for which he felt he would never forgive himself. Frankly, it was all a little embarrassing to Teldin, revealing the chain of events that seemed now to be a life long past, perhaps even a childhood of sorts. Here, today, on the Spelljammer, he felt he was finally grown up, in charge of his fate and his life; and the people around him made him feel comfortable in their attentive silence, accepted, as though he truly belonged- a feeling he had never really had before, not even on Krynn.
When he was finished, the warriors nodded and talked quietly among themselves. At the door, Chaladar was nodding approvingly. Teldin had recognized the style of the paladin's armor, and knew that he also hailed from Krynn.
Behind Teldin, Na'Shee touched his shoulder softly and said, 'Men would die for a mission such as yours. Be proud of yourself. You have achieved your quest.'
Teldin raised his water mug in a mock salute. 'Thanks to you.'
A shadow darkened the bar's doorway, and Chaladar stepped aside to let another human in. He turned to watch the woman as she paused inside the doorway and stared at Teldin Moore.
'The Cloakmaster,' she said. 'I knew it would be you.'
Her words were like the gentle flow of a mountain stream, and Teldin instantly recognized her voice. His mouth fell open as he stared at the elven maiden, her long silver hair flowing like a river over her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with flakes of gold, perhaps a little more dimly than when Teldin had seen them last, but she was still beautiful, still radiant, and he felt a pit open up deep in his stomach.
He leaped up from the table and took the elf into his arms. One hand ran slowly down the length of her luxurious silver hair.
'Cwelanas,' Teldin whispered into her lips. 'Cwelanas, is it really you?'
Chapter Three
'… Destiny is not to be toyed with or ignored. In my crystals I have seen the destiny of the Sphere Chaser an eon from now. I have seen that it begins with an act of innocent kindness and will end once destiny has brought answers to all those with the courage- or the naivete- to seek them…'
The beholder ruins stood in the shadow of the Spelljammer's mammoth tail, the once-proud columns broken and cracked after two years of the fearful onslaught by the mysterious disease called the Blinding Rot, and the eye tyrants' subsequent internecine wars.
The disease had decimated the beholder population, sending the survivors into a mad, xenophobic rage of destruction against their own race. No matter how much they hated all other races, they saved their true hatred for themselves: for all other beholder clans, and for any brethren who were different, or sick, or injured at all.
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 goalconquest!'
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
