Nauthe'hressishtel
Elnamerrna crew, hunting
Greenmonth 26th, 2461
The thirty-six of them wound their way through Nauthe'hressishtel. The way was not easy—rubble in huge amounts blocked the path at frequent intervals, and they had to keep a constant watch for Elendrans who might even now be roaming the city, looking for survivors to kill...
... though Tyfelian doubted that there would be any survivors, not after an attack as thorough as this one. Drow were accustomed to striking opponents hard and fast and leaving absolutely no one alive. They did things that way even against each other, so against enemies, they normally acted the same unless they had a good reason not to.
Sildara moved the company at the best pace she could manage. She knew the way well, of course, but much had changed. Some streets had ended up blocked completely or so choked with debris that they had to be bypassed. Worse, they occasionally found the broken wreckage of gypsy moth hulls. These had crashed at random, and there was no way to climb over them.
Kiran watched Sildara closely, but she showed no sign of frustration. He figured that that meant that they were making reasonably good time despite the detours.
Finally, they turned a corner and saw the Nauthe'hressishtel fleet headquarters.
Sildara surveyed the damage. There was considerable fiery or lightning damage to the exteriors of all buildings in the military base, but none appeared to be heavily damaged.
Sildara had no doubt that that had been intentional.
"They'll be in that building, most certainly," she whispered to Tyfelian, pointing at a squat building near the very edge of this part of Nauthe'hressishtel. It was plain by drow standards, not heavily decorated or structurally elaborate.
Tyfelian felt sure it would be spartan on the inside, as well. Drow "military" buildings usually ended up being the plainest of all, and it seemed that the Listraeeans had never changed that practice.
Tyfelian waved his company forward and they moved to a somewhat more thoroughly demolished building near the headquarters. Once there, the half-drow motioned them to stay put, except for Trula, to whom he waggled a finger.
The two rogues flitted from shadow to shadow until they got to the corner of the main building. They crouched below one of the few windows, and then peeked up over its sill to look inside there.
No dice. They found the window sealed up with stone, obviously a spell. In the darkness of the dead city, they hadn't been able to know that until they got right up to it.
Tyfelian grimaced, but then he led Trula around the building to its only door, which faced outward, over the edge of the "top" of the asteroid. The Listraeeans had built upon the part of the huge rock that a gammaroid had bitten flat, at least on this particular asteroid.
The half-drow and the human both felt the ground change under their feet.
Tyfelian looked down to see unworked stone and dust. This area was not reworked from the original surface of the asteroid; he saw what Grand Admiral Trez'linnit himself might have seen when he arrived here, those centuries back. Only decades of the passage of feet had changed this ground in any way; even at that, only a well-worn path leading straight to the docks showed much change.
Down that way, they saw over a score of gypsy moths floating just off the edge.
"Military drow," he whispered under his breath, losing interest as he and Trula made it to the door.
Peeking around the battered doorjamb, Tyfelian and Trula saw an enormous number of drow—fighters mostly, but also clerics and wizards and indeterminate types—perhaps more of those multi-talented types like "Autumn" and her cronies, or maybe psions, even rogues. He did note that there were no prisoners.
The Elendrans looked to be tidying up—or setting up shop. Tyfelian's eyes narrowed, then he glanced over at Trula.
"60—70," Trula wrote in the dust with her finger. "Cannot see all them, cannot get exact count," she "said" to Tyfelian in drow sign. One of her best talents as a lookout was her unusual ability to count any objects she could see quickly and accurately, but like anyone else she could not count what she could not see.
Tyfelian said nothing, but he knew that he and his crew would be outnumbered nearly two to one, with more drow still on their ships, no doubt. That did not concern him, however. He felt all confidence that he and his ship's complement, with the firepower of eight wizards, could kill every cursed Elendran—if they could take them by surprise.
He jerked his head to Trula, and the two soft-footed invaders went back whence they'd come.
"Wizards, use your hardest-hitting attack spells. We need those Elendrans dead fast, because as soon as we attack, we have to turn right around and destroy the gypsy moths."
Tyfelian turned away from the wizards to address the remainder of his crew.
"Warriors, rush into that building as quick as you can and take out anyone who survives the wizards' spells. You might need a wizard backup still, though—that falls to you, Jalaysa."
The elf wizard acknowledged this with a nod.
"However, as soon as all the Elendrans in there are dead, go to the other wizards. You'll be needed to hit the gypsy moths.
"Clerics," he addressed Fing and Melanerra, "hold position at the door and keep any Elendrans from coming out or going in if you can. Sildara, Menlina, and Trula—stick with me."
"All clear? Any questions?" he asked all of them.
No one spoke.
"Cast defensive magic now, then let's cross to the door as quickly and quietly as we can."
"Tyfelian?" Sildara whispered to him.
The half-drow turned to face her. She motioned for Tyfelian to walk with her. He did, and out of earshot of the others, Sildara spoke.
"If we survive this, we might want to join you as permanent crew. We haven't decided yet. Will you take us in if that's what we want?"
"Gladly," Tyfelian replied, meeting her eyes steadily. "Eight wizards total—I can't imagine anything more grand... and two experienced warriors into the bargain. A sweet deal," he smiled, "for me," he quickly added, giving her a nod to acknowledge her great loss.
"The value of my warrior-wizards is obvious," Sildara went on, "but what of Menlina and myself? Where do we fit in?"
"I haven't yet finished remaking my ship's complement. Some of them are still of the original mercenary crew, and those don't want to keep working for me. I'll certainly have a position of Shift Leader open soon enough," he told her, "which will put you in position as third in command."
Sildara blinked; such a high position, so fast, was more than she could have hoped for...
... which made her look at Tyfelian slyly. She cast down her head a bit and looked up at Tyfelian from that angle. At a different time and a different place, it might have looked sensual, but then and there, it showed suspicion and surprise.
"You're baiting me," she accused him. "And Menlina, for that matter."
"Damn right," he admitted it freely, spreading his hands. "But the offer is real, not a story to get you to sign on."
His impassive face revealed to Sildara that he would stick by his words.
Tyfelian moved off to lead the others, but Sildara had one more question before she let the conversation die.
"Why do they not wish to continue with you?" she asked as she fell into step beside him.
"They got paid handsomely for their service to me during the War, by the Elven Imperial Navy," he explained swiftly. "They're now so rich, they won't have to work for the rest of their lives, most likely."
"Then... to them, it was only a job?"
"Right. But I've been signing on others who don't see it that way."
Sildara thought privately that she could understand it both ways. The way of life Tyfelian offered with the Elnamerrna appealed to those with a sense of adventure, but to many others, it was simply too dangerous—especially the way Tyfelian handled it.
She considered the possibility that Chalizon could have been right. Perhaps Tyfelian and his troops, though not suicidal, really were crazy. They chose the way of life they led and enjoyed it—at least, most of the time. That much seemed clear to her. They were certainly a powerful bunch, but even so, to do the things they did took more than power.
It took a level of courage that bordered on the foolhardy level...
...or perhaps all of them are of the type that feel like they just have to live that way," Sildara pondered. She decided to discuss the matter at length with her fellow survivors later and get a consensus.
They rejoined the others, who were finishing up their defensive spell preparations just as they got there.
Tyfelian turned on his heel and led them toward the headquarters building.
Tyfelian and Trula peeked around the corner once more.
It was a good thing for them that they had, for two drow warriors had come outside the door. These two men looked around in open, sneering contempt, occasionally muttering insults at the Listraeeans.
"Uh-oh," Trula murmured, very, very softly.
"Change of plan," Tyfelian whispered. He turned and sent word down the lines that a change had to be made in the original plan. He raised two fingers to indicate why—sentries.
He waved Sildara, Menlina, the five warrior-wizards, Tash, and Alzja to his side. The ten drow walked out into the open casually.
The two Elendrans noticed them immediately. Tyfelian waved to them jauntily, and continued his march across the dusty ground for a moment.
Then, he pretended to think of something and stopped slowly. He turned to face the Elendrans, raised a finger to his companions, indicating "one moment," then walked toward the door and the pair of Elendrans there.
As he got close enough to talk with them, he opened his mouth to speak, but one of the Elendrans cut him off.
"What in Lolth's name are you doing out of uniform?" the guard yelled, noting Tyfelian's rich blue tunic and fine black cape. He noticed Tash's blond hair and raised an eyebrow at her, now fully on guard with that oddity.
"I took them from a Listraeean," Tyfelian replied. He glanced at Tash started to say more regarding her appearance, as the guards made disgusted faces at him, but then he moved away quickly, hit the dirt, and rolled.
Tash took the cue and began casting.
Sildara and Menlina jumped into blocking positions in front of the archmage. Both pulled daggers and began to throw them at the Elendrans hard.
The Elendrans drew hand crossbows to fire back, but at that moment, Tash's spell went off—inside the building.
Not one, but four very hot fireballs detonated in there. The vicious magical flame seared into the Elendrans and many, many of them screamed in agony. In some cases, these were death cries from being burned through by Tash's vicious quadruple fireball.
The two Elendran fighters charged Sildara and Menlina. Their eight swords rang out in a scream of sparky adamantite.
Tyfelian leaped to his feet and ran back to them as Alzja, Jalaysa, and the five Listraeean wizards opened up with their own attacks. The floor inside the building turned into a huge puddle of molten lava, and five powerful fireballs followed her lead.
Tyfelian pulled out his swords on the run and backstabbed both of the Elendran warriors. One fell over immediately, but the other flinched forward—nearly running right into Alzja—and whirled around to send one sword flying for Tyfelian's heart.
Tyfelian jerked over and accepted the slash on his left arm. He sent his own swords right back in to the Elendran, who nearly, but not quite, parried them.
The swords tore him from neck to belly.
Alzja irritably kicked the dying drow out of the way and moved closer to the door.
She noted the rest of the crew coming up to the spot from her right, but paid them no mind as she slowed down, then stopped, right outside the door.
Alzja saw one of the cleanest kills she'd ever participated in, right before her eyes. Not one drow still stood in the building; she saw them vaporizing in the magma she'd evoked, even as she watched.
Tyfelian glanced in, then shook his head with a slight smirk. A lucky shot, perhaps, considering the renowned dark elven resistance to magic, but the wizards had outdone themselves.
He turned away, waving the others off, but a shout from the edge of the asteroid caught his attention.
"Oh, so nicely done! Marvelous!"
The voice snaked to them from behind, heavily accented and with just a hint of outrage.
Tyfelian whirled to see an Elendran male—an admiral of the fleet, he believed, judging by the uniform. Growing old, Tyfelian noted—he was probably at least six hundred and fifty, but aging gracefully. His hair was cropped fairly short for a drow, and trimmed neatly in one of the many bizarre hairstyles common to Elendrans.
At least one hundred and fifty drow soldiers with clerical and wizard support stood beside and behind him, seeming to have come out of nowhere.
Tyfelian stood too far away from the fleet headquarters building to see Sildara, but Jaclyn noticed a hint of recognition in the Listraeean captain's eyes.
Sildara's eyes narrowed as she gazed upon the Elendran admiral. Tyfelian opened his mouth to say something to him, but Sildara beat him to it.
"Admiral Crilsteroy Elandra'la'vantric!" she snarled. "I would have thought your wretched self would be dead by now, or at least retired, you filthy..." she snarled a short stream of Drowic swear words at him.
Crilsteroy ignored the insults and bowed, smiling with pleasure at being recognized. "Not dead, and not retired just yet."
"You two know each other?" Tyfelian asked Sildara.
"Only by reputation," Sildara told him, never taking her eyes off Crilsteroy. "He's the one who led the pursuers when my people left Elendraspace."
"The same," Crilsteroy confirmed with a wide smile. "I'll not be returning home empty-handed this time." His calm, sarcastically friendly veneer vanished. "You seven there—come forward to us. The rest of you are free to go, as we agreed beforehand."
Sildara blinked, and she looked at Tyfelian with the bitter taste of betrayal in her mouth. So did the other Listraeeans. The course of events now unfolding was certainly typically Drowic!
"Never!" Tyfelian shouted. "Sildara, I swear to you that he is lying! I've never met him before!"
"Stand aside, you Lolth damned fool," Crilsteroy snarled at Tyfelian. "We had a deal—now honor it!" The elder drow glanced at the building. "I'll settle up with you for killing my associates in there—and the twenty of mine who were aboard your ship—" he put in as an afterthought, "—after we sacrifice those trash people over there.
"You—" he pointed at Sildara, "and your other miserable blasphemers, come forward and drop your weapons."
"There was no deal, you lying piece of dragon piles!" Tyfelian shouted at Crilsteroy. "And if you think you're going to kill Sildara and her team, you're deluding yourself. You better go away now—I'm not in a very good mood!"
The threat seemed ridiculous—by the numbers, the Elnamerrna crew was outnumbered nearly three to one, even with regard to spellcasters—but for some reason Crilsteroy actually hesitated and paused, taken aback a little.
"You cannot defeat my forces arrayed before you," he finally said to Tyfelian.
"Are you willing to bet your life on that? You better be," Tyfelian warned angrily, and his voice showed nothing but confidence. "I'd put myself and my ship's company up against your forces here any day of the week, and Sildara and her wizards are with us."
Crilsteroy regarded Tyfelian with a thoughtful, cruel smile.
"You certainly bluff well," he complimented the half-drow. "I almost believed you for a moment."
"I'm not bluffing," Tyfelian snarled. "If you try to take them from me by force, we'll kill you and the lot of your troops. My wizards can eliminate all of you in a single attack volley. Don't do it. Go away. Go back to Elendraspace and then, maybe, I won't come after you to kill you for what you've done here."
Crilsteroy swayed very slightly on his feet, looking for words to refute that. Only a sharp eye could have caught the flicker of his gaze, but he looked apprehensively at the lava puddle inside the building for a split second.
Tyfelian grabbed the advantage.
"I've heard enough of your silly mouth," Tyfelian said to the admiral. He glanced around at his troop.
"Wizards, kill them... kill them all, right now. Get them out of my sight before I wretch."
"Gladly," Tash said, and she drew forth components for a spell.
The other seven wizards did likewise. Alzja murmured softly and her left hand brushed Tyfelian's back.
Crilsteroy, actually a slight bit nervous—Tyfelian could tell that this had very rarely happened to him—glanced into the building at the dead drow there. No one, not even a senior drow admiral, could simply ignore Tyfelian's unique type of bravado...
... at least, not with hard evidence of considerable ability to destroy right before his eyes.
"Hold!" he roared.
Tyfelian held up a hand to stay his wizards.
"Very well, you miserable half-blood spider sucker," Crilsteroy raged. "This once, you go free. If we ever meet again, you die."
"I'll welcome the opportunity to take you on," Tyfelian shot right back to the drow. "Now, board your ships, go back to those dimension doors or whatever they are—"
"Spansphere portals," Jaclyn interjected.
"That's what they're called," she told Tyfelian, in response to his cocked ear. Ever alert, Tyfelian didn't take his eyes off the Elendran admiral.
"Spansphere portals, then," the half-drow resumed smoothly. He realized that Jaclyn had been mind reading Crilsteroy. "Go back through them to Elendraspace and do not come back here. We'll be watching, after a fashion, and any occupation force ever sent here will be destroyed by Hearthspace's fleets."
That last was not only a bluff but also an outright lie, Jaclyn knew, and she did well to hide her smile. Hearthspace's fleets? What fleets? Certainly, the combined might of every ship in Hearthspace would be incredible—but the various small fleets were all independent and had never been known to work together.
But she had seen sly Alzja sneak a spell onto Tyfelian when the half-drow had ordered the wizards to attack. Hoping she had intended to make Tyfelian able to lie freely, Jaclyn kept quiet and kept her expression neutral.
Either the spell had been one to prevent lie detection, or none of the Elendrans had lie-detection magic in place at that time, for Crilsteroy shot Tyfelian a look of pure hatred and waved his company back to their ships.
The half-drow watched Crilsteroy carefully as he and his troops marched back to the waiting gypsy moths.
"Wizards, attack!" Tyfelian hissed suddenly.
The five Listraeeans, Tash, Alzja, and Jalaysa unleashed a blinding barrage of assault magic upon the Elendrans. Tash's dangerous multiple fireball exploded in their midst, while Alzja's dweomer that conjured a lava puddle made many scream and run for their lives. Jalaysa summoned a miniature rain cloud that blasted the Elendrans with lightning and water, and the Listraeeans sent flashes of lightning, rains of hail, searing explosions of light, and one fireball into the enemy.
The Elendran company whirled as one person and counterattacked. Their wizards shot off scorching blasts of fire and electrical discharges with their magic, and Crilsteroy led a massive charge.
Dark elves did not fight mass battles the same way units of knights did on the ground, however. The individual drow started their run in formation, but they broke that formation just seconds away from contact, and a huge mass of drow fighters surrounded the Elnamerrna crew... who met them head-on. Steel swords sparked off of adamantite ones and the battle raged in full.
Crilsteroy had run, amazingly fast for one of his advanced years, right up to Tyfelian. Not feeling much respect for someone who had tried to bluff him, thinking Tyfelian a young and inexperienced blowhard, he came at the half-drow with his left sword swiping an upward arc to knock Tyfelian's blades out of the way, while the right-hand sword came straight in to impale Tyfelian through the heart.
The left sword parried nothing but air and the right one impaled little more, as Tyfelian had sidestepped and swung his own right blade around to clang against Crilsteroy's left one. A sweeping slash of Tyfelian's left blade sent the super-sharp weapon into Crilsteroy's right side, into the drow chain mail.
The old admiral groaned loudly with the pain, but he slipped away before Tyfelian could finish the strike, before he could make the blade dig deeper than the skin under that armor.
The words, "that was too slow, you relic," sparked in Tyfelian's mind, but he said nothing, remembering that such a loss of speed would happen to him as well, eventually, if he lived long enough. He also realized that the relatively straightforward attack was, ironically, the direct result of his own attempt to spare Crilsteroy's life. He had tried unsuccessfully to bluff Crilsteroy away rather than kill him, and his failure would cost still more lives. Tyfelian switched his mind into full battle mode now, uncaring, thinking only of the deaths of his enemies, making his body and blades a perfect unit of destruction.
Crilsteroy had asked for it.
The older drow had not even turned before Tyfelian went into his attack. The twin sword blades swept in faster than Crilsteroy could even see. The drow admiral, to his credit, parried them without the need to see them, but Tyfelian rammed his swords right through the parries and their tips sliced painful gashes in Crilsteroy's torso, running from just below the shoulders to the belly. The keen tips had poked right through Crilsteroy's armor.
Crilsteroy was no fool. He knew he was overmatched and gave ground. Furious and not holding back anymore, however, Tyfelian was quick to follow and press his advantage. Crilsteroy affected a backward retreat, parrying like mad, but he was soon up against a cooling puddle of magma—the result Alzja's spell. He felt its heat on his boots.
Crilsteroy knew he had to jump over it, but to do so, he had to reposition his feet. He did, and made the backward jump away from Tyfelian, but he had to accept three vicious attacks from the half-drow's swords in the process.
Quick as lightning, Crilsteroy ripped a loaded hand crossbow from the back of his belt and snap shot at Tyfelian even as his amazing opponent leaped over the lava slightly to Crilsteroy's left.
Crilsteroy led the shot perfectly. It struck Tyfelian on the left arm, but to the admiral's dismay it failed to penetrate whatever armor Tyfelian wore. The tiny crossbow bolt plopped into the lava.
Crilsteroy then sensed, though he did not see, the arrival of three of his men even as Tyfelian was on him again. He could not turn to look, for to take his eyes off of Tyfelian's swords would have been outright suicide. The strength of Tyfelian's hands amazed Crilsteroy; the Elnamerrna leader could drive his blades through even a perfect parry by brute force, making the defense ineffective.
The sly drow admiral had formulated a defense even as his soldiers came to support him. He extended his arms to their full length and fought that way, crisscrossing his short swords to look for any opening in Tyfelian's defense.
The half-drow had to open up his sword movements to swat away eight blades now, for each of the four drow now attacking him used a weapon in either hand. Two of the newcomers wielded short sword and dagger; the other one used twin short swords, like Crilsteroy.
The distraction provided what was needed, to Crilsteroy's eye. Several possible openings appeared, and he tracked them carefully through the blurry, shimmering web of black metal. When an opening to Tyfelian's neck was about to emerge, Crilsteroy swung his left sword in a half-circle upward and left, knocking Tyfelian's right-hand blade out of position. Then, with all of his strength, he took a perfectly aimed stab at the jugular.
Tyfelian accepted the slice on his neck, jerking his head at just the last second, taking a superficial cut. Then he took a step straight ahead and hunkered down, as low as he could.
Above his head, the blades of the three newcomers lanced through the space where he had stood only a half-second before, and they stabbed each other instead of him.
Tyfelian's swords both pierced Crilsteroy's gut.
Kiran met the charge of five drow soldiers, but the paladin knew that he could not defend against that many blades at once. Had he been able to see it, Kiran would not have been surprised that Tyfelian had tricked his opponents and gotten eight blades to botch their targets badly, but such maneuvers were beyond him.
Fortunately, he fought in a spinning triangle with two other Elnamerrna crewmen—unable to turn to see, he could not tell whom they were, but he knew they were there—and the three of them lunged and backed away in an almost hypnotic movement, very fast, but mesmerizing.
Kiran's holy sword batted away an Elendran warrior's short blade, and the return strike nearly tore the drow's heart right out of his chest. Another Elendran to Kiran's right slipped under his guard before the paladin could swing the blade back into position, and both of his swords struck Kiran's side soundly.
The Elendran couldn't believe it when the blades failed to penetrate. Kiran's armor, once worn by Vesgar Longhart, had been forged in the Grand Hearth. It was standard issue armor... for angels.
Kiran killed that drow with a great swing of Vesgar's sword, decapitating him where he stood.
The crew ripped into the fray with abandon, and the Elendrans quickly found that they could not win against these veterans of the Second Unhuman War. Their weapons knocked aside and slipped by those of the attackers; as skilled as they were, these drow could not stand up to this particular band.
Some of the original mercenary crew remained, but even these warriors boasted Tyfelian and Kiran's advanced training. They held circular or semi-circular formations tenaciously, fighting hard with every sweeping move Kiran had ever taught them, and with every trick Tyfelian had made them learn.
The Elendrans, also well-trained but not prepared for a situation like this, tried to turn and flee. That was impossible; this crew was also trained to be aggressive, and they ran down and killed every fleeing drow.
Sildara took grim pleasure in killing the last of them.
Tash hurled an explosive ball of whirling energies into the Elendran host, incinerating a large portion of the soldiers, and their wizards and clerics, to dust. Terrified by such power, the Elendrans broke and fled. Tash saw Crilsteroy plodding toward the docks, drinking a potion. Likely, that was for the sake of his guts, for she saw a heavy blood stain issuing from the armor over his belly.
Satisfied, Tash watched them flee, but she decided to give Crilsteroy a final "kick." She threw a lightning bolt at him, and grinned as it knocked him right over among five of his officers.
The wizards cast devastating attack magic upon the retreating dark elf officers.
When the outpour of destructive power ceased, Tyfelian and the others looked upon a swirling bank of smelly fog, so thick that no one could see through it. One of the Listraeeans—Tyfelian thought it was Krendren—cast a gust of wind spell to drive it away.
Tyfelian glared over at Crilsteroy, the cooling puddle of magma at his back.
The Elendran admiral sat on his rear, close to the asteroid's edge. His boots were smoking, his uniform was burned and torn to shreds, his immaculate hair mussed. Even as the fog cleared, one of Crilsteroy's warriors who had escaped with his life died, collapsing near the old drow. No other soldiers stood near him; the entire center of the Elendran host had been massacred by the attacks of the Elnamerrna crew, and most of the right and left flanks were dead, killed by spells. Only the officers still stood. These were scattered in small groups near Crilsteroy.
Tyfelian suppressed the smug satisfaction that welled in his heart, despite the fact that, where about a hundred and fifty drow had stood just moments before, only dead bodies lay and steam hissed.
"They were retreating," Kiran commented to Tyfelian. "Why did you have our wizards attack?"
"It was a trick," the half-drow replied. "That damn admiral had already pulled one of his swords before I gave the order. He was about to tell his wizards to attack us."
Kiran saw no way to verify Tyfelian's words, but he knew that the half-drow would not lie about something like that.
Considering Crilsteroy's own words, Tyfelian looked the older drow right in the eye. Crilsteroy would be returning home empty-handed... again. He would have to do some fast talking and some careful lying to avoid being executed when he got home.
Tyfelian didn't care, of course. He simply waved Crilsteroy away with an extremely threatening smile.
Crilsteroy didn't miss the look or its significance. Enraged but terrified, he shook his fist at Tyfelian, then scurried off as fast as his old legs could go. His surviving troops followed him at a run, back to the gypsy moths.
"Jaclyn and Alzja—scry them," Kiran told them. "See to it that they go back to the spansphere portals."
"If Mister Admiral will cooperate," Tyfelian said to Sildara, "we will repair the Elnamerrna, pay our final respects to Trizfastell and his company, and then we go home."
Sildara looked around mournfully. Nauthe'hressishtel stood in ruins. Even if the entire population had survived somehow, they probably would have had to relocate. One didn't need to be an expert to know that nothing remained to salvage.
"Let's get to work," Tyfelian finished, giving Sildara a look of solid determination, then he turned on his heel to find Abt and Barolcot.
Nauthe'hressishtel
Elnamerrna crew, beginning repairs
Greenmonth 26th, 2461
Tyfelian led the unhappy procession back to the "tree" palaces that Barolcot had pointed out earlier. There, Abt unlatched the box holding the Elnamerrna and placed the tiny ship on the ground. He eyed the angle in carefully. The Silver Triop's bow pointed at one of the palaces, with the ship at roughly the center between the three buildings.
"Is there anything we can do for the ship while she's this size?" Menlina offered, but both Tash and Barolcot shook their heads.
"Nothin' that'd carry over after we expanded 'er," Barolcot explained. "We'd have t'work with only the materials that're already shrunk, 'cause anythin' new won't expand when the ship does."
Barolcot raised a hand to Tash to stop her as she began to speak, winked at Abt, then turned the Elnamerrna slightly and moved her over to the right a bit.
Tyfelian and Kiran watched with some satisfaction as Tash reversed the shrinking magic. She touched the vessel amidships to make her grow larger from that point, staying right where she was, instead of expanding from the bow or tail, and they all stepped away hurriedly.
The Elnamerrna began to grow, getting bigger and bigger, filling the space between the palaces. Debris crunched under her weight as she once again became a one hundred and fifty feet long starship instead of a tiny construct. The masts rose higher and higher, until they rivaled the palace towers. The tail—or what was left of it—trailed backward out of the space between the three palaces and into the city.
Finally, the vessel reached full size, rocking side to side slightly, then settled down with a few jangling noises and interior crashes.
Barolcot moved off, calling out instructions to the crew. Some ran inside through the lower ballista bay as Sildara approached Tyfelian and Abt.
"A dead box?" Sildara asked Tyfelian, pointing at the odd case that Abt still carried.
"Yes," the half-drow chuckled. "You see why we put the ship in there when we shrink her," he said, waving a hand at the expanded Elnamerrna. "If that happened at the wrong time—"
"The ship could be destroyed, or it might kill someone," Menlina finished.
"Or both," Tyfelian said with a grimace. "But that can't happen with a dead box. Magic works normally inside it and all around it," he said, mostly to Menlina, whose puzzled look showed that she didn't know what a dead box was, "but no magic can go through it when it's closed."
"You done talkin'?" Barolcot yelled as the wizards used telekinesis to place ropes where the dwarf wanted them. "We'll be needin' help with this!"
Tyfelian smiled good-naturedly and went to join the dwarf.
His friendliness didn't last long before it slipped.
"Yeah, right there!" Barolcot shouted up to him. "No, watch that cracked part there! Don't put the rope on it! It'll never hold up!"
Tyfelian swore under his breath as he savaged the rope in question, which looped under the Elnamerrna and up to a spire on one of the palace towers—where the half-drow stood. He saw the crack in the hull that Barolcot meant, but he doubted the dwarf's words. The crack ran diagonally from the blasted remains of the tail along the portside and curved under to the ship's belly, but the area looked strong enough to hold against a mere rope.
"Don't even think about it, you drow dolt!" Barolcot roared at him. "You slip the rope under 'er right 'ere and you'll bust the ship in two!"
Tyfelian bit his lip to hold back a litany of swear words concerning a dwarf and a tipped-over starship, then slid the rope forward under the vessel's belly, past the arc of the crack and closer to amidships.
When Barolcot nodded, Tyfelian and six crewmen leaned back against the rope's pull, as did Kiran and six others on another palace spire on the starboard side. There was no visible effect on the ship itself—though the complex web of rope surrounding her suddenly snapped taut, and two of them now crossed under the ship—but Barolcot shouted approval anyway.
"Good! Now, tie the ends off! Tie 'em down hard!"
Tyfelian did, but even as his magically strengthened fingers tied the square knot, he shouted down to Barolcot.
"She didn't even move! What good will all this do?"
"That's the whole idea," Barolcot yelled back, speaking as if to a slow-witted child. "These ropes're there to keep 'er from movin' while we fix 'er—an' keep 'er from fallin' apart while we do what we have to do!"
Tyfelian looked down from the spire to the Elnamerrna. Two enormous lengths of rope crossed under the ship in an X-shape, and these in turn had more lengths of rope knotted to them, which Barolcot had loosely tied to various key spots of the Silver Triop, at all heights. The business ends of the ropes snaked through hull ruptures, where Barolcot had fastened them to the mirror-frame. The entire network of rope had snapped taut with the final pull.
He suddenly saw the method to the dwarf's madness. These ropes would do more than just hold the Elnamerrna still. With some expert adjustments, they would twist her back into her proper shape, whereupon Barolcot and the crew could safely tighten down everything.
That would hold the ship together, at least well enough to reach Hearthspace. There, they could get to the fine facilities and experienced repair workers at Quatha Vellar.
Sure enough, Barolcot had pulled a long ruler from the cargo bay and started taking measurements by the time Tyfelian made it down and over to him. He compared what he found to specs of the Elnamerrna's ideal condition, which he occasionally looked up from some papers he carried.
Tyfelian noted, though, that Barolcot seemed to make mistakes, for he sometimes crossed out things he'd just written and rewrote furiously, and once, he saw the engineer rub tired eyes.
Tyfelian thought, then tapped Barolcot's shoulder.
"Uh?" the dwarf grunted.
"Finish up what you're doing, then report to your quarters," he ordered. "Get some rest—you need a clear head to do this right."
Barolcot seemed about to argue, but then he let the words die as he suddenly looked ready to drop.
"Go," Tyfelian said to him. "Alzja!" he called.
"Yes?" she yelled back.
"Select a minimal number of guards to keep watch. I'm sending everyone else to quarters for sleep."
Tyfelian watched Barolcot stumble into the lower weapon bay, then moved off to order everyone to bed.
"All hands, to me!" he shouted. When they had all moved closer, he waved them into the ship.
"All hands, to your quarters. Kiran, assign quarters to our new friends, and then turn in yourself. Everyone to sleep! We can't do this when we can't think straight."
The crew and the Listraeeans looked at Tyfelian with surprise, but they collectively realized that he was right. Most of them had been awake for well over half a day under high-stress conditions. Those who had been awakened by the call to battle stations were even less rested.
"What about the Elendrans?" Sildara asked. "What if they come back?"
"We'll deal with them if we must," Tyfelian replied. "If not, we're getting some rest so we can repair the ship and get moving."
Sildara bit her lip, then went away to find Kiran.
The lot of them shuffled into the lower weapon bay.
Sildara stepped through a door with Kiran and her own troop. The small room on the other side was only dimly illuminated, but she noticed that it had the same shrinking glyph here as in the cargo bay. The room immediately seemed to become larger and larger, swelling to many times its previous size.
"You of the Elnamerrna are certainly fond of making space where there is none."
Kiran nodded. "We like to take something of the comforts of home with us. If it can be done, why not try it?" He smiled, pointing at a door to their left. It had been scarcely noticeable when they had first arrived, but now it looked much like any ordinary door.
Kiran walked the short distance over to it and opened it. Sildara and the others followed him into a vision from a dream.
The crew quarters of the Elnamerrna appeared to be a tiny village under a starry, moonless sky. Sildara recognized an illusionary place when she saw it, but the detail appeared fantastic. By appearances, they stood in starlight on a tiny planetoid. The ground beneath her feet felt like soil, and she smelled grass and bushes. A faint sound of running water brushed her ears, but she could see none. A dozen or so off-duty watchdogs milled around the place or sat at rest.
"The sky and horizon are illusions, but the earth and plants are real," Kiran murmured to them, "out to the distance of the real walls, at least."
He slowly walked down a path paved with white sand. After a moment, the others followed him, glancing back to see a door standing in the middle of nowhere—the illusion had depth in the direction behind them. Menlina, ever the curious one, touched the wall beside the door.
The wall was there—she felt it, but she could not see it. The illusionary appearance did not react in any way.
The "crew quarters," such as they were, looked to Sildara's eyes to be small cottages. She counted twelve of them. Kiran walked right up to one and opened the door.
"At least for a time, this is your new home," he said to them. "There are only seven of you; each building is meant for ten."
Sildara blinked with surprise. Ten! She felt sure that twenty people could sleep in each building fairly comfortably.
"This one is where the weapon crews used to sleep," Kiran went on. "I'll see you through inspection, then you can choose which rooms you want."
They found the rooms more or less in order; they threw out all personal items and Kiran took them outside.
"I'll put these away after we've slept," he told his new friends. "Goodnight, Captain."
Sildara murmured the reply, but she looked down sadly as the human left and closed the door. With her entire world shaken without mercy, she felt unsure of what to do with herself. She did realize that Tyfelian had had a point—there was no figuring it out with an exhausted mind and an equally worn-out body—so she turned to the room she had chosen and entered it to find what rest she could.
Nauthe'hressishtel
Elnamerrna crew, at rest
Greenmonth 27th, 2461
Tyfelian feared another "visit" from Lolth during his reverie, but no such thing occurred. Indeed, his dreams turned out to be relatively pleasant—and remarkably vivid. He relived some of the best moments of his long life, starting with his final escape from Tatissadane.
That had been after he had led a sizable army from Castle Althaya to the city district where his family had lived, and wiped them out in true drow fashion.
That act had pained Tyfelian at the time—he was not evil (not anymore) and did not actually enjoy killing (again, not anymore)—but he had realized that his family would never have stopped chasing him. Hence, he had formed an enormous army and gone to Tatissadane to declare war.
No one had survived that attack. That particular cavern of Tatissadane's twenty-five had been completely destroyed the last time Tyfelian had seen it. Some common drow stragglers had escaped, including Tyfelian's insane father Lyledel, but the city district itself would never pursue Tyfelian again, nor anyone else, for that matter. Everyone who mattered, except Lyledel, had been killed.
Though he had disliked seeing the deaths of so many people—even evil drow—Tyfelian had known that he had done only what he had had to do. He had used the normal tactics of his own kind against them, destroying them, and had scored a full victory. Hence, by the dark elves' own rules, that district no longer existed, and indeed, it never had...
... nor did Tyfelian. The act, however terrible, had set him free. The rest of the city had exacted revenge by sending an invasion force to the surface to destroy Nacla, but Tyfelian had expected them to do that, despite their own rules. He and most of the common citizens of Nacla Township had escaped. With the capital city gone, however, the barony dissolved and Tyfelian's experiment with settling down was firmly put out of action.
However, his thoughts only started there. The focus of his reverie was elsewhere—on better days.
After that, there had been good times to his life—more than ever, with the threat of his family's ruthless pursuit eliminated. Now, Tyfelian needed reassurance that he and his crew did not act against evil all by themselves. He found out during that reverie that there was no better place to find such assurance than in his own memories. He had met many very good people—King Allenvar of Embimura, Lord Takrorn Remblestone of the Angulapar dwarves, King Valecatal of Leafloft Forest, Admiral Silanos of the Elven Imperial Fleet, Captain Alshmer of the starship Everstream, and plenty more.
One memory of an event shot through his mind especially hard, as it was more recent. He remembered the planet Pit, and the ledge overlooking a river of molten lava. A large chunk of that ledge had fallen when a scro catapult load nailed it, dropping Tyfelian down toward the lava. With nothing but crumbling rock under him, not even a drider could have gotten any purchase on that slope. He would have died right then had not Hajri grabbed his hand. The lookout could have scrambled to safety much faster had he not stayed put to save Tyfelian, but the human had put his own life at considerable risk to save a drider.
Reliving his memories of such people heartened him. They blurred through his mind in surreal fashion, but the emotional impact was overwhelming. Tyfelian had felt damning guilt over what had happened to the Listraeeans, but now he put it aside. He could continue with his life, perform good works, and eventually override what he had done.
Moreover, the reverie allowed him to remind himself that he had been only an unwitting pawn—he had not killed the Listraeeans deliberately. Through some means unknown and a mysterious third party, the Elendrans and Lolth had set him up and executed their foul plan. It was done, and he had to live with it.
The misery would not go away—Tyfelian understood that it would take a long time for that to happen—but he did feel a little better about the disaster after thinking about something else for a while.
Tired and emotionally drained, Tyfelian slid down deeper into unconsciousness, into real sleep. Here, his dreams changed their tone. Curiously, he dreamed about events that he had not witnessed, as they had occurred some four decades before his birth.
He dreamed about Vesgar Longhart and his team. He saw them crawling through besieged Nacla, the very place that Tyfelian would rebuild and then lose over a century later. The six of them were trying to get to the Erarzi Imperial Palace, there to kill Emperor Rastalken. It had been a grim, bitter war, and Vesgar and the others had meant to put an end to it. Tyfelian's unconscious mind could not recall whether they had succeeded, though in the conscious world he had read their journals. Those journals contained considerable detail about everything they had done during the war and its aftermath.
His dream placed him near where his own wizards would build Castle Althaya, closer to his own time, though that seemed strange to him... he thought that he should be seeing them coming from the west, across the city's larger dimension. He looked closely at Vesgar and the others but could make out little detail; it was raining, though he did not feel it. The six great heroes circled around the hill that Tyfelian remembered as Castle Althaya's marker, and walked toward downtown Nacla, not noticing the half-drow from over a hundred and fifty years in their future.
A blinding flash of lightning yanked Tyfelian to another place. The ruins of Althaya spread out before him, razed by Tatissadane drow. The resemblance to Nauthe'hressishtel's destroyed palaces was painful, but even more haunting was the fine view of Nacla beyond the wreckage.
Tyfelian had been trying to rebuild it and make it a nice place to live, but Tatissadane, particularly the Skyshaft District, would never let him rest... in the end, they would capture him and Lolth would punish him with the drider curse. He would respond by sacking the Skyshaft District, and Tatissadane as a whole would sack Nacla. The city—which under the steady guidance of Tyfelian and others had been making a fantastic comeback—would be devastated.
Tyfelian smiled in his dreams, however. He had gotten the last laugh for a while; he had left the planet. The Spider Queen had settled with him now—and he hoped he would never hear from her again, he realized as he reawakened.
He rose from his slumber, expecting to feel battered and haunted by nightmarish dreams. He did not feel like that, however, so he left his quarters and hurried to the crow's nest.
Hajri stood there. Tyfelian gave him a smile, though Hajri would be leaving the ship soon if they survived to reach Quatha Vellar, eventually to return home to Kara-Tur on the planet Toril, perhaps. He felt no animosity toward those who had chosen to leave; they had their reasons. Not everyone was like Tyfelian, who loved to adventure simply for its own sake.
"Report," he said to the lookout.
"Nothing, sir," the young man said in military fashion, but he couldn't hold back a smirk. "The Elendrans ran off with their tails between their legs and closed the spansphere portals. You sure told that cursed admiral off!"
The Kara-Turan man's smile was infectious, and Tyfelian thought, not for the first time, that he didn't like the fact that he would lose this one. Hajri was a "bushi," as warriors were called in Kara-Tur, and he was unique on the Silver Triop. Tyfelian had met a few others like him—there was a continent on Erilonia called Fui-Cha, which had cultures similar to those of Kara-Tur—but he had not succeeded in netting any permanent crewmen there on his last visit, which had been near the middle of the war.
Tyfelian had thought that that was strange; the Fui-Cha nations had more interest in space than any others from Erilonia did. However, they were an odd people with different culture and customs than the human nations Tyfelian had known elsewhere.
The half-drow looked out across the ruins of Nauthe'hressishtel. From the crow's nest, he could see the spot where the spansphere portals had been. Looking in that direction, though, he saw nothing at all except the omnipresent boulders.
Satisfied, he scurried down the mainmast and back into the Elnamerrna. Sildara waited for him, standing near the battered stairway that once had led to the upper weapon deck.
Tyfelian thought she looked only somewhat rested. The Svart Alfar captain had slept a bit, but not much.
"Tyfelian, there's something important I have to tell you," she said without preamble.
Tyfelian looked at her, waiting.
"Privately," she hinted.
He waved her into step beside him. "My quarters, then," he said. He led her to the door to his room, which stood across the starboard hallway from the door to the bridge. He opened the door to let her in and closed it behind her.
Sildara glanced around curiously, and then looked at the half-drow.
"Why do you use standard quarters? I slept in a very nice place earlier."
"Only so I can get to the bridge at a moment's notice," Tyfelian smiled, but his smile faded as he regarded her. "You don't look well, Sildara. Did you sleep badly?"
"I was disturbed by some rather strange dreams," Sildara replied. "But that's what I want to talk to you about—or what I dreamed about is, at least."
Tyfelian waited patiently for her to speak.
Sildara shot a look at the door, and then moved close to him to whisper in his ear.
"The seventh of the Elendran Seven is here in Nauthe'hressishtel."
"What?" Tyfelian cried.
"Yes," she continued. "It's in the temple of Eelistraee."
"How?" Tyfelian stammered.
"Grand Admiral Trez'linnit brought it with him. It's the Octahedron."
"Kiran mentioned it at our first private meeting. You didn't say anything about it," Tyfelian accused. "I take it you couldn't?"
"Correct."
"I see. We should get it. If nothing else, because if the Elendrans ever come back, they shouldn't have it."
"Agreed," Sildara replied. "Get a small team ready and I'll take you to it."
Tyfelian didn't need to be told twice.
Sildara tried to shove aside a twisted door, but the burned and blasted object broke apart at her push and fell, burying her feet to the ankles in broken rocks and dust.
She grimaced, but then ducked through the half-destroyed entryway that the door had once sealed. The sight beyond—the massive chapel to Eelistraee, now demolished thoroughly—made her gasp and cast down her eyes, but she steeled herself and walked through it.
"This way."
She led the party of eight through the chapel. Tyfelian's expression hardened as his feet sifted across debris and he had to step around or over bodies scattered throughout the entire area.
Sildara reached the altar. She knelt there for a moment, offering the Dark Maiden a last prayer from this place, then climbed onto the platform.
The Listraeean captain pulled hard on the left arm of a statue of Eelistraee at the very back of the altar. Tyfelian and his party could see no visible result—the arm did not move—but Sildara pressed moved slightly and pressed her hand against the rear wall.
A section of the wall vanished.
Tyfelian hopped up onto the altar himself to watch. Sildara walked into a small, secret alcove whose opposite wall looked to be sheathed in atharstone. The half-drow instantly recognized it as a far larger version of the deadbox he and his crew used to protect the Elnamerrna when they shrank her, and his eyes narrowed in approval. It paid to be careful with artifacts, even ones made by good-hearted people. That was doubly true if one didn't know what a given artifact could do.
Sildara pushed on a well-concealed door in the atharstone wall. It opened to reveal a black chamber with nothing in it—except an object of bizarre shape floating in mid-air within a sparkling field of blue energy. It slowly whirled around in place, glowing very softly with its own radiance.
"The Octahedron," Sildara stated with reverence. "It was carried by Trez'linnit, with the Septahedron."
Tyfelian regarded it with intense interest. Each side of the object was eight-sided, entirely covered with magical runes that he had never seen before. He tentatively reached for the Octahedron, but looked at Sildara before touching it.
She nodded him on, looking hopeful.
The half-drow grasped the spinning object. It stopped rotating at his touch, but he found that, when he tugged on it, he could not move it.
Looking disappointed, Sildara said, "Only the right person can take the Octahedron. According to our elders, it will also kill anything evil that touches it on purpose."
Tyfelian let go of it, slowly, to give Sildara proof—once and for all—that his heart held no evil; the strange object began spinning again immediately. He then thought for a moment, and then called over his shoulder.
"Kiran," he said quietly, "try it."
The paladin hurried up and across the altar. As he came to Tyfelian, the half-drow gazed directly into his eyes.
"Pull forth the Septahedron, and take the Octahedron with your other hand."
Kiran without comment shifted his eyes from Tyfelian's to the Octahedron. His left hand went deep into his belt pouch and brought out the Septahedron.
He then took a deep, steadying breath and grasped the Octahedron as Tyfelian had done.
The sparkling blue energy faded as Kiran easily plucked the Octahedron from its spot. He held it in his hand firmly but gently, and examined it with respect.
Tash and Alzja moved to him to see it. Trula stood a little farther back on the altar, watching quietly. After a good
look, Alzja and Tash glanced at each other, confused.
"You know runic inscriptions, Alzja," Tyfelian prodded gently. "What do you say about those?"
"I've never studied any runes like those there," Alzja stated. "I'm not sure I can decipher what they mean-"
"It's glowing more brightly," Kiran interrupted, and indeed the Octahedron had brightened.
Tyfelian eyed it warily, and then he blinked.
"Jaclyn! Trula! Get over here!" he cried, though he couldn't have said exactly why. His Dridercomp-enhanced intuition had called to him to say it.
The Octahedron glowed even more brightly as the psion drew near the other five. Its radiance then expanded to encompass all six of them who possessed the Elendran artifacts. It began to emit a soft, but insistent, humming sound, then the light flared to sun like brightness for a split second...
... and five of them staggered a step as they suddenly looked around at the bridge of the Elnamerrna.
