The Ultimate Helm Page 5

  Still, the ruins stood, their tyrannical population diminished to barely a dozen beholders who craved the destruction of their enemies and, as did their most hated enemies, the neogi, the total enslavement of inferior races.

  To the clans of the beholders, inferior meant everyone but themselves.

  Inside the dimly lit ruins, the ancient tyrant Gray Eye held council with the remainder of his beholder brethren. His huge, milky white eye stared at each of the eleven beholders in turn. His smaller eyes waved stealthily on their thin stalks, like snakes targeting their prey, and the scales overlapping his round body were tinged pink in anger. Four powerful ioun stones circled his body in frenetic orbits that mirrored his evil mood, granting him safety against attack.

  Gray Eye had considered the situation aboard the Spelljammer for a long time, ever since word had first reached the ship that the Cloakmaster was on his way.

  The Cloakmaster. Gray Eye had bristled at the term when he had first heard it from one of his brothers. At the time, he had been floating along the roof of their ruins with three of his guard, and had been focused on the defensive capabilities of the nearby neogi tower. When word first came of the Cloakmaster’s approach, Gray Eye had been so infuriated that one of his smaller eyes had narrowed its focus on a neogi guard standing along the neogi tower. Within seconds, a scarlet beam of light erupted from the eye and took the neogi unawares. The guard thrashed and screamed in agony as its brown flesh disintegrated into smoke and ash.

  The Cloakmaster. So many people had borne that cloak, Gray Eye knew; so many had commanded their own spell-jamming ships across the universe, wearing that same vestment of illusion. The Cloak of the Damned First Pilot. Who was this, one insignificant human, to dare wear the cloak upon his shoulders and claim himself its ultimate master?

  It should belong to a beholder.

  Gray Eye knew more of the history of this cloak, and its bearer, Teldin Moore, than most others. This human was much different, he knew: stronger, more determined than any cloak bearer before him. Perhaps the human was even linked to the Spelljammer in some subtle, intrinsic way – a way that might mean failure to the eye tyrants’ plans.

  And to myself, Gray Eye thought. If the Cloak of the First Pilot belongs to anyone, it should belong to a beholder... and that eye tyrant is me.

  And so, Teldin Moore must be destroyed.

  “War,” the leader of the beholders began. His brethren watched him unblinkingly, their great eyes focused and glaring red in the gloom of their ruins. “War. This must be our goal. For too long, peace has reigned supreme upon this ship. We must focus our efforts on one goal – conquest!”

  His fellow beholders hovered lazily above the floor of their sanctuary, waiting, smiling evilly, their great central eyes focused on their leader.

  Long veins pulsed in anger under the surface of Gray Eye’s huge, ocular body. His scales rippled as a wave of fury washed over him. “The damned Cloakmaster has finally arrived,” he said. “The prophecy of darkness is coming true, even as we speak. The Dark Times will be upon us all if we are not swift.”

  He paused in thought. “I almost wish that this human had been killed earlier by the neogi. Now the burden falls upon us, and it is one in which we should rejoice. The humans have decimated the neogi forces. The time to strike is now, to take the cloak from the Cloakmaster and destroy the damned neogi, all in one concentrated attack.

  “We must form strategic alliances with others – those who also wish to take command of this vessel, perhaps the ogres, and the minotaurs – they will be easy to enslave – and then —” the beholder laughed maniacally “— break those alliances, and use the inferior species for our own purposes, for cattle.”

  His beholder brethren laughed among themselves, the sound of hoarse coughing. Gray Eye looked out among them and hesitated. When last the Dark Times fell upon the Spelljammer and the ship’s food-producing gardens closed upon themselves, Gray Eye had taken full advantage of the chaos and the weaknesses of others to assume the leadership of the beholder community. Cannibalism, looting, and murdering of his own kind – these crimes had kept Gray Eye alive and in power. His brethren were young and knew nothing of the last Dark Times.

  Gray Eye would commit the same crimes today to take control of the Spelljammer.

  “When the Dark Times soon fall upon the ship, we will be compelled to barbarism that almost destroyed our species here many years ago and will surely devastate our numbers today. We cannot afford that. We cannot afford to wait for the human to come to us. We must leave the confines of this ruined palace and attack. We must take control now!”

  The veins in his pale, round body throbbed in rage. His great, milky eye was rimmed with crimson. The cloak, he believed, would soon be his.

  Let the Dark Times come, he thought. What will it matter to Gray Eye, the new Cloakmaster?

  He laughed, and the other beholders joined in. But he was laughing at them.

  “We must destroy Teldin Moore,” Gray Eye said with finality. “We must destroy the Cloakmaster now!”

  *****

  High in the horned tower of the illithid empire of the Spelljammer, a black-clad mind flayer climbed the last few, dark steps to the level where the illithids’ brain mold was carefully cultivated. Its pungent aroma caused the tentacles on Drikka’s large, octopuslike head to twitch unconsciously, and he hungered for the sweet sentience that the mold offered.

  The mind flayer bending over the brain mold, like its junior officer, wore only black. The only noticeable differences, to a human observer, would be the leader’s proud bearing and the intricate field of stars decoratively woven into its long black cape. Mind flayers otherwise appeared genderless, almost clonelike, though humans found it useful to label them male or female.

  The leader did not look up with its milky white, pupilless eyes. What is it, Drikka? the mind flayer thought impatiently.

  Lord Trebek, we have word.

  The Cloakmaster, Trebek guessed.

  Yes, my lord.

  Speak.

  Drikka told Lord Trebek of the nautiloid’s crash upon the Spelljammer, and the destruction of the neogi forces by the Human Collective.

  The leader of the illithids rose from the brain mold garden and brushed off his reptilian hands. So it is true, Trebek thought calmly. So the beholder myth is true.. Have you notified our guest? he asked coldly.

  Drikka hissed in anger. Like Trebek, Drikka did not think much of their guest, the newcomer. If Drikka could have his way, the newcomer would be killed as a traitor to its race. No, my lord. If you wish, I shall do so now. Drikka turned to leave.

  Trebek held up a purplish, three-fingered hand. No, Drikka, I shall do it. The phlbasta is in my study as my guest. I will handle it.

  Drikka took a step back. Phlbasta was perhaps the worst thing that could be spoken in the mental language of the illithids – especially in reference to another illithid. It called the mind flayer in question a traitor, a dung eater, a lover of humans, and it challenged its racial purity. Very well, lord, Drikka thought, and he turned and went downstairs.

  Trebek thought in silence for a moment, then strode up the stairs to the highest level. Scowling, he knocked twice on the door to his own private study. He opened the door without waiting.

  The mind flayer seated at the desk was poring over thick, leather-bound books stacked high on Trebek’s desk and in the bookcases affixed to the walls. He rapidly made notes in a book of his own and referred back to one huge volume, detailed on the pages with ancient drawings of the Spelljammer, its towers, and some of its mysteries.

  How goes your research? Trebek thought.

  The researcher looked up absently. The mind flayer’s milky white eyes seemed tired and weak and did not reflect the normal cunning of the illithid mind. Hmm? Oh, Lord Trebek, my apologies. Yes, yes, everything is fine. Much of your information is highly valuable.

  It seems your information was valuable as well.

  What do you mean?


  The Cloakmaster has arrived, as you predicted. It seems the beholder myth was true.

  The Cloak — The illithid closed the book he was reading. You mean Teldin Moore is finally here? Where is he?

  With the humans, Trebek said scornfully. They are currently secure in the centaur tower. They will probably try to make their way to the human area very soon.

  Good. Good. The illithid rose from the desk. His long purple robes seemed ill-fitting, and he stood inches shorter than Trebek, clasping his unhuman hands together in peaceful thought. Thank you, Lord Trebek, for the use of your study. It has been most illuminating. If you will be kind enough to continue to allow me access...

  Of course, Estriss, the leader said. His words were filled with a sarcasm that he hoped Estriss would not perceive. For as long as you wish. My only hope is that my few resources will help lead you to your answers. This ship holds many secrets, and I’m afraid that my humble research has gleaned but a few of them.

  Your library is most extensive, Lord Trebek, more than I could have hoped for, Estriss said.

  Trebek nodded and closed the door behind him. Estriss turned and stared out a small window, watching the colors of the flow play like fire along the buildings around him.

  Perhaps now, he thought, the Spelljammer will yield all of its secrets. Perhaps Teldin Moore, and the cloak, will bring me all the answers I will ever need.

  Outside, in the hall, Trebek stood silently at the door, deep in his own thoughts. He took a clump of brain mold from a pocket and chewed it slowly, silently, until the mold’s being washed through him with a sweet, intoxicating hum.

  Estriss, he thought, you consort with humans. You cannot be trusted.

  Trebek started down the stairs and paused between floors of the horned tower. Estriss could be a problem, he thought. He was a friend to this human, this inferior Cloakmaster. Trebek shivered in disgust. You are a liability. I will see you dead before you get in the way of true illithids and our power on the Spelljammer.

  Phlbasta, Trebek thought, you are not a true mind flayer to me.

  Chapter Four

  “... It was decreed that there be two artifacts that shall bring the Chosen One to complete the Cycle of All. The Compass, imbued with the very soul of Egrestarrian itself and the Cloak, which shall protect the Pilot as it had the First, and give to him the ability to end that which we inadvertently begat. It is not penance that shall be paid, but the price of destiny – Tru’vaer.

  “It was with our spells and invocations that the Cloak was banished and left on the island of Gol on the world known as Westrelon; and the Compass was taken to an unnamed sphere uncounted thousands of leagues distant, where it was left to be discovered in the center of a natural ring of dormant volcanoes.

  “May destiny call the artifacts together once again. May destiny call the Cloakmaster to the Renewal of the Dream....”

  The Mage of the Owls, journal;

  reign of Velina, the Second Pilot.

  “Cwelanas?” CassaRoc said, turning toward the newcomer. “Teldin, you know our elven friend?”

  But Teldin had already gone to her. He held the lithe Cwelanas tightly in his strong arms, his lips pressed hard against hers. Her arms curled around his neck and her body slowly molded against his.

  “Yes,” CassaRoc muttered, “I suppose you do.”

  She had hardly changed since Teldin had last seen her. Cwelanas’s long silver hair spilled over her shoulders and hung seductively over one side of her slim face to hint at hidden beauty. Her eyes glimmered a pale gold, and her smooth, soft skin was almost alabaster, tinged pink with the heat of the kiss.

  Cwelanas, Teldin thought. It had been so long since they had been together, but hardly a day had gone by without his thoughts turning to the elven woman he had left behind on Krynn – the woman he had never dared hope to see again.

  He held her close in a long embrace, until Chaladar very obviously, very loudly, cleared his throat. Teldin slowly pulled his lips from hers and looked up sheepishly.

  “We really should hurry things up,” Chaladar told him. Teldin smiled and nodded, then led Cwelanas over to CassaRoc’s table. “You know each other?” Teldin asked.

  CassaRoc nodded, smiling, and shoved a stool out with his foot. “Sit down, woman. We have a few minutes, eh, Chaladar?”

  Chaladar’s face was stern. “We should leave before anyone discovers he’s —”

  “That’s what I said,” CassaRoc interrupted. “We have a few minutes. Mostias...”

  The immense centaur closed off the tap and placed three tankards of ale on the bar. “Well ahead of you, little man.” He took the tankards in one huge hand, brought them around to the table, and placed one in front of each warrior. “Anything for a friend of the Cloakmaster,” he said, smiling at Cwelanas. He then bent down and whispered to CassaRoc, “There is the matter of a certain tab...”

  “Not now,” CassaRoc whispered hurriedly, “not now.” He waved Mostias away.

  Teldin and Cwelanas left their ales untouched, and instead sat staring into each other’s eyes. CassaRoc watched them both for a moment, then took a long draft of his ale. “Women,” he said under his breath.

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” said Teldin, breaking the awkward silence between them. “I thought you were out of my life forever.”

  “And I, yours,” Cwelanas said. Her red lips glistened, and her eyes sparkled with gold. “I felt lost without you after you left me on Krynn. I’ve been through so much since we saw each other last – you don’t know how much I’ve thought about you.”

  Teldin could focus only on Cwelanas, on the light playing over her soft, silken hair and the cool smoothness of her skin. He had been alone for so long on this seemingly endless quest that true companionship – even love, he thought – had become barely a consideration. But Cwelanas had stirred his heart from the moment he had first encountered her aboard the Silver Spray, her father’s elven ship, docked at the quays of Palanthas.

  Since his last day on Krynn, Teldin had eventually fallen under the guile of Rianna, who had betrayed him; and had come to love Gaeadrelle Goldring, whom he still loved as a friend; and Julia, whom he had lost to the gods. After Julia’s death, he did not know for sure if there would ever again be room in his heart for love.

  He looked into Cwelanas’s sparkling eyes. Perhaps, through all his adventures on his haphazard quest, this was the woman that he truly wanted. She had been there for him at the beginning, and as he gazed into her eyes, he realized that his feelings for Cwelanas were strong, and that they had been there since the start, and he had been too dense to understand them.

  Something opened in him then, a warm flicker of hope deep within his chest. If there could be room that had not been destroyed by the fear of his friends and lovers turning against him, betraying him for the power of the cloak, then there was room only for one... room enough for Cwelanas.

  “How did you come here?” Teldin asked simply.

  Something flickered behind Cwelanas’s golden eyes. To Teldin, they seemed wide and beautiful, two enchanted wells that he could drown in; but he noticed that their luster was slightly dimmed, and she kept her eyes averted from him as she talked.

  “It was shortly after we left you at Sancrist,” Cwelanas began, “when we were attacked by pirate ships that swooped down on us from wildspace.

  “My father was injured in the attack. I saw him go down under the blade of a buccaneer, and that was the last I saw of him.”

  “Why did they attack?”

  “Oh, Teldin.” Cwelanas hesitated, and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Teldin, because of you, because they wanted that cloak of yours.”

  Teldin stared into his memories, recalling his long-ago conversation at Crescent with Julia and Djan, of Teldin’s way with verenthestae – what Djan had described as a force exhibited in people whose very existence seemed to sow the patterns of destiny and fortune for themselves and others.

  Cwelanas wiped her eyes with th
e back of her hand and took a gulp of ale. She touched Teldin’s hand. “It’s not your fault, Teldin. I didn’t mean that. They somehow found out about your cloak, and they finally tracked us down on Krynn. They kidnapped me. They tried to get it out of me... where you were heading, what the purpose was for your quest.

  “I told them nothing, Teldin. I could not betray you. Even – even though they tortured me....”

  She lifted one sleeve. Teldin grimaced at the long burn scars running up one arm. “Cwelanas,...” he said.

  She shook her head and rolled down her sleeve. She held her arm tight against her. “I – I wouldn’t tell them anything, Teldin. I would not have them kill you, not after they killed my father.”

  The room was silent. Some of the warriors had heard Cwelanas’s tale before, but it was still a tale of tragedy and dishonor, and all respected her for what she had been through.

  “I was on board their ship for weeks, I think, perhaps even months. I was kept locked in a cargo hold, and when I was not being questioned, or assigned slave duties throughout the ship, they... they shared me... with the crew.”

  Her eyes grew distant. Teldin’s jaw clenched tightly and his hand unconsciously gripped the hilt of his sword. “They finally made a mistake,” she continued, “and I escaped from my chains in the hold. On deck, I overpowered the second mate and killed him with his own dagger. I went through the ship carefully and slit the throats of all those who had...

  “They finally caught me, just as I was about to kill the captain. They threw me overboard, into the phlogiston. I cannot describe the sensation when I finally succumbed to the flow. I floated there for I don’t know how long, until I was found by

  the Spelljammer.

  “They tell me I’m lucky. Once they brought me aboard – I have CassaRoc to thank for that – I thawed out quickly. I must not have been out there for very long. I don’t feel very lucky. I still see them in here.” She rubbed her forehead. “I still hate them. And my father... I can’t ever be sure what happened to him.”