Catti-brie could not help but laugh. “So stop him yerself!
Harkle listened to the dwarf’s heavy footsteps resounding down the hall; Bruenor’s bare feet thudded on the wooden floor like bouncing stones. “No,” Harkle answered her offer, his smile widening to match her own. “I think not.”
Abruptly awakened in the night, the Lady Alustriel appeared no less beautiful, her silvery mane somehow mystically connected to the soft glow of the evening. Bruenor composed himself when he saw the lady, remembering her station and his manners.
“Uh, begging the lady’s pardon,” he stammered, suddenly very embarrassed by his actions.
“It is late, good King Bruenor,” Alustriel said politely, an amused smile on her face as she viewed the dwarf, dressed only in his nightshirt and broken helmet. “What might have brought you to my door at this hour?”
“What with all that’s going on about, I did not even know ye were still in Longsaddle,” Bruenor explained.
“I would have come to see you before I left,” Alustriel replied, her tone still cordial. “No need to disturb your sleep—or mine.”
“Me thoughts weren’t for good-byes,” Bruenor said. “I be needing a favor.”
“Urgently?”
Bruenor nodded emphatically. “A favor I should’ve asked afore we e’er got here.”
Alustriel led him into her room and closed the door behind them, realizing the seriousness of the dwarf’s business.
“I need another one of them chariots,” said Bruenor. “To take me to the south.”
“You mean to catch your friends and aid in the search for the halfling,” Alustriel reasoned.
“Aye, I know me place.”
“But I cannot accompany you,” Alustriel said. “I have a realm to rule; it is not my place to journey unannounced to other kingdoms.”
“I wouldn’t be askin’ ye to go,” replied Bruenor.
“Then who will drive the team? You have no experience with such magic.”
Bruenor thought for just a moment. “Harkle’ll take me!” he blurted.
Alustriel couldn’t hide a smirk as she thought of the possibilities for disaster. Harkle, like so many of his Harpell kin, usually hurt himself when spellcasting. The lady knew that she would not sway the dwarf, but she felt it her duty to point out all of the weaknesses of his plan.
“Calimport is a long way indeed,” she told him. “The trip there on the chariot will be speedy, but the return could take many months. Will not the true king of Mithral Hall lead the gathering armies in the fight for his throne?”
“He will,” Bruenor replied, “if it be possible. But me place’s with me friends. I owe them at least that!”
“You risk much.”
“No more than they’ve risked for me—many the times.”
Alustriel opened the door. “Very well,” she said, “and my respect on your decision. You will prove a noble king, Bruenor Battlehammer.”
The dwarf, for one of the few times in his life, blushed.
“Now go and rest,” said Alustriel. “I will see what I may learn this night. Meet me on the south slope of Harpell Hill before the break of dawn.”
Bruenor nodded eagerly and found his way back to his room. For the first time since he had come to Longsaddle, he slept peacefully.
Under the lightening sky of predawn, Bruenor and Harkle met Alustriel at the appointed spot. Harkle had eagerly agreed to the journey; he had always wanted a crack at driving one of Lady Alustriel’s famed chariots. He seemed out of place next to the battle-charged dwarf, though, wearing his wizard’s robe—tucked into leather hip boots—and an oddly shaped silver helmet with fluffy white fur wings and a visor that kept flopping down over his eyes.
Alustriel had not slept the rest of that night. She had been busy staring into the crystal ball the Harpells had provided her, probing distant planes in search of clues to the whereabouts of Bruenor’s friends. She had learned much in that short time and had even made a connection to the dead mage Morkai in the spirit world to garner further information.
And what she had learned disturbed her more than a little.
She stood now, components in hand and awaiting the break of dawn, quietly facing the east. As the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon, she swept them into her grasp and executed the spell. Minutes later, a flaming chariot and two fiery horses appeared on the hillside, magically suspended an inch from the ground. The licks of their flames sent tiny streams of smoke rising from the bedewed grass.
“To Calimport!” Harkle proclaimed, rushing over to the enchanted carriage.
“Nay,” Alustriel corrected. Bruenor turned a confused glance on her.
“Your friends are not yet in the Empire of the Sands,” the lady explained. “They are at sea and will find grave danger this day. Set your course to the southwest, to the sea, then true south with the coast in sight.” She tossed a heart-shaped locket to Bruenor. The dwarf fumbled it open and found a picture of Drizzt Do’Urden inside.
“The locket will warm when you approach the ship that carries your friends,” Alustriel said. “I created it many tendays ago, that I might have known if your group approached Silverymoon on your return from Mithral Hall.” She avoided Bruenor’s probing gaze, knowing the myriad of questions that must have been going through the dwarf’s mind. Quietly, almost as if embarrassed, she added, “I should like it returned.”
Bruenor kept his sly remarks to himself. He knew of the growing connection between Lady Alustriel and Drizzt. It became clearer and clearer every day. “Ye’ll get it back,” he assured her. He scooped the locket up in his fist and moved to join Harkle.
“Tarry not,” Alustriel told them. “Their need is pressing this day!”
“Wait!” came a call from the hill. All three turned to see Catti-brie, fully outfitted for the road, with Taulmaril, the magical bow of Anariel that she had recovered from the ruins of Mithral Hall, slung easily over her shoulder. She ran down to the back of the chariot. “Ye weren’t meaning to leave me so?” she asked Bruenor.
Bruenor couldn’t look her in the eye. He had indeed meant to leave without so much as a good-bye to his daughter. “Bah!” he snorted. “Ye’d have only tried to stop me going!”
“Never I would!” Catti-brie growled right back at him. “Me thinkin’s that yer doing right. But ye’d do righter if ye’d move over and make room for me!”
Bruenor shook his head emphatically.
“I’ve as much the right as yerself!” Catti-brie protested.
“Bah!” Bruenor snorted again. “Drizzt and Rumblebelly are me truest friends!”
“And mine!”
“And Wulfgar’s been akin to a son to me!” Bruenor shot back, thinking he had won the round.
“And a mite bit more than that to me,” Catti-brie retorted, “if he gets back from the South!” Catti-brie didn’t even need to remind Bruenor that she had been the one who introduced him to Drizzt. She had defeated all of the dwarf’s arguments. “Move aside, Bruenor Battlehammer, and make room! I’ve as much at stake as yerself, and I’m meaning to come along!”
“Who’ll be seeing to the armies?” Bruenor asked.
“The Harpells’ll put them up. They won’t be marching to the halls until we’re back, or until the spring at least.”
“But if both of you go and do not return,” Harkle interjected, letting the thought hang over them for a moment. “You are the only ones who know the way.”
Bruenor saw Catti-brie’s crestfallen look and realized how deeply she desired to join him on his quest. And he knew she was right in coming, for she had as much at stake in the chase across the southland as he. He thought for a moment, suddenly shifting to Catti-brie’s side in the debate. “The lady knows the way,” he said, indicating Alustriel.
Alustriel nodded. “I do,” she replied. “And I would gladly show the armies to the halls. But the chariot will carry only two riders.”
Bruenor’s sigh was as loud as Catti-brie’s. He shrug
ged helplessly at his daughter. “Better that ye stay,” he said softly. “I’ll bring’em back for ye.”
Catti-brie wouldn’t let it go so easily. “When the fighting starts,” she said, “and suren it will, would ye rather ye had Harkle and his spells beside ye, or me and me bow?”
Bruenor glanced casually at Harkle and immediately saw the young woman’s logic. The wizard stood at the reins of the chariot, trying to find some way to keep the visor of his helmet up on his brow. Finally Harkle gave up and just tilted his head back far enough so he could see under the visor.
“Here, ye dropped a piece of it,” Bruenor said to him. “That’s why it won’t stay up!”
Harkle turned and saw Bruenor pointing to the ground off the back of the chariot. He shuffled around beside Bruenor and bent over, trying to see what the dwarf was pointing at.
As Harkle bent to look, the weight of his silver helmet—which actually belonged to a cousin much larger than he—toppled him over and left him sprawled face down on the lawn. In the same moment, Bruenor swept Catti-brie into the chariot beside him.
“Oh, drats!” Harkle whined. “I would have so loved to go!”
“The lady’ll make ye another one to fly,” Bruenor said to comfort him. Harkle looked to Alustriel.
“Tomorrow morning,” Alustriel agreed, quite amused by the whole scene. Then to Bruenor she asked, “Can you guide the chariot?”
“As well as he, by me guess!” the dwarf proclaimed, grabbing up the fiery reins. “Hold on, girl. We’ve half a world to cross!” He snapped the reins, and the chariot lifted into the morning sky, cutting a fiery streak across the blue-gray haze of dawn.
The wind rushed past them as they shot into the west, the chariot rocking wildly from side to side, up and down. Bruenor fought frantically to hold his course; Catti-brie fought frantically just to hold on. The sides wobbled, the back dipped and climbed, and once they even spun in a complete vertical circle, though it happened so fast—luckily—that neither of the riders had time to fall out!
A few minutes later, a single thundercloud loomed ahead of them. Bruenor saw it, and Catti-brie yelled a warning, but the dwarf hadn’t mastered the subtleties of driving the chariot well enough to do anything about their course. They blew through the darkness, leaving a hissing steam tail in their wake, and rocketed out above the cloud.
And then Bruenor, his face glistening with wetness, found the measure of the reins. He leveled off the chariot’s course and put the rising sun behind his right shoulder. Catti-brie, too, found her footing, though she still clung tightly to the chariot’s rail with one hand, and to the dwarf’s heavy cloak with the other.
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.
he 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 tenday.
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, WuIfgar 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?”