The fire was small, a pile of oil-soaked rags burning next to one of the holes the dying beholder had blown in the portside hull. Most of the smoke from the blaze was pouring out through the hull breach, instead of fouling the air of the hold. Crewmen had responded instantly to the warning shout, and three sailors were already throwing buckets of sand on the fire. As Teldin watched, the small fire was extinguished. He heard more commotion in the area of the crew compartments and ran forward.
There was a small knot of crewmen in front of the door to the forward sleeping compartment. One of them-Anson, Teldin saw-clutched a nasty gash in his left forearm, blood seeping between the fingers of his right hand.
"What in the hells is happening?" It was Djan, pushing his way through the crowd.
It was the wounded Anson who answered, his voice rough with pain. "They're in there," he gasped. "They killed Dranigor."
The last helmsman, Teldin thought. With Dranigor, Blossom, and (presumably) the Cloakmaster eliminated, the Boundless should be dead in space.
"Who?" Djan demanded.
"Dargeth and Lucinus."
Teldin closed his eyes and swayed as the world seemed to spin around him. Dargeth, who'd claimed that Julia had worked with him on the forward catapult-probably just to sew dissension and suspicion, he recognized now, a psychological analogue of physical sabotage to the ship. And Lucinus, who'd reinforced it by contradicting Julia's claim that she'd never touched the catapult. He ground his teeth together, struggling to bottle up the scream that threatened to tear from his throat. Paladine's blood, I'll kill them…
"Tell me what happened," Djan ordered.
"They came in, swords drawn," Anson replied, "ordered us all out of there. We were unarmed. What could we do?"
The half-elf pointed at the man's wound. "You tried to do something."
Anson grimaced. "For all the good it did. Before Dargeth shut the door, I saw Lucinus kill Dranigor in his hammock, just slash his throat open. Then they shut the door and secured it."
"Why?" Djan asked. "They're planning to just hole up in there? What are they…" The look of shock on the half-elf s face told Teldin he'd come to the same conclusion that the Cloakmaster had reached.
"They're expecting help," Teldin stated flatly. "Rhom, get up on deck. Keep a close lookout for other ships. Now!"
The crewman he'd named paled as he heard his captain's voice coming from Julia's mouth. But at least he didn't stop to question. As he sprinted away, Teldin turned back to the other crewmen and the door.
"I want them out of there," he almost snarled.
The crew turned shocked eyes on him. "They're armed," Anson said.
"So get weapons yourself," Teldin snapped. "I want them." To emphasize his point, he drew Julia's short sword from the scabbard on his belt.
While Teldin and Djan watched the door, the crewmen vanished, reappearing a few moments later with knives, swords, belaying pins, and other weapons. They looked tense, ready… dangerous. The Cloakmaster smiled grimly. He let his disguise slip away, let his body return to its normal form. The time for secrecy was past.
He saw the expressions on the faces of his crew-bewilderment, shock, but, most of all, relief coupled with renewed confidence. They've got their captain back, he told himself. He felt a flush of pride. Sword at the ready, he stepped forward and tried the door.
Predictably it was secured-latched from the inside, maybe secured in other ways, too. He hesitated, feeling a faint, almost subliminal tingle from the door handle. Magic? Was the cloak allowing him to sense magical energy now? Why not?
He stepped back. "I think the door's been magically sealed," he announced.
Djan raised an eyebrow. "By who?" he asked. "Neither Lucinus nor Dargeth is a mage…" He smiled mirthlessly. "They didn't tell us that they were mages, but then they didn't tell us they were saboteurs and murderers either. So, how can we counter if"
Teldin felt rage flaring within his chest. May the gods damn them to the Abyss! he thought. Saboteurs. Murderers. He felt his lips draw back from his teeth in a snarl.
He felt the cloak around his shoulders resonate with his anger-felt the cloak's power feed the rage, and vice versa. His fury swelled in his heart, moving like a live thing, with its own will and desires-like the thing he saw in Beth-Abz's mouth in the dream, he recalled, a bloody, writhing thing fighting for relief. Never had he felt anything like this before, this sensation that his rage was somehow independent of him, with its own distinct existence. That it could burst from him if only he let his guard down…
And why in the hells not? he demanded. He felt a growl nimble in his throat. The power of the cloak flared through his bones and sinews, pulsing in time with his racing heart.
Gods damn you…! With a wordless yell, he thrust with his sword toward the door, as though he were about to run it through. The power of the cloak virtually exploded within him, channeling down his arm and through the sword blade. With a thunderclap, an invisible bolt of force struck the door, shattering it from its hinges and driving it into the compartment beyond, to slam against the forward bulkhead. Ears ringing from the noise, Teldin leaped into the doorway.
Part of the door had slammed into Lucinus, knocking the halfling off his feet and stunning him. Dargeth was unharmed, however, his face twisted with mixed fear and anger. The half-orc pointed a finger at Teldin's chest and muttered a harsh phrase under his breath. Four tiny projectiles, burning like coals, burst from his fingertip and flashed across the intervening space, unerringly heading for their target….
They struck the Cloakmaster in the torso… almost. A finger's breadth before they touched his flesh, a scintillating curtain flashed into existence to block the missiles. With a hiss, they vanished.
Dargeth's eyes widened with shock. He scrabbled for his belt pouch-going for the material components of a more punishing spell, Teldin knew.
"No!" The Cloakmaster snarled. He raised his sword, sighting along it almost as though it were a crossbow. The power of the cloak pulsed and throbbed through him, seemingly eager to lash out again if he released it. "No," he repeated.
He could see-almost feel-the thoughts racing through Dargeth's mind. He saw him reach his decision. The half-orc flung the contents of the pouch on the floor and raised his empty hands. "Don't kill me," he gasped. On the deck next to him, the dazed-looking Lucinus pushed his own sword away and raised his hands as well.
"You miserable devil-kin bastards," Teldin growled. His pulse pounded in his ears as the power thundered in his heart and mind. He could kill them both, he knew. The power was there, at his fingertips-more amenable to his control than it had ever been, as though the strength of his emotions somehow refined the link between him and the cloak. It would be so easy, not so much an act of will as the relaxation of will. He felt himself grinning and knew the grin was terrible….
"No, Teldin." Djan's gentle voice sounded from behind him. He felt a gentle touch on the shoulder; he felt the half-elf's presence, his concern. He felt, also, his determination. "No, Teldin," he said again, his voice quiet, but still filled with force.
The point of the sword started to tremble. He's right, Teldin knew, but… I owe them death. For Julia, for Dranigor, for the rest.
"Let it go, Teldin."
The Cloakmaster took a deep, quivering breath and lowered the sword. He saw Dargeth and Lucinus relax minutely as they realized they might live a little longer. He turned away in revulsion. "Guard them," he said tiredly. He stepped out of the compartment into the companionway and leaned against the wall for a moment while his racing pulse slowed somewhat.