"It is settled, then." Cirathorn sighed and rose to his feet, stretching his legs and ignoring the gnome's continued rambling and questions. "Let us rest for an hour, then return here when all have been refreshed. You have given us much to consider, Teldin Moore, as well as much wonder and entertainment, which I am sure was not your purpose. Please remain with us in our embassy until we reconvene. We will present you with our papers on the Spelljammer as soon as possible, then will see you on your way."

"That will be fine," said Teldin, but it wasn't as fine as all that. He would have to see if someone else could translate the papers for him, especially if they were in Elvish or used unnaturally long words, which he feared would be the case. Maybe Aelfred could translate them. Anything would be better than having the gnome try to explain them.

Something else bothered Teldin. It was great that Cirathorn was being so helpful, but why? Teldin had been betrayed and attacked so many times that he found it impossible to believe that anyone would help him out of pure goodness. What was the admiral's take in all of this? Or had Teldin merely become too cynical? He had to clear this up before his ship left. Elves weren't inclined to be blunt like humans, but he had to know the truth.

Cirathorn motioned with his hands toward the door, and the other elves stood and left the room in twos and threes. All of them stared at Teldin and his cloak from a comfortable distance. No one tried to touch it-or him.

The admiral remained behind with his two aides as everyone else left. Teldin went out with the gnome, who was still babbling away, accompanied by an elf who would show them what supplies could be offered.

As the footsteps faded, one of the aides leaned close to the admiral. "Your forgiveness, Your Grace," he said softly, "but you were less than forthright with our guest. That you said nothing of your own research on the Spelljammer I can understand, but confusing the song-told madness of the First Pilot with 'enthusiasm' could only have been delib-"

One of the admiral's hands came up and pressed itself lightly against the elfs chest. The aide stopped speaking at once. Cirathorn's eyes were fixed on the doorway.

"We live in interesting times, Alsilor," whispered the brown-haired elf. "Have my battlewizard, watchmaster, and loremaster report to my chambers at once. The captains of the Leaping Hart, Free Wind's Fury, Unicorn's Wing, and Emerald Hornet are to put their ships at ready within the hour, under the code of the leopard-no sound, no sign. Signal the Empress Dorianne that I will be aboard soon, but cannot say when. It, too, is to be readied for flight under the leopard's code. Go and do."

Paler than he had been a moment before, the elf hurried away, accompanied by the other aide. The admiral stood in silence, alone, and listened to them leave. He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping as he pulled off his gloves. On the middle finger of his right hand was the signet ring of his family: a golden eagle in flight against a burning sun. An arrow pierced the eagle's heart-his father's addition after the retaking of Aerlofalyn and the laying to rest of the old, wronged bones. Cirathorn had long debated with himself over what changes, if any, he would make to the crest.

A sword, he decided, clutched in the eagle's talons. A dying eagle with the blood of its slayers upon it. It was worthy of thought. There would be time enough and plenty to decide.

"Go and do," he said, though no one was present. He pulled the glove back on and set off for his chambers to prepare for his meeting.

*****

"The Spelljammer!" exclaimed the gnome for the dozenth time. "You know, certainly, that elves are notorious for not saying what's really on their minds, and their love of metaphor will one day be their downfall, mark my words, and they will give way to those who say what they mean, like the gnomes-ah, and humans, of course-who are many times more clear in their speech, so when that elf said you were going to find the one-and-only Spelljammer, I was taken aback for a moment, because I've read everything there is about the Spelljammer, with the possible exception of the sources kept at the libraries of Doth B and Zphidnin, and maybe the Academy at Lirak's Cube, but, as I was saying, you could have knocked me over with a size-four gear wrench when I understood that he actually meant the one-and-only Spelljammer. Where are we going?"

"What?" said Teldin, who had not been paying attention. The two were past the Greater Market now, on the way downhill toward the warehouses and docks. He had trouble believing his good fortune. The admiral had given him access to a warehouse full of supplies. Undoubtedly, it would be too much to carry aboard the hammership, but still-

"I said, where are we going? You'll have to forgive me, but I haven't gone outside very much in the last few years, and I'm not very familiar with the city here, since I was working in the libraries in the embassy-"

"We're going to the ship that brought me here," Teldin said, cutting him off. "Then we're going to take you to Iron-piece, get the maps to Herdspace, and go see the fal for more information." Teldin chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Afterward, I suppose we'll find the Spelljammer, and… do whatever we need to do there." Just what did he mean to do at the Spelljammer? Teldin realized he didn't have a clue.

"Ah, that's just excellent," said Dyffed with obvious relief. "I have a suspicion that the careful study of the Spelljammer could produce a revolution in every kind of science, most especially in the field of cold dweomerfusion, which as you know is the most up-and-coming field of energy research, possibly to replace even hydrodynamics, given a century or two and some successful field trials…."

The rest of the gnome's monologue was lost in the ruckus of a shouting match between two red-faced dwarves, both stinking with ale, outside an equally noisy tavern. Teldin hurried by before blows could be exchanged. The docks appeared down the street ahead. Barely a minute later, he waved his arms at Aelfred, who leaned against the ship's railing on the Probe's forward castle, directing the unloading operations on the main deck.

"About damn time!" roared Aelfred in a good humor, noticing Teldin at last. "Did you get lost, or did the elves have you seeing one flunky after the other? And who's the dwarf? You want me to hire this one on, too?"

"I'll tell you in just a moment!" Teldin shouted back. "This is Dyffedionizer… ah, Dyffed. I'll explain everything later. Why did you ask about hiring him?"

'"Cause I hired the other one. I was going to ask you why you sent her over, but I guessed that you knew what you were doing, and she's working out fine."

Teldin was trying to imagine what Aelfred was talking about when a dreadful possibility came to mind.

"Aelfred," Teldin called, his voice rising with tension, "who did you hire?"

"Hey, Teldin!" screamed a young girl's voice. With a jolt of sudden horror, Teldin looked toward the ship's stern, where someone small with long black hair, a colorful dress, and a magenta headband waved at him with both slim arms. "Teldin, how'd it go!"

"Paladine save me," Teldin whispered. From what, Teldin didn't want to imagine.

Chapter Four

As he placed his hand on the waiting room door, General Vorr took a moment to touch his sword hilt and reassure himself of its weight. Vorr had long ago discarded any worship of the uncaring gods, except perhaps for the hero-ancestor Dukagsh. Vorr placed his faith instead in his strength, skills, and willpower. Still, if he never admitted to having fears, he sometimes felt doubt, and getting the feel of a weapon before a battle was as close as he would ever come to praying. He did not fear the undead, but he did not like them either. Victory was the healthiest antidote for doubt.