Into the Void

power. Its last maneuver to avoid the collision had changed its heading. Maybe a sharp reversal of course was beyond the capabilities of the damaged ship, or maybe its captain and crew had decided they'd had their fill of battle. Whatever the reason, the wasp wasn't even trying to take up the pursuit of the dreadnought. Instead it moved slowly toward the longboat. Teldin could see movement on the wasp's foredeck.

'Oars,' Horvath snapped, 'take us about and down.' Dana responded instantly, but Miggins sat transfixed. 'Oars!' Horvath roared.

Miggins jumped guiltily and grabbed his oar, mirroring the angle at which Dana held hers. The longboat turned sharply, and the nose dropped. Teldin clutched at the thwart, expecting some kind of falling sensation. There wasn't one. To his sense of balance, the longboat seemed as steady as ever. It was everything else-the stars, the distant dreadnought, and the closing wasp-that seemed to wheel around him as though he were the center of the universe. Intuitively, it seemed, he grasped what that meant.

Or was it intuitively? Teldin had come to suspect that the cloak he wore was somehow supplying him with information. Was this another example of the process?

No matter what the source of the revelation, it made sense. Apparently, every spelljamming vessel, no matter how small, had its own field of gravity. 'Up' and 'down' had no significance, except when related to the vessel itself. As he'd seen when the longboat was lowered from the dreadnought, 'down' didn't extend forever, or the boat would have plummeted to the surface of Krynn, hundreds of leagues below. There had to be some kind of 'gravity plane' near what would be the waterline on an ocean-going vessel. It seemed logical that 'down' might be the direction toward that gravity plane. But didn't that mean you should be able to walk on the underside of the Unquenchable's hull?

'Give us a quarter roll to port,' Horvath ordered, breaking into Teldin's deliberations. The oarsmen obeyed instantly. Once again the universe moved about Teldin, and the wasp disappeared below the longboat's hull. 'Shielding us from bow shots,' Horvath explained grimly. 'We can't do much about anything heavier but get out of here, fast. Saliman, if you please?' The gnomish priest furrowed his brow in concentration but gave no other sign of having heard.

With a splintering crash, the boat jolted as if struck by a titan's fist. Teldin sprawled in the scuppers, striking his head solidly against a thwart as he did so. His stomach was wrenched with nausea and he struggled to keep from vomiting. With a supreme effort he fought back the black veil that seemed to dim his vision.

The gnomes had fared better than he had, he saw… except for Saliman. The impact had tumbled the priest from his throne, and now he lay huddled in the scuppers, bleeding from a nasty gash on his brow. Horvath crouched beside him, his ear by the older gnome's mouth to listen for breathing. Teldin looked over the gunwale. The ship was surrounded by flotsam: splinters of wood, and a ballista bolt as large as a giant's spear shaft.

After a moment Horvath looked up from Saliman. 'He's alive, but not for long if we hang about here.' He reached beneath the carved throne and pulled out a leather case about two feet long and half that wide. 'Teldin, can you see?'

'Yes.'

'Then take this.' The gnome threw the case forward to Teldin. 'When you see somebody at the ballista, take 'em down, all right?'

Teldin opened the case. Inside was a light crossbow, its walnut stock lovingly polished and its metal limbs buffed, A smaller compartment held a dozen thick quarrels. He looked back at Horvath. 'But I can't…'

The gnome sighed. 'Look you,' he said quietly. 'You've got to. I need these two at the oars, and I've got to take the helm. Do you understand? Anyway-' he grinned again, but the expression looked forced, a grim mockery of the gnome's usual good-humor '-you're the neogi-killer, isn't that right? Why not add a couple of pirates to your bag?' Horvath settled himself in the throne and placed his palms on the wide arms. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 'All right,' he said, deadly calm, now, 'here we go. I wish I'd taken my mother's advice and stayed in the priesthood.'

The longboat surged once, then settled down to steady movement again. 'Oars,' Horvath ordered quietly, 'hard a'port… now!'

Teldin jumped at the intensity in that last word. The gnomes on the oars responded as strongly, but more purposefully. The bow of the longboat came around fast, almost fast enough to unseat Teldin from his thwart. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something flash silently by to the right of the tiny vessel, and he turned quickly to follow its flight.

It was another ballista bolt, visible for only an instant before it vanished into the depths of space. Without Horvath's sudden maneuver, the bolt probably would have hit its target. How did the gnome know, Teldin asked himself, with the wasp masked by the hull… and with his eyes closed?

Horvath's quiet words cut through his thoughts. 'That's why you've got to do it, why you've got to take out their gunner,' the gnome said. 'I can't dodge them forever. Just tell me when you're ready.'

Teldin tried to swallow the sharp taste that was in his mouth and picked up the crossbow… tentatively, as though it might do him some damage. He turned it over in his hands. In the war he'd seen crossbows and crossbowmen-albeit at distance-and knew how lethally accurate the weapons could be in the right hands.

Personally, he knew precious little about using a crossbow. He'd never fired one, never cocked one, never even touched one. He pulled the woven wire bowstring back a couple of finger-breadths-much harder to do than he'd expected- and released it. The metal limbs of the bow sang. Taking a tighter grip on the bowstring, he began to draw it back. The bow's limbs bent, but not enough. The tendons in his forearm burned with the strain and the bowstring cut cruelly into the flesh of his fingers. With a muttered curse, he braced the weapon's butt against his belly and pulled on the bowstring with both hands. The bow bent farther, but still the string was almost a hand's span short of the metal tang that would hold it at full draw. The bowstring slipped from his sweaty fingers, and the bow limbs straightened with a dull thwung. Disgusted with himself-and not a little humiliated-he flexed his aching fingers. Setting the weapon down across his lap, he turned back to face the gnomes.

As he'd expected, Dana was glowering at him. Her expression communicated sheer contempt. A fire of anger flared within him. 'All right,' he growled, holding the weapon out toward her. 'How?'

It was Miggins who answered. 'It's a gnomish design, a very cunning one. The lever is on the bottom, under the stock. Move it forward to cock the bow.'

Teldin turned the weapon over. A metal lever as long as his forearm ran along the underside of the crossbow. Its pivot point was within the wooden stock, directly under where the bowstring rested when the bow wasn't cocked. The other end of the lever was underneath the butt of the weapon. A recess in the wood gave enough space-just!-for Teldin's fingers to wrap around the lever.

'Put the nose of the weapon on the ground,' the young gnome continued. 'Grab the butt with one hand, the lever with the other, and pull.'

Teldin did as he was instructed. As he moved the lever, he saw a hooked metal finger rise out of a groove in the wood, directly beneath the bowstring. Presumably, the finger was the other end of the lever. The hook caught the bowstring and started to draw it back. It was still an effort, but now Teldin had leverage-and the fact that he could use both his arms and the strong muscles of his back-to help him. With a metallic snick, the bowstring caught on the tang and held fast. Teldin returned the lever to its original position and hefted the cocked weapon.

'Now the quarrel.' It was Miggins again. Apparently Dana didn't even consider him worth talking to.

'I know that much,' he said dryly.

The quarrel was short and brutal, with only the smallest amount of fletching, but with a wickedly sharp head like crossed razors. He seated the missile in the groove ahead of the bowstring. 'Now?'

'Left hand under the stock, right hand down by the trigger,' Miggins directed. 'Now put it against your shoulder.'

'Which shoulder?'

The young gnome's control started to slip. 'Whichever feels most natural, for the gods' sake,' he snapped. 'Just do it.'

'Ready?' That was Horvath.

Teldin shrank the cloak so it was little more than a band of fabric around the back of his neck, then he took a deep breath, held it for half a dozen heartbeats, and let it out in a hissing sigh. 'Relaxation ritual,' he heard his