The Ultimate Helm by Russ T. Howard Page A

something more, something wondrous, and something that is better than the life I have here...
    Letter to Meranna,
    mother of Jokarin.
     
    Teldin, CassaRoc, and the giff, dwarf, and halfling leaders talked among themselves for an hour after their agreement to become allies, making broad, preliminary plans for defense and explaining to Teldin the multifaceted  – and sometimes highly confusing  – political situations aboard the Spelljammer. The ship was more crowded than he had originally thought, holding whole communities of illithids, goblins, neogi, dra-cons, ogres, beholders, elves – it was all too much, and Teldin finally decided that it just did not really matter, as long as he could get the answers he needed.
    Privately Teldin and his allies were all worried that no word had been sent from the elves or the Shou. The Shou were largely unknown to Teldin, but he had had enough untrustworthy dealings with the elves to last him a lifetime, and he decided it would be best to consider them both, for the present, as potential enemies.
    They briefly talked about some of the legends concerning the Spelljammer , in order for Teldin to get an idea of the great ship’s history – what they actually knew of it – and the power structures and hierarchies on board. No one had ever heard of Teldin’s cloak before the beholder myth had started to circulate months earlier. Neither could they elaborate on the Dark Times and what they meant to the ship. “All we know,” Diamondtip explained slowly, “is that the Dark Times herald war for us all. Food will be in short supply, though we don’t really know why. Most of the communities have food supplies and even grow some themselves. Our primary food comes from the Spelljammer’s gardens, and I can think of no reason why that should ever stop. The gardens are open to all, and the harvests are plentiful. We go completely without want.”
    Talk eventually turned from there to the nature of Teldin’s cloak. All, of course, knew of ultimate helms, but they could not be sure of the peculiar qualities the cloak had displayed. “That could be what pulled you out here,” Lord Kova said, stroking his trim beard. “But if the cloak is truly an ultimate helm, it is the strangest helm I’ve ever heard of.”
    “Perhaps it is something special,” said Kristobar Brewdoc. “That would explain why the evil ones consider you dangerous – perhaps it is some kind of device whose magic is uncontrollable, or even limitless. A charm like that could destroy all your enemies.”
    “Aye,” CassaRoc said, “even...” He took a draft of ale. “Even the Fool.”
    “The Fool? Who is that?” Teldin asked.
    “No one,” Brewdoc said hurriedly. “Make-believe, to keep children in line.”
    Hancherback snorted loudly. “Not hardly. He’s real, I tell you, but he is less than human – far less.” He turned to the Cloakmaster. “Evil incarnate, he is. A serpent in the belly of the Spelljammer .”
    “Aye,” Kova said. “We mortals brought the monster to the Spelljammer. And we mortals must destroy it.”
    Firespitter was silent through this, glaring occasionally at Lord Kova. He believed that the Fool was a myth created by the Kovans for some unknown purpose – only the dwarves under Kova would be so stupid as to fashion such a ridiculous bogeyman. A worm. Hah!
    “No one knows who the Fool really is,” Diamondtip said, “or if he really exists. Some say he is the secret captain, some say he was the captain once, now deposed. Others say he is a being formed by the violent deaths of others, a being of soulless energy. Others don’t believe in him at all.”
    A blank look fell across Teldin’s face. There was something there with them, he could feel, something cold and empty gnawing at the pit of his soul.
    CassaRoc was watching him and said, “Teldin, are you all right?”
    Silently Teldin reached across the table and plucked the dagger from CassaRoc’s belt. He held it