The Ultimate Helm Page 7

  But things, the Fool foretold, will soon change.

  Through the eyes of his undead rat, he could see the contemptible respect on the human warriors’ faces, the sickening strength with which the Cloakmaster carried himself – oh, the arrogance of this human pest! – and the Fool whispered to himself of the things he would do to Teldin Moore, Teldin Cloakmaster, of how delicious it would be to command this mortal’s undead body like a marionette, once the cloak and the Spelljammer were his.

  He knew the cloak. He had followed the signs and had bonded long enough with the Spelljammer for knowledge of the cloak’s history to become his. He knew what was the legend and what was the truth; he knew the course of the Spelljammer’s destiny, and what the coming of the Cloakmaster truly meant.

  For the Cloak of the First Pilot had been returned, and the Compass was the key that would guide the Cloakmaster and the Spelljammer to their unseen fate.

  Unless he could take the cloak, and the Spelljammer, for himself... one last time.

  The Fool hissed, the laughter of the dead.

  “Spelllljammerrrrrrr...” he said, licking his taut lips with a desiccated tongue.

  The Fool’s whispering was the sound of the cold wind whistling through dead trees; the sound of worms burrowing through bones nestled deep within the ground. His ways of thinking were far different from those of the living. His ways were the madness of death, the joy of destruction, the sweet perfection of utter despair.

  As he whispered dementedly to himself, he ran his hands over the mildewed doll’s head atop his long conjuring wand, and he imagined his darkest fantasies, his secret desires, his long-hated memories: of the Spelljammer, of his failure as captain of the great ship many years ago – Failure! Because the Spelljammer was not worthy of me! – of his death-long quest for revenge.

  His whispers were broken and rambling, the rasping of the dying. They echoed off the cold, slimy walls, a perverted reflection of Teldin Moore’s own promises of life, of peace.

  “Yesss,” the Fool uttered to the darkness. He could see it all now, his last stand before the Dark Times began. “Yesssss. A mighty fight. Many battles... and blood... the blood...”

  The Fool shuddered in ecstasy, his twisted mind filled with visions of death and revenge against the Spelljammer.

  “Many will die at my hands. War and blood, to the death...

  “A fight... for evil. For souls... for death... for the Spelljammer’s final destiny...

  “Its... death!”

  The master lich laughed to himself for a long time. Above, in the market of the Spelljammer, shopkeepers shivered for no reason, and children began to cry.

  Chapter Five

  “... Of course, we had heard the legends of a fabulous cloak of untold power. It was even written that the Architects themselves had no conception of its powers when the cloak was first transformed. It appears to protect and answer its bearer eccentrically, but in ways entirely appropriate to the situation....

  “... The fight was over within mere seconds. We never saw Lekashta, the mind flayer, again...

  Journal of Steelbender,

  dwarf of the Rock of Bral.

  Several hours later, after Teldin had bathed and eaten a hearty meal of cold meats in CassaRoc’s galley – for fires were forbidden while the Spelljammer was sailing in the phlogiston – he felt relaxed and ready to take on the duty of convincing the leaders of the halflings, the dwarves, and the giff that his coming was not a promise of doom. He was here only to fulfill his quest, to discover why he had been called out to find the most legendary spelljamming craft of all time. The cloak, an ultimate helm, he knew, was too valuable to fall into the hands of the evil neogi or any other unhuman race. If it did, then the Dark Times would truly come, for the unhumans would use the cloak to subjugate all others. These things would serve as his argument to win allies.

  Their only hope of success against the unhumans was to ally themselves behind Teldin, the Cloakmaster, and help him end his quest – before the forces of evil could take control and wreak destruction across the known spheres.

  CassaRoc had provided him private quarters in the Tower of Thought, and he had quickly fallen into a deep, restful sleep for several hours. He woke refreshed, though still a little weary from the day’s events. He bathed and put on fresh, comfortable clothes, which CassaRoc had provided, then lay down for a while in his quarters, trying to relax before his meeting with his potential allies.

  He put an arm across his eyes and felt his heart beating fast, too hard. Things had happened too fast since he had reached the Spelljammer, and it was hard for him to conceive that he, a simple farm boy from a backwater world such as Krynn, was finally aboard a legendary ship – almost a god-ship – that sailed between the spheres as easily as a fish could swim across a pond.

  The Spelljammer! It was almost too much to believe. The magic amulet felt warm against his chest, and he sighed, happy that he was finally where he belonged – Yes! I belong here! he suddenly realized: – but he had no idea what he should do next, or how he had to end his quest. His heart beat faster. He wanted this over with, soon; he wanted to finish what he had come here for, whatever that was....

  He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Rest would do him no good now; he was too excited, and, though he felt strong after his bath, he knew that the events of the long day would catch up with him in a few hours. Already he felt light-headed, but he did not know if that was from the day’s battle or simply exhilaration at his journey’s end. Or...

  Cwelanas. No matter what he thought about, her face appeared to interrupt his concentration. It had been so long since they had last seen each other, but the emotions he felt for her were strong, perhaps stronger than when they had parted at Sancrist.

  Not long after his impromptu speech before CassaRoc’s warriors, Cwelanas had begged off to perform a few errands for CassaRoc. She had given Teldin a gentle kiss and let her hand linger on his arm. “‘Teldin Cloakmaster.’ I like the sound of that. They’ll rally around you with a title like that.” She looked into his eyes. “I never thought you would find me,” she had whispered to him, a hint of sadness in her golden eyes.

  Then she had left, and Teldin had been pulled by CassaRoc to meet some of his fighters.

  Now he could not get her out of his mind. She had been lost to him long before he had even met Gaeadrelle Goldring, the kender. He wanted to believe that Cwelanas’s presence here was more of a distraction than anything else, pulling him from his purpose. He hated to admit it: he could not deny a very obvious attraction to the silver-haired elf. But his mission on the Spelljammer was paramount, he thought, and a romance was not at all what he had planned, not at all.

  Still, her face would not disappear from his mind.

  Teldin was lost in thought when CassaRoc’s messenger knocked on his door, and he did not even look up until the messenger loudly called out his name. He recognized the voice and sighed softly.

  He opened the door, and Emil stepped in quickly. The short little warrior threw back his plaid cape and exclaimed, “Hi, Mr. Cloakmaster, sir. CassaRoc the Mighty sent me to get you. He said the leaders of the halflings and the giff and somebody else are here to see you. Boy, I tell you, you and that cloak of yours sure are impressive. You don’t know how much I’d love to —”

  “Okay, okay,” Teldin said, “calm down.” Then he added, “You remind me of some gnomes I once shipped with.”

  This sent Emil into a fit of high-pitched laughter. “Oh, no, no, sir, I’m not a gnome, not at all. I just get excited and get carried away sometimes. You just let me know if I start bothering you, sir,” he said, grinning. “Everybody else does. Oh, yeah, you bet, I can be a pain.” He laughed.

  Teldin patted his shoulder, wondering why Emil smelled vaguely of cheese, and together they went down to the tower’s meeting hall, Emil chattering incessantly along the way. Teldin tuned him out eventually, since Emil really needed only himself to carry on a conversation, and spoke to him only when th
ey reached the great hall’s door.

  “Thank you, Emil. You’ve been a great help.”

  Emil blushed and squirmed happily, wringing his hands. “Boy, Mr. Teldin Cloakmaster, sir, I sure do —”

  “Thank you. That’s fine, Emil. You go on now. I don’t want to keep you from your duties.”

  “Oh, oh, oh, oh, okay, sir,” he said happily, and he scurried away.

  Teldin opened the door and heard CassaRoc call out, “Here he is now.”

  He stopped and stared at the huge giff rising from the table, convinced that what he was seeing was impossible. “Gomja?” he almost asked. But Gomja, the giff that had become his friend while still on Krynn, was far away. He was with the gnomes now, the leader of the entire gnomish military, and he knew he would probably never see his large friend again.

  The broad-shouldered giff that stood before him now was fully Gomja’s height, maybe taller. He boasted an odd, triangular plate that seemed to have been bolted onto his snout, and it was overlaid with ivory and decorated with scintillating diamonds. His uniform was the full dress of the giff military, and his barrel chest seemed ready to burst the uniform at its seams.

  Teldin shook the giffs mammoth, outstretched hand, which seemed surprisingly gentle. The giff introduced himself with a slight bow of his head. “Lord High Gunsman Rexan Hojson,” he said.

  “We call him Diamondtip, for short,” said CassaRoc, touching the tip of his nose.

  Teldin smiled and tried not to stare at the giff’s ornate snout, but he found it quite difficult. “I see. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Hojson.” Teldin introduced himself, and the others around the table stood.

  “Agate Ironlord Kova,” said the leader of the Citadel of Kova, thudding the handle of his battle-axe once on the floor.

  Teldin nodded. The proud dwarf barely stood as tall as Teldin’s waist, but he shook hands regally, and his closely cropped gray beard gave Kova an appearance of quiet dignity.

  Another dwarf came around the table, his hand outstretched, his red hair so bright that it almost seemed aflame. “Vagner Firespitter, of the Free Dwarves,” he said loudly. His wild, bushy beard was painted with the colors of a rainbow, and his mane of bright, scarlet hair did nothing to detract from his motley assortment of clothing, a brilliant blue tunic and pants of yellow and black.

  Two halflings came around the table to shake hands. Teldin looked down. “Kristobar Brewdoc,” said the younger halfling. He was thin for one of his kind, with barely an ounce of fat around his thick torso. “Hancherback Scuttlebay,” the other halfling said. He was shorter and heavier than Kristobar, and he wore a black vest bearing mystical patterns and runes.

  “Gentlemen, we’re glad you could come so quickly.” CassaRoc said, “Now, if you’ll allow me a word with the Cloakmaster before we begin...”

  The leaders nodded and waited as CassaRoc pulled Teldin over to the bar. He kept his voice low. “Chaladar the Holy is being righteous again.”

  “Where is he?” Teldin asked.

  CassaRoc scowled. “He knew this meeting was important, but he refused to sit in the same room with the halfling Hancherback. He’s a thief, just like half the other beings on board this ship, and His Holiness wouldn’t be caught undead here with somebody like him.”

  Teldin nodded. “That’s unfortunate. His backing here would have helped us a great deal. But the two of us will make do, I’m sure.”

  CassaRoc nodded.

  “Don’t worry,” Teldin said, trying to import more assurance than he felt. “We’ll do fine.”

  “One more thing,” CassaRoc said. “The elves and the Shou have not responded. Probably to be expected, but I don’t like the sound of it. We may have a problem with them. You can trust an elf only so far.”

  Teldin shrugged. “Yes, I know elves well. There is nothing we can do. We’ll discuss this later.”

  Teldin gestured for his guests to sit. The giff, Diamondtip, squatted upon a metal keg of CassaRoc’s, the only seat in the meeting room sturdy enough to bear the beast’s weight. The others pulled their chairs around the scarred wooden table.

  “Sorry for the delay,” Teldin said, deliberately turning to each as he spoke and looking into each one’s eyes. “By now, I’m sure you’ve heard various versions of my arrival and the reasons for my coming. Let me tell you the honest truth and try to clear up any misconceptions you may have.

  “They’re calling me Teldin Cloakmaster. I’ve discovered that the cloak that I bear is an ultimate helm – perhaps, if I am correct, the ultimate helm,” he said without thinking, wondering where the words had come from. “And with it I’ve been searching the universe for the answers to my questions.

  “My answer is here, I know now. My answer is the Spelljammer itself, though I still don’t know what it all means. I am not here to harm anyone, nor am I here to bring on the Dark Times, as you have probably heard. I don’t even know what the Dark Times are.”

  The huge giff nodded slowly and scratched under his bulbous chin. He scrutinized the Cloakmaster with his small, dark eyes. Kova, the dwarf, laughed. “You’re going to have a hard time getting along with all the others,” Kova said easily. “We all know the beholder myth. If you truly are the Cloakmaster of legend, believe me, you are in for an uphill battle. You’ll be lucky if you live the night. If the Dark Times do come, all the races will be at war with each other for power, and for the food in the stores.

  “Besides, if you are the Cloakmaster that has been foretold, I believe you will not fare well in a battle with the elder dwarves.”

  “The elder dwarves?”

  “Aye,” the dwarf said. “The true captains of the Spelljammer. I fear they will not look kindly upon your arrival and the threat of the Dark Times.”

  Teldin said it quickly. It came unbidden, from his heart, and he knew the words were true. “There is no captain of the Spelljammer. Not now.”

  CassaRoc stared at him. “Teldin, how do you know this?” Kristobar said, “The captains are secret, hidden. Everyone knows this.”

  “We believe the ship is ruled by the dwarven gods,” said Firespitter.

  Hancherback stifled a laugh. His eyes twinkled in merriment. He loved a good scuffle.

  Teldin said, “The Spelljammer has sailed for a long time, and many stories have arisen to explain its history and who captains it.” He absently ran a finger along the edge of the amulet. The metal was warm to the touch, welcoming, and when he spoke again, he knew the words were true. “This I know: With our forces combined, we will defeat the evil armies on board the Spelljammer, and all of its enemies.

  “I do not want war at all. I want nothing more than to end this quest and let everyone get on with their lives. But I will defend myself when attacked, for any reason. I have no desire to harm anyone or bring these Dark Times about. I just want to live.

  “I need you to help me. I believe Lord Kova is absolutely correct: I present some danger to the populations here – at least, that is how they perceive it. My coming was foretold by your beholder nation, and I did not even know that I was coming here. Your legend may well be true. Perhaps, without my conscious will, my mere presence here will bring about the Dark Times. I hope not.

  “But I need to resolve my quest. We need to protect our interests on the Spelljammer, with as little bloodshed or human lives lost as possible. Without each other, this ship will become a curse throughout the known spheres, piloted by our enemies.”

  CassaRoc turned and waved for attention, and a steward came over with tall mugs of ale for everybody, and water for Teldin. Vagner Firespitter held the steward’s arm and drained his tankard, then handed it back for another. “Fine brew, CassaRoc,” he said.

  “Perhaps we should start at the beginning,” CassaRoc said. That might make things a bit easier to understand. And I can get everyone another mug of ale.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Kova said.

  “Both very good ideas,” said Firespitter.

  Teldin told the s
tory of his quest once again, as he had earlier told CassaRoc’s warriors, and he emphasized his friendship with Gomja, the giff, and his heroic acts on Teldin’s behalf. He spoke of their powerful fellowship and the allies he had made on his journey to the Spelljammer. CassaRoc related how Teldin’s nautiloid had crashed on the wing, and told of the vicious melee with the neogi that had greeted the Cloakmaster upon his arrival. He relished the story of how Teldin’s cloak had rescued him with a dozen or more bolts of magical energy; then he finally brought them to the present, to focus on the purpose of the meeting.

  “So we need allies,” CassaRoc said. “Once word gets around that the Cloakmaster is here, every foe on the ship will be after him and his cloak. We need to combine our forces for good, to protect the Spelljammer – and our existence here.”

  Teldin felt that his and CassaRoc’s speeches had allayed some of their potential allies’ fears, but he could feel that they still did not trust him entirely. Who could? Indeed, if anyone else held the power they believed he held, he too would be afraid.

  He would almost be a god....

  Hancherback Scuttlebay cleared his throat. “All this is well and good, human, but I’ve seen nothing to prove that Teldin Moore is the Cloakmaster. If we’re going to put the entire halfling population on the battle lines, we’ll need —”

  He stopped, for right before him Teldin’s face was changing shape, metamorphosing into that of Hancherback’s fellow halfling, Kristobar Brewdoc.

  The halflings watched silently and reached for their ales at the same time. Diamondtip and the dwarves laughed.

  “This is but one power of the cloak,” Teldin began to explain, “to assume the shape —”

  Kristobar interrupted sharply, sputtering, “This could be but a simple spell, a spell for children. We need more proof, Teldin Moore. Much more than this simple parlor trick.”

  Teldin quickly resumed his true features. His body felt warm, and he could feel the energies of the cloak building in a powerful surge. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the cloak’s power tingled through him.