The Radiant Dragon

Silently agreeing, Teldin ripped off the remains of his clothing and dropped them into the sea. The thick fur insulated him from the cold better than his own clothing had, and he didn't miss it. His only garment was the cloak, which, as always, adjusted its size to accommodate his form.

'You might do something about that cloak,' Raven suggested, pointing to the regal purple that flowed over his furred shoulders. 'You'll be the best dressed yeti-bugbear on Armistice. People will talk.'

Teldin grinned through his tusks and shrank the cloak down to its necklace size. The silver chain easily hid in his thick fur, and he caught a glimpse of the gold and blue pendant buried in Raven's fur. Their transformation completed, the pair resumed their rowing. Having the strength of the Armistice-bred creatures sped their progress, and soon they pulled the craft up on a pebble-strewn beach.

They followed a barely discernible wisp of smoke and tramped up the first of several small foothills. As they walked, the winds picked up and yet another blizzard began. Even in his yeti form, Teldin found the climate punishing, and, to conserve their energy, he and Raven trudged on without speaking. As they crested the fifth hill, the wreck came into sight. Teldin fought back the memory of that first crashed spelljammer, and he led the way as they half-ran, half-slid down the snowy hill toward the downed ship as fast as their stubby legs allowed.

The ship, or what was left of it, had been cracked wide open by the force of impact and now was little more than a smoking hull. Four thin, twisted protrusions rose from the wreckage, and to Teldin's eye the ship looked like a dead thing, lying on its back with it legs sticking up. Something about the ship seemed oddly familiar…

'The klicklikak,' Teldin breathed. His words formed a cloud, instantly condensing into icy droplets that clung to his facial fur. Raven squinted at the ship, then nodded confirmation. A quick investigation showed that no bodies remained in the ship; all apparently had been thrown out when the ship had split in two. Snow-covered mounds were scattered around the hull, however. Not sure what compelled him, Teldin insisted on checking each one. Together he and Raven dug out four dead elves, their bodies mangled and already stiffening from the cold.

'No insectare. That's odd,' Raven mused. 'Only an insectare can use that helm.' She pointed to the smoking, hooded throne that was fitted with two curling, long pipes. 'No antennae, no power. It won't do the orcs much good. That's one comfort.'

Teldin rubbed his forehead with a half-frozen paw. Suddenly he wondered why he'd come here, what he'd ever thought he could accomplish. He didn't see how anything could have survived the crash, and he said so. Raven wasn't as sure.

'Ever see an insectare without his robe and cowl?'

'No. Am I missing something?' Teldin said wearily.

His humor was unintentional, but Raven's appreciative smirk registered even through her yeti form. 'They're tough, hard to kill.'

Too cold and exhausted to talk, Teldin just shrugged and gestured back toward the shore. Raven nodded, and they plodded back in the direction from which they'd come. The snowfall had dwindled to a few swirling flakes, but the driving wind already had obliterated their footsteps. A few yards from the klicklikak they slogged past yet another mound. Teldin saw no reason to investigate. He'd seen enough dead elves for one day. He averted his eyes from the snowy grave, but not before he'd caught a glimpse of something that chilled him to the soul.

Frozen and stubborn, the tip of a familiar reddish brown cowlick protruded from the snow. Teldin was on his knees in a heartbeat, pawing aside the snow.

'Why?' Raven asked. Her question chased a puff of steam.

'I know this one,' he mumbled.

Raven cast her bugbear eyes toward the moons in a gesture of exasperation. 'Captain, these frozen elves of yours give new definition to the word stiff. You can't help this one.'

As she spoke, Teldin uncovered the pallid form of Hectate Kir. Maybe not, Teldin acknowledged silently, but I'm not going to leave him here either.

Raven moved in for a better look. The half-elf was almost as white as his snowy blanket, but no injuries were visible. She knelt beside Teldin and lay her furred ear directly on Hectate's chest. After a moment she sat back on her heels. 'What do you know. He must have changed to his bionoid form before impact. Bounced once or twice, I'd guess, but that's about it.'

'He's alive?' Teldin demanded.

'Didn't I just say that?'

Teldin didn't bother to answer. He hoisted the half-elf over his fur-covered shoulders, and the two yeti- bugbears hurried back to the waiting longboat.

*****

Moving with painful slowness, the insectare hauled himself into the small craft. Despite the loss of the klicklikak and his bionoid crew, K'tide was more determined than ever to go through with his plan. He'd get to Lionheart if he had to ride there on the back of a void scawer.

Battered by the crash and stiff from the cold, the insectare crawled deep into the hull of the longboat and looked for something with which to conceal himself. There were a couple of flotation devices-rings of extremely lightweight wood-and a torn piece of sheeting. With numb fingers K'tide shook out the canvas and covered himself with it, curling up as small as possible. Even if he were discovered, he figured his chances of survival were better with the swan ship's elves than with the goblins of Armistice. The bionoids always changed into their monster forms before facing the Rakharian orcs, but he had no such ability and his elflike face probably would earn him a slow and brutal death at the hands of the Armistice orcs.

If he could just get aboard the swan ship! His informant there was not among his most reliable employees, but with even a little help he'd find a way to ferret out the information he needed. Then he could send a message to the surviving bionoids of Clan Kir, have them rescue him, and take over the swan ship. The destruction of Lionheart could proceed as planned, and then he would don the Cloak of the First Pilot.

*****

Aboard the patrol ship Windwalker, elven warriors stood ready for battle. The man-o-war's captain left preparations to his first mate, preferring to spend his time on the bridge in fascinated observation of the rogue swan ship.

The swan-head tower that once had housed the bridge had been replaced by a raised deck covered by a hastily constructed shed. The stern had been patched and heavily reinforced. Mounted there was a massive tail catapult that obviously was of gnomish design. By all appearances, the ship was spaceworthy. They had to take to flight soon, the captain mused, or risk destruction during the coming lunar alignment.

They had to take flight soon, he repeated silently. The Windwalker's battle wizards were near exhaustion from the effort of keeping the rogue ship in view, day after day. Even as the captain acknowledged that problem, the battle wizard on duty swayed in her chair, and her hands began to slide unheeded down the sides of the scrying globe. The captain squeezed her shoulder, pulling her back into her fading trance.

'Stay with it,' he admonished softly. 'The swan ship will take off soon. We must get it as soon as it clears the atmosphere shield.'

Before the elven woman could respond, a second alarm sounded. Her eyes snapped open, and the image of the swan ship vanished from the magical panel. Not having much choice, the captain directed her to investigate the new threat.

Now fully alert, she bent to the task. In response to her magical inquiry, the panel darkened to the star- sprinkled blackness of wildspace. To one side Vesta glowed like a pale amethyst, its purple orb framed by the larger green light of the primary moon behind it.

The alignment, thought the captain, noting the thin rim of amber light visible to the left of Vesta. The three moons would align this night, and, by all reports, Armistice would resemble a frozen version of the Plane of Chaos. For a moment he almost pitied the orcs and goblins that lived there.

A moving pinprick of light caught his eye, ending his charitable thought abruptly. There was a second light, then a third. Before the horrified gaze of the officers, the lights multiplied, and soon a small fleet of spelljammers- patchwork vessels that defied classification-flew crazily into view. A dozen or more of the vessels sped through the