Chapter Text
A man stood before the console, turning back to Lae’zel in equal parts surprise and disgust. He raised his arm, channeling the corrupted energy of the biomachinery—a gish battle-mage, disarmed and mutilated by the ghaik as she was, but also alive and murderously enraged. She positioned her feet to avoid the attack, when their minds connected.
He saw an aspirant knight following the kithraki in pursuit of glory. She saw an injured helmsman clinging to a burning hull. This raider must be from the Myrmidon, the planar raider looming in slow orbit behind the horde of dragon riders. The massive ship would have sent cutters ahead to relay information and track the gh'ath as it left local communication range. Small, nimble vessels could outmaneuver a nautiloid indefinitely, but if there had been a delay in orders, and one was caught between the kithraki and their quarry…
“Ah, another infected.” He carefully placed an armful of qualith tablets on the machine’s dashboard and spread his arms in a sarcastic gesture. “Welcome to the nautiloid, vin’iisk. Do you remember your name? How you came to be in the gut of this ship?”
“Lae’zel, of Crèche K’liir.”
The chamber shook as something tore into the hull, sending the qualith tablets flying and displacing wet globs of mucilaginous discharge from the walls and ceiling. Was that the dragon riders’ assault on the hull, or were they being boarded by hellspawn?
The man bent down to retrieve the tablets, wincing and leaning heavily on the console as he tried to stand back up. He looked drained and tortured, with bulging, red eyes and peeling lips, and Lae’zel was certain she looked the same or worse. Still, they were alive, a critical mistake by their captors.
“From K’liir?” He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “As am I, though it’s been some time. Ardak, formerly of K’liir, presently third junior helmsman aboard the Myrmidon Raider.”
She wrinkled her nose. Whoever he was, he wasn’t enthralled, but he was certainly mad. Even so, Lae’zel couldn’t deny that she felt strengthened by her kin’s presence. Terror was the mind flayers’ final and most deadly weapon. She wouldn’t let it take her.
An istik woman leaned against Ardak, unsteady on her feet as the floor reverberated with cannon fire and failing architecture. She was in even worse shape than Lae’zel’s kin, with an oozing gash above her eye and bruises along her jaw, injuries uncharacteristic of battle with ghaik. She had been fighting someone else when she was captured. Lae’zel couldn’t imagine this elf would last long enough to be useful, but as long as she stayed out of their way, Ardak could keep his pet.
“Is she with you?” the girl asked.
“She was following the dragon riders. Which means… I have questions.”
“Enough!” Lae’zel lifted a dull sword from a fallen thrall. What was left of her kit was in ruins, so it would have to do, for now. “We need to get to the helm and take control of the ship. You were on a cutter—what are the latest orders?”
“Orders? So, you don’t know. The Myrmidon was opening a portal when we lost planar-range communication with the kithraki. Something is interfering with the ship’s portal generator. The Jhe’stil Kithrak took control of the bridge and sent the helm technicians forward to give warning.”
Lae’zel felt the sickening vertigo of his intrusion into her mind. She saw his thoughts reflected back: this was sabotage, not ghaik interference. There were hshar’laki among them, and now Kithrak Voss would blame the Myrmidon’s crew for the delay. How dare he suspect her, when the spelljammer crew had access to the portal generator themselves?
The istik gathered her things and stretched her arms and shoulders. The news unsettled her, too. “So, your mothership was trying to open a portal? Does that mean more gith are coming?”
“They are all coming. Who knows what’s happening out there, now. Consider our orders to be to stay alive and take this ship before it fails. Keep them off of me, and I can dominate the helm and get us back to the Astral Plane.”
The Astral Plane—they could still be purified. She would bring Queen Vlaakith more than the skulls of the ghaik that stood in their way. She would bring Her the conquered nautiloid and news of a traitor among the pursuing horde. As for her kin, if he could really capture the helm, she would happily inform the Lich Queen that he was more than the scheming academic he appeared to be.
They made their way through the narrowing, fleshy passages. Burst membranes wept foul-smelling humors that sizzled under the leather of their shoes and dripped into their hair. “You said you can dominate the helm. Have you done this before?” the istik asked.
He stumbled over a hissing pustule. “Standard protocol. Now, it would be easier with less flaming holes between us and the command deck, but who am I to criticize a dragon’s aim?”
“‘Standard protocol.’ Is that so.” Lae’zel furrowed her brow. He could do less complaining and more climbing.
“Well, it was in the training module. That was a hologram, but it’s to scale.”
She could have just killed him. “Everyone did the training module! It’s not the same as a real nautiloid!”
Indignant, he stopped and turned around, nearly toppling all three of them into sticky gore. “Really! If you did the same module, where’s the ship’s heart?”
“The heart? Inside the shell. What does it matter?”
“Ventral. From where we are standing. And the bridge, where the transponder could have been disabled before we left local communication range, dorsal.” He seemed like he was trying to make a point, though this lecture seemed trivial, given their imminent danger. It was a helm tech’s job to memorize schematics, not a dragon rider’s. He sighed critically. “That means up. Given your obvious respect for shipcraft, you would have made an excellent knight.”
“Perhaps if you had more diligently maintained your own ship, you wouldn’t be turning into an abomination.” She wished she hadn’t said that. The lurking terror crept up her spine.
He grimaced and steadied himself against the pulsing wall. “I agree.”
How delightful that they would spend their last moments arguing about nothing in front of a stranger. The bleeding istik woman urged them on without acknowledging their bickering, and Ardak hesitated with his hand nearly touching the final passage to the bridge.
“Once inside, I need to get to the helm console and gain control of the ship, just long enough to take us home. We’ll only have a moment before they realize what we’re doing.”
“We’ll keep them occupied.” Lae’zel shouldered past him, ready at the door.
The elf woman seemed like she had some concerns about their plan. Inconsequential, as long as she could follow orders. “And then what?”
Ardak rolled his shoulders and Lae’zel activated the door. They spoke at the same time: “Vlaakith gha’g shkath zai.”