"Teldin." The voice was weak, barely more than a whisper. At first, Teldin wasn't sure that he'd heard it at all, wasn't sure that it wasn't some result of the pain-induced delirium that clouded his mind. "Teldin."

This time he looked up.

It was Julia. Somehow she'd forced herself to a sitting position. Her face gave him some indication of the effort-the overwhelming agony-the movement had cost her. "Teldin," she whispered again.

He sighed. No, he couldn't let himself drift into the silent darkness, not now. He had one final duty to perform. If he could save one life-Julia's-he'd at least have made one small effort at redemption, at making up for the many lives he'd already cost. He closed his eyes against the red flashes of pain and forced himself to his feet. He swayed there a moment and slipped Aelfred's dagger into his belt, then he trudged slowly and painfully to where Julia lay.

Calling to him had taken much of what little remained of her energy. She'd slumped back to the deck, but her eyes were still open. They looked up at him out of the young woman's chalk-white face. She smiled. "I'm glad you're still alive," she whispered.

He gazed down at her. Her petite body was twisted with pain, marred by multiple wounds. Her red hair was matted, redder here and there with spilled blood. She's lovely, he suddenly realized. Even like this, she's lovely. He felt a warmth in his chest, a warmth that expanded until he thought his heart would burst. He smiled. "I'm glad you're still alive," he echoed.

*****

Teldin would never understand where he'd found the strength. Maybe it had come from the cloak, or maybe it had come from somewhere within him, some wellspring of his being that he'd never before been able to tap. Somehow he'd managed to lift Julia from the deck and sling her over his left shoulder. The effort had almost killed him, he knew. Darkness had filled his vision, narrowing his field of view down to a tunnel that looked as narrow as a gold coin held at arm's length, but somehow he'd managed it.

Every step had been torture; each shift of weight had sent lightning bolts of pain through his rent side. The white corridor, the one leading to the gallery-to the killing field-was only a hundred feet or so long, but on the return journey it had seemed like ten times that distance. Several times he'd been sure that he couldn't continue, that he'd collapse and never be able to move again, but each time he'd found himself able to draw on some mysterious reserve of strength. He'd carried his burden up the spiral staircase that seemed as tall as a mountain peak. Now he finally emerged onto the huge circular deck. The great hammership loomed overhead, still secured by its docking tethers. The rope ladders still hung in place.

Teldin stopped. He set Julia down, as gently as he could, on the ivory deck. Her eyes were dosed, but he could still see her breathing-shallow, but steady. Tenderly he brushed the blood-matted hair back from her face.

He'd come as far as he could. Now he had to depend on others. Aelfred was dead-Rianna had said as much, and on this he had no reason to doubt her. The bravos she'd hired were in command of the Probe. Their mistress was dead, though. Would they still have any reason to kill Teldin Moore? He wondered how much they knew of Rianna's real motivation. Had she told them about the cloak, so they might want it for themselves? He doubted it, but he might be wrong. He'd been wrong before, more times than he cared to count. If he was wrong now, what was left? Nothing but the final option he'd turned away from on the arcane's great gallery: to sell his life as dearly as he could. He took a deep breath, readying to call out to the ship above….

"Teldin."

It was a voice from a nightmare-harsh, at once familiar and alien, with a horrible undertone of bubbling agony. He turned.

It was Rianna. Slowly, agonizingly, she dragged herself out of the Nebulon's circular hatch. As she moved, she left a trail of red on the white deck. Her eyes spoke of overwhelming, crushing pain-but also of hatred. In her right hand she held a small amber rod; in her mangled left, a scrap of fur. Teldin knew those items for what they were: components of the lightning spell that had felled the umber hulk.

"Teldin," she hissed again. She took a deep breath-her eyes told him the pain it cost her-then she started to mutter an incantation.

Without thinking, he pulled Aelfred's dagger from his belt, drew his hand back, and threw. The motion sent agony shooting through his side. He watched the blade flash in the starlight as it turned end over end, once, twice-as it missed its target and skittered across the deck.

Rianna drew back bloody lips from red teeth in a feral smile. Her incantation neared its conclusion.

Something hissed down from the sky. Magically, a spear sprouted from between Rianna's shoulder blades like some strange, bare tree. Rianna Wyvernsbane convulsed once, then lay still.

Teldin raised his eyes. A figure was looking down at him over the rail of the Probe: a familiar figure, its face split in a lopsided grin.

"You're dead," Teldin cried.

"She's dead," Aelfred Silverhorn corrected him. The burly warrior touched a blood-soaked bandage that encircled his brow. "I'm just a little the worse for wear. Sylvie will need some time to recover, but she wasn't hurt too badly."

Teldin shook his head. The delirium of pain hummed in his ears. "How?" he managed to ask.

"Only six sellswords?" Aelfred laughed. "I should be insulted." He turned away from the rail and shouted, "Bial, Valin, go down and get them."

As the figures appeared, swarming down the rope ladders, Teldin did the only thing he could. He fainted.

The distended star that was the Nebulon was falling away astern when Teldin returned to consciousness. He was still exhausted, drained, but the agony that had racked his body had been replaced by blissful numbness. He felt something tight around his ribs, a dressing over his torn side, it had to be. For a moment he luxuriated in the simple pleasure of being alive, of feeling his breathing, of being whole-well, almost. Then memory flooded back. He looked around him.

He was in Aelfred's cabin. The first mate was sitting on a stool watching him. The relief in the big man's eyes was obvious.

"Julia?" Teldin asked. His voice was a croak.

"She'll make it," Aelfred answered. "While they were patching her up, she told me what you did, Teldin. She sends her thanks." He smiled. "While you're at it, accept mine as well. That was one hell of an effort."

Teldin nodded. Yes, he thought, it had been. I didn't know I had it in me.

"What happened to Estriss?" Aelfred asked.

"He fell," Teldin replied quietly. Briefly he described the neogi's advance, the illithid's headlong rush, the flare of power from the cloak. "Maybe Estriss was trying to save me," Teldin finished. "Maybe he was after the cloak for himself. I don't know." He was silent for a moment, then a disturbing thought struck him. "The gravity plane," he croaked. "The gravity plane would have caught them."

"For a while," Aelfred amended. "Things caught in a gravity plane drift slowly outward, away from a ship, then they fall free. There's no way we could have gotten to them in time, Teldin. Estriss is gone."

Teldin nodded again. He imagined the long, terrifying plunge to the planet below and shuddered. "Where are we going?" he asked finally. "Back to Toril?"

The big man grinned broadly. "Not a chance." He paused, then continued, "When I signed on with Estriss as first mate, he gave me a sealed document to be opened only when I was convinced he was dead or not coming back. I opened it a while ago."