"Wait, wait," Teldin mumbled, dazed. He had expected the grim, first revelation, but not the second. "There are Others? But how could there be? I don't-"
I have little time left, Teldin Moore, said One Six Nine almost sadly. I sense the arrival of your enemies is at hand. I muse tell you third that the goal you seek is itself dangerous to you. I have met others before you who sought the Spelljammer, and they have vanished, their ultimate fates unknown to all but themselves. I have heard reliable stories of whole crews who went aboard that ship but were swallowed up by their goal. You must be wary of all dangers when you set foot on its decks, and you must watch for destruction such as no being has ever faced before, for no one has yet successfully prepared for it or escaped it.
I must tell you fourth that I alone know a due to the mystery of the Spelljammer, one that was revealed to me when last the Spelljammer passed through this sphere. I reached out to the ship with my mind, across the millions of miles of open space beneath our sun, in an effort to communicate with those powers aboard it. I discovered in doing so that which I had not expected. I know that the Spelljammer is alive.
"Alive?" Teldin said faintly. "The ship's alive? How?"
I do not know how. I caught only the briefest look into what consciousness it has, and I looked into alien depths I could barely fathom. I captured but one image out of that foreign abyss of thought and dream, one bit of real knowledge. I offer you the knowledge that to find the truth about the Spelljammer, you must seek its birthplace: a broken sphere. I know no more, Teldin Moore.
One Six Nine shifted, raising its forward bulk off the ground so that it towered over the assembly beside the Perilous Halibut. Its tentacles twisted in great agitation.
I sense that your enemies have arrived, the fal said to all. I can do nothing to protect you but to give you warning. You must fight or flee. I am glad to have seen you, Dyffed, my young friend. I send you my best wishes and the hope that we will again meet in peace.
Without warning, the vast black image of the fal vanished.
Teldin stared stupidly at where the fal's head had been, then roused himself and turned to look at Aelfred, Sylvie, and Gomja. With horror, he realized that Gomja was still entangled in rope, and he hastily dropped to his knees to untie his friend as fast as possible.
"You heard him!" Aelfred roared at the top of his lungs. "Arm yourselves! Get to the ship!" The gnomes nearly fell over themselves to comply with his command, squabbling over who would be first to ascend the rope ladder to the ship Gomja struggled to untie a complex knot on his feet, then hesitated, his hands frozen in the act of fumbling with the ropes. Teldin glanced up at the giffs broad face. Gomja was looking over Teldin's head at something in the sky behind him.
"By the arm of the Great Captain," the giff muttered, then bent to finish untying his legs. Teldin risked a fast look behind him, knowing that whatever he saw would be something he wouldn't like.
He was surprised to find that the immense orange butterfly hovering in the sky behind him was actually quite beautiful. The wingspan of the ship had to be three times the length of the Perilous Halibut's hull, maybe five hundred feet or more across. The delicate panes of its purple-veined wings were lit like stained glass by the vast sun overhead. It could not have been more than a few hundred yards above them, silent and magnificent. Teldin could not imagine how it had gotten there so suddenly.
A bit of movement attracted his eye. On the tips of the butterfly's wings were tiny figures wearing the silver armor of the Imperial Fleet.
It was only a moment later that the giant orange butterfly opened fire. Teldin saw something coming right for him, perhaps a ballista bolt. It was too late to dodge it. A moment later, the bolt zipped over his head-and someone behind Teldin gasped and fell.
Chapter Eighteen
"No!" Aelfred's voice rang out as Teldin turned. Teldin had a momentary glimpse of Aelfred's curly blond hair, the big warrior's face blank with shock as he looked at the ground near Teldin's feet. Then Aelfred rushed forward and bent down over someone lying on the ground only two steps behind Teldin. Teldin looked down and saw silver hair spilled over the long, flattened grass.
The figure on the ground was Sylvie.
Sylvie's sky-blue blouse was glistening purple in an ever-expanding patch around the yard-long shaft of dark wood that projected from her chest. As Teldin looked on, her thin white fingers slipped down the bolt's shaft and fell to her sides. Her head eased back into Aelfred's big hands, her eyes now open but unseeing. Aelfred whispered her name, cradling her head. There was no response.
Someone spoke Teldin's name. He looked away and saw the gnomes still boarding the Perilous Halibut, the cold orange butterfly hovering in the air beyond. Gomja was on his feet now at Teldin's side, his broad hippopotamus face almost white as he looked down at Sylvie and Aelfred. The giff swallowed, then he looked at Teldin and motioned to the ship. "You have to go, sir," he said, his voice hollow. "The elves are still firing at us. Get to the ship."
Gomja gave Teldin a slight push, then turned to Aelfred and Sylvie, blocking Teldin's view, and knelt down. Teldin broke his gaze away and numbly started back for the ship. His blue cloak flapped against his legs as he walked. He felt nothing. How curious, he thought; she's dead, and I feel nothing at all. He looked up at the ship and saw Gaye's golden face, framed by her black hair and rainbow dress. She was looking over Teldin's head at the scene behind him. Then she buried her face in her hands and wailed.
"Cease fire," said Cirathorn. "Signal the Free Wind's Fury and Emerald Hornet to drop their cloaks. If the gnome ship lifts off, resume firing until it is brought down, then cease firing again. Go and do."
"Yes, Admiral," Mirandel whispered. The battlewizard left quietly to relay Cirathorn's orders, leaving him alone on the forward bridge at the right oval window. He gazed down through the tinted glass at the scene on the ground, hundreds of feet below. The initial volley of ballista bolts appeared to have struck down at least one of the gnomish ship's crewmen, judging from the little cluster of beings near the black vessel. Death was regrettable, if unavoidable in getting the point across. In the larger scheme, it mattered not. Such events were insignificant from this height. He was the one who was looking down, not they. He was the one who spun the plans, not someone who was caught within them. Only the grand scheme mattered in the universe. No one cared for the fate of one lone creature.
Cirathorn frowned slightly. The spider imagery that had come to mind was unappealing, one fit more for the drow, the true elves' twisted cousins who lived in underground realms, forsaking the light. Better, he reflected, to use the image of the caterpillar and its cocoon, the transformation to a higher state of consciousness. He was the caterpillar, the one who would restructure his world-indeed, all the known spheres- with his boldness and daring. His seizing of the cloak of Teldin Moore would deliver the ultimate vehicle of change into his hands, the Spelljammer, and with that he would transform the faces of all worlds at once. It would be a new age, a time of glory, in which all elvenkind would be forever free to sail the spheres, the masters evermore of wildspace and the flow, and of all the-