The Maelstrom Eye

nothing to protect you but to give you warning. You must fight or flee. I am glad to have seen you, Dyffed, my young friend. I send you my best wishes and the hope that we will again meet in peace.

Without warning, the vast black image of the fal vanished.

Teldin stared stupidly at where the fal's head had been, then roused himself and turned to look at Aelfred, Sylvie, and Gomja. With horror, he realized that Gomja was still entangled in rope, and he hastily dropped to his knees to untie his friend as fast as possible.

'You heard him!' Aelfred roared at the top of his lungs. 'Arm yourselves! Get to the ship!' The gnomes nearly fell over themselves to comply with his command, squabbling over who would be first to ascend the rope ladder to the ship Gomja struggled to untie a complex knot on his feet, then hesitated, his hands frozen in the act of fumbling with the ropes. Teldin glanced up at the giffs broad face. Gomja was looking over Teldin's head at something in the sky behind him.

'By the arm of the Great Captain,' the giff muttered, then bent to finish untying his legs. Teldin risked a fast look behind him, knowing that whatever he saw would be something he wouldn't like.

He was surprised to find that the immense orange butterfly hovering in the sky behind him was actually quite beautiful. The wingspan of the ship had to be three times the length of the Perilous Halibut's hull, maybe five hundred feet or more across. The delicate panes of its purple-veined wings were lit like stained glass by the vast sun overhead. It could not have been more than a few hundred yards above them, silent and magnificent. Teldin could not imagine how it had gotten there so suddenly.

A bit of movement attracted his eye. On the tips of the butterfly's wings were tiny figures wearing the silver armor of the Imperial Fleet.

It was only a moment later that the giant orange butterfly opened fire. Teldin saw something coming right for him, perhaps a ballista bolt. It was too late to dodge it. A moment later, the bolt zipped over his head-and someone behind Teldin gasped and fell.

Chapter Eighteen

'No!' Aelfred's voice rang out as Teldin turned. Teldin had a momentary glimpse of Aelfred's curly blond hair, the big warrior's face blank with shock as he looked at the ground near Teldin's feet. Then Aelfred rushed forward and bent down over someone lying on the ground only two steps behind Teldin. Teldin looked down and saw silver hair spilled over the long, flattened grass.

The figure on the ground was Sylvie.

Sylvie's sky-blue blouse was glistening purple in an ever-expanding patch around the yard-long shaft of dark wood that projected from her chest. As Teldin looked on, her thin white fingers slipped down the bolt's shaft and fell to her sides. Her head eased back into Aelfred's big hands, her eyes now open but unseeing. Aelfred whispered her name, cradling her head. There was no response.

Someone spoke Teldin's name. He looked away and saw the gnomes still boarding the Perilous Halibut, the cold orange butterfly hovering in the air beyond. Gomja was on his feet now at Teldin's side, his broad hippopotamus face almost white as he looked down at Sylvie and Aelfred. The giff swallowed, then he looked at Teldin and motioned to the ship. 'You have to go, sir,' he said, his voice hollow. 'The elves are still firing at us. Get to the ship.'

Gomja gave Teldin a slight push, then turned to Aelfred and Sylvie, blocking Teldin's view, and knelt down. Teldin broke his gaze away and numbly started back for the ship. His blue cloak flapped against his legs as he walked. He felt nothing. How curious, he thought; she's dead, and I feel nothing at all. He looked up at the ship and saw Gaye's golden face, framed by her black hair and rainbow dress. She was looking over Teldin's head at the scene behind him. Then she buried her face in her hands and wailed.

*****

'Cease fire,' said Cirathorn. 'Signal the Free Wind's Fury and Emerald Hornet to drop their cloaks. If the gnome ship lifts off, resume firing until it is brought down, then cease firing again. Go and do.'

'Yes, Admiral,' Mirandel whispered. The battlewizard left quietly to relay Cirathorn's orders, leaving him alone on the forward bridge at the right oval window. He gazed down through the tinted glass at the scene on the ground, hundreds of feet below. The initial volley of ballista bolts appeared to have struck down at least one of the gnomish ship's crewmen, judging from the little cluster of beings near the black vessel. Death was regrettable, if unavoidable in getting the point across. In the larger scheme, it mattered not. Such events were insignificant from this height. He was the one who was looking down, not they. He was the one who spun the plans, not someone who was caught within them. Only the grand scheme mattered in the universe. No one cared for the fate of one lone creature.

Cirathorn frowned slightly. The spider imagery that had come to mind was unappealing, one fit more for the drow, the true elves' twisted cousins who lived in underground realms, forsaking the light. Better, he reflected, to use the image of the caterpillar and its cocoon, the transformation to a higher state of consciousness. He was the caterpillar, the one who would restructure his world-indeed, all the known spheres- with his boldness and daring. His seizing of the cloak of Teldin Moore would deliver the ultimate vehicle of change into his hands, the Spelljammer, and with that he would transform the faces of all worlds at once. It would be a new age, a time of glory, in which all elvenkind would be forever free to sail the spheres, the masters evermore of wildspace and the flow, and of all the-

'My admiral,' interrupted a soft voice behind him.

'Yes, battlewizard,' said Cirathorn frostily after a pause. She had spoiled his thoughts. He swung around, his eyes like the bottom of a frozen pond.

Mirandel's voice was empty of emotion. 'The Free Wind's Fury has sighted an unidentified man-o-war, approaching from the sun. It is being pursued by elements of the orcish fleet, and it will reach us in five minutes.'

The coldness went out of his eyes. 'A man-o-war? What pattern?'

'Bright yellow, my admiral, without markings.' Mirandel licked her lips uncertainly. 'I believe it would be a modified or lost ship, as there is no mention of any ship of this type in our records.'

'Of course.' There had been a yellow-and-red pattern grown two centuries ago, but it had not been an especially aesthetic design and had been discontinued. Perhaps this was a renegade ship, now seeking assistance against the orcs. Its captain and crew could be dealt with later for their transgressions, which would perhaps include capital theft and mutiny, but there might be extenuating circumstances. One never knew with elves, he thought, and smiled tightly. 'Did the Fury and the Homer drop their cloaks?' Cirathorn asked. 'And how many orcish ships are pursuing the newcomer?'

'The Hornet did, but the Fury retained its cloak once it saw the approaching ships. We have heard that only four ships are pursuing.'

Two big ships alone would be enough to scare the gnomes into surrender. 'Excellent,' he said. 'Have the Fury immediately investigate the oncoming man-o-war and send recognition and greetings. Permit no boarding, and have the Fury avoid combat. We must gain the cloak from Teldin Moore. Then we can be free to deal with the orcs, which should take only a few minutes' work.'

Mirandel nodded. 'Yes, my admiral,' she said, and turned to leave. She staggered, off balance, as she did so, catching hold of the door frame to keep from falling. Mumbling an apology, she left the bridge.

Cirathorn chewed the inside of his cheek. Mirandel had barely eaten since her sister's death. This foolishness would have to stop, or she would be replaced and sent to her cabin under arrest, wife or not. She had no right to act in this manner. The admiral had lost almost his whole family line during the Unhuman War, but he had never stopped for rest in his mission of vengeance. Mirandel showed disturbing signs of weakness, and weaklings were a liability in these times of fire and blood.

He turned around again to look out the right window. The Emerald Hornet now rode the sky to starboard, the second point in an aerial triangle above the black gnomish ship. The third point, soon to be unoccupied, would be the invisible Free Wind's Fury. Two ships would be enough to get what he wanted. He would have to send down another flitter and hope for better success than the now-smashed first one had found. The admiral made a mental note-to have commendations sent to the families of the elves who