The Maelstrom Eye

foothold. It was impossible to think straight.

A noise caught her attention. The battlewizard, now acting captain for the armada, stepped away from the window when she heard footsteps and rattling armor hurrying toward the open bridge door. An officer burst into the room, his face flushed and obviously out of breath.

'Captain!' he gasped, staggering to a stop. 'Captain, the Fury has sent a message that it has been found and is under attack. The whole orcish fleet is behind the four pursuing craft, each ship protected by fog clouds and illusions. The sun blocked our view!'

Mirandel started toward the speaking crystal that would transmit her voice to the helm room, then stopped. She had thought to order the Empress to move in to support the Fury, but she remembered then that Cirathorn was below on the unarmed flitter-an unavoidable target for any orcish ship that came near enough to see it.

'Order the Hornet to support the Fury!' she shouted at the officer. ''Have Second Battlewizard Ervar contact the flitter and request its immediate return! We must stay long enough to get the admiral back before we can join battle with the orcs.

All weapons crews are to fire on any enemy ship that threatens either the Empress or the flitter. Abandon all ground targets. Go and do!'

*****

'The Trident has rammed!' Usso's squeal rang throughout the tiny helm room. She gripped the arms of the ill-made helm chair with trembling fingers, her face alive with the vision of the battle outside. 'It drove through the back of the man-o-war. There's considerable debris falling.' She pulled back from the scene, blinking with surprise. Her eyes registered nothing in the room where she sat. 'The man-o-war lost its port wing. It's begun to fall apart. The Trident is going down with the hull and starboard wing. It cannot pull free-it's falling now. The man-o-war must have lost its helm. They're both falling. The Trident is losing deck gear. A deck hand has fallen free…' Usso stopped. For several seconds, she pursed her lips together. 'Both ships are falling out of control,' she continued. 'They're… they've both crashed.' She exhaled slowly, then looked up at the armored giant who stood before her. 'A search for survivors is not advised.'

Vorr nodded curtly, making a brief fingerspelling gesture with his left hand. He then stuck out his other hand and made a cutting gesture across his wrist with the blade of the left hand. His expression could not be read through the many scars and burns across his face.

Usso nodded at Vorr's last command, her long black hair swaying gently. 'Within the next two minutes, General. The last man-o-war has engaged the fleet but is now trying to break off and escape. We are almost in position for the final blow.'

And so I am, she thought. So am I.

*****

The flitter glided down in complete silence. Only the wind in the tall grass sounded around Teldin and Gomja as they stood to greet the ship.

'Forgive me, sir,' muttered Gomja from behind. 'It's better this way.' Teldin heard the hammer being drawn back on a flintlock pistol, then felt something like a thick finger poke him in the back of the head.

Teldin felt that he couldn't be surprised any longer. 'So you're still working for the elves,' he said evenly, looking up at the striped flitter.

The giff drew in his breath as if to make a reply, then let out his breath, saying nothing. The flitter dropped until it was only a dozen feet above the ground, thirty feet away. Gradually it drifted down and closer, its four spindly legs soon making contact with the ground and settling down under the weight of the ship. It was barely twenty feet away and facing them. A lone elven pilot was visible through the darkened forward window, his face impassive and calm.

A door opened in the back of the flitter. Teldin heard boots thump into the grass, then saw a figure slowly walk around the starboard wing of the flitter. It was an autumn-haired elf in silver armor, his helmet in the crook of his left arm. The elf smiled slightly as he stopped a dozen feet short of Teldin and Gomja, eyeing both the human and the thick-bodied giff. He wore no obvious weapons but appeared relaxed and sure.

'Teldin Moore,' said Admiral Cirathorn. 'I have come a long way to find you.'

Teldin stared at the elfin undisguised hatred. 'Go to hell.' 'I might for what I'm about to do,' the admiral said. 'I need your cloak, Teldin Moore. The elven people need it. We are at war, and your cloak is the key to victory. I must take that cloak from you in any way I can. If First Colonel-Commander Herphan Gomja will oblige me, I will perform the deed myself.' With that, Cirathorn raised his right hand, appearing to pull a leafy decoration from the top of his helmet. He raised his hand, now clenched around a silvery pistol-like device, which he aimed directly between Teldin's eyes. 'Your cloak is likely to block magic or weapons aimed at your body, but not a lead bullet aimed at your head,' he said. 'Cloaks, even magical ones, are not the best of armor.'

'I wish to perform the deed,' Gomja rumbled suddenly. The object sticking in the back of Teldin's head poked him slightly, though Teldin did not move. 'I have been waiting for this moment for some time, sir.'

Cirathorn grinned. 'Then wait no more.'

A huge hand grabbed Teldin by the left shoulder and shoved him out of the way. As Teldin fell back, he caught a momentary glimpse of Gomja hurling himself forward and bringing his pistol directly into the admiral's face. Then Teldin struck the grass and rolled.

Two shots tore the air, coming so close together that Teldin could barely tell them apart. He sprang to his feet, giving a wild look at the combatants by the flitter. A thick haze of smoke almost obscured the both of them.

'Stupid giff,' said Cirathorn with scorn. His hand and pistol were still extended. There was not a mark on him.

Gomja stepped forward one more pace, then went down on his knees. The pistol fell from his fingers. His. broad hippopotamus face looked down at his dirty red uniform front in disbelief. Teldin saw the giff put a thick blue hand to his great chest. The hand came away as brightly colored as the crimson uniform once had been.

'Not even lead bullets can penetrate a spell that is proof against nonmagical missiles,' said Cirathorn. 'It's a fairly basic spell in the Imperial Fleet, but I recall that you giff have little faith in magical things. A pity.'

Gomja looked up at the elf, who was on eye level with him. His thick lips and jowls moved.

'Before you die,' the giff said, pronouncing each word with care, 'know that your slayer is Herphan Gomja, commander of ship's… marines, assigned to the… Perilous Halib-'

The giff fell forward into the grass.

'Gomja!' Teldin shouted. His eyes burned with tears. 'Gomja, you son of a bitch, get up!'

'Not likely,' said Cirathorn. He reached down to drop his silver pistol and pull a new one from Gomja's belt. 'He was a very poor actor, anyway. We never charmed him or magically compelled any behavior from him. He was much easier to manipulate directly. If he believed he was doing you good, Teldin Moore, he would do anything. He was faithful and loyal to the end. Not very bright, but faithful, certainly. Giff overplay their parts, and pretending to betray you by turning you over to me was only to be expected. But he tried. He gave it his last full measure.' Cirathorn looked up at Teldin and raised his new pistol, steadying his aim once again on Teldin's face.

'And you gave your last full measure and more, Teldin Moore, but the Cloak of the First Pilot does not recognize that. It responds only to who is the more clever and powerful and dangerous. That would be me, I believe.'

On impulse, Teldin raised his hand and pointed a finger at Cirathorn. 'Die,' he said, not knowing how the cloak would respond. 'Die and rot in the Abyss.'

Cirathorn did not move for several moments, his face frozen in surprise. Nothing happened. Then he smiled broadly. 'Interesting,' he said. 'I feel fine. And now, it's your-'

There was a movement behind him. A thick blue hand stained with gleaming red came up swiftly and caught the admiral by the leg. Cirathorn started involuntarily and half turned, the pistol swinging around at his assailant.

A second blue fist the size of a baked ham swung up and slammed into the elf s midsection. Metallic armor crumpled under the force of the blow. The admiral gasped and choked, the wind knocked out of him. Swiftly, Gomja