Teldin nodded. One large mushroom was mottled with splotches of purple. Teldin thought it quivered as the humans filed past. "I see what you mean," he said.
CassaRoc kept his voice low. "The damned centaurs are right enough, but they've grown soft. They just don't care about anything. This tower could be impenetrable, if only they kept it up. The collective would hire on to fix things up for them, but they just don't care. All the centaurs really care about are their brews." He elbowed Teldin in the side. "By the Gods, I can understand that." He smacked his lips. "The leader here, Mostias-big centaur. Big. You'll like him-he makes this one ale that-"
A loud, hearty shout greeted them as they entered a large dining area. The humans went to mingle with a troop of centaurs, grabbing goblets of ale at a long, wooden bar stretched along one wall. 'The small warrior cloaked in plaid ordered a mug of fruit juice. The massive centaur behind the bar scowled at him, then poured him the mug and slammed it on the bar. The small man lifted it in salute and grinned lopsid-edly at Teldin. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Cloakmaster, sir," he said happily.
Na'Shee approached Teldin, cutting off his view of the small fighter. Her eyes seemed strong and determined, but they glinted with gentle humor. "You did well out there."
"Thanks," Teldin said, "you're a great shot. I'm sorry about your friends. I owe you all."
She shrugged it off and looked away sadly. She changed the subject abruptly. "I've seen magic artifacts before, masks that speak, a tempest in a bottle; but that cloak-"
Teldin grinned. "I'm just glad CassaRoc is all right."
"She held out her hand, and Teldin shook it. "I'm Na'Shee. Sometimes I work behind CassaRoc's bar. You may find it a little tougher around here than you think. If you need anything, you let me know."
"Sure," Teldin thanked her, and he slowly realized that he had somehow made a new friend. Then he turned as a huge centaur strode from behind the bar and trotted up to CassaRoc, towering at least three feet over the warrior's head. The centaur held a huge, crystal tankard in one great hand; the mug was shaped like a giant boot and filled to the brim with golden ale. He handed it to the human and laughed. "Well fought, little one," the centaur said. "Sorry we couldn't meet you fast enough to help with the battle." CassaRoc forced a smile while the centaur went on. "Damned neogi are an infernal lot. Can't trust a one of them."
"Never have," CassaRoc said. He took a long pull of his brew, then belched. "Never will. The only good neogi- "
"— is a dead neogi!" cried the other humans. They raised their drinks to each other.
"I think they've heard your tirade a little too often, my friend," said the centaur.
"I see that," CassaRoc agreed, laughing. "But I'm not wrong, am I?"
The centaur shook his head. "My friend here needs one of your brews," CassaRoc told the huge centaur. He clapped Teldin's shoulder. "Teldin Moore, meet the finest centaur brewmaster in all the known spheres: Mostias."
"Ahhh," said the centaur, "the fabled Cloakmaster." He bowed his head. "Come on. I'll draw you an ale."
Teldin shook his head. "Just some water, if you will," he said. "After the crash and that fight, all I'd like is a mug of water and a place to sleep."
Mostias nodded and clapped a heavy hand on his back. "Coming right up." Teldin stared as the fat centaur shambled to the row of taps lined up behind the bar. He could not believe the centaur's size: his thighs were as big as tree trunks, and his bulbous stomach seemed as large as a cow's. His thick mane shook as he walked.
CassaRoc whispered to Teldin, "Lazy creatures. 'Sorry we couldn't meet you fast enough,'" he mimicked. "Right."
They bellied up to the bar as Mostias finished pouring Teldin a tankard of cool water. "On the other hand," CassaRoc said, "these centaurs are second only to myself at the refined art of brewing."
Teldin finished his water in several gulps. CassaRoc grasped his glass boot in both hands and opened his mouth wide. Twin streams of ale flowed messily down his chin. He slammed the boot down on the bar and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. "Ahh, Mostias, that's good!" he cried.
CassaRoc turned around and spoke to the company. "Now don't go quaffing all the ale you can. Leth, Spokaad, you, too, Hertek. Finish your ales and take positions along the tower. We have a guest-" he glanced at Teldin "-who a lot of our enemies would love to sink their diseased teeth into. Now, drink up! And take your posts!"
His warriors readily agreed and quickly finished their drinks. They nodded at Teldin as they filed out, and CassaRoc gestured Teldin over to an old, wooden table near the center of the room.
Chaladar, the grand knight, casually bowed his head to Teldin. He straightened the ends of his thick, reddish moustache with his fingers, and he said to CassaRoc, "I'll take the door. I've already placed two men at the entrance to the tower. We should leave within the hour. The neogi may have time to regroup, or even ally themselves with the Long Fangs." Chaladar gritted his teeth. "This could be more trouble than we expected."
CassaRoc nodded. "Very well," he said. "Be on your guard, paladin."
Chaladar opened the door and stepped just outside the entrance. His broadsword gleamed with a pure silver light, and he ran a hand appreciatively down a flat side. "Scaleslicer and I are always careful."
He turned his back to the room and stood watch with his shining sword unsheathed. CassaRoc leaned close to Teldin. "A good man," CassaRoc whispered. "A holy fanatic, of course, but a good man nonetheless."
Mostias poured Teldin another tankard of water, and CassaRoc led him to a table where they could sit and talk. "Sorry about your men, and your ship," CassaRoc said. In his mind Teldin saw the mountain of flames engulfing the Julia, the explosion that had spewed shards of debris across the great ship's wing, and the empty silence that followed, signifying the sudden death that had fallen upon his crew. "1 wish things had been different. I promised them a quest, journeys to spheres no one has ever before seen. They didn't sign on with me simply to die a few months later."
CassaRoc nodded knowingly and watched him. "So you're really the Cloakmaster?"
Teldin chuckled ruefully. "Either I am the Cloakmaster, or the cloak is the master of me. No matter the case, this cloak is what brought me here."
"Well, we're grateful you're here. I'm grateful you're one of us. And don't worry. Your people will be taken care of."
"Thanks. Quite a welcome," Teldin said. "We would have been killed if it wasn't for you and your men. I had no idea that word had reached you of our approach. To be honest, I never thought anybody here would even know who I was. Or would care."
CassaRoc took a slow sip of his ale. "You don't know how long we've been expecting you. There are wizards all over the Spelljammer who have been foretelling the coming of the Cloakmaster for years. But, lately, a lot of rumors have been spreading, especially an ancient beholder myth about the coming of the Cloakmaster. It has the whole Spelljammer on edge. That's why you were attacked. The neogi didn't know- gods, nobody knew- who the Cloakmaster was going to be, and they didn't care. They only know the beholder myth: that the coming of the Cloakmaster will herald the start of the Dark Times.
"They're not taking any chances. The older races know what happens during the Dark Times, and they don't want it to happen again. They're killing all the newcomers to the Spelljammer-to make sure they get the Cloakmaster, and the Dark Times will never come.