“Bah! What would we want o’ him?” Bruenor shot back, winking at Catti-brie for playing her part to perfection.

“He’ll get us to Calimport,” Catti-brie replied. She cast a steely gaze at Sali Dalib, warning him that her mercy was not easily gotten. “Suren this time he’ll take us down the true bestest road.”

“Yes, yes, ha ha ha ha ha,” Sali Dalib blurted. “Sali Dalib show you de way!”

“Show?” balked Wulfgar, not to be left out. “You will lead us all the way to Calimport.”

“Very long way,” grumbled the merchant. “Five days or more. Sali Dalib cannot—”

Bruenor raised his axe.

“Yes, yes, of course,” the merchant erupted. “Sali Dalib take you there. Take you right to de gate…through de gate,” he corrected quickly. “Sali Dalib even get de water. We must catch de caravan.”

“No caravan,” Drizzt interrupted, surprising even his friends. “We will travel alone.”

“Dangerous,” Sali Dalib replied. “Very, very. De Calim Desert be very full of monsters. Dragons and bandits.”

“No caravan,” Drizzt said again in a tone that none of them dared question. “Untie them, and let them get things ready.”

Bruenor nodded, then put his face barely an inch from Sali Dalib’s. “And I mean to be watchin’ them meself,” he said to Drizzt, though he sent the message more pointedly to Sali Dalib and the little goblin. “One trick and I’ll cut ‘em in half!” Less than an hour later, five camels moved out of southern Memnon and into the Calim Desert with ceramic water jugs clunking on their sides. Drizzt and Bruenor led the way, following the signposts of the Trade Way. The drow wore his mask, but kept the cowl of his cloak as low as he could, for the sizzling sunlight on the white sands burned at his eyes, which had once been accustomed to the absolute blackness of the underworld.

Sali Dalib, his assistant sitting on the camel in front of him, came in the middle, with Wulfgar and Catti-brie bringing up the rear. Catti-brie kept Taulmaril across her lap, a silver arrow notched as a continual reminder to the sneaky merchant.

The day grew hotter than anything the friends had ever experienced, except for Drizzt, who had lived in the very bowels of the world. Not a cloud hindered the sun’s brutal rays, and not a wisp of a breeze came to offer any relief. Sali Dalib, more used to the heat, knew the lack of wind to be a blessing, for wind in the desert meant blowing and blinding sand, the most dangerous killer of the Calim.

The night was better, with the temperature dropping comfortably and a full moon turning the endless line of dunes into a silvery dreamscape, like the rolling waves of the ocean. The friends set a camp for a few hours, taking turns watching over their reluctant guides.

Catti-brie awoke sometime after midnight. She sat and stretched, figuring it to be her turn on watch. She saw Drizzt, standing on the edge of the firelight, staring into the starry heavens.

Hadn’t Drizzt taken the first watch? she wondered.

Catti-brie studied the moon’s position to make certain of the hour. There could be no doubt; the night grew long.

“Trouble?” she asked softly, going to Drizzt’s side. A loud snore from Bruenor answered the question for Drizzt.

“Might I spell ye, then?” she asked. “Even a drow elf needs to sleep.”

“I can find my rest under the cowl of my cloak,” Drizzt replied, turning to meet her concerned gaze with his lavender eyes, “when the sun is high.”

“Might I join ye, then?” Catti-brie asked. “Suren a wondrous night.”

Drizzt smiled and turned his gaze back to the heavens, to the allure of the evening sky with a mystical longing in his heart as profound as any surface elf had ever experienced.

Catti-brie slipped her slender fingers around his and stood quietly by his side, not wanting to disturb his enchantment further, sharing more than mere words with her dearest of friends.

The heat was worse the next day, and even worse the following, but the camels plodded on effortlessly, and the four friends, who had come through so many hardships, accepted the brutal trek as just one more obstacle on the journey they had to complete.

They saw no other signs of life and considered that a blessing, for anything living in that desolate region could only be hostile. The heat was enemy enough, and they felt as if their skin would simply shrivel and crack away.

Whenever one of them felt like quitting, like the relentless sun and burning sand and heat were simply too much to bear, he or she just thought of Regis.

What terrible tortures was the halfling now enduring at the hands of his former master?

Epilogue

From the shadows of a doorway, Entreri watched Pasha Pook make his way up the staircase to the exit of the guildhouse. It had been less than an hour since Pook had regained his ruby pendant and already he was off to put it to use. Entreri had to give the guildmaster credit; he was never late for the dinner bell.

The assassin waited for Pook to clear the house altogether, then made his way stealthily back to the top level. The guards outside the final door made no move to stop him, though Entreri did not remember them from his earlier days in the guild. Pook must have prudently put out the word of Entreri’s station in the guild, according him all the privileges he used to enjoy.

Never late for the dinner bell.

Entreri moved to the door to his old room, where LaValle now resided, and knocked softly.

“Come in, come in,” the wizard greeted him, hardly surprised that the assassin had returned.

“It is good to be back,” Entreri said.

“And good to have you back,” replied the wizard sincerely. “Things have not been the same since you left us, and they have only become worse in recent months.”

Entreri understood the wizard’s point. “Rassiter?”

LaValle grimaced. “Keep your back to the wall when that one is about,” A shudder shook through him, but he composed himself quickly. “But with you back at Pook’s side, Rassiter will learn his place.”

“Perhaps,” replied Entreri, “though I am not so certain that. Pook was as glad to see me.”

“You understand Pook,” LaValle chuckled. “Ever thinking as a guildmaster! He desired to set the rules for your meeting with him to assert his authority. But that incident is far behind us already.”

Entreri’s look gave the wizard the impression that he was not so certain.

“Pook will forget it,” LaValle assured him.

“Those who pursued me should not so easily be forgotten,” Entreri replied.

“Pook called upon Pinochet to complete the task,” said LaValle. “The pirate has never failed.”

“The pirate has never faced such foes,” Entreri answered. He looked to the table and LaValle’s crystal ball. “We should be certain.”

LaValle thought for a moment, then nodded his accord. He had intended to do some scrying anyway. “Watch the ball,” he instructed Entreri. “I shall see if I can summon the image of Pinochet.”

The crystal ball remained dark for a few moments, then filled with smoke. LaValle had not dealt often with Pinochet, but he knew enough of the pirate for a simple scrying. A few seconds later, the image of a docked ship came into view—not a pirate vessel, but a merchant ship. Immediately Entreri suspected something amiss.

Then the crystal probed deeper, beyond the hull of the ship, and the assassin’s guess was confirmed, for in a sectioned corner of the hold sat the proud pirate captain, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, shackled to the wall.

LaValle, stunned, looked to Entreri, but the assassin was too intent on the image to offer any explanations. A rare smile had found its way onto Entreri’s face.

LaValle cast an enhancing spell at the crystal ball. “Pinochet,” he called softly.