Elaine Cunningham - The Cloakmaster Cycle 4 - The Radiant Dragon

The Radiant Dragon

Elain Cunningham

World - Spelljammer, Cloackmaster Cycle, Book 4

About The Author

A transplanted New Englander and former teacher, Elaine Cunningham resides with her

husband, Bill, and their two children, Andrew and Sean, in their cat-infested home in suburban

Maryland. By day, she enjoys the company of her two extremely busy little boys. Writing comes

during naps and preschool, nights and weekends. She often wishes there were another six hours

in each day and that coffee was a tax-deductable expense. She also wrote the best-selling

FORGOTTEN REALMS® novel Elfshadow for TSR, Inc.

Scanned, formatted and proofed by Dreamcity

Ebook version 1.0

Release Date: June, 28, 2004

First Printing: November 1992

ISBN: 1-56076-346-9

Prologue

For untold centuries, many had sought the truth behind the legend of the Spelljammer, but few

had returned to tell of their quest. Now, in a distant corner of Realmspace and in the shadow of

the great ship itself, the crewmen of a reigar vessel wondered if they soon would join the

thousands whose stories had ended in silence.

The awestruck crew members could not judge the Spelljammer's size; at times they

perceived it only as an immense blackness that curtained the stars behind it. Their navigator

informed them that they had orbited the vessel twice, a feat that had taken many hours. In truth, it

was a ship a third of a mile long and half a mile across, shaped like an enormous manta ray with

a shining city atop its back. It was the largest ship in all of known space, and persistent rumors

said it was both a ship and a living entity.

The other ship, a reigar esthetic, was a rather unorthodox vessel for such a voyage of

exploration. The race known as the reigar was famous for its unusual ships, but the flamboyant

artiste who captained this vessel had taken reigar individuality to new extremes. The ship's base

was a conventional wooden hull with a deep keel, but upon the deck was a small forest and a

stretch of green meadow. On the stern of the ship a tree-shaded mountain rose abruptly. A

stream cascaded down the mountain, ending in a pond filled with bright fish and surrounded by

flowers.

The beautiful sylvan scene was all the more remarkable for its origin: the reigar had magically

grown everything- including the singing birds, fish, and other woodland creatures-from

multicolored crystal. Each plant was so realistic as to appear alive, even to swaying in the

magical breezes, but the whole had a color and sheen more intense than any found on even the

most magic-laden elven world. A small, sunlike globe orbited the outer edge of the ship's

atmosphere, casting an illusion of day and night even in the midst of wildspace. At the bow of the

ship was a small, retractable platform on which the sun-globe could come to rest when the ship's

helm went down, and the bridge was aft, located at the top of the mountain. There the ship's

captain, a reigar woman known as Cholana, sat cross-legged in the shade of a giant crystalline

oak.

Around the reigar huddled a semicircle of arcane, the blue-skinned humanoid giants who

served as the ship's crew. To one side of Cholana paced her lakshu bodyguard, a muscled

amazon warrior, and on the other side sat the ship's wizard in a unique helm that was carved

directly into the crystal rock of the mountain. Cholana was lost in magical revery, and tension and

foreboding encircled the small assembly just as surely as the glory-a glowing, glittering halo of

twinkling motes-surrounded the entranced reigar.

"By the Departed Elders!" swore one of the arcane in a harsh whisper. His six-fingered blue

hand trembled as he pointed to the reigar captain. "Look at Cholana's glory. It's fading!"

For a time even the great ship was forgotten. The arcane muttered among themselves,

debating in hushed tones what the omen might portend for their revered captain. Viper, the lakshu,

stopped her fierce pacing and studied Cholana with narrowed eyes. In sharp contrast to the

arcane's concern, the lakshu's scrutiny of Cholana's glory held no hint of distress.

Yes, the bright mist that surrounded the reigar had faded.

How interesting, Viper noted with cynical detachment. Of course, she found it interesting that

the reigar was there at all.

Viper had been on board the esthetic during Cholana's last, spectacularly unsuccessful

experiment. The reigar had taken a small longboat out into the flow, where she had attempted to

magically channel the rainbow-hued phlogiston into a wildspace mural in her own honor. After the

explosion's aftershocks had finally died away, the crew's search had yielded no trace of Cholana

or her small boat. The reigar had been presumed dead, and, despite the evidence seated before

her, Viper saw no reason to believe otherwise.

Many years before, on the very day she had reached her full fighting weight, the lakshu had

pledged her strength and her life in the service of Cholana. As was the custom, Viper had been

named for the reigar's shakti, a magical animal totem of great power. The lakshu had been given

a matching shakti, the stylized jeweled snake that curled around her wrist and matched the one

entwining Cholana's forearm. These shakti were powerful weapons, powerful enough to protect

the physically fragile reigar and to secure the allegiance of the wild and warlike lakshu. A single

word of command would change the ornament into an enormous, deadly snake, big enough to

ride upon. A second command word could transmute the shakti into a suit of scaled armor that

gave its wearer the ability to strike with viperlike speed and to spit blasts of deadly venom at even

distant attackers. Each shakti was different, but each was a fearsome weapon. Viper wore hers

with pride, as befitted a reigar-pledged lakshu warrior.

Since the explosive mishap in the phlogiston, however, Viper's shakti had been nothing more

than a pleasant ornament, as dead as the lakshu believed her master to be. The return of the

reigar Cholana had not restored the shakti s power.

With a patience uncharacteristic of the wildspace amazons, Viper kept her weapons

sheathed and her tongue still as she studied the entranced reigar. The lakshu did not know who or

what presumed to sit in her master's place, but she would wait and she would learn. And then she

would kill.

Still deep in trance, "Cholana" made a small, restless motion, and her hand grasped the

sapphire pendant that hung around her neck. Her narrow fingers curved around the huge

gemstone, which shone with a deep, magical blue light. The reigar's fidgeting brightened the

motes surrounding her and sent them into dizzying motion.

She did not hear the arcane's collective sigh of relief, nor did she notice the lakshu's

suspicious glare. Lost in her magical inquiry, she was barely aware of the body that had been so

amusing to assume. Reigar! she mused silently. Pretentious little creatures, really, but they did

have a certain flair.

This one had been a female with short, red-gold ringlets, a body as slim as a snake's, and

flamboyant facial makeup consisting of tiny, iridescent scales that transformed her triangular face

into an exotic parody of the shakti on her arm. Except for the ancient, sapphire-studded pendant,

the reigar's clothing showed the usual creative flair. She wore tight green leggings of some

pebbly, shining fabric and a matching silky shirt that bared her midriff. An elaborate tattoo wound

up one thin arm, and jewelry in abstract forms glittered at her ears and fingers. Even the nails on

Cholana's hands and bare feet showed typical reigar elan; they had been gilded, dusted with

crushed precious stones, and then ensorcelled to show elaborate designs that changed colors in

random patterns. As guises went, it was amusing enough.

Amusing, but not entirely effective. She had assumed the reigar's form in an attempt to avoid

detection by the great ship, yet even in her frail and flashy new body she sensed that the ship had

detected her. She was, however, a creature of great power and will.

For some time now she had resisted the questing, demanding voice of the ship, intending to

learn all she could about it before landing on it. Celestial Nightpearl had not lived all these

centuries by being imprudent. Since the day the magical pendant had come into her possession,

she'd spent an elf s lifetime exploring its powers and promise. She had defeated enemies who

had wanted the pendant for themselves, and she had overcome Others-beings who had held

similar magical objects. Now that she'd found the Spelljammer, the first part of her quest was

complete. She had yet to determine what would come next.

And so she sent out her seeking thoughts upon the magical stream flowing from the pendant.

She searched for the minds of Others, creatures who either aspired to take or formerly had

become the great ship's helmsman.

Without warning, her thoughts hit a magical wall. The creature's glittering reigar hand gripped

the sapphire tightly, and she poured all her own considerable magic through the stone in an

attempt to breach the barrier. Before the power of her will and her magic the wall wavered,

became insubstantial, and finally dissipated. The great ship yielded its secrets.

To her surprise, there were three Others on board. Three! she raged silently. Was she

supposed to share power with three?

Her fierce concentration slipped and the wall slammed down again. Once again, by sheer

force of will and magic- and, she suspected briefly, the intrinsic power of her ultimate helm-she

again forced aside the magic barrier.

Three Others were there, yes, but what had they become? Stripped of power, locked in a dark

tower, and condemned to a life of imprisonment and isolation? Perhaps they had seen the ship's

wonders and had learned its powers, but what good had their knowledge done them? They were

pitiful, helpless.

Rage rose in the creature like a dark tide, washing away her desire to delve into the minds of

the Others. The information she had sought for centuries seemed insignificant beside the living

death she had glimpsed. This fate could not befall one of her kind. Celestial Nightpearl vowed to

find another way.

The "reigar's" trance broke, dispelling the glory that surrounded her and sending the tiny

glittering motes flying outward with the force of an explosion. Roaring her dismay, the creature

leaped to her feet.

The assembled arcane tumbled back, stunned by the explosion, but Viper had the presence

of mind to fling herself out of range the moment "Cholana" cried out. The lakshu rolled away and

came up in a fighting crouch.

What she saw did not surprise her. The being that had taken the form of the reigar Cholana

was now changing, growing into a creature of almost unimaginable size and power.

As a good warrior, Viper knew when to attack and when to retreat. She lunged for the arcane

wizard. Grabbing his long blue hand, she yanked him out of the helm. With a vicious push, she

sent the stunned arcane tumbling down the mountain, then she followed him in a barely controlled

roll. They hit the ship's deck hard, but Viper was on her feet instantly. With one hand she grabbed

the wizard by the scruff of the neck, and she sprinted toward the esthetic's longboat, easily

dragging the dazed twelve-foot giant behind her. She tossed him into the small craft and dove in

after him, keeping her head low as her nimble fingers loosened the ropes of her escape craft.

When the longboat was free, Viper peered cautiously over the edge. The creature's

transformation was almost complete, and the wooden frame of the esthetic groaned under the

weight of a body some five hundred feet long. A rapidly growing tail snaked around the mountain,

twitching and stretching as it reached its full length. Every movement of the tail sent crystal

shards splintering off into wildspace, and the creature's roars seemed to vibrate deep in Viper's

bones. Scales the color of wildspace covered the immense beast, catching the starlight with an

opalescent shimmer. Finally, the creature unfolded its wings and beat them like a newly hatched

butterfly would as it lay drying in the sun. Anger blazed in its intelligent golden eyes, and a huge

sapphire gleamed from the enormous pendant that hung around its neck.

With a final, mighty roar, a full-grown radiant dragon burst away from the reigar ship and sped

off into the blackness of wildspace. In its rage, it did not notice that a switch of its tail had

shattered the reigar ship, sending debris and the broken bodies of Cholana's faithful crew into the

void.

Chapter One

Teldin Moore edged his way through the crowded marketplace, ignoring the exotic wares and

the hawking cries of the merchants whose stalls crowded both sides of the narrow streets. For all

its enticements, the market was a scene Teldin had seen many times before and on a dozen

different worlds. Here, on the cluster of entwined asteroids known as Garden, he wished only to

supply his ship and snatch a few hours of peace before resuming his quest.

A year earlier, Teldin had been a solitary farmer scratching out a living on faraway Krynn,

unaware of the worlds beyond his own. Then a spelljamming ship had crashed on his farm and its

dying reigar captain had bequeathed Teldin the cloak he now wore. Since that night he had

searched for answers to the cloak's mysteries, always with deadly rivals in close pursuit. He had

learned that the cloak was an artifact that would enable him to command the legendary

Spelljammer, and he had vowed to find the great ship. Recently a brilliant wildspace sage, an

enormous slug known as a fal, had advised Teldin to seek the Spelljammer's birthplace: a broken

crystal sphere. Teldin knew nothing of such a place, but after a disastrous experience with the

elven Imperial Fleet he was not willing to depend on legend and hearsay for answers. He had

purchased his own ship using money given to him by the fal One Six Nine, and he had stopped on

Garden to stock up for a long voyage of exploration.

Because of Garden's peculiar shape, sunset came with the speed and drama of an eclipse.

Before Teldin's eyes could adjust to the sudden darkness, a passing centaur jostled him, sending

him stumbling into one of the gray lizard men engaged in lighting the gas lamps along the street.

The creature turned and hissed at Teldin. Its reptilian eyes narrowed in challenge and its

clawed hand curled around the hilt of a dagger. Teldin was not afraid of the lizard man, but neither

did he wish to draw attention to himself with a street fight. He held up both hands in a temporizing

gesture and murmured a few words of apology. Even as he spoke, he realized his mistake. To

such a creature an apology was a sign of weakness, a virtual invitation to attack.

Far from attacking, the lizard man fell back a step as if in surprise: After a moment of silence

it burst into hissing laughter. Its scaly shoulders shook as it nudged its partner and repeated

something in a sibilant language. The other lizard man wheezed out a chuckle and bobbed an

appreciative nod in Teldin's direction.

It took the nonplussed human a moment to realize what had transpired; somehow the magic

of his cloak had translated his ill-advised apology into a gem of reptile humor. As Teldin walked

away, he could hear his mysterious bon mot making the rounds of the lizard men, and the

amused hissing behind him brought to mind the sputter of a gnomish steam engine. With a quiet

chuckle of his own, Teldin slipped gratefully into the obscurity of the crowd.

As usual, Teldin was careful not to bring attention to himself, but even in the colorful bustle of

the marketplace he drew enough glances to make him feel uncomfortable. The cloak again, he

thought with a touch of resignation. He recently had learned that its extraordinary magical aura

acted as a lure, even to those who were unaware of the cloak's significance. Indeed, some of the

beings who cast glances Teldin's way did so with a distinctly puzzled air, as if the magic they

sensed could not be reconciled with its rather commonplace incarnation.

In Teldin Moore an ordinary observer would see only a tall young man wearing a black shirt

and trousers and a laced tunic of suede leather. His passably handsome face no longer bore the

mustache he'd once worn, but now was clean-shaven, and his light brown hair was brushed back

from a decided widow's peak. His shoulders were broad and draped by a long, dark cloak.

A more perceptive eye would note that the man's lean muscles were the sort earned by a life

of unrelenting labor. He wore his short sword with assurance, but his stance and walk were not

those of a trained fighter. His square jaw and craggy features gave him the type of face that in

later years would be said to "have character;" on a young man that face suggested blunt honesty

and a stubborn nature.

In startling contrast were his eyes, bright cornflower blue eyes that lent him an almost boyish

mien. The network of fine lines at their corners suggested a sense of humor; the dark hollows

beneath spoke of recent struggle and loss. Finally, there was something unusual about the man's

cloak. It was an elusive hue, a deep, intense purple that was almost black. The cloak seemed to

adjust its color and length almost imperceptibly as its wearer edged his way through the crowded

streets.

A little unnerved by the curious glances, Teldin drew the cloak closer as he walked. It had

brought him great danger, but it also offered a measure of protection. By now, Teldin had learned

many of the cloak's powers through a painful process of trial and error and by its own response to

danger. Several times its magic had taken over during a critical situation, giving him a

preternatural clarity of mind and seemingly slowing down the action around him so that he could

think and react. Teldin could also use the cloak to change his own appearance into whatever form

he chose.

Although he did so with reluctance, he had employed this magic often; there were many who

sought a tall, blue-eyed man with fair hair and a flowing cloak. His disguises did not seem to

hamper some of his pursuers, but Teldin hoped that they at least deterred others who wished to

join the race for the cloak. The cloak also translated unknown languages, enabled Teldin to shoot

magical missiles and-most importantly-functioned as a helm powerful enough to propel a

spelljamming ship at tremendous speed. It often occurred to Teldin that he still had much to learn

about the cloak. He tried not to dwell on that thought any more than he had to, though; it was too

much like waiting for the other boot to drop.

Teldin's stomach rumbled sharply, reminding him that it had been many hours since his last

meal. He rounded a corner and looked for a likely place to eat. At the end of the street was a

tavern, of the sort that he could have encountered in any small village back on his homeworld.

The tavern looked cozy, safe, and welcoming. It was long and narrow, with low eaves, a

domed, thatched roof, and thick, ancient beams separating expanses of fieldstone and mortar.

Teldin quickly made his way to the offered haven and pushed through the broad wooden door. An

involuntary sigh of satisfaction escaped him as he took in the scene sprawled before him.

The patrons were a mixed group; merchants and travelers of many races drank alongside

local fisherfolk and yeomen. To the left side of the tavern was a huge stone fireplace big enough

to roast a whole boar with room to spare. A red-cheeked cook basted the sizzling roast with a

fruit-scented sauce while two halflings struggled to turn the immense spit. Fat, fragrant loaves of

bread baked in open ovens on either side of the fireplace. Scattered about the room were small,

round tables draped with brightly colored cloths, and a long, well-stocked bar stretched almost the

entire length of the back wall. A barrel-shaped dwarven barkeeper was passing out tankards of

something that foamed and smelled suspiciously like Krynnish ale. Teldin inhaled deeply and

followed his nose to a table near the bar.

He ordered dinner and asked for a mug of ale and a goblet of sagecoarse, the smoky liquor

that Aelfred Silverhorn had favored. Teldin did not care for hard liquor, but it seemed appropriate to

lift a glass in honor of his friend.

Teldin was still stunned by Aelfred's and Sylvie's deaths, even more so than by his male

friend's unexpected and unwilling treachery. Teldin did not hold Aelfred responsible for his

actions-Aelfred had acted under the spell of an undead neogi wizard-but his loss had shaken

Teldin deeply. Betrayal was something Teldin almost had come to expect; the death of his friends

was another matter altogether.

Nothing could inure him to the pain and guilt he felt over bringing danger to those around him.

So many had fallen that Teldin, by nature a solitary man, had begun to distance himself still more

in fear that caring for others could only result in their deaths. His hippolike friend, Gomja, was

gone as well, having left to seek employment and a new life elsewhere.

As if by reflex, his hand drifted to the small bag that hung from his belt. Through the soft, worn

leather he fingered the medallion that had been given to him by Gaye, the beautiful, exuberant

kender whom he hadn't dared to love. Like most kender, Gaye had a talent for "finding" things, yet

she'd gone against kender nature and given up the magical trinket, thinking that Teldin could use it

on his quest. Indeed, the fal had told Teldin that the medallion could be used to track the

Spelljammer, and Teldin had tried several times to follow the sage's instructions. Every attempt

had failed; whatever magic the ancient disk once possessed apparently had faded. He kept

Gaye's gift, however, wearing the bag on his belt exactly where her delicate fingers had knotted it.

Leaving Gaye hurt more than he cared to admit.

A polite chirp interrupted his ruminations. Teldin glanced down as small, feathered hands

placed a dinner platter before him. He nodded his thanks to the serving wench, a penguinlike

creature known as a dohwar, then he attacked his meal without giving the servant a second

thought. A year earlier Teldin would have gaped at the dohwar like a farm lad at a two-headed calf,

but he'd grown accustomed to encountering peculiar creatures on his travels. He was therefore

startled by the involuntary shiver that ran down his spine when his gaze happened to settle on one

of the tavern's other patrons.

The robed figure of a tall humanoid male paused just inside the front door. His face was

deeply shadowed by the cowl of his brown cloak, but Teldin noted that the face was thin and

angular and dominated by a pair of slanted, distinctively elven eyes. One side of the cowl had

been pushed back slightly to display a pointed ear. To all appearances, the newcomer was an elf,

but it struck Teldin that something was not quite right. The robed figure began to make his way

slowly back toward the bar. He moved with elven grace, but there was something foreign and

somehow brittle about his movements. It occurred to Teldin that the creature was not quite what

he seemed to be: he was elflike but not elven.

There was a certainty to this notion that startled Teldin. He had the oddest sensation that he'd

caught a glimpse behind appearances to the elven creature's true nature. Where had that

perception come from? he wondered briefly. Was it yet another power of the cloak?

At that moment a very drunken human challenged the newcomer to a knife-throwing contest.

Weaving unsteadily, the man thrust his face into the deep folds of the cowl, a show of

belligerence apparently calculated to either intimidate his opponent or overcome him with fumes.

As Teldin watched, the drunk recoiled in horror. Pale and shaken, he backed away, sputtering

apologies. Whatever the creature was, it was dangerous, Teldin concluded. In his opinion, elves

were bad enough. Any variation on the species created possibilities he did not care to

contemplate.

A hard-muscled female adventurer at the table next to Teldin's let out an oath, one colorful

enough to distract him momentarily from the mysterious elven creature. He followed the line of

her gaze, and his jaw dropped. Hovering in the doorway like an obscenely large eyeball was one

of the most feared monsters in all of wildspace: a beholder.

Teldin had heard a score of horror stories about beholders, and he'd seen one stuffed and

mounted as a trophy. From time to time, he had wondered whether he might have to face such a

creature in battle, but he'd never dreamed he might bump into one in such a cozy, innocuous

setting. So intent was he on this new threat that he barely noticed the elven creature leave by the

side door.

The beholder, levitating about four feet above the floor, floated into the tavern, leaving a

spreading wake of silence behind it. As the monster glided the length of the room, firelight

glistened on the brainlike folds and crevices of its circular body, and its ten eyestalks turned this

way and that as it took in the local color. It made its way to a corner table and came to a stop,

hovering in the air over one of the chairs.

Speaking flawless Common, it issued instructions to the suddenly servile tavern keeper.

Within moments a terrified serving girl appeared, bearing a bowl of raw meat, which she tossed

piece by piece into the beholder's fanged maw. As it chewed, the beast occasionally blinked the

one large eye that was located on its spherical body.

"Bless me, Trivit, I believe that's a beholder. By the Dark Spider, he is a homely fellow," piped

an ingenuous voice. The remark carried to the corners of the tavern, and, although the beholder

did not appear to take offense, every other patron in the room began to eye the exits.

Teldin's hand strayed to the clasp of his cloak, a habit he'd developed in moments of

impending crisis. Out of the corner of his eye he cast a glance at the imprudent speaker. Surprise

made him turn his head and stare openly.

Two green dracons stood at the mug-littered bar, observing the beholder with open-mouthed

fascination. The reptilian equivalent of a centaur, each dracon boasted a dragon's neck and head,

an upright torso with heavily muscled arms ending in clawed hands, and the thick four-legged

body and powerful tail of a brontosaur. One of these two beasts had the pale green hide of a tree

lizard, and its torso was covered by a shirt of fine chain mail. The other's skin was a mottled

moss green, and its armor was fashioned of leather elaborately painted with a swirling pattern of

lavenders and deep rose. A chunk of rose quartz hung on a chain around his neck, and an

ornamental silver axe was displayed in a shoulder strap! Their open, innocent curiosity indicated

that they knew nothing of a beholder's fearsome reputation, and they just as obviously were too

ale-soaked to recognize the tension that filled the taproom. Dracons were big, and they were

tough, and these two were heavily armed, but they still were no match for a beholder. Someone

ought to tell them that, Teldin mused as he took a quick sip of ale. Someone else.

"I'm reminded of a jest, of the sort that makes the rounds of the washroom after a kickball

tournament," chirped the pale green dracon. He giggled briefly. "For that matter, I'm reminded of

the kickball."

"A ribald jest! Oh, splendid." The darker dracon-who somehow reminded Teldin of an effete,

adolescent human- clasped his mottled green hands in anticipation. "I'm fond of such. Say on,

do."

The pale green dracon cleared his throat with much ceremony before reciting, "How does a

beholder, er, shall we say, reproduce?"

His friend cast a smirk at the hideous, still-dining monster and shifted his huge shoulders in a

delicate shrug. "With all eleven eyes shut, I'd warrant."

The would-be jester's visage twisted in disappointment. "You heard it already," he accused.

"I most certainly did not," huffed his friend, one clawed hand clutching at his pink jewel in

exaggerated, fussy outrage.

"But you must have."

"Upon my word, no."

"You did."

"Did not."

"Did."

"Did not."

The dracons began to shove at each other like two boys in a schoolyard fight. Giving a longing

glance at his half-full mug of ale, Teldin tossed back the rest of his sagecoarse and rose to leave

the tavern. In his opinion, things could get only worse.

As Teldin edged toward the side door, a troop of aperusa burst into the inn, flowing around

him in a whirl of sound and color. Laughing and chattering with boisterous humor, the wildspace

gypsies immediately took over the taproom. To Teldin's surprise, not one of the aperusa spared

the beholder so much as a glance. Obviously the gypsies were hardier souls than he'd been led

to believe.

The tavern's patrons seemed relieved by the distraction, and they welcomed the gypsy

invasion with what Teldin considered an unwarranted degree of enthusiasm. What he had seen of

aperusa so far, he hadn't particularly liked.

One of the gypsy women brushed past Teldin, deliberately too close. She cast a sidelong,

provocative look at him through lowered lashes, then stopped abruptly. Her feigned interest turned

into wide-eyed speculation, and she reached up to trace Teldin's jawline with a slender, bronzed

hand, crooning an aperusa phrase that the cloak didn't bother to translate. Her tone made the

effort unnecessary, and to his chagrin Teldin felt his cheeks flaming. He was accustomed to

feminine attention-his rugged good looks had attracted the glances of farmers' daughters since he

was a lad-but the boldly appraising look in the aperusa woman's black eyes made him feel

uncomfortably like a mackerel in a fish market.

Teldin murmured something that he hoped would grant him a polite escape, and he began to

back away. The woman pouted and claimed his arm with a surprisingly strong grip.

Why you go, nyeskataska?" she purred in a brown-velvet contralto. Although there was no

reason why he should, Teldin knew the aperusa's endearment roughly meant "one whose eyes

are fine blue topaz." He had yet to figure out a pattern to his cloak's capricious translations.

With her free hand, the aperusa made a sweeping gesture hat started with herself and

encompassed the taproom. "Look, nyeskataska, here there is much to enjoy." Her liquid black

eyes challenged him as she drew him firmly into the room.

Extricating himself without a scene would not be easy, Fighting down a wave of frustration,

Teldin allowed the woman to lead him deeper into the tavern. From what he'd heard of the

aperusa's fickle nature, he supposed this one would lose interest in him as soon as she saw a

man who appeared wealthier. That, Teldin noted wryly, shouldn't take long. And what would it hurt

to spend a few minutes in the company of a beautiful woman?

Beautiful she certainly was, as ripe and full of promise as an autumn morning. Her tight-laced

dress was the color of pumpkins, and the sachet pendant that nestled in her cleavage gave off an

earthy, spicy aroma. Even her dark, braided hair had an auburn sheen that reminded Teldin of

harvest trees viewed by moonlight. Well, he thought, what harm could come of a few more

minutes?

As the gypsy woman elbowed a path for them through the tavern, Teldin marveled at the

instant carnival atmosphere the aperusa troop had created. Some of the gypsies played wildly

infectious music; others shoved tables aside and enticed the inn's patrons to join in the dance.

Teldin counted four card games, three fortune-tellers, and several boisterous games of skill. His

lovely captor edged past three human mercenaries and an aperusa man embroiled in a dart

contest, pulling Teldin toward a small table near the bar.

Presiding at the table was a stunning woman with an untamed mop of glossy black hair and a

dress of vivid purple silk. Her customer was a gray-bearded, gray-clad dwarf who perched stiffly

on the edge of his chair and firmly anchored his sack of coins beneath his boots. A small knot of

people had gathered around the table, awed by the dexterity of the gypsy woman's flashing hands

as she flicked the cards into an intricate pattern on the table.

The game was not one Teldin recognized; he'd never been one for gambling. Still, he found

the gypsy's skill and the whimsically painted cards intriguing. Teldin became so absorbed in the

card game that it was several minutes before he realized he was alone. He glanced around the

crowded taproom, and a flash of orange caught his eye. "His" gypsy was on the other side of the

tavern, luring a clearly besotted sailor toward one of the fortune-tellers. A small, self-deprecating

smile twitched Teldin's lips. So that was her game.

A discordant note in the happy cacophony drew Teldin's attention back to the card table. The

card-playing dwarf punctuated his stream of innovative curses by throwing his losing hand down

on the table.

"I say you cheat," he growled through his beard. He thumped the table with both hands for

emphasis. "And, by Reorx, I'll prove it."

One stubby-fingered hand shot forward. With surprising speed and delicacy, the dwarf picked

a card from the front of the gypsy woman's purple blouse. He held it aloft. "See? Always a paladin,

whenever she needs one," he said triumphantly. The crowd around the table began an ominous

mutter.

Not put out in the slightest, the gypsy smiled and playfully touched a fingertip to the dwarfs

bulbous nose. "Card game is over," she admitted with a little shrug. She reclaimed the Red

Paladin card from the indignant dwarf and openly tucked it back into her blouse, then she leaned

suggestively closer to the rugged, little man. "But much, much more I have where you found that

one, hmmm?"

The dwarf responded to her purred invitation with a snort and a ready axe. "You could be

packing a whole deck in your drawers, woman, for all I'd care," he said as he rose to his feet.

Shaking his axe, he roared, "Now give me back my coins!"

At the mention of money, blades flashed as several aperusa men formed a semicircle behind

the seductress.

"Nine Hells!"

The exclamation came from the other side of the tavern. Teldin looked over to see a large,

red-bearded human wearing an outraged expression as he frantically patted himself down.

"Damned if someone didn't pick me clean!"

"Me, too!"

"Hey, where's my bag?"

As the indignant chorus rose, several aperusa women melted into the night as silently as

brightly colored shadows. Seeing this, Teldin understood. The women had taken the opportunity

handed them by the dwarf's outburst to quietly work the room. His hand dropped to his own belt.

Reassured that his coin bag was still full and that the medallion's bag was in place, Teldin eased

away from the gypsy's card table. The gods knew, he drew more than enough attention by virtue

of his cloak without putting himself in the center of a senseless tavern battle.

The storm definitely was brewing. Insults and accusations flew like hailstones, quickly

followed by thrown fists. Within the span of two score heartbeats the fight engulfed the tavern.

As he carefully edged toward the back door, Teldin noticed the beholder now floating high

above its chair. One of its eyestalks slowly rose, somehow giving Teldin the impression of a

crossbow being notched and aimed.

Teldin flashed a look over his shoulder. Sure enough, the impertinent dracons stood directly

behind him, watching the battle with stupid, tipsy smiles curving their reptilian mouths. Two things

simultaneously occurred to Teldin: the beholder probably did not have much of a sense of humor,

and he himself was standing in the line of fire.

An enormous aperusa man near Teldin apparently came to the same conclusion. With a

shriek, the gypsy launched himself into the air and away from danger. His precipitous lunge

caught Teldin and sent him sprawling under a nearby table. Slightly dazed, Teldin shook his head

and started to crawl out from under the tablecloth.

"No! Not to go yet," hissed a bass whisper. Teldin started. Somehow the huge aperusa also

had taken refuge under the table and was crouched on all fours behind him. After motioning for

Teldin to stay put, the gypsy thrust two fingers under his black mustache and blew. A shrill whistle

cut through the clamor of the fight.

At the signal, the purple-clad woman jumped onto the card table and began a sinuous,

suggestive dance. Some of those fighters nearest the table stopped in midbrawl, oblivious to their

own upraised fists or drawn daggers as they gaped at the sensuous display. As she whirled and

stamped and beckoned, several of the tavern patrons forgot their grievances and drifted closer to

her makeshift stage, opening a path between Teldin's hiding place and the rear door of the tavern.

The gypsy woman seemed to notice the same thing. Smiling seductively, she caught up her

swirling skirts and ripped them from hem to sash, revealing a small arsenal of knives strapped to

shapely legs. She began to snatch up knives and throw them with chilling accuracy.

"Now," intoned the aperusa man. He slid out from under the table and bounded to his feet.

"We go now."

Teldin crawled out and cast a look toward the beleaguered gypsy woman. Her knife collection

almost depleted, she now lashed out with bare feet at anyone who ventured within range. "But-"

"Please to hurry," pleaded the aperusa, pushing Teldin toward the back of the tavern. "Must go

out back door, and quickly. Amber can hold them only for so long."

"And then?" Teldin asked pointedly, brushing the man's hand off his shoulder. The aperusa's

black brows knitted in befuddlement, so Teldin tried again. "What will happen to her then?"

"Ah." Understanding lit the gypsy's eyes, but he shrugged as if the answer were of little

consequence. "A short stay in prison. Amber will charm the jailor and leave when she chooses."

A bolt of blue light shot past Teldin's head with a sharp, sizzling hiss. He stared in stunned

amazement at the stars glimmering through the smoking, black-edged hole in the tavern wall. The

charred remains of what used to be bar patrons lay on the floor, as crumpled and dried as fallen

leaves. They might as well have been leaves, for all the identity that was left to them.

"Eye of disintegration," moaned the gypsy, again shoving Teldin toward the exit. "Angry

beholder, very dangerous. We go now."

A thunderous rumble nudged Teldin out of his shock and indecision. He looked up to see the

pair of dracons, panic etched on their dragonlike faces, stampeding toward him. Teldin leaped for

the door, but not soon enough. The dracons, the human, and the aperusa crashed through the

doorway and into the alley.

As he pulled himself free of the bruising tangle of tails, limbs, and splintered wood, Teldin

thought that it would be a cold day in Reorx's Forge before either of the dracons told another

beholder joke.

Chapter Two

The grand admiral sat at the very center of the secret command base called Lionheart, her

tiny form almost lost in the deep blue leather of her chair. Despite her diminutive size, the ancient

ruler of the Imperial Fleet was an imposing elf who wore her years like hard-earned battle

trophies. Her bearing was still erect and proud, her close-cropped silver curls were thick and

lustrous, and her face was a triangular network of lines framing eyes of tempered steel. The

power that came with the office of grand admiral shaped and defined those who wielded it, and

the passing of centuries had left little to the elven leader that spoke of personality, name, or even

gender. Yet her office was furnished throughout in deep blue, a color that uniquely complemented

her silvery appearance. There was enough personal vanity left in the elven woman's soul for that.

Her office was in a tower, and from any of the circular room's windows she could see the ring

of armadas, enormous butterfly ships planted wing-to-wing on a remote asteroid of Garden. She

stared idly at one of these titanic butterflies as she pondered the strange message an elven

wizard had just delivered to her.

The grand admiral turned slowly to face her adviser and studied the wizard with shrewd, pale

eyes. Vallus Leafbower stood stiffly as he awaited her response. The gossamer chain mail of his

uniform glittered in the dim lamplight, and his blue tabard was embroidered with a wizard's

insignia as well as elven runes naming his house and rank. He had been with the Imperial Fleet

only a short time, yet Vallus Leafbower was highly regarded by the command of Lionheart. He

was a powerful wizard of impeccable lineage, and he'd brought information deemed vital to the

elven war effort. Had the report he'd just given come from any other adviser, the grand admiral

likely would have dismissed it as hysteria.

"Ghost ships are not uncommon. Perhaps you should tell me why this particular one was

brought to my attention," she suggested.

Vallus hesitated, and the admiral did not miss the foreboding in the wizard's eyes. "The

abandoned ship was an armada. It was adrift in Winterspace," he said.

The ancient admiral's face turned gray at this news, but her disciplined features showed no

other sign of her distress. "I see." She nodded curtly. "Very well, you may bring the patrol ship

captain to me now."

Vallus Leafbower bowed and left the small chamber. Alone, the grand admiral slumped low in

her chair and passed one hand wearily over her eyes. The power and authority of her position fell

from her, and for a moment she was no longer the grand admiral, the representative and

embodiment of all elves; she was only a frail and heartsick elven woman, exhausted by the weight

of centuries and the responsibility of directing an escalating war.

She dragged herself from her chair and began to pace, relying on the motion of her legs to

nudge her numbed mind into action. There was time to collect her thoughts, for it could be a good

while before Vallus returned with the rescued captain.

Lionheart was a vast place. The base under her command was actually a fleet of ships

connected by magically animated walkways and enveloped by a single atmosphere. In addition to

the armada battleships, Lionheart included patrol ships, supply barges, docking bays, warships,

and, of course, the enormous, coin-shaped vessel that housed the magnificent blue-and-silver

Elven Council, a chamber large enough to seat representatives from every known elven world.

Soon, the admiral feared, she might have to call a general council of the elven peoples. Such a

thing had not been done in living memory, but the war was going badly.

In the first Unhuman War, the goblinkin had been unorganized and undisciplined.

Elaine Cunningham - The Cloakmaster Cycle 4 - The Radiant Dragon

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