A thought came to him, and he cleared his throat, hoping his interruption would not be taken badly. "I was told," Teldin said slowly, "that this cloak was made by the elves. An elven helmsman named Vallus Leafbower asked me to bring it to you-to the Imperial Fleet, rather-because you would know what to do about it." He decided not to mention then that he had also been told that the cloak had been made by the blue-skinned giants known as the arcane; after all, an arcane had told him that, and he might have had ulterior motives in doing so.
"It would not surprise me if the elves had indeed made it," said Cirathorn. "We know nothing of the identity of the Star Folk, and perhaps they could have been elves. Here and there across the spheres, our fleet has found strange ruins or ships, perhaps one in every ten spheres, which are each unaccountably old and bear symbols in a trifoliate pattern-three leaves, three-pointed stars, and the like. These rains are filled with danger, with magic so powerful and old that it has lost its meaning and now strikes out in its madness at all who trespass. A few more fragments of our past we have found in those ruins and wrecks, but no sign of the Star Folk, and no trace of their fate. Your cloak, Teldin Moore, as you probably know, also bears that trifoliate pattern."
Everyone in the room stared at Teldin, which made him acutely uncomfortable. "It's a flower, I believe," he said.
The admiral nodded agreement. "Indeed it is, as I have seen with my own eyes. We wish to copy that pattern for our histories before you leave us. Of the Cloak of the First Pilot, only a few rhymes and tales remain. One speaks of the 'shining garment' the First Pilot wore. Another says that the First Pilot was given a necklace before he set out on his mission, and he wore this gift, though some authorities refer only to the cloak. The most extensive fragment, the 'Song of the First Pilot,' is a short set of verses that tells-of the gifting of the cloak and the First Pilot's enthusiasm for the voyage. Little else is known to us. Long have our people thirsted for knowledge of every sort, but of the distant past, of the origins of all space-faring peoples, we have found little to whet our tongues. You honor us all, Teldin Moore, with your visit."
Teldin was embarrassed. "I'm honored, but I still don't know why this cloak has become so attached to me."
'"You've previously told me how you came to possess it, though you kept your story shorter than it needed to be," said Cirathorn, settling back slightly. "Perhaps you could tell your story in full. We have no end of time to listen."
Relieved that things seemed to be going his way, Teldin did exactly that. It took forever to get the story out, and sometimes he went back to correct something he'd said earlier, but in time he had brought everyone up to the moment when he walked up to the sentinel at the embassy. He decided to give them all the details on his cloak and what it could do, down to its color-changing habits, though he demonstrated only the cloak's power to change its size and turn into a sort of necklace-which explained the confusion in the old tales, Cirathorn said aloud. Teldin left out only the details of the past year that he felt had nothing to do with the cloak, the confused elements of his personal life since the evening when his farm had burned and his life was thrust into chaos. Once he asked for water, and the admiral merely clapped his hands for an elf to hurry away to get it.
Teldin had no idea of how long he had spoken, but his voice was cracked and hoarse by the time he had finished. If I have to do this again, Teldin thought, I'll have to hire someone to write it all down so I can just give the questioners the notes.
None of the elves left the room during his story. Many had not even touched their food. When it became apparent that Teldin was done, Cirathorn stroked his bare chin, staring through Teldin as if he were not really there.
"The cloak may have its own agenda," said the admiral. "I do not believe it is intelligent, but it is likely to be responding to certain commands cast into it at its creation. The cloak probably stays with you because it was meant to always stay with and protect the master of the Spelljammer, and you were merely unfortunate enough to put it on and be mistaken for that master. It is my fear that you still have far to go before you learn the truth. Forgive me for asking, but where had you planned to go next, Teldin Moore?"
Teldin considered. "I really hadn't the faintest idea, Admiral. You and the Imperial Fleet were my last hope of finding any clues about the nature of my cloak and what exactly I should do with it. Wherever it goes, I may as well go. I've no home left, and my only friends are those who travel with me on the Probe. I've come so far now, I'd rather just keep going to the end of it all."
Cirathom looked at Teldin with wistful eyes. "If the cloak would permit it, I would have asked you to let us take it and solve its mysteries. Our lives are long, as you know, and any one of us would have joyfully pursued its secrets to the ends of the Known Spheres. It would appear, however, that this burden has fallen to your shoulders."
Teldin snorted. "Don't think I'm happy about it."
Cirathorn almost smiled. "No, I don't believe you are. You must forgive me, but your decided lack of experience, knowledge, and skills does make you an inviting target." Teldin bristled and was on the verge of making a sharp remark when the admiral cut him off. "If you are to solve these mysteries at all, you must solve them with haste. Given the legends and tales that link your cloak with the great Spelljammer, you would do best to find that ship and let the course of destiny be fulfilled. What direction that course will take and what other powers the cloak may grant you, neither I nor any other creature could say. Except perhaps one."
The admiral paused, considering something. "It would be advisable for you to seek out this one before you search for the Spelljammer itself, if you are minded to do that. You are poorly armed with knowledge, and you are in need of the best weaponry your mind can carry. I would have you meet with the falmadaraatha who calls itself One Six Nine, whose tcha lies somewhere in the sphere that our world-scouts call Herd-space."
"Meet what?" asked Teldin. "I don't know what that is or where it's supposed to be."
"Ah." Cirathorn raised a hand. "Forgive me. A falmadaraatha, which most other beings call a fid, is one of a race of sages whose lifespans are greater even than our own. They adore peace and knowledge, and love solitude only slightly less. For a gift or service, they will answer any questions you might ask them. If there is an answer, they, will know it." The admiral smiled. "If you were an elf, your meeting with the fal would go all the easier. Sometimes they are said to be quite slow in deducing the answer you need, and it has happened that months or years will pass while the fal meditates on a proper and accurate reply."
Gods, thought Teldin, I don't think the neogi would let me have that much time. "Why couldn't my friends and I just start hunting down the Spelljammer now, instead of having to wait around for the fal to make up his mind?" he asked. "We can take on supplies and leave right away."
Cirathorn frowned. "You have no idea of the dangerous course you are proposing, Teldin Moore. What do you know of the Spelljammer?"
The elf s dark expression convinced Teldin to tell the truth. He was obviously missing something here. "Not much," he admitted. "I've heard it is the largest ship in the universe, and that it drifts randomly from sphere to sphere. Most tales about it say that it's a ghost ship, crewed by the dead, but some say it's completely abandoned."