The Ultimate Helm (10 page)

Teldin shook the giffs mammoth, outstretched hand, which seemed surprisingly gentle. The giff introduced himself with a slight bow of his head. “Lord High Gunsman Rexan Hojson,” he said.

“We call him Diamondtip, for short,” said CassaRoc, touching the tip of his nose.

Teldin smiled and tried not to stare at the giff’s ornate snout, but he found it quite difficult. “I see. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Hojson.” Teldin introduced himself, and the others around the table stood.

“Agate Ironlord Kova,” said the leader of the Citadel of Kova, thudding the handle of his battle-axe once on the floor.

Teldin nodded. The proud dwarf barely stood as tall as Teldin’s waist, but he shook hands regally, and his closely cropped gray beard gave Kova an appearance of quiet dignity.

Another dwarf came around the table, his hand outstretched, his red hair so bright that it almost seemed aflame. “Vagner Firespitter, of the Free Dwarves,” he said loudly. His wild, bushy beard was painted with the colors of a rainbow, and his mane of bright, scarlet hair did nothing to detract from his motley assortment of clothing, a brilliant blue tunic and pants of yellow and black.

Two halflings came around the table to shake hands. Teldin looked down. “Kristobar Brewdoc,” said the younger halfling. He was thin for one of his kind, with barely an ounce of fat around his thick torso. “Hancherback Scuttlebay,” the other halfling said. He was shorter and heavier than Kristobar, and he wore a black vest bearing mystical patterns and runes.

“Gentlemen, we’re glad you could come so quickly.” CassaRoc said, “Now, if you’ll allow me a word with the Cloakmaster before we begin...”

The leaders nodded and waited as CassaRoc pulled Teldin over to the bar. He kept his voice low. “Chaladar the Holy is being righteous again.”

“Where is he?” Teldin asked.

CassaRoc scowled. “He knew this meeting was important, but he refused to sit in the same room with the halfling Hancherback. He’s a thief, just like half the other beings on board this ship, and His Holiness wouldn’t be caught undead here with somebody like him.”

Teldin nodded. “That’s unfortunate. His backing here would have helped us a great deal. But the two of us will make do, I’m sure.”

CassaRoc nodded.

“Don’t worry,” Teldin said, trying to import more assurance than he felt. “We’ll do fine.”

“One more thing,” CassaRoc said. “The elves and the Shou have not responded. Probably to be expected, but I don’t like the sound of it. We may have a problem with them. You can trust an elf only so far.”

Teldin shrugged. “Yes, I know elves well. There is nothing we can do. We’ll discuss this later.”

Teldin gestured for his guests to sit. The giff, Diamondtip, squatted upon a metal keg of CassaRoc’s, the only seat in the meeting room sturdy enough to bear the beast’s weight. The others pulled their chairs around the scarred wooden table.

“Sorry for the delay,” Teldin said, deliberately turning to each as he spoke and looking into each one’s eyes. “By now, I’m sure you’ve heard various versions of my arrival and the reasons for my coming. Let me tell you the honest truth and try to clear up any misconceptions you may have.

“They’re calling me Teldin Cloakmaster. I’ve discovered that the cloak that I bear is an ultimate helm – perhaps, if I am correct,
the
ultimate helm,” he said without thinking, wondering where the words had come from. “And with it I’ve been searching the universe for the answers to my questions.

“My answer is here, I know now. My answer is the
Spelljammer
itself, though I still don’t know what it all means. I am not here to harm anyone, nor am I here to bring on the Dark Times, as you have probably heard. I don’t even know what the Dark Times are.”

The huge giff nodded slowly and scratched under his bulbous chin. He scrutinized the Cloakmaster with his small, dark eyes. Kova, the dwarf, laughed. “You’re going to have a hard time getting along with all the others,” Kova said easily. “We all know the beholder myth. If you truly are the Cloakmaster of legend, believe me, you are in for an uphill battle. You’ll be lucky if you live the night. If the Dark Times do come, all the races will be at war with each other for power, and for the food in the stores.

“Besides, if you are the Cloakmaster that has been foretold, I believe you will not fare well in a battle with the elder dwarves.”

“The elder dwarves?”

“Aye,” the dwarf said. “The true captains of the
Spelljammer.
I fear they will not look kindly upon your arrival and the threat of the Dark Times.”

Teldin said it quickly. It came unbidden, from his heart, and he knew the words were true. “There is no captain of the
Spelljammer.
Not now.”

CassaRoc stared at him. “Teldin, how do you know this?” Kristobar said, “The captains are secret, hidden. Everyone knows this.”

“We believe the ship is ruled by the dwarven gods,” said Firespitter.

Hancherback stifled a laugh. His eyes twinkled in merriment. He loved a good scuffle.

Teldin said, “The
Spelljammer
has sailed for a long time, and many stories have arisen to explain its history and who captains it.” He absently ran a finger along the edge of the amulet. The metal was warm to the touch, welcoming, and when he spoke again, he knew the words were true. “This I know: With our forces combined, we will defeat the evil armies on board the
Spelljammer,
and all of its enemies.

“I do not want war at all. I want nothing more than to end this quest and let everyone get on with their lives. But I will defend myself when attacked, for any reason. I have no desire to harm anyone or bring these Dark Times about. I just want to live.

“I need you to help me. I believe Lord Kova is absolutely correct: I present some danger to the populations here – at least, that is how they perceive it. My coming was foretold by your beholder nation, and I did not even know that I was coming here. Your legend may well be true. Perhaps, without my conscious will, my mere presence here will bring about the Dark Times. I hope not.

“But I need to resolve my quest. We need to protect our interests on the
Spelljammer,
with as little bloodshed or human lives lost as possible. Without each other, this ship will become a curse throughout the known spheres, piloted by our enemies.”

CassaRoc turned and waved for attention, and a steward came over with tall mugs of ale for everybody, and water for Teldin. Vagner Firespitter held the steward’s arm and drained his tankard, then handed it back for another. “Fine brew, CassaRoc,” he said.

“Perhaps we should start at the beginning,” CassaRoc said. That might make things a bit easier to understand. And I can get everyone another mug of ale.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Kova said.

“Both very good ideas,” said Firespitter.

Teldin told the story of his quest once again, as he had earlier told CassaRoc’s warriors, and he emphasized his friendship with Gomja, the giff, and his heroic acts on Teldin’s behalf. He spoke of their powerful fellowship and the allies he had made on his journey to the
Spelljammer.
CassaRoc related how Teldin’s nautiloid had crashed on the wing, and told of the vicious melee with the neogi that had greeted the Cloakmaster upon his arrival. He relished the story of how Teldin’s cloak had rescued him with a dozen or more bolts of magical energy; then he finally brought them to the present, to focus on the purpose of the meeting.

“So we need allies,” CassaRoc said. “Once word gets around that the Cloakmaster is here, every foe on the ship will be after him and his cloak. We need to combine our forces for good, to protect the
Spelljammer
 – and our existence here.”

Teldin felt that his and CassaRoc’s speeches had allayed some of their potential allies’ fears, but he could feel that they still did not trust him entirely. Who could? Indeed, if anyone else held the power they believed he held, he too would be afraid.

He would almost be a god....

Hancherback Scuttlebay cleared his throat. “All this is well and good, human, but I’ve seen nothing to prove that Teldin Moore is the Cloakmaster. If we’re going to put the entire halfling population on the battle lines, we’ll need —”

He stopped, for right before him Teldin’s face was changing shape, metamorphosing into that of Hancherback’s fellow halfling, Kristobar Brewdoc.

The halflings watched silently and reached for their ales at the same time. Diamondtip and the dwarves laughed.

“This is but one power of the cloak,” Teldin began to explain, “to assume the shape —”

Kristobar interrupted sharply, sputtering, “This could be but a simple spell, a spell for children. We need more proof, Teldin Moore. Much more than this simple parlor trick.”

Teldin quickly resumed his true features. His body felt warm, and he could feel the energies of the cloak building in a powerful surge. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the cloak’s power tingled through him.

The cloak billowed around him. The halflings scattered backward from the table, and at once the cloak elongated, reaching out for Kristobar with its edge. The inner lining had turned a deep blue, like the sky at sunset, and suddenly the cloak enveloped the halfling in its folds.

Teldin’s cloak unfurled, and the halfling was gone.

****

He floated among the stars of wildspace. Below him hung the sun of his home sphere, and he could feel the coldness of space on his bare arms, in the hollows of his bones, chilling him with the emptiness of death and eternity. The stars, cold and piercing, almost close enough to touch, blazed around him, and Kristobar felt that he would float here forever, forgotten, abandoned.

Loneliness washed over him, and he knew that he was lost.

He was cold and alone, isolated in his own empty universe. He felt a cold sharper than on the wastes of Artalla, a cold he could imagine was more severe than the embrace of the dark gods themselves.

Still he was alone. He screamed out his need, his fear, but his voice was plucked away, impotent in the cold emptiness of space.

Totally... alone...

****

“Where is he?” shouted Hancherback. “Bring him back!”

Teldin stood silently, as amazed as the others in the room. He closed his eyes and concentrated on Kristobar’s face.

The cloak swirled around him. The colors inside shifted to a shade more dense than any black those assembled had ever seen. At once, the cloak curled out, and Kristobar was expelled from the dark lining. He huddled in a fetal position on the floor, shivering. “N-n-no one,” he said. “So c-cold..

He was helped to the table and swaddled in blankets, and the cold inside Teldin’s cloak soon dissipated. Teldin apologized for any inconvenience. “Sometimes it does things on its own,” he said. “Sometimes I wonder exactly who the master really is.”

“Cloakmaster, CassaRoc,” Diamondtip said finally, “we all have reasons for a strategic alliance.” His voice was a deep rumble tinged with quiet dignity. “I believe you are a man of peace, and, although we must all defend ourselves at times, I think none of us here wants war. We simply want to survive in happiness.

“You may count on the two dozen warriors of the giff to stand by you when battle calls. Cloakmaster, you have convinced me, at least, with your magic cloak... but especially with the honesty I sense behind the story of your quest, and behind your eyes. My only wish is that your friend, Gomja, could be here to share in our victories. He is a credit to the giff. To fight beside him here would honor me.”

“Thank you, Lord Hojson,” Teldin said. He looked at the others. “Can we count on your support as well, gentlemen?” Kristobar cast a wary glance at Teldin, then leaned over to Hancherback. They talked among themselves for a moment. Lord Kova took the opportunity to speak. “I have seen enough. The Citadel of Kova will side with the Cloakmaster – though it is still hard for me to believe that the
Spelljammer’s
captains are not dwarves. I do not know how you know this, but your cloak is powerful, and I feel that destiny is somehow being woven here today, as the threads of your cloak are somehow woven tightly with your own.

“The dwarves of Kova number three hundred. We will fight by you, Teldin Cloakmaster, or we will die.”

Firespitter agreed. “We number only about a hundred in the Free Dwarves’ tower, Cloakmaster, but we will gladly fight by your side, for life and for peace throughout the spheres.”

“Good,” Teldin said. “Excellent.” He faced the halflings. Hancherback stood proudly. “We’re with you, Cloakmaster, all two hundred of us. We’re small, but we’ll give those neogi – and anybody else – a run for their money.”

Firespitter lifted his ale in a toast. The others rose and lifted their mugs. “To Teldin Cloakmaster,” Firespitter said, “to peace, and to —” he thought, stroking his decorated beard “— to the Alliance of the Cloak!”

Chapter Six

“... We are naturally superior. No one shall escape the fury of our righteousness...”

Beholder mage Kronosh;

reign of Jos Dragonrider.

Death came to the minotaur tower quickly and mercilessly.

The minotaur guard at the tower door was initially shocked to see three of the xenophobic beholders floating past his post. He was even more surprised when one turned toward him and grinned, baring its ugly, misshapen teeth in a feral smile. A small eye on one of its ten eyestalks turned toward the guard. A yellow beam of intense light flared, and instantly the minotaur staggered back, no longer in control of its own mind.

The beholder turned to its companions. “Our first slave of the war,” it said, laughing.

They proceeded into the tower stealthily, the enslaved minotaur leading the way through the narrow corridors. At each door, the minotaur would enter and the beholders would charm other minotaurs with beams from their eyes.

Most of the tower’s forty minotaurs were their slaves by the time the beholders reached the quarters of the minotaur leader, Hammerstun Breakox. One minotaur knocked on the door and said, woodenly, “Lord Breakox, we must speak with you.”