A week was too long a delay.

Regis was hardly surprised later that night when Entreri returned to the room and announced that he had “persuaded” the captain of the Calimport vessel to change his schedule.

They would leave in three days.

Epilogue

Wulfgar heaved and strained on the ropes, trying to keep the mainsail full of the scant ocean wind as the crew of the Sea Sprite looked on in amazement. The currents of the Chionthar pushed against the ship, and a sensible captain would normally have dropped anchor to wait for a more favorable breeze to get them in. But Wulfgar, under the tutelage of an old sea dog named Mirky, was doing a masterful job. The individual docks of Baldur’s Gate were in sight, and the Sea Sprite, to the cheers of several dozen sailors watching the monumental pull, would soon put in.

“I could use ten of him on my crew,” Captain Deudermont remarked to Drizzt.

The drow smiled, ever amazed at the strength of his young friend. “He seems to be enjoying himself. I would never have put him as a sailor.”

“Nor I,” replied Deudermont. “I only hoped to profit from his strength if we engaged with pirates. But Wulfgar found his sea legs early on.”

“And he enjoys the challenge,” Drizzt added. “The open ocean, the pull of the water, and of the wind, tests him in ways different than he has ever known.”

“He does better than many,” Deudermont replied. The experienced captain looked back downriver to where the open ocean waited. “You and your friend have been on but one short journey, skirting a coastline. You cannot yet appreciate the vastness, and the power, of the open sea.”

Drizzt looked at Deudermont with sincere admiration and even a measure of envy. The captain was a proud man, but he tempered his pride with a practical rationale. Deudermont respected the sea and accepted it as his superior. And that acceptance, that profound understanding of his own place in the world, gave the captain as much of an advantage as any man could gain over the untamed ocean. Drizzt followed the captain’s longing stare and wondered about this mysterious allure the open waters seemed to hold over so many.

He considered Deudermont’s last words. “One day, perhaps,” he said quietly.

They were close enough now, and Wulfgar released his hold and slumped, exhausted, to the deck. The crew worked furiously to complete the docking, but each stopped at least once to slap the huge barbarian across the shoulder. Wulfgar was too tired to even respond.

“We will be in for two days,” Deudermont told Drizzt. “It was to be a week, but I am aware of your haste. I spoke with the crew last night, and they agreed—to a man—to put right back out again.”

“Our thanks to them, and to you,” Drizzt replied sincerely.

Just then, a wiry, finely dressed man hopped down to the pier. “What ho, Sea Sprite?” he called. “Is Deudermont at your reins?”

“Penman, the harbormaster,” the captain explained to Drizzt. “He is!” he called to the man. “And glad to see Pellman, as well!”

“Well met, Captain,” Pellman called. “And as fine a pull as I’ve ever seen! How long are you in port?”

“Two days,” Deudermont replied. “Then off to the sea and the south.”

The harbormaster paused for a moment, as if trying to remember something. Then he asked, as he had asked to every ship that had put in over the last few days, the question Entreri had planted in his mind. “I seek two adventurers,” he called to Deudermont. “Might you have seen them?”

Deudermont looked to Drizzt, somehow guessing, as had the drow, that this inquiry was more than a coincidence.

“Drizzt Do’Urden and Wulfgar, by name,” Pellman explained. “Though they may be using others. One’s small and mysterious elflike—and the other’s a giant and as strong as any man alive!”

“Trouble?” Deudermont called.

“Not so,” answered Pellman. “A message.”

Wulfgar had moved up to Drizzt and heard the latter part of the conversation. Deudermont looked to Drizzt for instructions. “Your decision.”

Drizzt didn’t figure that Entreri would lay any serious traps for them; he knew that the assassin meant to fight with them, or at least with him, personally. “We will speak with the man,” he answered.

“They are with me,” Deudermont called to Pellman. “‘Twas Wulfgar,” he looked at the barbarian and winked, then echoed Pellman’s own description, “as strong as any man alive, who made the pull!”

Deudermont led them to the rail. “If there is trouble, I shall do what I can to retrieve you,” he said quietly. “And we can wait in port for as long as two weeks if the need arises.”

“Again, our thanks,” Drizzt replied. “Surely Orlpar of Waterdeep set us aright.”

“Leave that dog’s name unspoken,” Deudermont replied. “Rarely have I had such fortunate outcomes to my dealings with him! Farewell, then. You may take sleep on the ship if you desire.”

Drizzt and Wulfgar moved cautiously toward the harbormaster, Wulfgar in the lead. Drizzt searched for any signs of ambush.

“We are the two you seek,” Wulfgar said sternly, towering over the wiry man.

“Greetings,” Pellman said with a disarming smile. He fished in his pocket. “I have met with an associate of yours,” he explained, “a dark man with a halfling lackey.”

Drizzt moved beside Wulfgar, and the two exchanged concerned glances.

“He left this,” Pellman continued, handing the tiny pouch to Wulfgar. “And bade me to tell you that he will await your arrival in Calimport.”

Wulfgar held the pouch tentatively, as if expecting it to explode in his face.

“Our thanks,” Drizzt told Pellman. “We will tell our associate that you performed the task admirably.”

Pellman nodded and bowed, turning away as he did so, to return to his duties. But first, he realized suddenly, he had another mission to complete, a subconscious command that he could not resist. Following Entreri’s orders, the harbormaster moved from the docks and toward the upper level of the city.

Toward the house of Oberon.

Drizzt led Wulfgar off to the side, out of plain view. Seeing the barbarian’s paling look, he took the tiny pouch and gingerly loosened the draw string, holding it as far away as possible. With a shrug to Wulfgar, who had moved a cautious step away, Drizzt brought the pouch down to his belt level and peeked in.

Wulfgar moved closer, curious and concerned when he saw Drizzt’s shoulders droop. The drow looked to him in helpless resignation and inverted the pouch, revealing its contents.

A halfling’s finger.

Book 2.

Allies

7. Stirrings

The first thing he noticed was the absence of the wind. He had lain long hour after hour on his perch at the top of the chimney, and through it all, even in his semiconscious state, there had been the unceasing presence of the wind. It had taken his mind back to Icewind Dale, his home for nearly two centuries. But Bruenor had felt no comfort in the gale’s forlorn moan, a continual reminder of his predicament and the last sound he thought he would ever hear.

But it was no more. Only the crackle of a nearby fire broke the quiet stillness. Bruenor lifted a heavy eyelid and stared absently into the flames, trying to discern his condition and his whereabouts. He was warm and comfortable, with a heavy quilt pulled up tightly around his shoulders. And he was indoors—the flames burned in a hearth, not in the open pit of a campfire.

Bruenor’s eye drifted to the side of the hearth and focused on a neatly stacked pile of equipment.

His equipment!

The one-horned helm, Drizzt’s scimitar, the mithril armor, and his new battle-axe and shining shield. And he was stretched out under the quilt, wearing only a silken nightshirt.