The Radiant Dragon (12 page)

“I’ve often wondered why you attacked the neogi in the arcane’s ship,” Teldin ventured. Of all the questions he harbored, he started with the most difficult. The memory of that moment was indelibly etched in his mind: the neogi’s hideous, eellike head lunging for Estriss’s throat, its needle-sharp teeth glinting wickedly; the ancient Juna knife in Estriss’s hands, and the illithid’s tentacles struggling to find purchase on the neogi’s long neck or spiderlike body. Teldin would always remember the dull horror he’d felt when Rianna’s magic missile spell broke the ship’s window and sent the combatants tumbling into the void.

Estriss spread his three-fingered hands before him.
What else should I have done? I could not allow the cloak to fall into the neogi’s grasp.

“Your motivation was that simple?” Teldin wondered aloud.

Few matters can be viewed as right and wrong, black and white. The neogi are one of life’s rare exceptions..

Sincerity rang in the illithid’s answer, but Teldin’s mind still was not at ease. “What about our first meeting?”

Your rescue from the pirates was no coincidence,
Estriss admitted candidly.
You obviously have learned that the
Probe
landed on one of the moons of Zivilyn. I had arranged a meeting there with Hemar, a reigar adventurer who recently had escaped from a neogi slave ship with two magical objects, items I believed to be artifacts of the Juna. One was your cloak, of course. The other was an amulet of sorts, an ancient medallion. The second item was not in her possession.

Teldin blinked, startled, and his eyes darted involuntarily to the chest at the side of his bed. In it was the sack containing the medallion Gaye had given him after his battle with the scro general. Could the medallion he carried be the same one Estriss sought? Teldin’s impression was that it was, but the connection seemed too fantastic for belief.

Hemar would not part with the cloak,
Estriss continued,
but in the course of our discussion she allowed me to handle it. After that, time, I found that I could sense its presence.
“So you came after it,” Teldin confirmed sadly.

The illithid responded with another crumpled shrug, and he turned his head aside as if he were too embarrassed to meet Teldin’s eyes.
That is true, but I sought the cloak for the same reason I seek all other suspected artifacts of the Juna. I realize that my theories concerning the Juna are not accepted or even respected, but it is my lifework to prove that this race existed. As I learned more about the cloak, its connection with the
Spelljammer
seemed likely. If my theory is correct, the Juna created the ship. If I can find the
Spelljammer,
I might find on board documents of some sort that will enable me to validate my lifework.

“And to control the most powerful ship known,” Teldin added with a touch of cynicism.

Estriss hissed audibly but kept his head averted.
Your experiences have jaded you, I see. Perhaps you are no longer able to believe this of me, but I have no interest in wielding such power. I am a scholar, a historian. What power I seek comes from knowledge.

The illithid’s observation reminded Teldin of one of his grandfather’s bits of homespun advice: A skunk by any name stills stinks. “The thirst for power takes many forms,” Teldin paraphrased cautiously.

As do the uses of power,
Estriss observed, fixing a white-eyed stare upon Teldin.

The mental voice held a quiet intensity. It was obvious that Estriss wanted to open a new line of discussion. Teldin made a note to come back to the topic later, but he still had questions of his own to cover. “You did not want me to give the cloak to the arcane T’k’pek,” he remembered. “Why not?”

Estriss snorted, an odd hissing sound that sent his tentacles billowing upward in the most eloquent gesture of scorn Teldin had ever seen.
I doubt T’k’pek would have made good use of the cloak. The arcane are merchants. Any one of them would love to have the
Spelljammer
as a base of operations or, more to the point, as a source of new technology. The reigar, from whom most of the arcane technology supposedly originated, have become so scarce as to be unreliable sources.

“The reigar?” Teldin echoed, his interest piqued. He had often wondered about the beautiful creature who had given him the cloak. For once he was grateful for the philosophical illithid’s tendency to be sidetracked. “The arcane inventions came from the reigar?” he repeated.

It depends on whom you ask,
Estriss said, his silent voice dry with sarcasm.
Reigar creativity and inventiveness are legendary. They’ve been credited with such diverse creations as helots and helmsplicers.

Neither of the terms were familiar to Teldin, but he nodded sagely in an effort to keep Estriss from defining those terms.

The reigar have no patience for repetition. The arcane, on the other hand, are eager to manufacture the more marketable reigar inventions. As we have discussed before, the arcane are highly secretive, and they habitually deny that they maintain any connection with the reigar. Those few travelers who have encountered an esthetic
 –
a reigar spell-jamming ship
 
– invariably report that the vessel is crewed by arcane. Of course, the arcane on these esthetics always insist that they are chance-met passengers.
The illithid punctuated the anecdote with an oddly snide little wriggle of his tentacles.

Teldin acknowledged the illithid’s humor with an absent smile. As he sifted through the explanation, a new thought began to form in his mind, one appallingly simple and direct. “Is it possible that the reigar woman – Hemar, was it? – was referring to her own people, the reigar, when she told me to take the cloak to the creators?”

I suppose that is possible,
Estriss said slowly. One tentacle quirked as he considered the matter.
I have not heard that the reigar refer to themselves in that manner, but it would be like them. They are not known for their modesty.

Teldin pounded his cot with a balled fist. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?” he blurted out, more exasperated with himself than with Estriss. Too much time and too many lives had been spent in his searching for the mysterious “creators” to learn now that he’d missed the most obvious path.

The possibility didn’t occur to me,
Estriss admitted. His mental voice echoed Teldin’s consternation.
Perhaps it should have, but, as Aelfred Silverhorn often told me, my conclusions were sifted through my personal bias. Perhaps my search for the Juna blinded me to other possibilities for your quest. In all honesty, however, I don’t think that this information on the reigar would have done you much good.

“Why not?”

The illithid threw up his hands, and the movement of his tentacles reflected his exasperation.
Have you any idea how difficult it is to meet a reigar? You could search through three human lifetimes without encountering a single one, and even if you should find one, be would be unlikely to grant an audience to a human. Why?
the illithid added pointedly, noting Teldin’s open mouth and anticipating his question.
The reigar are completely absorbed in their pursuit of art, and they define everything by its potential contribution to reigar art. These are beings who have little regard for the artistic ability of elves and who openly disdain the crafting skills of dwarfs. You can imagine what they think of humans. I mean no offense,
Estriss hastily added.

“None taken,” Teldin murmured distractedly. “Please go on.”

This determination to push the horizons of art for art’s sake ultimately explains the rare occurrence of reigar. Simply put, they went a bit too far.

“A bit too —”

They blew up their homeworld,
Estriss interrupted bluntly.
And that is another issue. If the reigar were to gain control of the
Spelljammer,
they would regard the ship as little more than a base for artistic experiments. Given the reigar’s penchant for excess, it is an appalling prospect.

Teldin nodded slowly, taking it all in. Everything Estriss said supported his new theory about the identity of the cloak’s creators. Oddly enough, it also bolstered his decision to keep the cloak himself. The reigar may well have created the cloak, but, if Estriss was to be believed, they hardly were suited to wielding it.

So, Teldin Moore, now that this matter is settled, why don’t you tell me what you have learned of the cloak since we parted.

Teldin quickly outlined what had transpired since the fight with the neogi. He’d just described the cloak’s power to propel ships when he was interrupted by a timid knock at the door. At Teldin’s impatient summons, two large green heads poked into the cabin.

“I must say, it’s marvelous to see you yourself again. You look splendid, especially considering that you’re a human,” Chirp said cheerfully. The dracon’s words held not a hint of sarcasm, and his huge, dragonlike mouth curved up in a smile of ingratiating innocence. Despite his irritation with the interruption, Teldin could feel himself responding to the creatures’ innocent goodwill.

“It’s good to see you two as well,” Teldin said sincerely. “What have you been up to?”

“Vallus Leafbower has a small but splendid library. We’ve been making some inquiries into your family background, Captain Teldin Moore,” Trivit informed him solemnly, “and I must say it’s most impressive.”

Teldin blinked. His father had been a farmer, his grandfather a man of inherent wisdom and lively curiosity, but still poor and obscure. Teldin supposed he had a family tree beyond that, but he’d never seen any reason to try to climb it. “Do you mind if I ask how you traced my family?” he ventured.

“Not at all,” Chirp piped, squeezing his dark green body into the cabin. “Vallus has a perfectly marvelous volume on the history of Krynn. A fascinating world, Krynn, but, of course, you’d already know that. We have traced your line back to Angor Dragonsbane, a great hero and one of the first humans on record on the continent of Ansalon.”

“There are other lines of equal note,” Trivit added. He edged into the room beside his brother, and the dracon pair launched into a convoluted tale, interweaving names from Krynnish history and folklore until Teldin grew dizzy trying to follow it all. So complex and detailed was the dracons’ presentation that the dazed Teldin was inclined to believe it.

“We were fortunate in our choice of
kaba,”
Trivit concluded in a tone ripe with self-congratulation. “As you may know, a dracon clan chief is chosen on the basis of lineage, and yours surpasses those of any ancient elvish house represented on this ship. For me to enumerate your list of titles would take —” Trivit broke off, wrinkling his rubbery face in an effort at calculation. After a moment, he shrugged. “Well, just ever so long.”

“A most fortunate choice,” echoed Chirp. “Our instincts were splendid, as usual,” he said with blithe disregard for the illithid episode.

“Of course, we had to stop our study several generations before your birth. The elven history was not a current one,” Trivit said ruefully.

The new-made nobleman smirked, suddenly understanding. His new and grandiose family tree was linked to him by no more than a great deal of wishful thinking.

“Perhaps you’d care to fill in the blanks for us?” Chirp suggested.

Teldin’s smile collapsed. It was one thing to let the dracons concoct some fancy genealogy to support their choice of leader – and he got the distinct impression that his wasn’t the first of such – but his innate sense of honesty would not allow him to contribute to the dracons’ self-deception. Apparently sensing his consternation, Estriss took a defensive position at the foot of Teldin’s bed.

At some later time, I’m sure Teldin Moore can oblige you. At the moment, however, he requires rest.

Mumbling apologies, the chastised dracons backed out of the cabin. The door gingerly creaked shut, and the hall rumbled under the dracons’ version of a tiptoed retreat. Teldin gave in to a chuckle. He could have sworn that his friend’s blank eyes held a hint of a twinkle, and he cocked an eyebrow at the smug illithid. “Thanks.”

Not at all,
Estriss demurred.
You have not been the only target of the dracons’ passion for genealogy. Chirp and Trivit have passed the days tracing the connections between and debating the merits of the various elven houses, until even the most lineage-proud elf on board has lost interest in the exercise. I can assure you, however,
Estriss concluded with mock gravity,
the dracons honor the heritage they invented for you over any elven background based, on fact.

Teldin grimaced. “I suppose I should talk to them.”

Don’t bother. They would listen politely and then ignore anything you said. Tothem, you are the
kaba
and that settles the matter. Now,
Estriss concluded briskly, coming to the head of the bed,
according to the ship’s healer, you are ready to take a walk on deck. Are you interested?

In response, Teldin grinned and threw back the covers. He got out of bed far too quickly, though, and the moment his feet hit the floor he got the distinct and disconcerting impression that the small cabin suddenly had been filled with turbulent gray water.

Estriss closed a steadying hand around Teldin’s arm.
Perhaps the healer was a bit optimistic?

“No,” Teldin said as soon as he could hear himself through the humming in his ears. “If I don’t get out of this cabin soon, I’ll go mad.”

Estriss helped Teldin up to the deck. After the confinement of his cabin, the vastness of wildspace held all the promise and spirit-lifting magic of a warm spring morning. Teldin’s mood slid, however, at the sight of the lone figure leaning on the swan ship’s starboard rail.

Chapter Six

Hectate Kir stood staring into wildspace, absently flattening the crown of his red-brown hair. The half-elf’s cowlick popped back up after each pass. The ineffectual battle would have been almost comical if Teldin had been in the mood to be amused.