The Broken Sphere (28 page)

After a moment, he felt Dargeth’s presence as the larger man joined him. “Did … did the captain come out for some fresh air?” he asked diffidently.

Teldin nodded. “Sometimes the captain would like to forget for a couple of minutes that he is the captain,” he said wryly. He turned to regard the big half-orc. “Are you from Crescent, Dargeth?” he asked.

The man shook his head hurriedly. “No, not from Crescent,” he stammered. “No, Captain, I was born in Baldur’s Gate, on the Sword Coast of Toril.”

“I’ve been to Toril,” Teldin answered idly. “Twice. Once to Nimbral in the south, once to Evermeet.”

“Nimbral?” Dargeth turned to stare at him. “The land of magic? Truly?”

Teldin chuckled. “Truly, it wasn’t that wondrous.” He sighed, it seemed like a fine world, Toril,” he went on quietly, “what little I saw of it. Someday, maybe, I’d like to return.”

“It is a fine world, Captain,” Dargeth confirmed, “and the Sword Coast maybe finer than most parts.”

“I’d like the opportunity to see it. Maybe settle down for a while.”

“If the captain pleases,” the half-orc said shyly, “maybe I could show you the sights. I’m not an expert, of course, not really, but I did live there for twenty years.”

Teldin smiled. Dargeth’s enthusiasm, his desire to be of help, was touching.

But then he felt his smile fade. Will I ever have the chance to take him up on his offer? he wondered sadly. I think I’d like that, to be just a tourist with a native guide. But what were the odds that either of them Would ever make it back to Toril?

He sighed, pushed himself away from the rail. “If we both find ourselves on Toril, I’ll take you up on that,” he told the half-orc. “And, Dargeth, … thanks.” He turned away. “I think it’s time I hit my bunk.”

He started down the ladder, but turned back when Dargeth called after him. “Captain, would it be possible for the second mate to help me with the catapult tomorrow?” he asked. “She was such a help to Allyn, the old gunner’s mate, before we left Heartspace.”

“I’ll talk to her,” the Cloakmaster promised. As he descended the ladder, he saw Dargeth return happily to his work. He smiled sadly, remembering the good, honest satisfaction of working with his hands, of a job well done. Will I ever have the chance to relive that? he wondered.

As he reached the main deck, a bloated, roughly spherical shape emerged from the companionway that led below. Beth-Abz’s great central eye reflected the shifting light of the phlogiston, making the creature’s form look even more surreal. With the faintest of clicking sounds, a handful of eyestalks pivoted around to inspect the Cloakmaster.

“Greetings, Teldin Moore,” the creature said in its deep, swamp-bottom voice. “Do you seek solace in the void, as I do?”

The Cloakmaster looked at the eye tyrant curiously. He knew from the comments of other crew members that the beholder frequently could be found on deck during the night watch, its eyestalks pointing in half a dozen directions as though it wished to see absolutely everything that surrounded it. Teldin had often wondered why, but had never had the opportunity to ask. Now he moved over and leaned against the rail again – This is my night for unexpected conversations, he thought wryly – and said, “I don’t really know, Beth-Abz. Sometimes I come out here for fresh air. But solace?” He shrugged.

The beholder floated over to join Teldin at the rail. Side by side they stared out into the chaos of the Flow. “It is solace I seek,” Beth-Abz said quietly. “Solace for the loss of my clan and of my nation. Solace for my solitude.” It paused for a few moments. “Sometimes I seek peace and the certainty that the decisions I have made were the right ones.”

Teldin found himself nodding. “I guess I am looking for the same thing,” he said slowly. “Different decisions, but I suppose the doubts are the same.” He looked over at his comrade. “Do you ever find what you’re looking for?”

Beth-Abz’s eyestalks pivoted in the pattern that Teldin interpreted as equivalent to a shrug. After a few long moments, the creature spoke again, changing the subject drastically. “If you ever find the
Spelljammer,”
the beholder said, “you should be aware of an important fact. According to the tales of my clan, there are false nations, not of the true ideal, aboard the great vessel. You should beware their perversion.”

The Cloakmaster didn’t answer immediately. From Djan and Julia he’d learned a little about the fierce, genocidal hatred that existed between different beholder nations, each of which considered itself “of the true ideal,” while all others were “perversions.” Keeping that in mind, he stripped Beth-Abz’s comments of their more dire-sounding overtones. An interesting fact still remained – if it was fact, and not a baseless rumor, he reminded himself. Apparently there were beholders aboard the
Spelljammer.
Beth-Abz was right, that was something Teldin was glad to know. He drew breath to thank the eye tyrant for the knowledge.

But Beth-Abz was speaking again. “What will you do when you captain the
Spelljammer,
Teldin Moore?” it asked quietly. “Is that still your intention?”

Good question, Teldin thought. He shrugged, trying to find a way to put into words his doubts, his confusions.

Again, the beholder didn’t wait for him to speak, but continued, “Will you then become the over-
Krezt?”

“The what?”

“The over-
Krezt,”
Beth-Abz said calmly. “Is that your desire?”

“Tell me what a
Krezt
is, and maybe I can answer you,” the Cloakmaster suggested.

“The
Krezl
is a figure from ancient religious myth among those of my nation,” the beholder explained. “Few clans of the nation Gurrazh-Ahr still hold to the ancient words that tell of the
Krezt,
but clan Beth is one of those. The ultimate aboard my hive mothers ship ensured that all of the clan learned of the prophecies.”

Teldin leaned forward, fascinated despite himself. Even though Beth-Abz had been very open in the past about the day-to-day realities of life in a beholder hive, it had said nothing whatsoever about more spiritual issues. “What prophecies?” he asked.

“It is said that the
Krezl
will come forth and put an end to the wars of the form, melding the disparate nations into one.” The creature “shrugged” with its eyestalks. “Since this would require the nations of the true ideal to allow those of perverted form to survive – which is obviously anathema to many – most of my nation ignore the prophesies, or dismiss them as distortions. Those who disbelieve the prophesies jest that the
Krezt
must have the mightiest ship in space,” Beth-Abz continued dryly, “since only by defeating all of the nations, true and false, could the
Krezt
bring peace to the universe.

“So is that what you intend to do as captain of the
Spelljammer,
Teldin Moore?” the eye tyrant asked. “To use it to defeat all of the warring races of the universe, and thus bring them to peace? To be the over-
Krezt
who pacifies not one race but all? Is that your intention?”

Teldin turned away, suddenly unable to meet the globular creature’s multiple gaze. It wonders about the grand scheme that I’m following, he thought, the ultimate agenda that guides my actions. It wonders what universe-rocking plans I’ve got in my mind.

How can I tell it that I don’t have
any
plans past finding the
Spelljammer?

“Would you be the over-
Krezt?”
Beth-Abz pressed.

“I haven’t decided yet,” the Cloakmaster said uncomfortably. “I’m still thinking about it.”

Chapter Ten

Even the longest voyage eventually comes to an end, Teldin reminded himself, and this one was no exception. The crystal sphere boundary of Vistaspace was fifteen days behind them, and Garrash was no more than five days ahead. From this distance, the mighty world appeared as nothing more than a point of ruddy light, occasionally tinged with a brighter yellow that had to come from its fire ring. Even the Cloakmaster’s spyglass wasn’t sufficiently powerful to resolve the fire world into a visible disk.

They’d been fortunate, the Cloakmaster knew. By sheer luck, the point at which they’d penetrated the Vistaspace crystal sphere was relatively near – on a cosmic scale – to Garrash. If the planet’s orbital plane had been oriented differently, or if the world were at a different point along its orbit, their voyage would have been fifteen days or more longer.

Throughout the voyage, Teldin had used the amulet regularly to keep tabs on the
Spelljammer
 – not every day, but at least every few days. The results had been inconclusive. Since that first time, the great ship’s perception hadn’t included anything as distinctive as Garrash and its fire ring. Each time he’d used the amulet, Teldin had seen nondescript views of star-studded blackness – obviously wildspace, but within which crystal sphere? Conceivably, the patterns of the stars might have given some idea – at least confirmed that the vessel was still within Garrash’s crystal sphere – but the
Boundless
didn’t have a detailed starchart of Vistaspace on board.

Still, Djan had pointed out, the fact that Teldin had never once seen the Flow seemed to hint strongly that the
Spelljammer
hadn’t yet left the sphere. The Cloakmaster wasn’t as firmly convinced as his half-elven friend. After all, he knew from his reading at the Great Archive that the manta-shaped ship seemed able to complete in a day or two voyages through the phlogiston that would take any other vessel weeks. Yet, he had to admit, the odds of finding his quarry still in Vistaspace rose with each observation.

Of course, as Djan had stressed to him several times before, crystal spheres are almost inconceivably huge. Large though the
Spelljammer
may be on the scale of ships, and even of worlds, considered on this scale it was a very small needle in a very large haystack. Thus, actually locating the
Spelljammer
could turn out to be a task in and of itself.

Julia and Djan had both agreed with him that the best place to start was in the vicinity of Garrash itself, however. At least that was a recognizable “landmark” in the vastness of the void.

From his cabin, Teldin heard Julia “make” eight bells – sounding the ship’s brass bell in the stern – indicating the time. The beginning of the forenoon watch, he thought. That put the time at about eight in the morning, according to the groundling clock. He hadn’t been awake long, and he had yet to make an appearance on deck. He’d long since lost his farmer’s habit of rising early, and he’d been getting up progressively later recently as he’d gone to sleep well past four bells in the bottom of the night watch – past two in the morning. That’ll change, he told himself firmly. I’ll make it change. Yet still there was some part of his mind that cast doubt on his resolve.

He reached above his head, pressing both his forearms flat against the overhead, feeling the muscles of his back and legs stretch. His stomach felt like a fist clenched around emptiness, and the stretch only intensified the sensation. Breakfast, he thought.

The four sailors sitting in the saloon just aft of his cabin greeted him politely. Nothing was cooking in the galley – he was between meals, after all, too late for what the crew still called dawnfry and too early for highsunfeast – but the cook had left out a plate of cold meats, pickled vegetables, and a sliced loaf. Teldin built himself a hand meal, which he munched as he headed out onto the main deck.

Djan called a cheery, “Well met,” down to him from the afterdeck as Teldin emerged from the forecastle. He waved back and started to head aft to join him.

It was then that the commotion broke out belowdecks, just a muffled yell at first, but quickly followed by the pounding of running feet. Teldin stopped in his tracks, looked questioningly up at Djan.

A figure – it was Dargeth – dashed up the ladder from the cargo deck and the crew’s quarters. His face was pale. “It’s Blossom,” he gasped.

Blossom? She’s on the helm … But, no, this was the forenoon watch, wasn’t it? That meant it was the dwarf, Dranigor, currently helming the ship. “What about Blossom?” he demanded.

“She’s hurt bad,” the half-orc told him. “Maybe dead, I don’t know.”

“Where?”

Dargeth pointed down the ladder he’d just climbed. “The cargo deck.”

Teldin went down the ladder so fast that he might as well have jumped. He heard footsteps behind him – Djan probably, he thought. At the bottom, he turned left, then left again, sprinting aft past the foot of the mainmast.

There was a small crowd already there, five or six crewmen crouching or kneeling in a group at the aft end of the dimly lit cargo hold near the mizzenmast. As they saw him, they all backed away, giving him his first view of Blossom.

The rotund woman lay flat on her back, arms outstretched. Her eyes were closed, her round, cherubic face at peace, as though she were asleep, Teldin thought. Even from a distance he could see great bruising on the right side of her neck, under her ear – a great, spreading hemorrhage under the skin, reddish pink, not yet turned to purple. “Where’s a healer?” he demanded.

Then he saw the angle at which her head lay, and he knew there was nothing a healer could do. He dropped to one knee beside the corpulent shape and touched two fingers to the unbruised side of her throat just to be sure. For an instant, he thought he could feel some feeble trill of life left in the woman, but then it was gone. Was that just my imagination, my own anxiety? he asked himself. Or did I feel the woman die? Regardless, he knew that Blossom was dead.

He looked away and saw Djan kneeling beside him. “I’ll deal with this,” the half-elf told him quietly. “You talk to the crew.”

Teldin nodded, climbed slowly to his feet. The crowd of crewmen – larger now – had backed away, leaving a respectful space around the captain, Djan, and the dead priest. The Cloakmaster could see Julia at the back of the group, by the mainmast. “Who found her?” he asked.

“I did, Cap’n.” One of the sail trimmers – a stout halfling woman named Harriana – stepped forward. She looked uncomfortable, slightly pale. At first Teldin wondered why, but then she added, “I sing out as soon as I found her, Cap’n, I promise you. I wasn’t no sluggard about it ….”