The Radiant Dragon (39 page)

“For a while, I thought I could fight with the elves,” he said when they broke apart, feeling that he owed Vallus some explanation. “If Armistice turns out to be destroyed, well, I know you did what you had to do, but I can’t be a part of it.”

“Believe me, I understand,” the elven wizard said quietly. “I wish I had that choice.” A sad smile lit his angular face. “The gods go with you, Teldin Moore.”

The elf turned and walked away. Trivit watched him go and turned to Teldin. “With your consent,
Kaba,
I would like to remain on Radole,” he said hesitantly. “There is a dracon settlement here, and I, well —”

“Of course,” Teldin broke in. The young dracon had been disconsolate since the loss of his brother, and a fictional clan comprising one lone human was no replacement for real family. “Give your new clan my regards, Trivit,” he said warmly.

Wiping a tear away with one green hand, the dracon nodded and ambled out of the tavern. Teldin took the seat Vallus had vacated. “What’s it like, being something you don’t want to be?” Teldin abruptly asked Hectate.

The question took the bionoid by surprise. “You find ways to cope, sir, ways to compensate.”

Teldin acknowledged the comment with a nod, but he wasn’t satisfied. He’d seen what power had done to others, and he feared for what he might become as he wielded it. Would the duties of leadership crowd aside all other considerations until he was fully governed by that nebulous and demanding master Expediency? Or would power be like a drug that would take over his mind and overshadow dearly held values? Who
was
he? Teldin Moore or Cloakmaster?

“What if one part takes over?” he murmured, more to himself than to the half-elf.

“That’s something we’ll always have to live with, sir,” Hectate said quietly.

Teldin looked up, and in the half-elfs brown eyes he saw sympathy and understanding. He nodded his thanks, then he untied the small bag that held the medallion and held it out. “Are you ready to try again?”

A surprised smile lit Hectate’s narrow face, lending the half-elf a decidedly elven appearance. The transformation no longer bothered Teldin, and he returned his navigator’s smile with a conspiratorial grin. Together the two friends sought the privacy of Teldin’s chamber. With the oaken door shielding the cloak’s bright magic from curious eyes, Teldin Moore removed the medallion from its pouch and studied it for a long moment.

He took the artifact in both hands and began again the journey out of himself and into the
Spelljammer’s
eyes, not knowing where the new vision would take him.