"You read my thoughts clearly, my admiral," said the battlewizard softly.

Cirathorn smiled more broadly. "I know you, my wizard. I know and understand what you think of this, but I cannot be turned away from the hunt now. When Teldin Moore falls, we must be there to snatch up his body and his cloak, and spirit both away from all other takers. We face destruction without salvation from a growing pool of foes, but the bright prize beckons to me. The Spelljammer is power, but it is the power to save as well as to destroy."

Cirathorn reached out a hand, resting the crystal ball in the other one, and took hold of the battlewizard's cold fingers. "Mirandel, you stood with me over the grassy graves of all my ancestors on Aerlofalyn. You heard me swear to the stars and the gods and the spirits of all our people that this would be the end, that I would not permit this to befall us were it in my power. You swore with me that you would aid me on this quest, to the ends of our lives. Will you aid me now?"

"Yes, my husband," said the battlewizard, with only the slightest pause. Her hand did not tremble. Cirathorn noticed this and was pleased.

"You are my strength," said the admiral. He released her cold hand and looked down at the crystal ball. "If Vallus Leaf-bower is to be believed, then I should be able to find Teldin Moore, across all spheres, and we shall bring to the Imperial Fleet the very strength that it now needs so badly."

The admiral stared into the crystal ball. Within moments the glass darkened until it was of the deepest black that either had ever seen. The ball cleared again with amazing rapidity- and Teldin and his surroundings appeared. For several minutes, the two elves watched a scene unfold.

"I know of that one," whispered Mirandel suddenly. She pointed a delicate finger at the ball and tapped the glass. Even as she did so, she knew she had genuinely cast her lot with her husband, and she would share his fate, for good or ill. So be it. She took a deep breath. "I have a plan, my admiral."

*****

The scro looked out into the starry darkness over Vorr's head. "Sir, we've lost the mammoth flagship, three scorpions, two vipers, and two wasps. The remaining ships have varying damage but are able to move on their own. The other ships are pulling survivors, including Admiral Halker, from the wrecks and will rendezvous in two hours with the pyramid, just that way, sir." The scro pointed over the general's shoulder to a distarn, flashing light. "The pyramid appears to have been only lightly damaged."

"And the enemy?" Part of the general's question was answered as he saw a distant burning object like a great butterfly, low to port and toward the stern.

The scro stood a little more erect. "We got one of the man-o-wars, sir. No prisoners were taken. We have a confirmed kill on a gnomish sidewheeler and six of their little one-crew spellfighters, with up to a half-dozen more assorted craft as possible kills. The elves may have hit more. The armada and two of the remaining man-o-wars appeared to be lightly damaged when they disappeared again. I believe cloaking devices are in use aboard them."

Vorr grunted. "I want a round-the-clock watch out, looking in all directions," he said briskly. "All ships' weapons are to be cocked and loaded. Send the same to all ships. The moment you see an elven ship, fire at it. A full rank with pay to the first one who hits an elven ship; an officer's commission or two officer ranks to the first one who sets foot on it. We're going to redecorate our ships with elf heads."

"Sir!" The scro's face was outwardly stonelike, but his voice betrayed his joy. He gave the general the fist-up salute. "Death to the elves!" he shouted in Elvish, his voice full of battle glee.

"Death to them all," the general agreed. He made his words a promise.

"Sir?" called the captain, as Vorr was heading through the main deck door to his cabin. Vorr turned, and the captain saluted and went on. "The pyramid ship is signaling again. Skarkesh says he has located Teldin Moore on Ironpiece."

Chapter Eight

"You can't imagine what went through my mind, sir," said Gomja, seated at the foot of Teldin's polka-dot-sheeted bed. "When I pulled you out of the water, I thought that you looked familiar, but I couldn't believe it until I rolled you over. Then…" The giffs voice trailed off, and he sighed with happiness. "You just can't imagine, sir."

In the afternoon sunlight pouring through the infirmary window, Teldin could see tears of joy still running down the giffs wide cheeks from his tiny black eyes. This was only the fifth time Gomja was repeating the tale of his reaction to rescuing his old friend, but Teldin was too weary to care, and the bed was too comfortable to make protesting worthwhile.

No one else was present in the little white room. The single window opened out to show a forest-covered slope and the lake beyond-Lake Crashsplash, the gnomes called it, with painful appropriateness. If Teldin turned his head, he could see part of the lakeshore but nothing of the sunken Probe. The lake was quite shallow, only twelve feet deep where the ham- mership had gone down, and he'd been told earlier that gnome salvage crews were already at work trying to refloat it and transport it to the dry dock at the wildspace naval base bordering the lake. Whether there was anything worth repairing would be determined there. The helms were just so much firewood now. As for the rest of the ship-he wasn't sure it was worth much more.

Teldin blinked, focusing on the huge, happy giff. Gomja hadn't changed much in the half year or so since Teldin had last seen him. He was still a seven-foot-tall, broad-shouldered blue-gray hippopotamus-a manlike hippopotamus, at that. Gomja had put on more muscle, which Teldin found difficult to believe. The giff s bright red uniform, covered as it was with gold trim, tassels, and an assortment of medals across his chest, did nothing to hide his oxlike strength. As Gomja wiped at his small black eyes, now red-rimmed and watery, great cords of muscle stood out on his biceps and forearms.

Nevertheless, Gomja's huge flared nostrils were running and his chest shook as he breathed. This was the first meeting the gnome healers had allowed between the two since a waterlogged and exhausted Teldin had been brought to the infirmary two days ago. The giff was still in shock.

"Gomja," Teldin said. His voice sounded scratchy and rough. "I doubt that you could imagine what went through my mind when you pulled me out either." No words were ever truer, he thought. He still wasn't sure he believed anything at all that had happened since he had awakened aboard the Probe.

Feeling for something in a side pocket in his uniform, Gomja gave up and pulled a large, ragged towel from a table near the foot of Teldin's bed. The giff noisily honked into the towel, wiped his nose, then carefully folded the towel and placed it back where he found it. "I've been embarrassing myself, sir," he said apologetically. "I'm not usually like this, you'll recall, but you just can't imagine what went-"

"Gomja, I know. Look, just tell me how in the name of the Dark Queen you got here."

"Oh, of course, sir." The giff sniffed and perked up a bit. His shoulders straightened as he spoke. "Well, as you remember, sir, my first platoon and I had some trouble with that neogi deathspider over Mount Nevermind."

"Trouble?" Teldin gave the giff an incredulous look. "The last I saw of you, the deathspider crashed in flames into the lake on the mountaintop. I thought you were… well, gone."

"Frankly, sir, I didn't think I was going to be around very long myself. My platoon and I had fought our way into the bridge, where we disposed of the neogi and their lordservants-the umber hulks-and broke their command. We couldn't do anything right away for the poor soul in the lifejammer helm"-Gomja grimaced, remembering-"as we couldn't move him without crashing the ship."