the illithid ship, and Teldin Moore had yet to regain consciousness. The knife that had struck Teldin had been treated with poison, and after several tries the ship’s healer managed to decoct a potion to counteract it. Teldin’s delirium had faded within hours, and the restraints binding him to the narrow cot had been removed as soon as it was safe to do so. Vallus did not want Teldin to awaken to the perception that he was being held prisoner in some way.
Throughout the process Vallus had attended the human, praying for his recovery with a deep, desperate fervor. As if in response to his prayers, the human’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. Teldin Moore’s cornflower blue eyes looked dim and “disoriented, but relief flooded the elven wizard. By order of the grand admiral, Vallus would have had to done the cloak if the man had died. Having seen the results with Teldin, he wasn’t looking forward to the experience.
“I am glad you’re back, Teldin Moore,” Vallus said from the heart.
The human’s eyes met his, focused, then narrowed. Vallus suppressed a sigh. Despite Cirathorn’s treachery, Vallus was startled by the extent of Teldin Moore’s animosity toward the elves. Perhaps, Vallus thought with dismay, his task would be more difficult than he’d anticipated.
Teldin tried to speak, but the sound caught in his dry throat and sent him into a weak spasm of coughing. He grimaced and touched his left hip. Despite the elves’ best efforts, the wound was still angry and red. Vallus motioned for the healer.
Deelia Snowsong glided to the bedside. She slipped one hand behind Teldin’s neck and lifted his head, holding a goblet to his lips. Teldin managed several painful swallows and nodded his thanks. As he focused on his elven attendant, his eyes widened with wonder. Deelia was pale even for an elf, with hair and skin the color of a snowdrift. The elves from her ice-covered homeworld were tiny, seldom reaching five feet, and their ethereal beauty gave pause even to other elves.
There was admiration in Teldin Moore’s eyes, of course, but Vallus saw something far more important. The human’s curiosity and wonder struck an answering chord in Vallus’s soul, which sang with a burning, childlike need to know. This need had defined the wizard’s life, first by his choice of profession, and then by seducing him from his homeworld and sending him into wildspace. Once again the elf saw in Teldin a flicker of the flame that burned in his own heart. Someone had implanted in Teldin Moore the need to explore, to question, and to know. Perhaps the human had suppressed this need, but it was there and Vallus would exploit it.
“Where —” Teldin broke off, painfully clearing his throat. Frustration was written clearly upon his face.
“You are aboard the Trumpeter, a swan ship of the elven Imperial Fleet,” Vallus told him. Anticipating some of the human’s questions, he continued.
“You have been gravely ill, unconscious for almost three days. The knife that wounded you was poisoned, but thanks to Deelia Snowsong, our healer, you should suffer no long-term effects. Your ship was destroyed in battle, as was most of your crew. We picked up but two survivors, a gnome woman and an aperusa.”
“Figures,” Teldin croaked through a small, crooked smile.
Vallus nodded, understanding. In the three days since the battle, he had noted that the gypsy Rozloom had an uncanny aptitude for self-preservation.
The human’s brow knitted in sudden concern. “Estriss? Hectate?”
Vallus nodded reassuringly. “Our illithid friend is much improved. In fact, he is anxious to speak with you and has been asking for you hourly. Of the half-elf, I have less news. Since the battle he has kept to his cabin. Our healer examined him and could find no sign of injury. The effects were very similar to those following the casting of a powerful spell, and after resting for a day he recovered fully. I take it the half-elf is a mage of
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