Part 11 (2/2)

”What do you see?” Vallus asked softly.

For a long moment Teldin did not answer, then the molten bronze glow faded from his cloak, and his face settled into a mask of pure frustration. ”A purple cloud, a river of rainbow colors. I'venever seen the phlogiston in quite that way.”

”The Spelljammer's in the phlogiston? It could be anywhere,” Vallus said in dismay.

Hectate took a step forward, ”Can you describe what you saw the first time?”

Under Hectate's detailed prompting, Teldin recalled some of the details of his first vision.

Hectate identified them as constellations around Toril.

”So the Spelljammer was in Realms.p.a.ce.” Teldin felt both excited and frustrated by this news. ”It must move incredibly fast to have already left the crystal sphere.”

”So where do we go now, sir?”

Teldin shrugged. ”Set the shortest possible course for the edge of Realms.p.a.ce's crystal sphere. Maybe once we're out in the phlogiston, I can get a better idea where the s.h.i.+p is bound.”

”Are we going to stop on Garden first?” Hectate asked.

”That won't be necessary,” Vallus broke in. ”We obtained all the supplies we'll need from the Evermeet elves.”

Hectate nodded and turned to the navigator's table. Picking up a triangular tool, the half-elf bent over a star chart and quickly became lost in the task he loved. Teldin left the bridge behind to acquaint himself with his new command.

The first two clays pa.s.sed quickly. On the whole Teldin was satisfied with the way things aboard the swan s.h.i.+p were progressing, though he still noted a marked coolness in the bridge.

The first mate, in particular, made little effort to hide his displeasure over Hectate's promotion.

The half-elven navigator handled the slights with more grace than Teldin thought he himself could manage under similar circ.u.mstances.

On the third day of travel, Teldin and Hectate ended a watch together and headed toward the mess for eveningfeast. They nearly b.u.mped into the exiting dracons. Chirp and Trivit exchanged guilty, furtive glances and looked at the dinner tray in Chirp's mottled green hands.

”Er, lovely night, wouldn't you say, sir?” fluted Trivit nervously. He stepped forward, deliberately blocking Chirp from view. Chirp looked frantically around for a place to put his tray.

Seeing none, he reached around and placed it on his own broad green back.

”Lovely night,” Teldin agreed, struggling to keep a straight face. ”Carry on with whatever you're doing.”

Trivit snapped off a salute and scuttled off down the corridor. Chirp fell in behind, in his haste forgetting about the dinner tray balanced on his back. Both creatures took on a nonchalant, four-footed swagger as they headed for their cabin.

”What do you suppose they're up to?” wondered Teldin.

Hectate shrugged. ”Maybe we could look into it after we've eaten,” he hinted delicately.

Teldin suppressed a smile. After they got their meal, he noticed that Om was sitting alone, and they went over to her table. Her dinner sat untouched and she was absently toying with a gnome-sized wrench. ”May we join you?” Teldin asked, ”Why not?” she responded glumly.

”Problems?” Hectate asked sympathetically as he dropped into a chair.

The gnome's only response was a morose grunt. A quick glance at the neighboring table revealed what was bothering the tiny technician. Rozloom was sprawled on a couple of chairs, regaling three elven women with a wild tale of adventure that, though obviously fabricated, nonetheless was entertaining. Teldin noticed that the aperusa had preened himself to an almost blinding degree. His blue satin pantaloons were embroidered with stars and tucked into boots that had been polished to a mirrorlike finish. He wore a s.h.i.+rt of flowing red silk with voluminous sleeves and a leather vest upon which was tooled several complicated abstract designs. Intrigued, Teldin squinted at one of the designs. The picture was a clever illusion that under his scrutiny focused into a scene of campfire revelry. The explicit gypsy ”art” brought sudden heat to Teldin's face. As he hastily averted his eyes, he aught a whiff of the faint, spicy odor that wafted from the small silk sachet suspended around the aperusa's neck. The scent reminded Teldin of the similar pendant worn by the gypsy seductress in the tavern back on Garden, and he asked about it.

”Love potion,” Om grunted.

”What gnomes are to machinery, aperusa are to herb lore,” Hectate elaborated. ”They have potions for everything. This is the first time I've seen Rozloom resort to a potion, though.”

”For whose benefit, I wonder?” Teldin mused.

Om's brown eyes narrowed dangerously. ”I don't know... yet,” she intoned. As she spoke, she smacked her palm with the wrench in an unconscious, ominous rhythm.Teldin and Hectate exchanged a quick glance of guilty amus.e.m.e.nt. Although the gnome obviously was disconsolate over Rozloom, it was difficult to take her infatuation seriously. Back on Krynn, Teldin once had owned a bantam rooster that became attached to the plow horse, following it around and even roosting on the horse's back. To his mind, anything between the tiny, serious Om and the flamboyant gypsy was almost as improbable. When several attempts to engage the taciturn gnome in conversation failed, Teldin and Hectate finished their meal as quickly as decently possible and left Om to enjoy her misery alone.

That night Teldin's sleep was restless and broken, haunted by a recurring dream. When he finally rose, he retained only fragmented images and an impression of the dream. He remembered a questing voice, powerful but wounded, and he sensed a web of magic being cast, seeking all those who might answer. A few phrases, too, stuck in his mind: ”Winged captain resistant... followed her, lost her. Another captain on the ribbon, might be ready... Must find!”

Deeply troubled, Teldin went in search of Hectate. The half-elf was already on the bridge, and he listened intently to Teldin's story. He eagerly agreed when Teldin suggested they try the medallion again. As Teldin dropped into concentration, Vallus came quietly into the bridge, drawn by the powerful magic and the bronze glow.

”Wilds.p.a.ce,” Teldin murmured, and his voice seemed to come to them through time and distance. ”Stars, but no constellations that I know.”

”Can you describe what you see?” Hectate spoke softly, so as not to disturb the Cloakmaster's concentration. ”Any cl.u.s.ters? Formations? Worlds?”

Teldin nodded to acknowledge the question, and he tilted his head back slightly as if going deeper into himself. ”There's a distant cl.u.s.ter, very small, that looks a little like an hourgla.s.s,” he said finally.

Hectate looked up abruptly, and apprehension was keenly etched on his face. ”Are the stars all white, or do any of them show color?”

Teldin squinted at something only he could see. ”Umm, yes. Near the top, one of the stars has a faint yellow tinge.”

”Look at the center star, right where the top and bottom of the hourgla.s.s join,” Hectate directed. ”Any pink?”

”A little,” Teldin agreed. His brow furrowed suddenly. ”The formation's gone now. The s.h.i.+p must be turning, because the backdrop of stars is moving. It's moving incredibly fast,” he repeated in an awed whisper.

”If I'm right, you should be able to see a sphere soon,” Hectate said. ”It'll be very faint, so look carefully.”

”What are you looking for?” Vallus asked quietly. Hectate just shook his head and held up a hand for silence.

”I think I do see a world,” Teldin said in that odd, detached voice. ”It looks like a strange-colored smudge, though.”

”Reddish gray?” prompted Hectate. His shoulders were hunched and his wiry frame knotted with visible tension. Feeling a little unnerved by the half-elf's reaction, Vallus drifted closer.

Teldin nodded. ”Yes. That's right.”

”What is it?” Vallus hissed in Hectate's ear.

”Radole,” Hectate said quietly, though his tension did not noticeably abate. ”The world he sees is called Radole.

Merciful Ptah,” he swore in a harsh whisper. ”That means that the Spelljammer is in Winters.p.a.ce.”

”Winters.p.a.ce,” Vallus echoed dully. With dread he remembered the armada ghost s.h.i.+p. Was it possible that the Spelljammer somehow had destroyed the crew of the elven battles.h.i.+p? If so, what kind of being controlled the s.h.i.+p? If somehow the scro had gotten control of the most powerful s.h.i.+p in the void, it could mean the end of the elven nation. ”Are you sure it's Winters.p.a.ce?”

”I'm afraid so,” Hectate replied. The horror on his face echoed Vallus's feelings with uncanny precision. Suddenly the intensity of the half-elfs reaction worried the elven mage.