The giff drew in his breath as if to make a reply, then let out his breath, saying nothing. The flitter dropped until it was only a dozen feet above the ground, thirty feet away. Gradually it drifted down and closer, its four spindly legs soon making contact with the ground and settling down under the weight of the ship. It was barely twenty feet away and facing them. A lone elven pilot was visible through the darkened forward window, his face impassive and calm.

A door opened in the back of the flitter. Teldin heard boots thump into the grass, then saw a figure slowly walk around the starboard wing of the flitter. It was an autumn-haired elf in silver armor, his helmet in the crook of his left arm. The elf smiled slightly as he stopped a dozen feet short of Teldin and Gomja, eyeing both the human and the thick-bodied giff. He wore no obvious weapons but appeared relaxed and sure.

"Teldin Moore," said Admiral Cirathorn. "I have come a long way to find you."

Teldin stared at the elfin undisguised hatred. "Go to hell." "I might for what I'm about to do," the admiral said. "I need your cloak, Teldin Moore. The elven people need it. We are at war, and your cloak is the key to victory. I must take that cloak from you in any way I can. If First Colonel-Commander Herphan Gomja will oblige me, I will perform the deed myself." With that, Cirathorn raised his right hand, appearing to pull a leafy decoration from the top of his helmet. He raised his hand, now clenched around a silvery pistol-like device, which he aimed directly between Teldin's eyes. "Your cloak is likely to block magic or weapons aimed at your body, but not a lead bullet aimed at your head," he said. "Cloaks, even magical ones, are not the best of armor."

"I wish to perform the deed," Gomja rumbled suddenly. The object sticking in the back of Teldin's head poked him slightly, though Teldin did not move. "I have been waiting for this moment for some time, sir."

Cirathorn grinned. "Then wait no more."

A huge hand grabbed Teldin by the left shoulder and shoved him out of the way. As Teldin fell back, he caught a momentary glimpse of Gomja hurling himself forward and bringing his pistol directly into the admiral's face. Then Teldin struck the grass and rolled.

Two shots tore the air, coming so close together that Teldin could barely tell them apart. He sprang to his feet, giving a wild look at the combatants by the flitter. A thick haze of smoke almost obscured the both of them.

"Stupid giff," said Cirathorn with scorn. His hand and pistol were still extended. There was not a mark on him.

Gomja stepped forward one more pace, then went down on his knees. The pistol fell from his fingers. His. broad hippopotamus face looked down at his dirty red uniform front in disbelief. Teldin saw the giff put a thick blue hand to his great chest. The hand came away as brightly colored as the crimson uniform once had been.

"Not even lead bullets can penetrate a spell that is proof against nonmagical missiles," said Cirathorn. "It's a fairly basic spell in the Imperial Fleet, but I recall that you giff have little faith in magical things. A pity."

Gomja looked up at the elf, who was on eye level with him. His thick lips and jowls moved.

"Before you die," the giff said, pronouncing each word with care, "know that your slayer is Herphan Gomja, commander of ship's… marines, assigned to the… Perilous Halib-"

The giff fell forward into the grass.

"Gomja!" Teldin shouted. His eyes burned with tears. "Gomja, you son of a bitch, get up!"

"Not likely," said Cirathorn. He reached down to drop his silver pistol and pull a new one from Gomja's belt. "He was a very poor actor, anyway. We never charmed him or magically compelled any behavior from him. He was much easier to manipulate directly. If he believed he was doing you good, Teldin Moore, he would do anything. He was faithful and loyal to the end. Not very bright, but faithful, certainly. Giff overplay their parts, and pretending to betray you by turning you over to me was only to be expected. But he tried. He gave it his last full measure." Cirathorn looked up at Teldin and raised his new pistol, steadying his aim once again on Teldin's face.

"And you gave your last full measure and more, Teldin Moore, but the Cloak of the First Pilot does not recognize that. It responds only to who is the more clever and powerful and dangerous. That would be me, I believe."

On impulse, Teldin raised his hand and pointed a finger at Cirathorn. "Die," he said, not knowing how the cloak would respond. "Die and rot in the Abyss."

Cirathorn did not move for several moments, his face frozen in surprise. Nothing happened. Then he smiled broadly. "Interesting," he said. "I feel fine. And now, it's your-"

There was a movement behind him. A thick blue hand stained with gleaming red came up swiftly and caught the admiral by the leg. Cirathorn started involuntarily and half turned, the pistol swinging around at his assailant.

A second blue fist the size of a baked ham swung up and slammed into the elf s midsection. Metallic armor crumpled under the force of the blow. The admiral gasped and choked, the wind knocked out of him. Swiftly, Gomja came to his feet, one hand still locked on the admiral's leg and causing the elf to fall halfway to the ground.

The wide-eyed pilot of the flitter, who had not moved a muscle until this moment, suddenly grabbed for the arms of his helm chair in obvious panic. Gomja spun on his feet at the same moment, whirling the admiral in a tight orbit once around his body, pulling the elf close to avoid striking Teldin or the flitter. On the second pass, as the flitter was beginning to lift away from the ground, Gomja gave a mighty heave and flung the armored elf at the nose of the small ship.

The port window was smashed instantly as the admiral struck it. The flitter rolled backward suddenly, its wings digging into the ground and pivoting the craft onto its back. With a sound like shattering glass, the two wings on the ship broke apart, the shards flying through the air. The ship's fuselage leaped up, free of all but its wing stubs, and flung the admiral's body out of the port window. It then flipped again onto the ground. This time, it lay still.

"Gomja!" Teldin cried out, rushing forward to the giff. Gomja stepped back clumsily from looking at the flitter's wreckage and turned to see Teldin. The front of his crimson jacket was splashed with a darker red that spread down over his barrel chest toward his waist. The giff tried to swallow.

"I hope he heard ray name," Gomja said. Then he sagged and fell backward to the ground just as Teldin reached him, the giffs thick arms spread-eagle on the grass and weeds.

"Damn you, you are not going to die on me!" Teldin roared, kneeling and tearing at Gomja's uniform coat. He had the idea that by shouting, Gomja would hear him and would know enough to stay alive. "You're going to live, you stinking giff! You're going to live, and I'm going to beat the hell out of you for scaring me like that! Damn you, live! Live, you ugly blue monster, live!"

"There's… no need to be profane," came a husky, gasping whisper from the giffs thick lips. "I'm… hardly deaf either. I'm just… a little tired, sir." The giffs small black eyes blinked open and stared up at the sky. "Giff are notoriously… hard to stop."

Teldin found the bullet wound: a round hole nearly in the center of the giffs chest, bleeding profusely. He quickly tore the giffs coat at the entry hole for the bullet and wadded one red strip into a thick bandage, which he pressed to the wound. "Hold this!" he ordered. It had been years since he had done this, during the War of the Lance, when he had cared for several victims of arrow attacks in his unit on Krynn. He was amazed he remembered anything at all about first aid.