Spelljammer story, chunk 5

(2058 words)

Behind us, I watched the raven ship. I could see orcs swarming out along the wing, beating out the fire with canvas and water. The man-o-war was moving as well, slowly shifting its flexible leaf wings to catch the wind. It was moving on the same course as us, but I knew that they'd never catch us up with the damage they had taken. The captain turned to me and grinned. “Looks like we're well clear, Raphael. All's well that end's well, hey?” He turned to touch the wood of the wheel, to ward off bad luck. He was a little late.

From the man-o-war, there was a flash. A cannonball, glowing bright blue, streaked toward us. Before any of us could do more than blink, it crashed along the deck of the Jewel and hit the wall of the forecastle. There was a bright flash from inside the hole the ball had left, and the captain and I paled as we felt a cold breeze suddenly wash over us. “Report, Raphael! And tell me it isn't what I think!” I nodded, and sprinted up the deck. I peered in the hole in the forecastle, and groaned. The worst had, indeed, happened. The cannonball, its force and magic spent, was lying next to a small podium in the room. On the podium was a large, faceted crystal, about four inches across. It should have been glowing a healthy yellow, like the summer sun. Instead, it was dark and grey. I shivered. The sunstone didn't look broken, but the elven shot, guided by fate, or, more likely, the magic of the ship's mage, had dispelled the sunstone's stored power. And without that, the Jewel had perhaps a day before it froze in the cold of wildspace.

I headed back to the wheel. The captain didn't need to ask. My face was enough. “They got it, captain.” He grimaced, then asked “Is the stone cracked?” I shook my head. “It looked intact.”

“Then we have a chance.” The captain set his face in concentration. “If I remember the charts right... Take the wheel, Raphael. I need to check.” I nodded, and took his place. If the captain thought we had a shot, then we might survive yet. He was the best navigator I'd ever sailed with, and he could calculate courses in his sleep. I held our course steady, and waited, fighting against hope and despair both. The crew settled down to their tasks, but everyone kept one eye on the door to the captain's cabin.

An hour later, Captain Blake emerged. His expression was mixed – more hopeful than it had been, but with a crease of worry between his eyes. He came up to the helm, and I raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “Good news and bad news, Raphael. The good news is, there's a planet we can make it to in maybe eighteen hours, maybe a little more. The bad news is, its Verpax.”

I groaned and slumped. Verpax was a miserable place to be stranded. It was a small world on the outer edge of Redoak's system, far from the central fire of the sun. That made it cold. It wasn't quite far enough away to be a winter world. It was also wetter than a dwarf smith's back, covered by mist, fog, and rain. Every bit of surface that wasn't covered by icy sea was cold swamp. The continents were basically mudbanks, only barely above the level of the ocean. And ocean and swamp were both inhabited by as nasty a group of man-eating critters as ever came out of some mad creator god's fevered dreams. I had spent a day on Verpax, a decade ago, hiding from another elven patrol. I had been frost-, bug-, and demoncat-bitten, and then I had come down with a nasty swamp rot that And now I had a month, or more, to look forward to there. “Any port in a storm, I guess. But it's a miserably bad port, Cap'n.”

He nodded. “I've heard your stories. But it's all we've got. Better there than freezing to death. Here's the course, hold her steady.” He gave me the coordinates, and I set the wheel, then slouched against it in a black funk. Our ship was damaged, we had tweaked the nose of both elves and orcs, and we now had a month of leave on the worst planet I knew. I wondered what else could go wrong.

Within a couple hours, we had begun feeling the loss of the sunstone. The air was growing colder, and everyone put on warmer clothes, the halflings condescending to wear vests over their normally bare chests. Rudy spelled me at the helm, and I did a quick inspection of the ship, and ducked into my quarters to grab a thick sweater. Then I headed belowdecks, to check on our prisoners.

It was rather warmer down there, the heavy wood of the hull providing some insulation against the bitter cold of space. Nonetheless, it was still chilly. I headed down the stairs and strolled along the gangway to the port stateroom, where we had set up a temporary brig. Rolf was standing guard outside; he nodded curtly to me, and twisted his head to indicate the prisoners inside the room. "Said nothing."

"Well, maybe I can get a little out of them." I said mildly. Rolf merely grimaced, his expression clearly saying that he doubted it. He got out the key anyway, though, and unlocked the stateroom door. I did a quick scan of the room, checking that all three of the Navy personnel were in view, and not trying anything. I had a moment of surprise, then. There were four people inside. The Songmaster was sitting on a chair in the corner of the stateroom, watching the door. The two marines were sitting wearily against the wall, the one with his wounded arm in a sling. And the fourth was lying on the bed, apparently unconscious. I took a closer look, and my surprise turned into shock. It was the third officer! Apparently, he had survived the flitter's crash into the Jewel. I scowled, and made a note to complain about not being informed. This was important.

But that could wait. For now, I wanted to see if I could get some information out of the rest of them, before their commander woke up and started giving them orders. I watched the room for a bit longer, keeping an eye on the Songmaster. While she didn't move, I could tell she was watching me in turn. Her eyes blazed with anger, and her face was set in tight lines. Clearly, she was not pleased with me, her situation, or much of anything else. However, a few seconds of watching convinced me that this was her, and no illusion. She reacted too quickly to any movements I made, and her eyes tracked me perfectly. An illusion would almost certainly not be able to do that so well, even with its controller in the same room. The difference in perspective made perfection almost impossible. So, that meant that really was her sitting in the chair and glaring daggers at me, rather than a figment meant to distract me while the real Songmaster waited invisibly in ambush. Good enough.

I gestured with one hand at her. "Get up. I'm going to ask you some questions. Come along." I waited by the door, with my hand on my cutlass. "And I'm warning you. If you so much as whistle a note, I can cut your throat. So let's have no serenades." Her eyes grew even harder. If she could have burned me with the force of will alone, I would be a shadow on the wall. But she couldn't, so she did the only thing she could: get up, and head for the door, watching me and my sword arm closely the whole time. She didn't say a word, but she fell into place in front of me without needing a prompt. I gestured back along the gangway towards the stairs to the upper deck. "That way. First door on your right." To Rolf, I said "I'll just question her in the starboard stateroom. Lock the room up again. And keep your ears open for trouble."

The Songmaster marched, still in stony silence. At the door I had indicated, she hesitated, then nodded once when I said "Go in". She opened the door, went in, and I followed closely, still with my hand on my sword. Once inside, I closed the door, and then indicated one of the chairs by the small table. "Sit down. Hands where I can see them, please." The elf woman walked over to the chair, and sat. I took the opportunity to admire her again. She was very easy on the eyes, and now that she wasn't in a position to kill me, it was easier to appreciate it. Her walk was graceful - none of the seductive sway of a seductress, but the quick grace of a dancer. Or a warrior. No wasted motion. And she filled out her uniform very well, I had to admit. Curvier than the average elf, by a fair margin.

As she pulled out the chair, turned, and sat, her eyes met mine. She caught my gaze, and for a second looked confused rather than angry. Then comprehension dawned in her eyes, and the anger returned with extra force. A pinched line was now in evidence between her eyes, and I her hands clenched on the table in front of her. Her eyes, now that I had a chance to examine them closely, were an intriguing gold color. It wasn't a shade I had ever seen in an elf, and it just added to her overall look of exotic beauty.

But this sort of speculation wasn't getting me anywhere, and I doubted I would have much luck pursuing the ideas with her. Instead, I decided to get down to business. "So. I want to ask you some questions. If you're helpful, you can insure that your stay here is reasonably comfortable, and we'll put you off in a port where you can get back to the Navy without too much inconvenience. Let's start simple. What's your name?"

The Songmaster remained silent. She tilted her head, and the look of anger did not fade. I sighed. I hadn't expected it to be easy, but it would have been nice. "Very well. If you don't cooperate, we can make life a lot less pleasant than it is. For one thing, you don't have to be kept in a stateroom. We have some perfectly serviceable bilges, if you'd prefer to stay there. Now, again, what's your name?" Still she kept quiet, though her expression had deepened to pure rage when I mentioned the bilges. "Well, what will it take? Things don't have to get unpleasant just for us, you know. The officer is not much use to us, frankly. Even if he wakes up, I'd say he's too full of himself to ever make himself useful. There's really no need for him to ever wake up at all. And we'd gain by losing the weight. Do you want that to happen?"

Her face was now a mask of incandescent fury. She shook her head once, sharply, at my question, but was still silent. Now I began to realize that something was odd. She hadn't only been refusing to talk, I hadn't heard even one sound out of her since the beginning. I eyed her. "Can't you speak?" The elf's face now lost some of the anger, but now she looked contemptuous. She shook her head, and lifted her chin, tapping a significant finger against a green choker with a clear crystal in the center. I realized I hadn't seen her wear it before, and then realized where I had seen it - it was another trick of the captain's, a silencing collar. A smart move, on his part. Most mages would be hampered by the collar, but not rendered useless, unless they were such novices as to be unable to cast any spells with only gestures. But the Songmaster, limited as she was by the need to make music to work her magic, was completely helpless.