial Fleet, and had requested that he be given passage back to his home on Ironpiece. Unfortunately, his subsequent studies have distracted him, and he has missed every voyage back to Ironpiece for the last eight years. If you offered him room aboard your hammer-ship, he might well offer you able assistance on your quest for the Spelljammer, as I believe that ship is of special interest to him."

"The Spelljammer?" mumbled the pop-eyed gnome, his face covered with amazement. "Now, you don't mean just any spelljammer, do you? Or do you mean the big Spelljammer, the really big one? The one-and-only Spelljammer? Or is this a joke? I can never tell with you elves. You must mean some other kind of-"

"If you will bear with him," said Cirathorn patiently, "you will find his advice most helpful, though you may have to remind him when he should eat, and perhaps when he should bathe as well. We will-"

"Wait!" yelled the gnome in a panic. "No one's told me if you're talking about the one-and-only Spelljammer or not yet, and besides I did take a bath not long ago. You elves think you know everything, and if you're doing this just to trick me, well, I'm not just anyone's fool, but first tell me if you really mean the one-and-only Spelljammer or not so I know what you're talking about, because if you really mean the one-and-only Spelljammer, well, that's another kettle of lug nuts, because I wrote an article on the Spelljammer to Spelljamming Week amp; Wildspace Technology, which will see publication in just five years, once they get their printing presses working again after the last explosion, but more to the point-"

Teldin glanced at the admiral. Cirathorn's head bobbed slightly in rough rhythm with the gnome's pressured speech. "You will become accustomed to him, as have we," the elf said softly, turning in Teldin's direction again. "Trust me that it will be worth the trouble."

Teldin shrugged his shoulders. "It depends on the Probe's captain, but I don't think he'll have a problem with one more passenger. If he can help us when we find the Spelljammer, it will be worth any amount of trouble." Almost any trouble, he added to himself.

"It is settled, then." Cirathorn sighed and rose to his feet, stretching his legs and ignoring the gnome's continued rambling and questions. "Let us rest for an hour, then return here when all have been refreshed. You have given us much to consider, Teldin Moore, as well as much wonder and entertainment, which I am sure was not your purpose. Please remain with us in our embassy until we reconvene. We will present you with our papers on the Spelljammer as soon as possible, then will see you on your way."

"That will be fine," said Teldin, but it wasn't as fine as all that. He would have to see if someone else could translate the papers for him, especially if they were in Elvish or used unnaturally long words, which he feared would be the case. Maybe Aelfred could translate them. Anything would be better than having the gnome try to explain them.

Something else bothered Teldin. It was great that Cirathorn was being so helpful, but why? Teldin had been betrayed and attacked so many times that he found it impossible to believe that anyone would help him out of pure goodness. What was the admiral's take in all of this? Or had Teldin merely become too cynical? He had to clear this up before his ship left. Elves weren't inclined to be blunt like humans, but he had to know the truth.

Cirathorn motioned with his hands toward the door, and the other elves stood and left the room in twos and threes. All of them stared at Teldin and his cloak from a comfortable distance. No one tried to touch it-or him.

The admiral remained behind with his two aides as everyone else left. Teldin went out with the gnome, who was still babbling away, accompanied by an elf who would show them what supplies could be offered.

As the footsteps faded, one of the aides leaned close to the admiral. "Your forgiveness, Your Grace," he said softly, "but you were less than forthright with our guest. That you said nothing of your own research on the Spelljammer I can understand, but confusing the song-told madness of the First Pilot with 'enthusiasm' could only have been delib-"

One of the admiral's hands came up and pressed itself lightly against the elfs chest. The aide stopped speaking at once. Cirathorn's eyes were fixed on the doorway.

"We live in interesting times, Alsilor," whispered the brown-haired elf. "Have my battlewizard, watchmaster, and loremaster report to my chambers at once. The captains of the Leaping Hart, Free Wind's Fury, Unicorn's Wing, and Emerald Hornet are to put their ships at ready within the hour, under the code of the leopard-no sound, no sign. Signal the Empress Dorianne that I will be aboard soon, but cannot say when. It, too, is to be readied for flight under the leopard's code. Go and do."

Paler than he had been a moment before, the elf hurried away, accompanied by the other aide. The admiral stood in silence, alone, and listened to them leave. He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping as he pulled off his gloves. On the middle finger of his right hand was the signet ring of his family: a golden eagle in flight against a burning sun. An arrow pierced the eagle's heart-his father's addition after the retaking of Aerlofalyn and the laying to rest of the old, wronged bones. Cirathorn had long debated with himself over what changes, if any, he would make to the crest.

A sword, he decided, clutched in the eagle's talons. A dying eagle with the blood of its slayers upon it. It was worthy of thought. There would be time enough and plenty to decide.

"Go and do," he said, though no one was present. He pulled the glove back on and set off for his chambers to prepare for his meeting.

"The Spelljammer!" exclaimed the gnome for the dozenth time. "You know, certainly, that elves are notorious for not saying what's really on their minds, and their love of metaphor will one day be their downfall, mark my words, and they will give way to those who say what they mean, like the gnomes-ah, and humans, of course-who are many times more clear in their speech, so when that elf said you were going to find the one-and-only Spelljammer, I was taken aback for a moment, because I've read everything there is about the Spelljammer, with the possible exception of the sources kept at the libraries of Doth B and Zphidnin, and maybe the Academy at Lirak's Cube, but, as I was saying, you could have knocked me over with a size-four gear wrench when I understood that he actually meant the one-and-only Spelljammer. Where are we going?"

"What?" said Teldin, who had not been paying attention. The two were past the Greater Market now, on the way downhill toward the warehouses and docks. He had trouble believing his good fortune. The admiral had given him access to a warehouse full of supplies. Undoubtedly, it would be too much to carry aboard the hammership, but still-

"I said, where are we going? You'll have to forgive me, but I haven't gone outside very much in the last few years, and I'm not very familiar with the city here, since I was working in the libraries in the embassy-"

"We're going to the ship that brought me here," Teldin said, cutting him off. "Then we're going to take you to Iron-piece, get the maps to Herdspace, and go see the fal for more information." Teldin chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Afterward, I suppose we'll find the Spelljammer, and… do whatever we need to do there." Just what did he mean to do at the Spelljammer? Teldin realized he didn't have a clue.

"Ah, that's just excellent," said Dyffed with obvious relief. "I have a suspicion that the careful study of the Spelljammer could produce a revolution in every kind of science, most especially in the field of cold dweomerfusion, which as you know is the most up-and-coming field of energy research, possibly to replace even hydrodynamics, given a century or two and some successful field trials…."

The rest of the gnome's monologue was lost in the ruckus of a shouting match between two red-faced dwarves, both stinking with ale, outside an equally noisy tavern. Teldin hurried by before blows could be exchanged. The docks appeared down the street ahead. Barely a minute later, he waved his arms at Aelfred, who leaned against the ship's railing on the Probe's forward castle, directing the unloading operations on the main deck.

"About damn time!" roared Aelfred in a good humor, noticing Teldin at last. "Did you get lost, or did the elves have you seeing one flunky after the other? And who's the dwarf? You want me to hire this one on, too?"

"I'll tell you in just a moment!" Teldin shouted back. "This is Dyffedionizer… ah, Dyffed. I'll explain everything later. Why did you ask about hiring him?"

'"Cause I hired the other one. I was going to ask you why you sent her over, but I guessed that you knew what you were doing, and she's working out fine."

Teldin was trying to imagine what Aelfred was talking about when a dreadful possibility came to mind.

"Aelfred," Teldin called, his voice rising with tension, "who did you hire?"

"Hey, Teldin!" screamed a young girl's voice. With a jolt of sudden horror, Teldin looked toward the ship's stern, where someone small with long black hair, a colorful dress, and a magenta headband waved at him with both slim arms. "Teldin, how'd it go!"

"Paladine save me," Teldin whispered. From what, Teldin didn't want to imagine.