The Radiant Dragon

could not land on the ship, but we sent down a boarding party.' A haunted look filled the elven captain's eyes. 'Not one member returned.'

'It is a great loss,' the admiral said gently. 'We will speak of it again when you are well. For now, please describe the damage done to the armada.'

The elf s gaze turned inward as he tried to recall the details. 'The ship was virtually unscathed,' he said slowly. 'The only mark on it was a few broken boards on the top hull, as if the armada had been bombarded. The damage wasn't severe enough to explain why the armada was deserted, though.'

'Did you attempt to destroy the ship?' She had to ask; policy decreed that any adrift elven vessel was to be reclaimed or annihilated, at all costs. Always important, in time of war this policy was now vital. Allowing the scro to obtain an armada-particularly in Winterspace-could result in disaster.

'Yes, we tried.' The elven captain was silent for a long moment. The loss of his crew showed in his eyes like a physical pain. 'I sent down two more parties, with the same result. The ship seemed to swallow them whole. In order to report back, I kept only the barest minimum crew needed for the return trip.'

'But you left the armada in a spaceworthy condition,' the admiral stated, in the manner of one who must be absolutely sure.

'What else could I have done?' Sirian Windharp cried with a sudden burst of emotion. 'I could hardly tow an armada back to Lionheart behind the Starfoam!' As soon as the words were out, the captain blenched, horrified by his own grievous breach of protocol. The grand admiral, however, appeared not to notice.

'It seems incredible that an enemy capable of overcoming the armada would resist claiming it,' she mused aloud. A long silence filled the chamber. Dread hung in the air as the three elves contemplated an unknown force that could render the most powerful vessel in the elven fleet a lifeless hull.

Finally the admiral looked over at the captain. 'Thank you for your report, Sirian Windharp. You did well in returning to Lionheart with this news. Be assured that we will do all we can to find and reclaim the armada.'

The elven captain rose, but, despite the obvious dismissal, he hesitated. 'With your permission, I would like to be among the searchers.'

'If you remember your history lessons, you realize that this matter is of grave importance,' she said. 'The fleet must leave at once. Can you be ready?'

'Yes,' he said simply.

The grand admiral held his gaze with eyes that saw and measured. Finally she gave a crisp nod and clapped her hands twice. A uniformed aide appeared at her door. 'Take Captain Windharp to the supply master,' she directed. 'His ship, the Starfoam, is to be prepared for flight, provisioned, and crewed. Give the captain whatever he requests.' She turned to Sirian Windharp, and a rare smile brightened her face. 'Go, then, Captain, and may you find sweet water and light laughter.'

The traditional elven farewell, seemingly incongruous in such grim circumstances, was an affirmation of the unquenchable elven spirit and a personal tribute to Sirian Windharp. The elven captain bowed deeply, then followed the aide from the chamber.

The admiral's smile faded abruptly, and her eyes drifted shut. After a moment she shook off her dark introspection and turned to Vallus Leafbower. 'We need the ultimate helm,' she stated. As legend had it, an ultimate helm was the only device that could be used to control the mighty ship Spelljammer. Such helms were said to be ordinary artifacts imbued with special powers by the great ship itself, and they were exceedingly rare.

'An attempt was made to recover the Cloak of the First Pilot, as Captain Kilian reported,' Vallus reminded, referring to elven admiral Cirathom's effort to take Teldin Moore's cloak. 'It was not an honorable attempt.'

'What, then, do you recommend? The war is taking a great toll, with a high loss of lives and ships. Kilian's own ship is the sole survivor of the fleet we had stationed at the Rock of Bral. Now we learn that our newest and most powerful armada is vulnerable to some mysterious enemy. As highly as we value life, even a life as fleeting as a human's, can we risk the survival of the elven nation on this principle?' she asked. From her dispassionate tone, they might have been discussing the menu for eveningfeast. 'No, I think we must recover the cloak, and soon.'

She paused, and the gaze from her sharp, ancient eyes met and held Vallus's.' You will recover the cloak. I tell you this because you must be the next to wear it.'

The wizard's fine-boned face paled almost to transparency. 'Why me?' he asked with unelven bluntness.

A faint, sad smile thinned the admiral's lips. 'Because, dear Vallus, you do not wish to wear the cloak. We have seen that such power can be dangerous in the hands of those who covet it too dearly. The Imperial Fleet must ensure that the cloak, and the Spelljammer, will be brought to bear on the side of the elves. You would use it as you were bid.'

Vallus's silence affirmed the older elf's insight, but his face remained troubled. 'There may be another way,' he suggested cautiously. 'I believe that Teldin Moore could be persuaded to join our cause.'

'Do you?' She sniffed. 'May I remind you that this conflict is widely called 'The Second Unhuman War'? Humans, with the exception of the scro's riffraff mercenaries, consider it none of their concern. As long as the war doesn't inconvenience them, they're more than happy to ignore it.'

'But-'

'Another issue,' she continued, pointedly overriding Vallus's interruption. 'Many of our people have made finding the Spelljammer their lifework, without success. Have you any reason to think that Teldin Moore can succeed where we have failed? Or that he could command the ship if he should find it?'

The admiral paused and shook her silver head adamantly. 'My dear wizard, your plan is-at best!-taking a long shot with a short bow.'

'You may be right,' Vallus allowed. 'However, while serving aboard the hammership Probe, I had ample time to observe Teldin Moore. It is true that he is limited by his youth and inexperience, but many times he showed signs of ryniesta,' he argued, using an Elvish term roughly meaning 'the seeds of heroism.'

The admiral frowned, startled by Vallus's word choice and what it implied. He had deliberately used a term that conferred great honor, and that was reserved for things elven.

Vallus pressed his point. 'The cloak obviously has accepted Teldin Moore. From what we know of the Spelljammer, there is no reason to assume that the great ship will not do likewise. The human has shown the strength to endure and to persevere. I believe he possesses the potential to command. We could do worse than to have such a human on our side.'

The elven woman considered him carefully, weighing his obvious conviction against his self-interest. 'Hmmm. And you think the human could be persuaded to join us? Even after the attack on him by our Admiral Cirathorn?'

'I do.' Vallus paused, choosing his words carefully. 'You've brought up another important issue. If we were to take the cloak from Teldin Moore by force, or even by attrition, in what way would we be better than the other races that pursue him?'

Silence, as palpable as an autumn mist, hung in the admiral's chamber.

'If you truly believe that Teldin Moore would be an asset, I give you leave to try to enlist his assistance,' the admiral said evenly. However-' she broke off and leveled a steely gaze at the elven wizard'-you have one hundred days to convince the human, no more. We can ill afford even that much. When that time is spent, we will use whatever means are necessary to obtain the cloak.'

'But how can we-'

The admiral abruptly raised her hand, cutting off the wizard's heated objections. Her hand faltered, then dropped heavily to her lap. For a fleeting moment the grand admiral's powerful visage crumbled, leaving only the troubled face of an ancient elven woman. 'My dear Vallus,' she whispered, 'how can we not?'

In the alley behind the tavern, Teldin rose and gingerly tested his aching joints. With a loud grunt, the aperusa heaved himself out from under the dark green dracon and began to brush off his multicolored finery. The dracons lumbered to their feet and shook their heads as if trying to clear them.

The gypsy stooped to pick up a jeweled dagger, then he cast an uneasy look toward the splintered remnants of the tavern door. He adjusted the bright green sash that girded his immense waist, then tucked the dagger back into place with the air of one ready to travel. 'Come, my friend,' he urged Teldin. 'The aperusa have earned much