get.'
'Don't we all, boy?' CassaRoc said. 'Don't we all.'
CassaRoc ordered his warriors to help move Djan and the I fallen Corontea. As a dozen ran to help, the remaining humans gathered around the two warriors, sheathing their I swords. CassaRoc shouted, making sure he could be heard by all. 'Well, that should teach those damned neogi not to mess with the collective, at least for a while. All right,' CassaRoc I yelled. 'Who's up for a round of ale?'
The humans laughed and shouted agreement. Many stood with their weapons poised, waiting for another possible attack. CassaRoc placed a hand on Teldin's shoulder. 'Come on,' CassaRoc said. 'Your people will be well taken care of. We should leave now, before somebody else decides they want a piece of you.'
A tall man strode up to them, neatly outfitted in shining I armor of silver and white. A heavy white cloak billowed I behind him, and the warrior wore his thick, reddish blond I hair in a wild mane that suggested to Teldin that the man was far less tame than his paladin armor suggested. 'The centaur tower,' the warrior said, casting his gaze over the others' heads. 'Mostias can protect us there for a while. We can smuggle the newcomer into the Chalice tower after things settle down.'
CassaRoc nodded approvingly. 'You're right, Chaladar,' he said. He leaned to Teldin and winked. 'Besides, the centaurs make some excellent ales.'
The woman armed with the crossbow came up beside CassaRoc. Her curly brown hair was held back with a band of shining steel, and she held herself proudly, like a self-assured warrior. 'What about Chel? And Gar? Do you want to just leave them here?'
CassaRoc frowned and looked toward the bodies of his fallen comrades. 'I know they were friends of yours, Na'Shee,' he said. 'They were friends to us all, but we have to worry about the living now. Let's get the Cloakmaster here to the tower first. You can round up some men later and bring the bodies to the Tower of Thought.' lie laid a hand on her shoulder and smiled softly. 'Don't worry. They won't be forgotten.'
Na'Shee nodded silently and looked back at her friends' bodies.
Chaladar called out 'Let's go!' and the group started jogging toward the outermost tower on the Spelljammer's right wing, with Djan and Corontea each carried by four warriors in the center of the group. Chaladar, the paladin, took point, while CassaRoc ran at the rear. Teldin ran protected in the center, and continually glanced over his shoulders at the tall spires of the citadel sprawled across the Spelljammer's back.
As they ran, CassaRoc pointed out some of the towers and explained a little of the ship's layout. The light of the flow flickered gold and violet across the variegated collection of towers and turrets. Multipatterned flags flew at the pinnacles of several buildings, and the ship's tail, towering above the rooftops and battlements, was a constant reminder of the majesty of the vessel, of the wonder of a living myth. To Teldin, the gleaming towers, the graceful sweep of the Spelljammer's hull, represented nothing but the fulfillment of a dream-a dream of extraordinary adventure that he never could have conceived while a simple melon farmer on Krynn.
But the simple life of Krynn was a lifetime ago and a universe away-or at least it seemed like that to Teldin. Krynn was now little more than a memory, both good and bad. The nights on his land had been sweet, especially in summers, when the hidaglia blossoms were in full bloom and the air was scented with their perfumed musk. But there were bad times that he could never forget, no matter how hard he tried.. the things he had seen during his treks in the War of the Lance, and the oppressive abuse heaped upon him by his father.
A gleaming glint of gold caught his eye, high atop the Given High Command. He focused on it and smiled at the sight, realizing that his long quest was now at an end, that his answers were here, and nowhere else-especially not on Krynn. Krynn was forever gone, for him; it was a way of life to which he could never return, and now did not want to.
The centaur tower was low and asymmetrical, a guardian twin to the dracon tower strategically situated on the port wing. The centaurs were the ostensible wardens and gunnery officers for the tower's fifteen huge catapults, but to Teldin, the building seemed dark and in terrible disrepair, and he wondered if the centaurs should hold the great responsibility for manning the Spelljammer's starboard weapons.
CassaRoc closed and bolted the main doors of the tower behind the humans. His band of warriors instantly relaxed inside the safety of the tower and started unbuckling their tight, heavy armor. Some told jokes and insulted the neogi hordes, calling their eellike mothers 'beholder whores' and their fathers 'Torilian maggot lovers' (though neogi had neither mothers nor fathers). A few centaurs popped their heads out from their stables and joined in the good humor, wondering if beer would later be poured for free.
CassaRoc ordered Djan and the female helmsman taken to a healer. Teldin stopped them as they carried Djan away. The half-elf was still unconscious, and Teldin placed his hand upon Djan's breast. 'They'll take care of you,' Teldin said. Then he turned to Corontea. She was bleeding heavily from a nasty gash to her forehead, and her legs and arms were seriously burned.
He closed his eyes. CassaRoc said, 'Go on, now,' and the warriors took Teldin's people away.
CassaRoc said, 'You can't do anything for them, now, Cloakmaster. There's no sense in feeling guilty. We all know the risks of spelljamming. So did they.'
CassaRoc and the others started off, and Teldin turned to survey his surroundings. His nose was filled with the underlying scents of farm odors that he had grown up with: of hay and sweat, of earth, and above that, the heavy aroma of horse manure. But here in the dim light-he could see that even light panels in this section of the tower were faulty and fading-the stables seemed cramped and unkempt. Wooden walls were rotting, some with ragged holes where angry centaurs had kicked them out, perhaps in drunken rage. Teldin could also make out the sweet, cloying scent of old ale permeating the walls and floor, almost like fermented honey.
'These are their quarters,' CassaRoc told him. The two of them walked side by side through the stable common, then entered a cramped garden, somewhere in the central portion of the tower, Teldin decided. The feeble light panels in the walls and ceilings made what few grains the centaurs were cultivating seem pale and sickly. Gray mushrooms sprouted from the other half of the garden, some growing in rows, others in natural rings. 'If they offer you any of the fungus, just say you're not hungry. It wasn't made for human consumption.'
Teldin nodded. One large mushroom was mottled with splotches of purple. Teldin thought it quivered as the humans filed past. 'I see what you mean,' he said.
CassaRoc kept his voice low. 'The damned centaurs are right enough, but they've grown soft. They just don't care about anything. This tower could be impenetrable, if only they kept it up. The collective would hire on to fix things up for them, but they just don't care. All the centaurs really care about are their brews.' He elbowed Teldin in the side. 'By the Gods, I can understand that.' He smacked his lips. 'The leader here, Mostias-big centaur. Big. You'll like him-he makes this one ale that-'
A loud, hearty shout greeted them as they entered a large dining area. The humans went to mingle with a troop of centaurs, grabbing goblets of ale at a long, wooden bar stretched along one wall. 'The small warrior cloaked in plaid ordered a mug of fruit juice. The massive centaur behind the bar scowled at him, then poured him the mug and slammed it on the bar. The small man lifted it in salute and grinned lopsid-edly at Teldin. 'Nice to meet you, Mr. Cloakmaster, sir,' he said happily.
Na'Shee approached Teldin, cutting off his view of the small fighter. Her eyes seemed strong and determined, but they glinted with gentle humor. 'You did well out there.'
'Thanks,' Teldin said, 'you're a great shot. I'm sorry about your friends. I owe you all.'
She shrugged it off and looked away sadly. She changed the subject abruptly. 'I've seen magic artifacts before, masks that speak, a tempest in a bottle; but that cloak-'
Teldin grinned. 'I'm just glad CassaRoc is all right.'
'She held out her hand, and Teldin shook it. 'I'm Na'Shee. Sometimes I work behind CassaRoc's bar. You may find it a little tougher around here than you think. If you need anything, you let me know.'
'Sure,' Teldin thanked her, and he slowly realized that he had somehow made a new friend. Then he turned as a huge centaur strode from behind the bar and trotted up to CassaRoc, towering at least three feet over the warrior's head. The centaur held a huge, crystal tankard in one great hand; the mug was shaped like a giant boot and filled to the brim with golden ale. He handed it to the human and laughed. 'Well fought, little one,' the centaur said. 'Sorry we couldn't meet you fast enough to help with the battle.' CassaRoc forced a smile while the centaur went on. 'Damned neogi are an infernal lot. Can't trust a one of them.'
'Never have,' CassaRoc said. He took a long pull of his brew, then belched. 'Never will. The only good neogi- '
'— is a dead neogi!' cried the other humans. They raised their drinks to each other.
