"They did not return fire," the elf commented as they walked down the stairs to the main deck.

"You noticed," Teldin said. "I wonder what was waiting out there for us."

"Scro, no doubt. The Armistice orcs got their ships somewhere, and who else would supply them?"

"What about those bionoids?" Teldin suggested.

Vallus stopped short. "That's impossible," he said flatly. "The bionoids obviously want to get their hands on your cloak, but why would they serve orcs? They are elven weapons."

Anger flashed in Teldin's eyes, but he kept his voice even. "You probably can't understand this, Vallus, but you just answered your own question." Not trusting himself to say more, he turned away and went off to check on Hectate.

Had he looked back, Teldin would have been astounded at the effect his words had on the elven wizard. Vallus Leafbower's stunned face suggested a soul who had glimpsed himself in a mirror and had been deeply disturbed by what he had seen.

Needing time alone to think over the troubling insight, the elf turned to the solitude of his cabin. Since writing usually helped him sort through his thoughts, Vallus went to the locked cabinet that held the ship's log and automatically his fingers began to rehearse the spell that released the lock. He stopped in midspell, puzzled, then leaned in for a closer look. It appeared that someone had attempted to open the lock-physically, not with magic. The signs of intrusion were subtle: the tarnished metal around the keyhole was slightly brighter where a key or picking tool had been inserted.

Vallus sped through the unlocking spell and snatched up the log. He leafed through it rapidly, checking sequence and dates to ensure that no pages were missing. To his eyes, the book did not appear to have been disturbed, and he exhaled in a slow, relieved sigh. Not that the log would have yielded much information. As was required, all of his entries were made in a unique, magical code that he himself had devised, so that the log was impossible to read without powerful spells. Of course, there was always the possibility that someone strong enough to break the magical lock could also, in time, decipher the code.

The elven wizard returned the book to the cabinet, which he locked and reinforced with additional spells and wards. That accomplished, he began to go through the motions of preparing for sleep. He strongly suspected that his dreams would be haunted, not only by Teldin Moore's accusing blue eyes, but also by the echoes of his own words, so full of blind confidence in elven right and reason.

Vallus had thought himself beyond thoughtless bigotry, and he was deeply disturbed to learn otherwise. Not long ago he'd congratulated himself for his open-minded acceptance of half-elf Hectate Kir, but the moment he'd learned that the half-elf was a bionoid, Hectate had ceased to be a person. He was simply a bionoid, and all the elven prejudices and reluctant guilt concerning that race had completely pushed aside any other perspective. No wonder the scro were finding ready allies against the elves. What other races, Vallus wondered, felt they had reason to rebel against the elves' arrogant dominance of wildspace?

It was ironic, Vallus thought as he crawled onto his cot, that such thoughts should come to him now, when he had good reason to suspect that Hectate Kir was a spy.

Teldin Moore, of course, would never believe this. In his current frame of mind, Vallus himself felt inclined to disregard the facts. Yet, they were there, and too numerous to ignore.

Someone with access to elven technology had stolen a cloaking device for a bionoid clan. It was likely that the bionoid shrike ships tracked the Trumpeter using information obtained from someone on board, and who knew the swan ship's course better than Hectate Kir, the navigator? Whoever had tampered with the locked cabinet was no thief, but someone who knew exactly what he was looking for and where to look. Other, more accessible valuables in his cabin-spell components, rare books, a few bottles of rare elven spirits-had not been touched. Finally, there was Hectate's mysterious disappearance during the bionoid attack. It could not have been coincidence that the half-elf turned up on Armistice in a crashed insectare vessel, which was almost certainly the same vessel that had taunted the swan ship during the battle. And, according to the healer, there was no reason why Hectate Kir should not have regained consciousness. What was he up to, and what did he want with the ship's log?

Vallus could not shake the feeling that Teldin Moore's cloak was not the primary issue in this mysterious plot. When the bionoids attacked, they easily could have slain every elf on board the swan ship and captured Teldin, but the creatures broke off the attack when victory seemed assured. Why? Vallus puzzled over this until he drifted into a restless slumber.

Much later, his troubled dreams were interrupted by a loud knocking at his cabin door. Gaston Willowmere, who, as first mate, was acting as the third watch commander, stood at attention, and his angular face was deeply troubled.

"Captain, we've spotted one of the Imperial Fleet patrol ships."

"Ahh." Vallus spoke the word on a sigh. "Well, it had to happen. I'm surprised we haven't been called into account long before this for violating the Armistice net."

"They don't want our report, sir," the first mate said. "The ship appears to be in trouble. It's adrift."

"A man-o-war, adrift!" Vallus said sharply, and Gaston nodded. A familiar, icy feeling crept through the elven wizard, the same nameless dread he'd felt on Lionheart upon hearing the tale of the armada ghost ship. A force that could overcome an armada or a man-o-war-without leaving a trace!-was a terrifying prospect. He hadn't heard the results of that investigation, but he wondered if he was about to confront the mysterious foe himself.

"Have you alerted Captain Moore?" he asked Gaston.

Vallus's question clearly took the first mate by surprise. Without waiting for a response, Vallus instructed him to get Teldin to the bridge immediately. The wizard quickly dressed and made his way to the bridge. He instructed the third-watch helmsman, Kermjin, to make a cautious approach to the man-o-war.

Teldin came to the bridge only moments later. His sandy hair was rumpled and his clothing bore wrinkled testament to several restless hours in a hammock-he'd given up his own cabin to Hectate Kir, so that the half-elf could recover in comfort and privacy. Vallus quickly explained the situation, and, when the swan ship came close enough to the drifting man-o-war, Teldin trained his looking glass at the deck. He recoiled in horror and swore an oath that would have done credit to a drunken dwarf.

The elven wizard snatched up a second looking glass and peered through it. On the deck of the man-o-war was a roiling pack of gray, hideous creatures, engaged in what appeared to be a feeding frenzy. So quickly did the monsters move that only flashes of silver and red betrayed the identity of their feast. The elf s bile rose, and he lowered the glass with shaking hands.

"If we're to save any of those elves, we'll have to move in fast," Teldin declared.

Vallus shook his head. "There is nothing to be done," he said in a dull whisper. "There is nothing left to save."

Teldin's face darkened, and Vallus wearily supposed that the human would argue the matter as usual. But the young captain took a closer look at Vallus's stricken face, and his wrath dissolved. Although his blue eyes held many questions, he merely laid a steadying hand on Vallus's shoulder.

The elven wizard nodded his thanks, and Teldin turned away and directed the helmsman to give the doomed man-o-war a wide berth. Vallus was grateful for Teldin's unexpected empathy and his good judgment. At the moment he himself felt overwhelmed with despair, incapable of speech or action.