The Ultimate Helm (41 page)

The dwarven communities shouted and cheered. In seconds, the
Spelljammer
and its air envelope had left the nautiloid behind, exposing the flaming ship to the flow, and the phlogiston ignited again with a huge explosion that was momentarily blinding.

As the flitters from the armada ducked between the
Spelljammer’s
towers to shoot and run, the Shou tsunami came steadily forward. The scro battlewagon never let up its onslaught, banking so that the tsunami was temporarily blocked from view as it swept closer and closer to the great ship’s bow and attacked. Three ballistae and four catapults fired from the battlewagon’s port side. Iron shot and missiles were black blurs as they hurtled toward the
Spelljammer
and crashed into the walls of the ship’s stores and the Tower of Trade. A gaping hole was blown into the tower’s lower levels, and the whole building collapsed upon itself in a shudder that shook the ship.

Then the first wave of missiles and boulders rained upon the
Spelljammer
from the approaching elven armada. Most of the missiles went short, passing harmlessly in front of the ship. A few boulders dug deep trenches into the landing field, and one steel missile embedded itself in the
Spelljammer’s
port ram.

The scro battlewagon continued on its downward dive toward the ship. Ballistae and catapults from both sides of the boar fell upon the towers in a deadly hail of stone and metal debris. Archers along the sides targeted the
Spelljammer’s
warriors in the upper ruins of the captain’s tower and atop the Guild tower. Seven Guild warriors dropped dead on the tower roof, the ill-made arrows of scro protruding from their bodies. The fighters in the captain’s tower profited from better cover in the ruins, and most of the scro arrows bounced off the stone walls. The archers there returned fire, and three scro fighters staggered away from the rails of the battlewagon, arrows quivering in their chests and necks.

The dwarves under Lord Kova had their ballistae ready and aimed toward the onrushing battlewagon. As the fearsome prow of the boar ship
Eviscerator
sailed over the decks, Kova screamed “Fire!” and the dwarves’ ballistae shot their missiles simultaneously. One missed completely, arcing over the battlewagon and passing into the flow. Two others impaled the hull, but did not drive deep enough to inflict significant damage to the ship or its crew.

The last missile collided with the scro ship just as it started a sweeping turn to move away and then come back on another run. The missile angled into the boar’s prow and chipped off most of its starboard face. The missile and the face dropped to the great ship’s deck, bounced off the captain’s tower, and landed between the library and illithid towers.

The
Spelljammer’s
fighters soon came to understand the attack strategies of the elven flitters, and quickly learned how to fight back against their swiftest opponents. Light catapults were used to the best advantage, and soon flitters were falling to the decks all around and crumpling like paper, battered and tom by the rock storms that shot from the towers. One flitter was hit by a hail of iron shot from the Chalice tower and sailed directly into the roof, crushing the warriors who had shot it.

The number of elven flitters was soon cut down in half. By that time, the armada had come well within range to bear its heavy weapons, and the scro battlewagon had turned itself around to stare down the
Spelljammer
once again and begin another attack run.

High above the decks, directly below the
Spelljammer’s,
triangular stinger tail, a glowing ball of light appeared, which transformed in the figure of Gaye Goldring. Arms outstretched, floating above the towers like a spirit of the winds, she summoned power to her and concentrated, molding the wild energies of her mind, the energies with which Teldin had fortified her, and focusing on the approaching ships. Energy flickered around her in a golden cloud of lightning, of swirling, formless power.

In the lower hull of the elven armada, a pinprick of golden light blossomed. It spread slowly, glowing bright with Gaye’s psionic energy. The glow faded as it spread across the hull in an expanding circle, and where the light had burned, the hull became discolored and appeared warped or weakened.

Gaye floated there, concentrating on her target, while the armada attacked, while missiles rained death upon the
Spelljammer
and its crew. The minotaur tower was felled by a barrage of both stone and missiles. Immediately, the
Spelljammer’s
weapons shot back from the hulk and giant towers. One missile punctured one of the armada’s great wings and continued past. Another was shot straight into the armada’s lower hull.

The elven ship shuddered as the missile pierced the hull easily, like a sewing needle through fabric. Gaye’s molecular manipulation had transformed the armada’s thick, chitinous hull into a material no stronger than parchment. The crew of the
Spelljammer
quickly assessed the armada’s weakness, and weapons across the ship were aimed at the discolored, vulnerable patch that now had grown to cover the armada’s entire underside.

Within minutes, the armada fluttered drunkenly across the flow, a dozen missiles sticking out of its underbelly like stubby legs. Its wings were broken and bent, tattered into shreds by the shots from the
Spelljammer’s
catapults.

The armada managed one last, fitful assault against the
Spelljammer.
One missile found its target in the uppermost chamber of the illithid tower. Trebek’s books and scrolls exploded out of the tower and showered the decks below.

Then the armada shook as chambers inside ruptured, fires broke out, and explosions rolled in a chain reaction throughout the ship. The elven flagship blew apart and sent the shattered hull scattering in all directions. Blackened bodies spun into the flow; then the phlogiston ignited around the wrecked ship, and the sky blazed.

The
Spelljammer
was buffeted by the storm of heat and turbulence. The scro battlewagon shook and was tossed sideways by the blast. The Shou tsunami appeared unbothered; only its frontal antennae were slightly scorched as it sailed harmlessly through the last of the explosion.

The
Spelljammer
adjusted its course and accelerated. Its starboard wing swung up, over the scro battlewagon, which could not recover fast enough from the explosion to fire at the
Spelljammer’s
lower hull. The battlewagon’s helmsman realized his mistake and quickly turned the ship around in pursuit.

The tsunami fired its heavy weapons as the
Spelljammer
passed directly in front of it. Boulders fell into the walls of the Long Fangs’ tower and the beholder ruins, then the
Spelljammer’s
crew retaliated individually, firing indiscriminately at the beautiful Shou ship as it wriggled through the flow. One of the tsunami’s long antennae cracked and was sent spinning away by a hail of iron shot.

The
Spelljammer
flew straight through the gap in the Broken Sphere, heedless of its enemies. It was swallowed by the darkness, by the enormous weight of its ancient, forgotten birth. Behind it, clouds of phlogiston roiled into the sphere, kicked up by the
Spelljammer’s
wings and sucked in by its wake.

The battlewagon fired from behind and to starboard, clipping the mast of a galleon, with a ballista missile, then the wildfire projector was readied on the
Eviscerator’s
upper firing platform. The boar ship sped forward, close enough to the galleon to see the surprised look in the pirates’ eyes as the scro on deck aimed their arrows and killed eight warriors in a single pass.

The scro ship penetrated the
Spelljammer’s
air envelope. One missile, shot from atop the Armory, impaled one of the ship’s great forelegs. The battlewagon rocked with the impact of a heavy load of iron shot.

Then the scro aimed the wildfire projector, and the top of the Dark Tower was engulfed in flames that licked up the
Spelljammer’s
tail. The scro hopped and laughed on the deck of the
Eviscerator
and aimed again. Fire splattered the base of the Armory in a wide swath that blazed through the Old Elvish Academy and the Academy of Human Knowledge. The flames spread from roof to roof, and soon the Long Fangs’ tower and the beholder ruins were eaten by fire. Phlogiston exploded chaotically, raining rubble down upon the decks.

Missiles from the
Spelljammer
embedded into the battlewagon like spears. The scro ship twisted evasively, ignoring most of the
Spelljammer’s
attacks by staying far to starboard, off the wing. Inside the control cabin, the scro helmsman sweated copiously in a struggle to keep the ship out of danger, yet still in a position where it could dive in easily and whittle away at the
Spelljammer’s
defenses... and kill as many hells-spawned elves as possible.

Concentrating on the scene outside, transmitted to him by the
Eviscerator’s
helm, the helmsman did not notice a golden glow appear at his side. He did not notice the shape of a woman materialize and beckon to him, her fingers stretched at strange angles, her gaze fixed upon his face. He jerked once, violently, struggling in his mind as a superior force battled with his subconscious. He suddenly stood and awkwardly faced her.

His eyes were wide with fear as first one of his arms went up into the air, then another. He watched helplessly as his right leg came up involuntarily, and he started hopping. The battlewagon began to slow. It listed to port as the helmsman’s mind strayed from controlling the ship’s course and speed. Gaye could hear shouts from the decks above as the ship continued to list.

“What are you doing?” he screamed in the Common tongue.

“Stop this! Stop this now! You’ll kill us all!”

Gaye stopped. Instead, she concentrated. The scro pulled a short sword from his scabbard. His eyes widened even more. “No!” he shouted. “No!”

He brought the point of his sword to his unprotected chest. The sharp point dug into his flesh. Blood welled in a shiny, thick drop. “You can’t do this to me! You can’t!”

Then he gasped, as his body was flung against a wall and the impact pushed the sword into his heart. He fell to his knees, then pitched over.

“Yes, I can,”
Gaye said calmly.

The battered battlewagon listed dangerously to port and began its descent. The door to the cabin burst open, and a contingent of scro warriors charged in, their weapons drawn.

Gaye concentrated and felt the psionic energies building inside her, unstoppable. She looked down. Her hand was glowing white-hot with the power of her own life force.

Life, she thought, for Teldin, for the
Spelljammer.
Let destiny be served.

She was stronger, more powerful, than she had ever felt before. The scro warriors came to a halt only a few feet from her. Her powers flickered around her like a thing alive, blistering their orclike faces with the heat of a star. They scrambled to get away, but Gaye let the feeling of purity, of heat, rush over her, and then she was one
 –
one with Teldin, one with the
Spelljammer,
seeing their united, eternal destiny in a flare of energy that lit the phlogiston like a blazing star.

The
Eviscerator’s
foredeck blew apart in a single burst of stellar fire. When the phlogiston exploded in a blazing sphere, half the battlewagon was ruptured, shattered and tom apart into shreds and splinters, its hull blackened and blistered. It arced down like a dying comet, down through the flow... on a collision course with the
Spelljammer.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“... It is all forgotten. I leave all my collected knowledge here in the Orb, for I fear that great harm will come to the library, and the wisdom of man and the gods will be stolen from the Wanderer.

“The Orb will wait here for those with the courage and the insight to find it and use it. I cannot leave this place, and so can not share my strange tales of adventure with others but in this small way. Here I leave the history of the spheres, the secrets of the Bonding, and here I leave the key to Creannon, and the map of its future, far beyond this mortal plane....”

Neridox, librarian; journal 1701;

reign of Jokarin.

They could do nothing but watch helplessly, frozen, as Cwelanas battled the neogi. They had been caught unawares as Cwelanas ran to check the hangar door. B’Laath’a, waiting in the cover of the jamberry trees, had stepped out and cast a spell at them, holding them immobile where they stood.

They watched as Cwelanas killed Coh and the mage leaped to take his place. Then B’Laath’a was destroyed with the power of her chain mail. Cwelanas fell to the ground. The spell holding the warriors was broken with B’Laath’a’s death, and they jumped to help the elf.

She was barely awake, shivering as though with intense cold. CassaRoc knew a bad fever when he saw one, and this one was the worst he had ever seen. “You’ll be all right. We need to get you a healer. Can you take the helm like this?”

She tried to shrug. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I have to, don’t I?”

CassaRoc pushed back a strand of hair. The wounds in her shoulder were angry and red, puckered like craters and surrounded by yellow and blue bruises. “Are you sure?”

Cwelanas smiled through her pain. She felt her body shiver with a reserve of energy, and her pain began to slowly recede. The chain mail Teldin had given her played its power through her like a healing flow of energy. “I think I will be fine. Teldin has taken care of that. We must go.”

In the smalljammer’s control room, CassaRoc helped Cwelanas take her seat. Instantly, she felt better, at peace, as the ship warmed to her touch. Its energies flowed through her, giving her strength. “We still have to get out of the gardens,” she observed.

The others looked at her, confused. They had never caught up with her to examine the hangar doors. “What do you mean?” Djan asked. I thought Teldin told us to sail away from here.”