The Collected Stories, The Legend of Drizzt

The Dowery

"You’re sure this is the building?” Drizzt Do’Urden asked his companion, and he turned from the plain, nearly windowless wooden warehouse to consider Catti-brie as he spoke. Once again, the sight of her knocked him off balance. With her thick auburn shoulder-length hair, huge blue eyes and soft features and lips, the woman was undeniably attractive-to Drizzt, she was the most beautiful woman in all the world-but now, dressed in the revealing outfit of a bowery tavern wench, practically an invitation, it seemed, the dark elf was much more afraid of what the many rakes and ruffians of the great city of Waterdeep’s bowery might think of her.

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

“I have watched them for three days,” she reminded. “And every time is the same?”

“Every one so far has gone into the warehouse,” Catti-brie confirmed in a voice thick with dwarvish brogue. They had been out of Mithral Hall for almost two months now, riding along the wide and wild expanses to the west, past the Trollmoors and the unwelcoming city of Nesme, whose guardian riders would not suffer Drizzt, a dark elf, to walk among them. When they had left Mithral Hall, they had agreed to chase the lowering sun, and so they had, all the way to the Sword Coast and Waterdeep, the greatest city in all of Faerun.

Drizzt was allowed in here, though hardly welcome. But here they could set up their base and await the arrival of one of the few men in all the world who would fully accept this particular drow. They had sold their horses, rented a small flat down by the docks, and learned the lay of the land, the sights, the smells and most importantly, the hierarchy of the various thugs who lorded over their private little domains down here in this forgotten section of the wider city.

Drizzt looked back to the left, to the smaller structure across the alleyway and the hastily-boarded window that faced this structure’s second floor.

“It is empty,” Catti-brie said.

“You have checked that one as well?”

Catti-brie walked up beside Drizzt and led his gaze with a pointing finger to the one window, and Drizzt caught on from the variations in hue along the side panels that a strategically-placed board had been recently removed.

“A clear view into the interview chamber.”

“Right to the leader’s seat, no doubt,” the drow said dryly, and when he glanced at his companion, her wry smile told him that he was, of course, correct.

They were face to face then, and barely a couple of inches apart. The two, human woman and drow elf, were almost exactly the same height, and though he was more heavily muscled, Drizzt’s lean frame put him only a score of pounds heavier than the woman. The connection between them, the almost-magnetic pull, was surely there, but neither would take it farther than friendship, for Catti-brie had just lost her fiancee, Wulfgar, the giant barbarian man who had been Drizzt’s protege in battle, and who had given his life in sacrifice so that she and her adoptive father, the dwarf Bruenor Battlehammer, could escape the clutches of a demon yochlol.

The pain of that loss resonated deeply within the two. With the threat from the Underdark eradicated, they had put Mithral Hall behind them, had physically distanced themselves from the dwarven homeland. But emotional distance was usually measured in time, not miles.

That baggage did not change the sincere admiration that Drizzt held for the woman, though, nor did it make him emotionally push aside that admiration for any fears that it would lead him down a more dangerous and unwanted road. Catti-brie had initiated their present plan the day after Sea Sprite, the pirate-hunting ship of their friend Captain Deudermont, had appeared in Waterdeep harbor. They wanted to go aboard and sail with Deudermont, and likely, had they walked to the plank where the ship was moored, the Captain would have welcomed them aboard with a wide smile and opened arms. But Catti-brie, ever in search of adventure and hardly afraid of a risk, had convinced Drizzt to up the stakes. She had led the way into the tavern, had gone in alone, actually, night after night. She had formulated the plan, confirmed the lay-out, and had dragged Drizzt every step of the way to this point.

“Go and get some rest,” Drizzt bade her. He drew forth his two thin-bladed scimitars, one proffered from the lair of a vanquished white dragon and possessed of mighty magic, the other, also powerfully enchanted, the gift of a arch-wizard. He placed them together and wrapped them in cloth, then tied off the bundle and slung it over his shoulder.

“Three hours after sunset?” Catti-brie asked.

Drizzt nodded, then paused, and thinking ahead, he drew out from his belt pouch a small onyx figurine shaped in the likeness of a black panther. He offered Catti-brie a smile and a wink, and tossed the enchanted statuette to her.

Catti-brie felt the magnificent workmanship of the idol, then tucked it away and answered Drizzt’s smile with a nod, accepting the great responsibility he had just placed upon her, the great faith he had just put in her.

A moment later, the drow shooed her away, then, with a glance up and down the empty alley, he sorted out a path to the lone second-floor window on this side of the building and began to climb. He went in, confirmed the lay-out as Catti-brie had described it, even the line of windows, one building to the other, and nodded. The window in this building, too, was partially covered by boards, but Drizzt decided against removing any, for fear of tipping off the intended victims.

He came back out a short while later, without his baggage.

The black skinned elf walked into the common room of the tavern with all the swagger he could muster. He knew that every eye would turn upon him. He knew that every hand would go to a sword or dagger, that every muscle would tighten in hatred and fear. That was the reputation of his race-well-earned, he agreed, and so he accepted the initial fear and hatred he inevitably inspired as a simple fact of his life. He knew, too, that his own reputation might precede him in this particular section of this particular city, and so he wasn’t traveling openly, but hid his most telling feature, his lavender eyes. He had his thick and long white hair combed in front of his face, covering his left eye, and over his right eye he wore a black patch of fine netting that afforded him a darkened, but acceptable, view of his surroundings.

He wore dirty and somewhat ragged clothing, loose fitting and with an old blanket set about his shoulders as a cloak. His belt was a simple sash of cheap material, and tucked into it was a long and unremarkable dagger. He didn’t want to get into a fight, so poorly armed and armored, and thus he assumed the confident swagger, playing upon every fear and prejudice that surface-dwellers rightly held for the race of drow.

He moved right up to the bar and noted the scowl of the tavernkeeper.

“Fear not,” he said, distorting the words as if the language was unfamiliar to him. “I ask of you no drink, buffoon. I come to speak to Thurgood of Baldur’s Gate, and have no business with you.”

The tavernkeeper scowled more fiercely.

“You will be dead before you realize that you’ve insulted me,” Drizzt promised.

That seemed to back the man off somewhat. Across the bar from him, and just down from Drizzt, a young woman, a serving wench, whispered to the tavernkeeper, “Don’t ye be a fool,” then turned to Drizzt.

“Thurgood’s there,” she said, indicating a table in the back corner of the common room. “The big one with the beard.”

Drizzt had known that all along, of course, since Catti-brie had been thorough in her investigation.

“Ye should bring him a drink, ye know,” the woman went on. “He’s wanting a drink with every introduction to those wanting to sail with him.”

Drizzt stared at the man, then turned to consider the tavernkeeper, who seemed as defiant and unmoving as ever. “Mayhaps I’ll bring him the head of the owner, that he can claim all the drink as his own.”

The man bristled, as did several of the folk seated at the bar, ruffians all, but Drizzt knew how to properly play a bluff, and he just calmly walked away, cutting a straight line for Thurgood’s table.

The gazes of all four men seated at that table, as well as all of those standing nearby, were upon the drow through every stride, and Drizzt surveyed them all carefully, watching for the flicker of movement that might show an attack. He wished he had his scimitars with him, instead of a simple long knife. He had no doubt that every man in the tavern knew well how to put a weapon to quick and deadly use.

Catti-brie wasn’t covering his moves this time.

He walked right up between the two closest seated men, to the table’s edge.

“Seek I one Thurgood of Baldur’s Gate,” he said, twisting his mouth as if the common language of Waterdeep was uncomfortable and unnatural to him.

Across the table from him, the barrel-chested man crossed his arms over his chest and brought one hand up to stroke his thick and wild black beard.

“Thurgood you are?”

“Who’s askin’?”

“Masoj of Menzoberranzan,” Drizzt lied, taking the name of a former associate, the one from whom he had taken the magical statuette that allowed him to summon the great panther Guenhwyvar to his side.

“Never heard o’ no Masoj,” Thurgood answered. “Never heard o’ no Menzoberranzan.”

“Of no consequence is that,” Drizzt answered. “You seek crew. I am crew.”

The big man cocked an eyebrow and turned slyly to his companions, all of whom began to chuckle. “Been on many boats, have ye?”

“Demon ships, sailing the planes of existence,” Drizzt answered without the slightest hesitation.

“Not sure it’s the same thing,” Thurgood replied, and Drizzt noted a slight tremor in his voice, one he was trying hard to hide, obviously, and one that betrayed his intrigue.

“Same thing,” said Drizzt.

Thurgood motioned to the man on his left, who reached down, untied his belt and tossed it, a rope, to Drizzt. Before Thurgood even started to offer instructions, Drizzt’s hands worked in a blur, tying off three different kinds of knots in rapid succession before tossing the rope back to the man. Fortunately for Drizzt, both of his voyages with Deudermont had not been idle ones as a mere passenger. Anyone sailing with Sea Sprite and her crew was expected to pull his weight, in work and in battle, and with his drow nimbleness, Drizzt had proven especially adept at tying off lines.

Thurgood nodded as he looked at the rope, but again worked hard to keep his face straight. His gaze went from the rope, to Drizzt’s eyepatch, to Drizzt’s sash belt and the knife fastened there.

“Ye know how to use that thing?”

“I am drow,” Drizzt replied, and the man beside Thurgood scoffed. “Drow who do not fight well, die poorly.”

“So I been told,” said Thurgood, and he elbowed the doubting man.

“I will not die poorly,” Drizzt said, and as he did, he turned his head to fix the doubting man with an imposing stare, though of course, the drow’s eyes were covered. Still, the thug did wilt a bit under the forward-leaning and imposing posture that accompanied that hidden gaze.

“You seek crew. I am crew,” Drizzt repeated, turning square to Thurgood.

“Masoj of Menzoberranzan?”

Drizzt nodded.

“Ye come back in two days,” Thurgood instructed. “Right here. We’ll talk then.”

Drizzt nodded again, turned to glower at the man beside the big man, then snapped right about and walked casually away. He thought to draw out his knife and twirl it about, then go hand to hand a few times in rapid succession before fast tucking it back into his belt.

He brushed the thought away, though. Sometimes the most intimidating threat was the one not made.

His knife had been taken and he was blindfolded, but Drizzt had expected as much, and he knew well enough the steps along these alleyways and where Thurgood’s men were taking him. It did occur to him many times that the group might well kill him, and in that possibility, he would be completely helpless, unless, of course, Catti-brie was watching from afar. He had to trust in that.

Because it had to be this way.

He heard the wide wooden door creak open and smelled the stagnant air of the little-used warehouse. Inside, the small group walked a maze of piled sacks and large boxes to the back corner of the building, where they started up a wooden half-staircase, half-ladder. Despite the blindfold, the nimble Drizzt had no trouble at all in navigating the maze and the climb, and as soon as he came up to the second story, a man roughly pulled off his blindfold.

The drow was quick to shake his head, flopping his hair back over one eye, his dark, see-through eyepatch still in place on the other.

The room was as he remembered it, with the raised wooden dais set in the center-back, a wooden seat built atop it. Thurgood sat in that throne, resting comfortably back and to the side, eyeing Drizzt with what seemed to be little real concern.

“Welcome, Masoj of Menzoberranzan,” he said as Drizzt was led to stand before him. The guards fell away then, moving to either side of the room, and Drizzt used that opportunity to take a good measure of all in attendance. He quick-counted seven, scallywags all, and none seeming overly impressive, other than perhaps Thurgood himself. Even that one didn’t concern Drizzt too much. Likely, he would prove the typical bully brawler, a straightforward attacker who would try to quickly overwhelm an opponent with brute force.

Drizzt had left many similar brawlers dead in his wake.

“You wish to join the crew,” Thurgood stated. “When will you be able to sail?”

“I have no ties and no responsibilities.”

“I could walk ye to the dock straightaways and ye’d be able to step aboard?”

Drizzt paused for a second, noting the change in dialect, Thurgood’s “you’s” becoming “ye’s.” Those around him seemed to take no note. Perhaps this one was more worldly than he was letting on? The drow filed that notion away, a quiet reminder to be ready for anything, and quickly pushed past the pause.

“The sooner I am away from this city, the better,” Drizzt replied. “There are many here who would wish me gone.”

“Found a bit o’ trouble, did ye?”

The drow shrugged as if it did not matter.

“Ye ever kill anyone, Masoj of Menzoberranzan?” Thurgood asked, and he leaned forward in his chair.

“More than anyone in this room,” Drizzt answered, and he doubted he was lying. “More than all of you together.”

Thurgood slumped back in his chair, eyeing the drow and smiling … weirdly, Drizzt thought. At the side of the room, several of the men bristled as if insulted, and the two who had taken Drizzt to this place cautiously approached.

“Well, then,” Thurgood said, his tone, demeanor and accent changing. “Consider yourself taken down by your own words, then, Masoj of Menzoberranzan. Damned by a confession.”

The two flanking Drizzt leaped for him, and the drow fell flat and dove forward, crashing against the front of the dais. His mind worked in one direction, summoning a globe of impenetrable darkness over the highest concentration of men, at the left-hand side of the large room, while his hands worked independently, tearing free the board he had loosened and replaced at the front of the dais. Relief flooded through him when the felt the handles of his scimitars still in position within the cubby, and he rushed back and to his feet, yanking the blades free and raising them up high and wide to intimidate, to freeze in place for just an instant, those attackers closest.

The drow gave a great shout, seeming as if he would charge right for Thurgood, but instead, as he had planned, he dropped right to the floor before the large man.

He heard the splinter of wood behind him; he saw the flash of a silver-streaking magical arrow slash the air above him. He looked forward, expecting to see Thurgood pinned through the chest to the wooden chair, but instead saw the flash of explosion as the arrow slammed against an invisible, magical shield-a globe, he realized, as the lines of sparking blue power fingered out in a tree-like semi-circle about the pirate leader.

The drow muttered a curse under his breath, but had no time to dwell on the unexpected turn, for the two attackers were on him then, even as he rose again. His scimitars worked independently, batting aside surprisingly skillful and coordinated thrusts.

The drow pivoted right, letting his right arm fly out behind him, his scimitar slashing across to defeat a second thrust from the attacker to his left, who was now behind him, while his other blade worked fast and hard against the one presented before him. He tapped the sword outside, moving it across to his right, and then again, and then, surprising his attacker and moving with blinding speed, he brought his left-hand scimitar in a third time, but down lower, hooking it under the blade and yanking it out wide the other way. A short riposte had that scimitar thrusting in hard, scoring a hit that sent the attacker falling to the floor and clutching his chest.

Drizzt hadn’t the time to finish the move, and instead leaped forward and to the side, throwing himself into a forward roll. The man behind him pursued, but a second crackle of wood signaled Catti-brie’s second shot from across the way. The arrow hummed through the air, clipping the man pursuing Drizzt and sending him falling away in pain as the bolt soared past, to again explode against the globe protecting Thurgood.

Drizzt heard that explosion, but didn’t see it as he charged the next three men in line. He came in low, blades leading, and the closest man dropped his axe down low to intercept the thrust. But then Drizzt leaped high, without slowing in the least, coming in above the man’s rising axe. He planted a foot on the surprised man’s chest and sprang away toward the next man in line. The drow’s legs wagged wildly to avoid the upraised sword of the second man, and he even managed a snap-kick at the man’s face as he came down to the side. Again, his scimitar was in place to defeat the thrust of the attacker’s sword, and he even started to counter with his second blade.

But the man proved amazingly resilient, and Drizzt only then realized that the sword thrust had been a feint, and that the real danger was coming from the man’s second weapon, a dagger.

He threw his hips out wide to avoid, but still got cut across the side, and then he had to throw himself backwards and again to the side as the third man came in at him.

He followed right through the roll, coming easily back to his feet and reversing his momentum, and indeed, catching both pursuers by surprise.

Suddenly inside the reach of their long swords, Drizzt pumped his fists and sent his blades in a whirl of motion, scoring minor slashing hits and solid smashes into their respective faces. Not waiting to see if they could withstand that barrage, the drow fast-stepped through.

He cut a quick turn, then froze, startled, as did everyone else in the room, as another arrow plowed through the partially boarded window, and then another right behind.

“Masoj of Menzoberranzan!” Thurgood roared, and Drizzt spun on him.

The man stood on the dais, his shield still crackling with dispersing energy from the last two hits, his face locked in an expression of outrage.

Drizzt did a quick scan. The men across the way had escaped his globe of darkness and regrouped. For all his efforts and surprise, Drizzt had only taken three men out of the fighting, and Catti-brie had been ineffective, other than the one arrow that had accidentally clipped a pursuer.

And now that surprise was gone.

There was only one chance, it seemed, and with an accepting grin on his face, the drow took it, charging the dais, knowing he could get there before Thurgood’s men could intercept and hoping that the magical shield wouldn’t stop him.

Barely three running strides away, Drizzt saw Thurgood flash his hands forward, saw a flare of energy from a ring the man was wearing, and got hit by a blast of wind so powerful that it stopped him in his tracks and sent him flying backwards in a wild tumble!

Drizzt somewhat controlled his roll, but still smashed hard into the wall all the way across the room from Thurgood, below and to the side of the window through which Catti-brie’s arrows had flown. He put his feet under him as fast as possible, expecting pursuit from the many pirates, but saw that it was Thurgood again who was most menacing. The man waggled his fingers and darts of energy shot forth, speeding across the room. Drizzt, as nimble as any fighter in Waterdeep, tried to dodge this way and that, but the magical bolts swerved and pursued and burned into him.

He fought through the stinging pain, he dismissed his surprise that this brutish-looking ruffian was, in fact, a wizard, and his senses caught just enough of an indication of spellcasting for him to react.

He dove flat to the floor as a tremendous bolt of lightning scarred the air above him, blowing out a hole in the wall behind him, its thunderous report and brilliant flash sending men all about the room stumbling back in a blinded daze.

“Kill him!” Thurgood demanded, and his crack crew moved in from every angle.

Drizzt knew he was dead, that there was no escape. He leaped back to his feet, prepared to kill several before he died, and then he fell aside again as the remaining wooden planks over the window burst inward and a great black form crashed into the room.

Guenhwyvar!

Silently praising Catti-brie for putting that magical, summoning statuette to such timely use, ready to turn the tide as the pirates fell back in awe and terror before the six-hundred pound black panther, Drizzt set himself for a second charge.

Guenhwyvar hit the ground running, cut fast left and crashed into a pair of men, sending them flying, then cut back to the right and leaped for Thurgood.

A second blast of wind came forth, buffeting the panther and stopping her momentum. But unlike Drizzt, Guenhwyvar was not blown aside, and instead landed before the dais, digging her claws into the wooden planking to resist the continuing, and then the next, blast of wind.

From the look on Thurgood’s face, Drizzt knew that the wizard understood that he was in dire trouble.

So did the rest of the pirates, even more so when one near the stairway lurched forward, his shoulder torn by an arrow that blasted past and slammed hard into the ceiling.

And up the stairs came Catti-brie, her bow thrown aside and Cutter, her sentient and vicious and incredibly sharp sword in hand.

Thurgood turned to flee.

Guenhwyvar buried him where he stood.

Those men near Catti-brie fell over her in a rush, her sword working furiously to fend.

Drizzt leaped at the nearest duo, downward parrying both their swords with his left-hand scimitar, but not following down with the blade, but rather, suddenly releasing his opponents’ weapons as his second scimitar came up under them, using his opponents’ own inclination to help them lift their blades high.

Too high, and Drizzt went down low, to his knees, the opening clear. Both his blades started for exposed mid-sections, the pirates unable to defend.

“Drizzt Do’Urden!”

The call froze him, froze everyone, and all eyes, even Guenhwyvar’s, even those of Thurgood, who was struggling under the cat, glanced to the side, to see a tall and neatly-groomed middle-aged man stride into the room. He wore a long-tailed surcoat, with large brass buttons, and a cutlass was strapped to one hip.

“Deudermont?” Drizzt asked incredulously, surely recognizing the Captain of Sea Sprite.

“Drizzt Do’Urden,” Captain Deudermont said again, smiling, and he turned to Drizzt’s companion and said, “Catti-brie!”

All weapons lowered. A pair of men, priests obviously, rushed into the room from behind Deudermont, running to tend to the wounded.

“You were using this front to trap pirates?” Catti-brie asked.

“As were you?” the Captain asked back.

“Get this flea-ridden beast off of me,” came a growling demand, and they all turned to see Thurgood, flat on his back, Guenhwyvar straddling him.

Except of course, it wasn’t Thurgood and wasn’t any pirate captain, and as soon as Guenhwyvar stepped aside, the man, looking thin now, and dressed in robes, his magical disguise dismissed, stood up and brushed himself off imperiously.

Drizzt recognized him then as Sea Sprite’s resident wizard.

“Robillard?”

“The same,” said Deudermont, dryly and not without a bit of teasing aimed at the proud wizard.

Robillard scowled, and that made Drizzt recognize and remember the dour man even more acutely.

Drizzt pulled off his eyepatch and brushed his hair back, revealing his tell-tale lavender eyes as all the room about him settled fast, with weapons going back into sheaths. Still, more than a few of the men held wary gazes turned Drizzt’s way, and two of them even kept their weapons in hand.

For Drizzt, a drow making his way on the surface world where his race was feared and hated, there was little surprise in that reaction.

“To what does Waterdeep owe this visit?” Captain Deudermont asked as he came over, Catti-brie moving beside him. “And how fares King Bruenor and Mithral Hall?”

“We came to find Sea Sprite,” Drizzt explained. “To accept Captain Deudermont’s offer to sail with him in the chase for pirates.”

The Captain’s face brightened at that remark, though more than a few of the men at the sides bristled once more.

“It would seem we have much to discuss,” Deudermont said.

“Indeed,” Drizzt replied. “We had hoped to provide a dowery upon our arrival, but it seems as if our dowery was in fact your own crew.”

Deudermont turned slyly to Catti-brie. “Your doing, no doubt.”

The woman shrugged.

“Here now, don’t you be telling us that we’re to sail beside a drow elf,” one of the men still holding a sword dared to remark.

“This is not any drow elf,” Deudermont replied. “You are new to the crew, Mandar, and so you do not remember the times these two sailed with us.”

“That’s not to matter,” said the other man who stood holding a weapon, and he, too, had only joined with Sea Sprite recently. “Drow’s a drow.”

A third voice echoed that sentiment, and several other men by the wall began to nod.

Deudermont offered Drizzt a wink and a shrug, and as Drizzt began to remark that he accepted the judgment without complaint, the tall Captain silenced him with an upraised hand. “I offered Drizzt Do’Urden a place aboard Sea Sprite,” Deudermont said to them all. “A place earned by deed and not dismissed by the reputation of his race.”

“You cannot blame them their concern,” Robillard said.

Deudermont paused and thought on those words for a long moment. He looked to Drizzt, who stood impassively, Guenhwyvar by his side. He looked to Catti-brie, standing on the other side, and seeming far less accepting of the prejudice. She stared hard back at him, and Deudermont realized that her scowl was the only thing holding back tears of frustration.

“Ah, but I can and do blame them, my friend Robillard,” the Captain stated, turning to sweep them all under his wilting gaze. “I say that Drizzt Do’Urden is a worthy shipmate, proven in deed, and not only aboard Sea Sprite. Many here witnessed his work-you yourself among them.”

“I did,” the wizard admitted.

Drizzt started to say something, for he saw where this was leading, and never had it been his intent to incite a mutiny of Sea Sprite’s fine crew. But again, Captain Deudermont turned to him and stopped him before he could really begin the remarks, this time with a genuine and unconcerned smile.

“Often do I try to measure the character of my crew,” the Captain said quietly to Drizzt and Catti-brie. “This moment I see as an opportunity to look into a man’s heart.”

He turned back to the crewmen. “Drizzt will sail with Sea Sprite, and glad am I to receive him, and glad will all be when we engage with the pirates to have his curved blades working beside us, and his great panther beside us, and the marvelous Catti-brie beside us!”

The murmurs of protest began, but Deudermont spoke over them.

“Any who cannot accept this are dismissed from the crew,” he said. “Without judgment and without shame, but without recourse.”

“And if ye lose the whole of Sea Sprite’s crew?” one tough-looking leather-faced sailor said from the side.

Deudermont shrugged as if it did not matter, and indeed, Drizzt understood the genuine intentions behind that dismissal. “I will not, for Robillard is too great a man to surrender to such prejudices.”

He looked to the wizard, who turned to scowl at the crew, then walked over to stand beside Drizzt and Catti-brie-opposite of Guenhwyvar, however.

A moment later, another man walked over, and then a pair more. Then came one of the priests, along with the man who had been clipped by Catti-brie’s arrow.

Within a minute, the only two not standing beside Drizzt were the first two who had questioned the decision, both of them still standing, weapons in hand. They looked to each other and one said, “I ain’t for sailing with no drow.”

The other slid his weapon away and held up his hands, then turned to join the others.

“What’re ye doing, Mandar?”

“Deudermont says he’s okay.”

“Bah!” the first snorted, and he spat upon the floor. He stuck his weapon in his belt and stomped toward the group.

But Deudermont stopped him with an upraised hand. “You’ll not accept him. Not truly. And so I do not accept you. Come to Sea Sprite in the morning for your final pay, and then go where you will.”

“But …” he started to protest.

“Your heart is clear to me, and it is not acceptable. Be gone.”

The man spat again, turned and stormed away.

“He was willing to join us,” Mandar protested.

“In body, but not in heart,” explained Deudermont. “When we are out there, on the open waters, we have no one to depend upon but each other. If a pirate’s sword was about to slay Drizzt Do’Urden, would he have rushed to block it?”

“Would any?” Mandar remarked.

“Fare well, Mandar,” Deudermont said without the slightest hesitation. “You, too, may come to Sea Sprite in the morning for your final payment.”

Mandar stuttered and spat, then gave a little laugh and walked away.

Deudermont didn’t watch him go, but turned to his crew and said, “Any others?”

“We did not mean to cause such trouble,” Drizzt remarked when it was apparent that no one else would leave.

“Trouble?” Deudermont echoed. “For Sea Sprite, I judge a man’s worth by his blade. But that is second, for more important is his character, is his willingness to put all aside and serve in absolute unity with the rest of the crew. Any who cannot do that are not welcomed to sail with me.”

“I am drow. This is not a typical situation.”

“Indeed, it is one of those times when I can see more clearly into the heart of a man. Sea Sprite’s crew is stronger this day, and not just for the addition of two …” he looked down at Guenhwyvar and corrected, “of three valuable newcomers.”

Drizzt looked to Catti-brie, who was smiling widely, and he understood that her contentment was justified. This was Captain Deudermont, as they remembered him, and both had silently prayed that their memories had not stilted with the passage of time and their fervent hopes that had taken them across so many miles.

“Welcome aboard, Drizzt Do’Urden, Catti-brie and Guenhwyvar,” Deudermont said, warmly and honestly.

The words rang like music in the ears of the rogue drow elf.