Cirathorn frowned slightly. The spider imagery that had come to mind was unappealing, one fit more for the drow, the true elves' twisted cousins who lived in underground realms, forsaking the light. Better, he reflected, to use the image of the caterpillar and its cocoon, the transformation to a higher state of consciousness. He was the caterpillar, the one who would restructure his world-indeed, all the known spheres- with his boldness and daring. His seizing of the cloak of Teldin Moore would deliver the ultimate vehicle of change into his hands, the Spelljammer, and with that he would transform the faces of all worlds at once. It would be a new age, a time of glory, in which all elvenkind would be forever free to sail the spheres, the masters evermore of wildspace and the flow, and of all the-

"My admiral," interrupted a soft voice behind him.

"Yes, battlewizard," said Cirathorn frostily after a pause. She had spoiled his thoughts. He swung around, his eyes like the bottom of a frozen pond.

Mirandel's voice was empty of emotion. "The Free Wind's Fury has sighted an unidentified man-o-war, approaching from the sun. It is being pursued by elements of the orcish fleet, and it will reach us in five minutes."

The coldness went out of his eyes. "A man-o-war? What pattern?"

"Bright yellow, my admiral, without markings." Mirandel licked her lips uncertainly. "I believe it would be a modified or lost ship, as there is no mention of any ship of this type in our records."

"Of course." There had been a yellow-and-red pattern grown two centuries ago, but it had not been an especially aesthetic design and had been discontinued. Perhaps this was a renegade ship, now seeking assistance against the orcs. Its captain and crew could be dealt with later for their transgressions, which would perhaps include capital theft and mutiny, but there might be extenuating circumstances. One never knew with elves, he thought, and smiled tightly. "Did the Fury and the Homer drop their cloaks?" Cirathorn asked. "And how many orcish ships are pursuing the newcomer?"

"The Hornet did, but the Fury retained its cloak once it saw the approaching ships. We have heard that only four ships are pursuing."

Two big ships alone would be enough to scare the gnomes into surrender. "Excellent," he said. "Have the Fury immediately investigate the oncoming man-o-war and send recognition and greetings. Permit no boarding, and have the Fury avoid combat. We must gain the cloak from Teldin Moore. Then we can be free to deal with the orcs, which should take only a few minutes' work."

Mirandel nodded. "Yes, my admiral," she said, and turned to leave. She staggered, off balance, as she did so, catching hold of the door frame to keep from falling. Mumbling an apology, she left the bridge.

Cirathorn chewed the inside of his cheek. Mirandel had barely eaten since her sister's death. This foolishness would have to stop, or she would be replaced and sent to her cabin under arrest, wife or not. She had no right to act in this manner. The admiral had lost almost his whole family line during the Unhuman War, but he had never stopped for rest in his mission of vengeance. Mirandel showed disturbing signs of weakness, and weaklings were a liability in these times of fire and blood.

He turned around again to look out the right window. The Emerald Hornet now rode the sky to starboard, the second point in an aerial triangle above the black gnomish ship. The third point, soon to be unoccupied, would be the invisible Free Wind's Fury. Two ships would be enough to get what he wanted. He would have to send down another flitter and hope for better success than the now-smashed first one had found. The admiral made a mental note-to have commendations sent to the families of the elves who had died in the crash while trying to capture Teldin Moore. There was no need now to be polite about it. Teldin Moore, tragically, would have to be killed.

And it would be best if the admiral did it himself, he thought, fitting and proper in the grand scheme.

Far below him, specks crowded around the black ship.

*****

"We cannot retreat," said Gomja, matter-of-factly. He checked the firing mechanism on his fourth pistol, then jammed it into his belt beside his other weapons, like Teldin, Gaye, and a handful of gnomes, including Dyffed, he crouched on the grass beneath the bulk of the Halibut, his back pressed against the cool black metal of the hull. "I do not normally favor escape, sir, but I've learned prudence. We would be shot down at once if we tried to flee."

Teldin exhaled slowly and looked across the trampled grass to Aelfred's hunched figure. From this position, Teldin could not see Sylvie's body, and for that he was glad. "So you're saying we should surrender."

Gomja snorted and gave Teldin a disgusted stare. "No. We should make the elves regret their unprovoked attack."

"Make them regret it?" Teldin asked in disbelief. "How in the name of all the gods can you just say something like that? You have got to be the craziest person I've ever met in my life. When I first met you, you gave me this incredible speech about how you were going to kill me, then your pistol blew up. You lead an attack on a neogi deathspider with a few dozen gnomes, and you crash the whole ship into a lake. You were helping out the elves-" Teldin broke off, sensing he had said too much.

The giff looked down, carefully pulling his uniform's front together and buttoning it where it had come loose. "I freely admit that the elves used me, sir, but they have killed our navigator and chief helmsman. We must make them regret it by being prepared to take advantage of their every mistake from this moment forward. They have two ships above us, but neither ship can land. We are at an impasse unless the elves have more of their small flitters to come after you personally. Ever, if the elves win, their casualties will cause them to mourn their victory."

Teldin said nothing at all to this. He looked down at the grass on which he sat, with his cloak bunched up beneath him. After a moment, he turned to his right, where Dyffed and Gaye sat, almost within arm's reach.

Gaye's tear-streaked face was almost hidden in her black tresses. She still watched Aelfred but made no sound at all. Occasionally she would sniff and wipe her nose on her sleeve. Dyffed sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, idly picking at a thumbnail. He sensed that Teldin was watching him, and he looked up blankly and shrugged, carefully avoiding any glance in Aelfred's direction.

Something clicked in Teldin's mind but wouldn't quite surface. Something about Dyffed and the Halibut. Something with an unpronounceable name.

"Your secret weapon," said Teldin. "Dyffed, where's your secret weapon? The birthday party?"

The gnome peered through his thick spectacles and blinked rapidly. "The what?"

"The birthday party, damn you! You told me that you had a secret weapon aboard the ship, something you and One Six Nine had been working on. Where's your weapon?"

Dyffed's blank look vanished. "Yes, it's…" The gnome hesitated and looked around, but no one else had the slightest interest in either him or what he was saying. "It's here with me, all finished. Why? What did you want with it?"

I must be dreaming, Teldin thought. "What did I want with it? I want you to use it! Use it on the elves! Can you use it to blow up their ships?"

Dyffed's eyes glazed over as he became absorbed in the idea. "What a thought," he finally mumbled. "It could certainly do that. I have no idea if there's any limit to what it can do. We should set up some tests, then arrange for a field demonstration, then-"

"You idiot!" Teldin yelled. Everyone but Aelfred turned to look at him. "We have no time for testing it! We have no time left for anything! Pull out that secret weapon and show us the damned thing!"