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 tionelike, 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 the 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 Got on the world known as Westrelon; and the Compass was taken to an unnamed sphere uncounted thousands of leagues distant, where it ivas 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…'
'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 lightly 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, '1 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.
