The silver dragon rolled over onto its back lazily, riding the morning winds with its legs—all four—crossed over it and its sleepy eyes half closed. The good dragon loved its morning glide, leaving the bustle of the world far below and catching the sun’s untainted rays above the cloud level.

But the dragon’s marvelous orbs popped open wide when it saw the fiery streak rushing at it from the east. Thinking the flames to be the forerunning fires of an evil red dragon, the silver swooped around into a high cloud and poised to ambush the thing. But the fury left the dragon’s eyes when it recognized the strange craft, a fiery chariot, with just the helm of the driver, a one-horned contraption, sticking above the front of the carriage and a young human woman standing behind, her auburn locks flying back over her shoulders.

Its huge mouth agape, the silver dragon watched as the chariot sped past. Few things piqued the curiosity of this ancient creature, who had lived so very many years, but it seriously considered following this unlikely scene.

A cool breeze wafted in then and washed all other thoughts from the silver dragon’s mind. “Peoples,” it muttered, rolling again onto its back and shaking its head in disbelief.

Catti-brie and Bruenor never even saw the dragon. Their eyes were fixed squarely ahead, where the wide sea was already in sight on the western horizon, blanketed by a heavy morning mist. A half-hour later, they saw the high towers of Waterdeep to the north and moved out from the Sword Coast and over the water. Bruenor, getting a better feel of the reins, swung the chariot to the south and dropped it low.

Too low.

Diving into the gray shroud of mist, they heard the lapping of the waves below them and the hiss of steam as the spray hit their fiery craft.

“Bring her up!” Catti-brie yelled. “Ye’re too low!”

“Need to be low!” Bruenor gasped, fighting the reins. He tried to mask his incompetence, but he fully realized that they were indeed too close to the water. Struggling with all his might, he managed to bring the chariot up a few more feet and level it off. “There,” he boasted. “Got it straight, and got it low.”

He looked over his shoulder at Catti-brie. “Need to be low,” he said again into her doubting expression. “We have to see the durn ship to find it!”

Catti-brie only shook her head.

But then they did see a ship. Not the ship, but a ship nonetheless, looming up in the mist barely thirty yards ahead.

Catti-brie screamed—Bruenor did, too—and the dwarf fell back with the reins, forcing the chariot upward at as steep an angle as possible. The ship’s deck rolled out below them.

And the masts still towered above them!

If all the ghosts of every sailor who had ever died on the sea had risen from their watery graves and sought vengeance on this particular vessel, the lookout’s face would not have held a truer expression of terror. Possibly he leaped from his perch—more likely he toppled in fright—but either way, he missed the deck and dropped safely into the water at the very last second before the chariot streaked past his crow’s nest and nipped the top of the mainmast.

Catti-brie and Bruenor composed themselves and looked back to see the tip of the ship’s mast burning like a single candle in the gray mist.

“Ye’re too low,” Catti-brie reiterated.

11. Hot Winds

The Sea Sprite cruised easily under clear blue skies and the lazy warmth of the southern Realms. A strong trade wind kept its sails filled, and only six days after their departure from Baldur’s Gate, the western tip of the Tethyr Peninsula was already in sight—a journey that normally took more than a week.

But a wizard’s call traveled faster still.

Captain Deudermont took the Sea Sprite down the center of Asavir’s Channel, trying to keep a safe distance from the peninsula’s sheltered bays—bays that often held pirates poised for passing merchant vessels—and also cautious to keep a healthy gap of water between his ship and the islands on his west: the Nelanther, the infamous Pirate Isles. The captain felt safe enough in the crowded sea lane, with the banner of Calimport flying above his craft and the sails of several other merchant ships dotting the horizon every so often both in front of and behind the Sea Sprite.

Using a common merchant’s trick, Deudermont closed in on a vessel and shadowed its course, keeping the Sea Sprite in its wake. Less maneuverable and slower than the Sea Sprite and flying the flag of Murann, a lesser city on the Sword Coast, this second ship would provide a much easier target to any pirates in the area.

Eighty feet above the water, taking a turn in the crow’s nest, Wulfgar had the clearest view of the deck of the ship ahead. With his strength and agility, the barbarian was fast becoming quite a sailor, eagerly taking his turn at every job alongside the rest of the crew. His favorite duty was the crow’s nest, though it was a tight fit for a man of his size. He was at peace in the warm breeze and solitude. He rested against the mast, using one hand to block out the daytime glare, and studied the crew’s activities on the ship ahead.

He heard the front ship’s lookout call something down, though he couldn’t make out the words, then saw the crew rushing about frantically, most heading for the prow to watch the horizon. Wulfgar jolted upright and leaned over the nest, straining his eyes to the south.

“How do they feel, having us in tow?” Drizzt, standing beside Deudermont on the bridge, asked the captain. While Wulfgar had been building a rapport working beside the crew, Drizzt had struck a solid friendship with the captain. And realizing the value of the elf’s opinions, Deudermont gladly shared his knowledge of his station, and of the sea, with Drizzt. “Do they understand their role as fodder?”

“They know our purpose in shadowing them, and their captain—if he is an experienced sailor—would do the same if our positions were reversed,” Deudermont replied. “Yet we bring them an extra measure of safety as well. Just having a ship from Calimport in sight will deter many of the pirates.”

“And perhaps they feel that we would come to their aid in the face of such an attack?” Drizzt was quick to ask.

Deudermont knew that Drizzt was interested in discovering if the Sea Sprite would indeed go to the other ship’s aid. Drizzt had a strong streak of honor in him, Deudermont understood, and the captain, of similar morals, admired him for it. But Deudermont’s responsibilities as the captain of a vessel were too involved for such a hypothetical situation. “Perhaps,” he replied.

Drizzt let the line of questioning end, satisfied that Deudermont kept the scales of duty and morality in proper balance.

“Sails to the south!” came Wulfgar’s call from above, bringing many of the Sea Sprite’s crew to the forward rail.

Deudermont’s eyes went to the horizon, then to Wulfgar. “How many?”

“Two ships!” Wulfgar called back. “Running north and even, and wide apart!”

“Port and starboard?” Deudermont asked.

Wulfgar took a close measure of the intercepting course then affirmed the captain’s suspicions. “We will pass between them!”

“Pirates?” Drizzt asked, knowing the answer.

“So it would seem,” the captain replied. The distant sails came into view to the men on the deck.

“I see no flag,” one of the sailors near the bridge called to the captain.

Drizzt pointed to the merchant ship ahead. “Are they the target?”

Deudermont nodded grimly. “So it would seem,” he said again.