"Hard astern!" Mariona shouted into the speaking tube that led from the deck down to the navigation room. The helmsman-the wizard whose magic combined with the power of the magical, thronelike helm to give power to the ship-acknowledged her order. Mariona noted with deep concern that his voice sounded thin and weary. Passilorris had been at the helm for much too long. His strength and his magic were nearly depleted.
The ship began to trace a leisurely arc toward the right as the helmsman urged the ailing vessel in an evasive maneuver. Not fast enough. The Q'nidar flopped down onto the ship's envelope, its black wings spread wide like a pall over the ship, its body bouncing slightly from the impact with the protective shield. So diminished was the air envelope that the creature hung low, bobbing gently between the ship's paired wings.
To Mariona's horror, the creature's eyes opened, focused, and then narrowed with malevolence as they glared directly into hers. The Q'nidar's chest slowly expanded as it prepared to expend its last breath in a killing blast.
"Fire!" she shrieked, pointing up toward the Q'nidar.
The ballista crew threw their weight against the massive weapon, swiveling it around and tilting it up to aim at the new threat. The bolt tore upward and plunged through the creature's heart.
A shimmering glow spread outward from the dead Q'nidar to engulf the protective bubble. The bubble's surface began to seethe and bulge like water just coming to a boil. A blast of hot air burst down through the opening, scalding the ballista crew before the magical shield could close in to repair the gap.
Mariona noted with grim relief that the ballista bolt had gone clear through the creature, thus allowing much of the hot air from its lungs to escape into wildspace. Had it not, the full force of the blast might have killed many more elves. Either way, however, they were better off than if the creature had "screamed." At such close range the force from such a heat weapon would have reduced the ship to ash.
But the threat did not die with that single Q'nidar. The creatures who had scattered and fled were regrouping. Mariona could see the distant flash of reflected starlight on their wings as they hurtled in for the final assault.
The final assault. Of that, there could be no doubt.
"Captain, we're receiving a communication!"
The navigator's voice echoed up through the speaking tube, shrill with excitement and hope reborn.
Mariona's heart quickened. To the best of their knowledge, there were no spelljamming ships in this section of wildspace, and no civilization on the nearest world capable of star travel. It would be wonderful to be proved wrong!
"On my way," she said, taking off at a run for the narrow steps that led down into the hold.
Her eye fell first upon the helmsman, a Silver elf of middle years. He was nearly gray with exhaustion, and his white-knuckled hands gripped the armrests of the helm as if to squeeze from it just a few more drops of power. Mariona rested a hand on his shoulder, briefly, and turned to the navigator.
Shi'larra was bent over a scrying crystal, her black eyes intense in her tattooed face. She glanced up at the captain. "The crystal has been pulsing, as if receiving a message. It is powerful magic-definitely elven-but subtly different from anything we know. According to the latest report from the Imperial Fleet, there are no elven ships in this area."
Mariona understood at once the implications of the navigator's words. From time to time, an elven civilization upon some outpost world found its own way to star-flight. The first contacts between these fledgling ships and the well-established elven navy that ruled wildspace was usually jarring in the extreme to the newcomers. There were strict protocols concerning how these encounters should be handled. Protocol, however, was a luxury that the desperate crew could not afford.
The elf woman lay her palm on the crystal, letting the powerful material absorb her personal magic. And powerful it undoubtedly was-the globe had been fashioned from the crystallized remains of a Q'nidar that had flung itself into a star. Such artifacts were rare and powerful, and she'd considered herself fortunate to have happened upon it in the debris that floated along a common trade route. Now the crystal offered a chance to stave off the utter destruction of ship and crew. Later, perhaps, she would ponder the irony of this.
"Captain Mariona Leafbower, of Green Monarch, a man-o-war of Elven Imperial Navy," she said crisply. "We are under attack and have sustained heavy damage. We are near the moon of Aber-toril. The navigator will give you our precise star coordinates. Can you help?"
There was a moment of silence. "You are flying? You are near Selune?" demanded a melodious, disembodied male voice.
"We are still star-borne, yes," Mariona said, puzzled by the incredulous note in the elf's voice. "Identify yourself and your ship."
"I am Vhoori Durothil, a High Mage of Evermeet," the unseen elf said. "And I am not on a ship at all, but on land. Sumbrar, to be precise, an outpost island just beyond Evermeet's bay of Leuthilspar."
Mariona and Shi'larra exchanged incredulous glances. Land-to-ship communication was incredibly difficult, and required magical technology of an extremely high level. They had not known that the elves of Aber-toril possessed such magic.
"Do you have spelljamming ships in this area?" she repeated.
"We have no such ships," Vhoori said. "But I can guide yours to a sheltered bay near the island."
Another blast of Q'nidar breath hit the dwindling shield, and another thrumming crack shuddered through the hull. Mariona winced. "Our ship is breaking apart. We don't have time to make landfall. Even if we did, we would be pursued by creatures that want the ship."
"I fear I cannot help you in such a battle. Can you leave the ship to your enemies? Have you lifeboats?"
Shi'larra nodded, her face grim. "It's that or nothing, captain."
Mariona glanced with concern at the failing mage in the helm. His head jerked upright, suddenly, as if he were trying to keep himself awake by force of will. "Passilorris can't bring us down. Ghilanna is dead, Llewellenar isn't feeling much better. We don't have another helmsman."
"What is a helmsman, please?" the unseen elf inquired.
The captain hissed in exasperation. Her ship was soaring toward oblivion, and this land-bound mage wanted a primer in spelljamming technology? "A wizard," she gritted out. "His spells power the helm-a magical chair of sorts-that powers the ship."
"Ah. Then perhaps I can help you. Get your crew to the lifeboat, and place your communication device upon this… helm."
"You cannot power a helm from a distance-not even the minor helm on the lifeboat! It has never been done," Mariona said.
"That does not mean it is not worth trying. And I can sense the thread of magic between my communication device and yours. I will bring you down in safety," the elf said confidently.
Since she had no better ideas, Mariona turned to the watchful navigator. "Give the order, get everyone aboard. I’ll follow with Passilorris."
Shi'larra seized the scrying globe and darted up the steps. The captain gave her a few minutes to gather the survivors and get them aboard the lifeboat, a small, open craft that looked rather like an oversized canoe. But it was light and it was fast; provided, that was, that a mage of sufficient power sat at the helm.
In moments Shi'larra's trademark signal-the high, shrieking cry of a hunting hawk-informed the captain that all was in readiness. Taking a deep breath, she dragged the nearly comatose mage from the helm and flung him over her shoulder.