The Maelstroms Eye by Roger Moore Page A

behind with his two aides as everyone else left. Teldin went out with the gnome, who was still babbling away, accompanied by an elf who would show them what supplies could be offered.
    As the footsteps faded, one of the aides leaned close to the admiral. “Your forgiveness, Your Grace,” he said softly, “but you were less than forthright with our guest. That you said nothing of your own research on the Spelljammer I can understand, but confusing the song-told madness of the First Pilot with ‘enthusiasm’ could only have been delib —”
    One of the admiral’s hands came up and pressed itself lightly against the elfs chest. The aide stopped speaking at once. Cirathorn’s eyes were fixed on the doorway.
    “We live in interesting times, Alsilor,” whispered the brown-haired elf. “Have my battlewizard, watchmaster, and loremaster report to my chambers at once. The captains of the Leaping Hart, Free Wind’s Fury, Unicorn’s Wing, and Emerald Hornet are to put their ships at ready within the hour, under the code of the leopard – no sound, no sign. Signal the Empress Dorianne that I will be aboard soon, but cannot say when. It, too, is to be readied for flight under the leopard’s code. Go and do.”
    Paler than he had been a moment before, the elf hurried away, accompanied by the other aide. The admiral stood in silence, alone, and listened to them leave. He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping as he pulled off his gloves. On the middle finger of his right hand was the signet ring of his family: a golden eagle in flight against a burning sun. An arrow pierced the eagle’s heart – his father’s addition after the retaking of Aerlofalyn and the laying to rest of the old, wronged bones. Cirathorn had long debated with himself over what changes, if any, he would make to the crest.
    A sword, he decided, clutched in the eagle’s talons. A dying eagle with the blood of its slayers upon it. It was worthy of thought. There would be time enough and plenty to decide.
    “Go and do,” he said, though no one was present. He pulled the glove back on and set off for his chambers to prepare for his meeting.
    *****
    “The Spelljammer!” exclaimed the gnome for the dozenth time. “You know, certainly, that elves are notorious for not saying what’s really on their minds, and their love of metaphor will one day be their downfall, mark my words, and they will give way to those who say what they mean, like the gnomes – ah, and humans, of course – who are many times more clear in their speech, so when that elf said you were going to find the one-and-only Spelljammer, I was taken aback for a moment, because I’ve read everything there is about the Spelljammer, with the possible exception of the sources kept at the libraries of Doth B and Zphidnin, and maybe the Academy at Lirak’s Cube, but, as I was saying, you could have knocked me over with a size-four gear wrench when I understood that he actually meant the one-and-only Spelljammer. Where are we going?”
    “What?” said Teldin, who had not been paying attention. The two were past the Greater Market now, on the way downhill toward the warehouses and docks. He had trouble believing his good fortune. The admiral had given him access to a warehouse full of supplies. Undoubtedly, it would be too much to carry aboard the hammership, but still —
    “I said, where are we going? You’ll have to forgive me, but I haven’t gone outside very much in the last few years, and I’m not very familiar with the city here, since I was working in the libraries in the embassy —”
    “We’re going to the ship that brought me here,” Teldin said, cutting him off. “Then we’re going to take you to Iron-piece, get the maps to Herdspace, and go see the fal for more information.” Teldin chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Afterward, I suppose we’ll find the Spelljammer, and … do whatever we need to do there.” Just what did he mean to do at the Spelljammer? Teldin