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1
The Sea Sprite
Drizzt Do’Urden stood on the very edge of the beam, as far forward as he could go, one hand grasping tight the guide rope of the flying jib. This ship was a smooth runner, perfect in balance and ballast and with the best of crews, but the sea was rough this day and the Sea Sprite cut and bounced through the rolls at full sail, throwing a heavy spray.
Drizzt didn’t mind. He loved the feel of the spray and the wind, the smell of the brine. This was freedom, flying, skimming the water, skipping the waves. Drizzt’s thick white hair flipped in the breeze, billowing like his green cape behind him, drying almost as fast as the water soaked it. Splotches of white caked salt could not lessen the luster of his ebony skin, which glistened with wetness. His violet eyes sparkled with joy as he squinted at the horizon and caught a fleeting glimpse of the sails of the ship they pursued.
Pursued and would catch, Drizzt knew, for there was no ship north of Baldur’s Gate that could outrun Captain Deudermont’s Sea Sprite. She was a three-masted schooner, new in design, light, sleek, and full of sail. The square-rigged caravel they were chasing could put up a fair run in a straight line, but anytime the bulkier vessel altered its course even the slightest bit, the Sea Sprite could angle inside it, gaining ground. Always gaining ground.
That was what she was meant to do. Built by the finest engineers and wizards of Waterdeep, funded by the lords of that city, the schooner was a pirate chaser. How thrilled Drizzt had been to discover the good fortunes of his old friend, Deudermont, with whom he had sailed all the way from Waterdeep to Calimshan in pursuit of Artemis Entreri when the assassin had captured Regis the halfling. That journey, particularly the fight in Asavir’s Channel when Captain Deudermont had won—with no small help from Drizzt and his companions—against three pirate ships, including the flagship of the notorious Pinochet, had caught the attention of sailors and merchants all along the Sword Coast. When the Lords of Waterdeep had completed this schooner, they had offered it to Deudermont. He loved his little two-master, the original Sea Sprite, but no seaman could resist this new beauty. Deudermont had accepted a commission in their service and they had granted him the right to name the vessel and allowed him to handpick his crew.
Drizzt and Catti-brie had arrived in Waterdeep sometime after that. When the Sea Sprite next put in to the grand harbor of the seaport, and Deudermont found his old friends, he promptly made room for them among his crew of forty. That was six years and twenty-seven voyages ago. Among those who monitored the shipping lanes of the Sword Coast, particularly among the pirates themselves, the schooner had become a scourge. Thirty-seven victories, and still she sailed.
Now number thirty-eight was in sight.
The caravel had noticed them, from too far away to see the flag of Waterdeep. That hardly mattered, for no other ship in the region carried the distinctive design of the Sea Sprite, the three masts of billowing triangular lateen sails. Up came the caravel’s square rigs, and so the chase was on in full.
Drizzt was at the point, one foot on the lion-headed ram, loving every second. He felt the sheer power of the sea bucking beneath him, felt the spray and the wind. He heard the music, loud and strong, for several of the Sea Sprite’s crewmen were minstrels and whenever the chase was on, they took up their instruments and played rousing songs.
“Two thousand!” Catti-brie yelled down from the crow’s nest. It was a measure of the distance yet to gain. When her estimate got down to five hundred, the crew would move to their battle posts, three going to the large ballista mounted on a pivot atop the flying deck in the Sea Sprite’s stern, two going to the smaller, swiveling crossbows mounted to the forward corners of the bridge. Drizzt would join Deudermont at the helm, coordinating the close combat. The drow’s free hand slipped to the hilt of one of his scimitars at the thought. The Sea Sprite was a vicious foe from a distance. It had crack archers, a skilled ballista team, a particularly nasty wizard, an evoker full of fireballs and lightning bolts, and of course, Catti-brie with her deadly bow, Taulmaril the Heartseeker. But it was in close, when Drizzt and his panther companion—Guenhwyvar—and the other skilled warriors could get across, that the Sea Sprite was truly deadly.
“Eighteen hundred!” came Catti-brie’s next call. Drizzt nodded at the confirmation of their speed, though the gain was truly startling. The Sea Sprite was running faster than ever. Drizzt had to wonder if her keel was even getting wet!
The drow dropped a hand into his pouch, feeling for the magical figurine that he used to summon the panther from the Astral Plane, wondering if he should even call to Guenhwyvar this time. The panther had been aboard for much of the last tenday, hunting the hundreds of rats that threatened the ship’s food stores, and was likely exhausted.
“Only if I need you, my friend,” Drizzt whispered. The Sea Sprite cut hard to starboard, and Drizzt had to take up the guide rope in both hands. He steadied himself and remained silent, his gaze to the horizon, to the square-rigged ship growing larger by the minute. Drizzt felt deep within himself, mentally preparing for the coming battle. He immersed himself in the hiss and splash of the water below him, in the rousing music cutting the wind, and in Catti-brie’s calls.
Fifteen hundred, a thousand.
“Black cutlass, lined in red!” the young woman shouted down when, thanks to her spyglass, she was able to discern the design on the snapping flag of the caravel.
Drizzt didn’t know the insignia, didn’t care about it. The caravel was a pirate ship, one of the many who had overstepped their bounds near Waterdeep’s harbors. As in any waters with trading routes, there had always been pirates on the Sword Coast. Until the last few years, though, the pirates had been somewhat civil, following specific codes of conduct. When Deudermont had defeated Pinochet in Asavir’s Channel, he had subsequently let the pirate go free. That was the way, the unspoken agreement.
No longer was that the case. The pirates of the north had become bolder and more vicious. Ships were no longer simply looted, but the crews, particularly if any females were aboard, were tortured and murdered. Many ruined hulks had been found adrift in the waters near Waterdeep. The pirates had crossed the line.
Drizzt, Deudermont, and all the Sea Sprite’s crew, were being paid handsomely for their work, but down to every last man and woman—with the possible exception of the wizard, Robillard—they weren’t chasing pirates for the gold.
They were fighting for the victims.
“Five hundred!” Catti-brie called down.
Drizzt shook himself from his trance and looked to the caravel. He could see the men on her decks now, scrambling, preparing for the fight, an army of ants. The Sea Sprite’s crew was outnumbered, possibly two to one, Drizzt realized, and the caravel was heavily armed. She carried a fair-sized catapult on her stern deck, and probably a ballista beneath that, ready to shoot out from the open windows.
The drow nodded and turned back to the deck. The crossbows fixed on the bridge and the ballista was manned. Many of the crew lined the rail, testing the pull of their longbows. The minstrels played on as they would right up until the boarding began. High above the deck, Drizzt spotted Catti-brie, Taulmaril in one hand, her spyglass in the other. He whistled to her and she gave a quick wave in response, her excitement obvious.
How could it be otherwise? The chase, the wind, the music, and the knowledge that they were doing good work here. Smiling widely, the drow skittered back along the beam and then the rail, joining Deudermont at the wheel. He noticed Robillard the wizard, looking bored as usual, sitting on the edge of the poop deck. Every so often he waved one hand in the direction of the mainmast. Robillard wore a huge ring on that hand, a silver band set with a diamond, and its sparkle now came from more than a reflection of the light. With every gesture from the wizard, the ring loosed its magic, sending a strong gust of wind into the already straining sails. Drizzt heard the creak of protest from the mainmast and understood their uncanny speed.
“Carrackus,” Captain Deudermont remarked as soon as the drow was beside him. “Black cutlass outlined in red.”
Drizzt looked at him curiously, not knowing the name.
“Used to sail with Pinochet,” Deudermont explained. “First mate on the pirate’s flagship. He was among those we battled in Asavir’s Channel.”
“Captured?” Drizzt asked.
Deudermont shook his head. “Carrackus is a scrag, a sea troll.”
