"How small is this island of Caerwich?" Catti-brie asked Deudermont. Another week of sailing had slipped past, this one uneventfully. Another week of emptiness, of solitude, though the schooner was fully crewed and there were few places where someone could be out of sight of everyone else. That was the thing about the open ocean, you were never physically alone, yet all the world seemed removed. Catti-brie and Drizzt had spent hours together, just standing and watching, each lost, drifting on the rolls of the azure blanket, together and yet so alone.

"A few square miles," the captain answered absently, as though the response was an automatic reflex.

"And ye're thinkin' to find it?" An unmistakable edge showed in the woman's voice, drawing a lazy stare from Drizzt, as well as from Deudermont.

"We found the Gull Rocks," Drizzt reminded Catti-brie, trying to brighten her mood though he, too, was getting that unmistakable edge of irritation to his voice. "They are not much larger."

"Bah, they're known to all," Catti-brie retorted. "A straight run west."

"We know where we are, and where we must go," Deudermont insisted. "There is the matter of the map; we're not sailing blindly."

Catti-brie glanced over her shoulder and cast a scowl at Dunkin, the provider of the map, who was hard at work scrubbing the poop deck. The woman's sour expression alone answered Deudermont's claim, told the captain how reliable she believed that map might be.

"And the wizards have new eyes that see far," Deudermont said. True enough, Catti-brie realized, though she wondered how reliable the "eyes" in question might be. Harkle and Robillard had taken some birds from the Gull Rocks, and claimed that they could communicate with them through use of their magic. The gulls would help, the two wizards declared, and each day, they set them flying freely, ordering them to report back with their findings. Catti-brie hadn't thought much about the wizards and in truth, all but two of the ten birds they had taken had not returned to the Sea Sprite. Catti-brie figured the birds had more likely flown all the way back to the Gull Rocks, probably laughing at the bumbling wizards all the way.

"The map is all we have had since we left Mintarn," Drizzt said softly, trying to erase the young woman's fears and the anger that was plain upon her fair, sunburned features. He sympathized with Catti-brie, because he was sharing those negative thoughts. They had all known the odds, and thus far, the journey had not been so bad-certainly not as bad as it might have been. They had been out for several weeks, most of that time on the open ocean, yet they had not lost a single crewman and their stores, though low, remained sufficient. Thank Guenhwyvar and Harkle for that, Drizzt thought with a smile, for the panther and the wizard had cleared the ship of the bulk of her pesky rats soon after they had departed from Wyngate.

But still, despite the logical understanding that the journey was on course and going well, Drizzt could not help the swells of anger that rose up in him. It was something about the ocean, he realized, the boredom and the solitude. Truly the drow loved sailing, loved running the waves, but too long in the open ocean, too long in looking at emptiness as profound as could be found in all the world, grated on his nerves.

Catti-brie walked away, muttering. Drizzt looked to Deudermont, and the experienced captain's smile relieved the drow of a good measure of his worry.

"I have seen it before," Deudermont said quietly to him. "She will relax as soon as we sight Mintarn, or as soon as we make the decision to turn back to the east."

"You would do that?" Drizzt asked. "You would forsake the words of the doppleganger?"

Deudermont thought long and hard on that one. "I have come here because I believe it to be my fate," he answered. "Whatever the danger that is now pursuing me, I wish to meet it head-on and with my eyes wide open. But I'll not risk my crew more than is necessary. If our food stores become too diminished to safely continue, we will turn back."

"And what of the doppleganger?" Drizzt asked.

"My enemies found me once," Deudermont replied casually, and truly the man was a rock for Drizzt and for all the crew, something solid to hold onto in a sea of emptiness. "They will find me again."

"And we will be waiting," Drizzt assured him.

*****

As it turned out, the wait, for Caerwich at least, was not a long one. Less than an hour after the conversation, Harkle Harpell bounded out of Deudermont's private quarters, clapping his hands excitedly.

Deudermont was the first to him, followed closely by a dozen anxious crewmen. Drizzt, at his customary spot on the forward beam, came to the rail of the flying bridge to survey the gathering. He realized what was going on immediately, and he glanced upward, to Catti-brie, who was peering down intently from the crow's nest.

"Oh, what a fine bird, my Reggie is!" Harkle beamed.

"Reggie?" Deudermont, and several others nearby, asked.

"Namesake of Regweld, so fine a wizard! He bred a frog with a horse-no easy feat that! Puddlejumper, he called her. Or was it Riverjumper? Or maybe ..."

"Harkle," Deudermont said dryly, his tone bringing the wizard from the rambling confusion.

"Oh, of course," babbled Harkle. "Yes, yes, where was I? Oh, yes, I was telling you about Regweld. What a fine man. Fine man. He fought valiantly in Keeper's Dale, so say the tales. There was one time ..."

"Harkle!" Now there was no subtle coercion in Deudermont's tone, just open hostility.

"What?" the wizard asked innocently.

"The damned seagull," Deudermont growled. "What have you found?"

"Oh, yes!" Harkle replied, clapping his hands. "The bird, the bird. Reggie. Yes, yes, fine bird. Fastest flyer of the lot."

"Harkle!" a score of voices roared in unison.

"We have found an island," came a reply from behind the flustered Harpell. Robillard stepped onto the deck and appeared somewhat bored. "The bird returned this day chattering about an island. Ahead and to port, and not so far away."

"How large?" Deudermont asked.

Robillard shrugged and chuckled. "All islands are large when seen through the eyes of a seagull," he answered. "It could be a rock, or it could be a continent."

"Or even a whale," Harkle piped in.

It didn't matter. If the bird had indeed spotted an island out here, out where the map indicated that Caerwich should be, then Caerwich, it must be!

"You and Dunkin," Deudermont said to Robillard, and he motioned to the wheel. "Get us there."

"And Reggie," Harkle added happily, pointing to the seagull, which had perched on the very tip of the mainmast, right above Catti-brie's head.

Drizzt saw a potential problem brewing, given the bird's position, the woman's sour mood and the fact that she had her bow with her. Fortunately, though, the bird flew off at Harkle's bidding without leaving any presents behind.

Had it not been for that bird, the Sea Sprite would have sailed right past Caerwich, within a half mile of the place without ever sighting it. The island was circular, resembling a low cone, and was just a few hundred yards in diameter. It was perpetually shrouded in a bluish mist that looked like just another swell in the sea from only a short distance away.

As the schooner approached that mist, drifting quietly at half

sail, the wind turned colder and the sun seemed somehow less substantial. Deudermont did a complete circle of the island, but found no particularly remarkable place, nor any area that promised an easy docking.

Back in their original spot, Deudermont took the wheel from Dunkin and turned the Sea Sprite straight toward Caerwich, slowly slipping her into the mist.

"Ghost wind," Dunkin remarked nervously, shuddering in the sudden chill. "She's a haunted place, I tell you." The small man tugged at his ear ferociously, suddenly wishing that he had gotten off the schooner at Wyngate. Dunkin's other ear got tugged as well, but not by his own hand. He turned about to look eye to eye with Drizzt Do'Urden. They were about the same height, with similar builds, though Drizzt's muscles were much more finely honed. But at that moment, Drizzt seemed much taller to poor Dunkin, and much more imposing.

"Ghost wi-" Dunkin started to say, but Drizzt put a finger to his lips to silence him.

Dunkin leaned heavily on the rail and went silent.

Deudermont ordered the sails lower still and brought the schooner to a creeping drift. The mist grew thick about them and something about the way the ship was handling, something about the flow of the water beneath them, told the captain to be wary. He called up to Catti-brie, but she had no answers for him, more engulfed by blinding mist than he.

Deudermont nodded to Drizzt, who rushed off to the forward beam and crouched low, marking their way. The drow spotted something a moment later, and his eyes widened.

A pole was sticking out of the water, barely fifty yards ahead of them.

Drizzt eyed it curiously for just an instant, then recognized it for what it was: the top of a ship's mast.

"Stop us!" he yelled.

Robillard was into his spellcasting before Deudermont agreed to heed the warning. The wizard sent his energy out directly in front of the Sea Sprite, brought up a ridgelike swell of water that halted the ship's drifting momentum. Down came the Sea Sprite's sails, and down dropped the anchor with a splash that seemed to echo ominously about the decks for many seconds.

"How deep?" Deudermont asked the crewmen manning the anchor. The chain was marked in intervals, allowing them to gauge the depth when they put the anchor down.

"A hundred feet," one of them called back a moment later.

Drizzt rejoined the captain at the wheel. "A reef, by my guess," the drow said, explaining his call for a stop. "There is a hulk in the water barely two ship-lengths ahead of us. She's fully under, except for the tip of her mast, but standing straight. Something brought her down in a hurry."

"Got her bottom torn right off," Robillard reasoned.

"I figure us to be a few hundred yards from the beach," Deudermont said, peering hard into the mist. He looked to the stern. The Sea Sprite carried two small rowboats, one hanging on either side of the poop deck.

"We could circle again," Robillard remarked, seeing where the captain's reasoning was leading. "Perhaps we will find a spot with a good draw."

"I'll not risk my ship," Deudermont replied. "We will go in using the rowboat," he decided. He looked to a group of nearby crewmen. "Drop one," he instructed.

Twenty minutes later, Deudermont, Drizzt, Catti-brie, the two wizards, Waillan Micanty and a very reluctant and very frightened Dunkin glided away from the Sea Sprite, filling their row-boat so completely that its rim was barely a hand above the dark water. Deudermont had left specific instructions with those remaining on the Sea Sprite. The crew was to put back out of the mist a thousand yards and wait for their return. If they had not returned by nightfall, the Sea Sprite was to move out away from the island, making one final run at Caerwich at noon the next day.

After that, if the rowboat had not been spotted, she was to sail home.

The seven moved away from the Sea Sprite, Dunkin and Waillan on the oars and Catti-brie peering over the prow, expecting to find a reef at any moment. Farther back, Drizzt knelt beside Deudermont, ready to point out the mast he had spotted.

Drizzt couldn't find it.

"No reef," Catti-brie said from the front. "A good and deep draw, by me own guess." She looked back to Drizzt and especially to Deudermont. "Ye might've bringed her in right up to the damned beach," she said.

Deudermont looked to the drow, who was scanning the mist hard, wondering where that mast had gone to. He was about to restate what he had seen when the rowboat lurched suddenly, her bottom scraping on the rocks of a sharp reef.

They bumped and ground to a halt. They might have gotten hung up there, but a spell from Robillard brought both wizards, Deudermont and Catti-brie floating above the creaking planks of the boat, while Drizzt, Dunkin and Waillan cautiously brought the lightened boat over.

"All the way in?" Drizzt remarked to Catti-brie.

"It wasn't there!" the young woman insisted. Catti-brie had been a lookout for more than five years, and was said to have the best eyes on the Sword Coast. So how, she wondered, had she missed so obvious a reef, especially when she was looking for exactly that?

A few moments later, Harkle, at the very stern of the rowboat, gave a startled cry and the others turned to see the mast of a ship sticking out of the water right beside the seated wizard.

Now the others, especially Drizzt, were having the same doubts as Catti-brie. They had practically run over that mast, so why hadn't they seen it?

Dunkin tugged furiously at his ear.

"A trick of the fog," Deudermont said calmly. "Bring us around that mast." The command caught the others off guard. Dunkin shook his head, but Waillan slapped him on the shoulder.

"Hard on the oar," Waillan ordered. "You heard the captain."

Catti-brie hung low over the side of the rowboat, curious to learn more about the wreck, but the mist reflected in the water, leaving her staring into a gray veil whose secrets she could not penetrate. Finally, Deudermont gave up on gathering any information out here, and commanded Waillan and Dunkin to put straight in for the island.

At first, Dunkin nodded eagerly, happy to get off the water. Then, as he considered their destination, he alternated pulls on the oar with pulls on his ear.

The surf was not strong, but the undertow was and it pulled back against the rowboat's meager progress. The island was soon in sight, but it seemed to hang out there, just beyond their grasp, for many moments.

"Pull hard!" Deudermont ordered his rowers, though he knew that they were doing exactly that, were as anxious as he to get

this over with. Finally, the captain looked plaintively to Robillard, and the wizard, after a resigned sigh, stuck his hand into his deep pockets, seeking the components for a helpful spell.

Still up front, Catti-brie peered hard through the mist, studying the white beach for some sign of inhabitants. It was no good; the island was too far away, given the thick fog. The young woman looked down instead, into the dark water.

She saw candles.

Catti-brie's face twisted in confusion. She looked up and rubbed her eyes, then looked back to the water.

Candles. There could be no mistake about it. Candles . . . under the water.

Curious, the woman bent lower and looked more closely, finally making out a form holding the closest light.

Catti-brie fell back, gasping. "The dead," she said, though she couldn't get more than a whisper out of her mouth. Her sharp movements alone had caught the attention of the others, and then she hopped right to her feet, as a bloated and blackened hand grabbed the rim of the rowboat.

Dunkin, looking only at Catti-brie, screamed as she drew out her sword. Drizzt got to his feet and scrambled to get by the two oarsmen.

Catti-brie saw the top of the ghost's head come clear of the water. A horrid, skeletal face rose to the side of the boat.

Khazid'hea came down hard, hitting nothing but the edge of the boat and driving right through the planking until it was at water level.

"What are you doing?" Dunkin cried. Drizzt, at Catti-brie's side, wondered the same thing. There was no sign of any ghost, there was just Catti-brie's sword wedged deeply into the planking of the rowboat.

"Get us in!" Catti-brie yelled back. "Get us in!"

Drizzt looked at her hard, then looked all around. "Candles?" he asked, noticing the strange watery lights.

That simple word sparked fear in Deudermont, Robillard, Waillan and Dunkin, sailors all, who knew the tales of sea ghosts, lying in wait under the waves, their bloated bodies marked by witchlight candles.

"How pretty!" said an oblivious Harkle, looking overboard.

"Get us to the beach!" Deudermont cried, but he needn't have bothered, for Waillan and Dunkin were pulling with all of their strength.

Robillard was deep into spellcasting. He summoned a wave right behind the small craft and the rowboat was lifted up and sent speeding toward shore. The jolt of the sudden wave knocked Catti-brie to the deck and nearly sent Drizzt right over.

Harkle, entranced by the candles, wasn't so fortunate. As the wave crested, coming right over the tide line, he tumbled out.

The rowboat shot ahead, sliding hard onto the beach.

In the surf, ten yards offshore, a drenched Harkle stood up.

A dozen grotesque and bloated forms stood up around him.

"Oh, hello . . ." the friendly Harpell started, and then his eyes bulged and nearly rolled from their sockets.

"Eeyah!" Harkle screamed, plowing through the undertow and toward the shore.

Catti-brie was already up and in position, lifting Taulmaril and fitting an arrow. She took quick aim and let fly.

Harkle screamed again as the arrow streaked right past him. Then he heard the sickening thump and splash as an animated corpse hit the water, and understood that he was not the woman's target.

Another arrow followed closely, taking out the next nearest zombie. Harkle, as he came to more shallow water, tore himself free of grabbing weeds and quickly outdistanced the other monsters. He had just cleared the water, putting a few feet of moist sand behind him, when he heard the roar of flames and glanced back to see a curtain of fire separating him from the water, and from the zombies.

He ran the rest of the way up the beach to join the other six by the rowboat and expressed his thanks to Robillard, shaking the wizard so hard that he broke the man's concentration.

The curtain of blocking fire fell away. Where there had been ten zombies, there were now a score, and more were rising from the water and the weeds.

"Well done," Robillard said dryly.

Catti-brie fired again, blasting away another zombie.

Robillard waggled the fingers of one hand and a bolt of green energy erupted from each of them, soaring down the beach. Three hit one zombie in rapid succession, dropping it to the water. Two sped past, burning into the next monster in line and likewise sending it down.

"Not very creative," Harkle remarked.

Robillard scowled at him. "You can do better?"

Harkle snapped his fingers indignantly, and so the challenge was on.

Drizzt and the others stood back, weapons ready, but knowing better than to charge down at their foes in the face of wizardly magic. Even Catti-brie, after a couple of more shots, lowered her bow, giving the competing spellcasters center stage.

"A Calimshan snake charmer taught me this one," Harkle proclaimed. He tossed a bit of twine into the air and chanted in a cracking, high-pitched voice. A line of seaweed came alive to his call, rose up like a serpent and immediately wrapped itself about the nearest zombie, yanking the thing down under the surf.

Harkle smiled broadly.

Robillard snorted derisively. "Only one?" he asked, and he launched himself into the throes of another spell, spinning and dancing and tossing flakes of metal into the air. Then he stopped and pivoted powerfully, hurling one hand out toward the shore. Shards of shining, burning metal flew out, gained a momentum all their own, and sent a barrage into the zombies' midst. Several were hit, the ignited metals clinging to them stubbornly, searing through the weeds and the remnants of clothing, through rotted skin and bone alike.

A moment later, a handful of the gruesome zombies tumbled down.

"Oh, simple evocation," Harkle chided and he answered Robillard's spell by pulling out a small metal rod and pointing it toward the water.

Seconds later, a lightning bolt blasted forth. Harkle aimed it at the water and the bolt blasted in, spreading wide in a circular pattern, engulfing many monsters.

How weird, even funny, that sight appeared! Zombie hair popped up straight and the stiff-moving things began a strange, hopping dance, turning complete circles, rolling this way and that before spinning down under the waves.

When it was over, the zombie ranks had been cut in half, though more were rising stubbornly all along the beach.

Harkle smiled widely and snapped his fingers again. "Simple evocation," he remarked.

"Indeed," muttered Robillard.

Catti-brie had eased her bowstring by this point, and was smiling, sincerely amused, as she regarded her companions. Even Dunkin, so terrified a moment before, seemed ready to laugh aloud at the spectacle of the battling wizards. In looking at the pair, Deudermont was glad, for he feared that the sight of such horrid enemies had defeated his team's heart for this search.

It was Robillard's turn and he focused on a single zombie that had cleared the water and was ambling up the beach. He used no material components this time, just chanted softly and waved his arms in specific movements. A line of fire rushed out from his pointing finger, reaching out to the unfortunate target monster and then shrouding it in flames, an impressive display that fully consumed the creature in but a few moments. Robillard, concentrating deeply, then shifted the line of fire, burning away a second monster.

"The scorcher," he said when the spell was done. "A remnant from the works of Agannazar."

Harkle snorted. "Agannazar was a minor trickster!" he declared, and Robillard scowled.

Harkle reached into a pocket, pulling forth several components. "Dart," he explained, lifting the item. "Powdered rhubarb and the stomach of an adder."

"Melf!" Robillard cried happily.

"Melf indeed!" echoed Harpell. "Now there was a wizard!"

"I know Melf," said Robillard.

Harkle stuttered and stopped his casting. "How old are you?" he asked.

"I know Melf's work," Robillard clarified.

"Oh," said Harkle and he went back to casting.

To prove his point, Robillard reached into his own pocket and produced a handful of beads that smelled of pine tar. Harkle caught the aroma, but paid it little heed as he was in the throes of the final runes of his own spell by then.

The dart zipped out from Harkle's hand, rocketing into the belly of the closest zombie. Immediately it began to pump forth acid, boring an ever-widening hole right through the creature. The zombie grasped futilely at the wound, even bent low as if it meant to peer right through itself.

Then it fell over.

"Melf!" Harkle proclaimed, but he quieted when he looked back to Robillard and saw tiny meteors erupting from the wizard's hand, shooting out to blast mini-fireballs among the zombie ranks.

"Better Melf," Harkle admitted.

"Enough of this foolishness," Captain Deudermont put in. "We can simply run up off the beach. I doubt they will pursue." Deudermont's voice trailed away as he realized that neither wizard was paying him much heed.

"We are not on the ship," was all that indignant Robillard would reply. Then to Harkle, he said, "Do you admit defeat?"

"I have not yet begun to boom!" declared the obstinate Harpell.

Both launched themselves into spells, among the most powerful of their considerable repertoires. Robillard pulled out a tiny bucket and shovel, while Harkle produced a snakeskin glove and a long, painted fingernail.

Robillard cast first, his spell causing a sudden and violent excavation right at the feet of the closest zombies. Beach sand flew wildly. The monsters walked right into the pit, falling from sight. Robillard shifted his angle and muttered a single word, and another pit began, not far to the side of the first.

"Dig," he muttered to Harkle, between chants.

"Bigby," Harkle countered. "You know of Bigby?"

Robillard blanched despite his own impressive display. Of course he knew of Bigby! He was one of the most powerful and impressive wizards of all time, on any world.

Harkle's spell began as a gigantic disembodied hand. It was transparent and hovered over the beach, in the area near Robillard's first pit. Robillard looked hard at the hand. Three of the fingers were extended, pointing toward the hole, but the middle finger was curled back and under the thumb.

"I have improved on Bigby," Harkle boasted. A zombie ambled between the gigantic hand and the hole.

"Doink!" commanded the Harpell and the hand's middle finger popped out from underneath the thumb, slamming the zombie on the side of the head and launching it sideways into the pit.

Harkle turned a smug smile at Robillard. "Bigby's Snapping Digits," he explained. He focused his thoughts on the hand again, and it moved to his will, gliding all along the beach and "doinking" zombies whenever they came within range.

Robillard didn't know whether to roar in protest or howl in

laughter. The Harpell was good, he had to admit, very good. But Robillard wasn't about to lose this one. He took out a diamond, a gem that had cost him more than a thousand gold pieces. "Otiluke," he said defiantly, referring to yet another of the legendary and powerful wizards whose works were the staples of a magician's studies. Now it was Harkle's turn to blanch, for he had little knowledge of the legendary Otiluke.

When Robillard considered that diamond, and the quickly diminishing ranks of their monstrous adversaries, he had to wonder if it was really worth the price. He snapped his fingers with a revelation, popped the diamond back into his pocket and took out a thin sheet of crystal instead.

"Otiluke," he said again, choosing another variation of the same spell. He cast the spell and immediately, all along the beach, the surf simply froze, locking fast in the thick ice those zombies who had not yet come out of the water.

"Oh, well done," Harkle admitted as Robillard slapped his hands together in a superior motion, wiping himself clean of the zombies and of Harkle. The spells had cleared the beach of enemies, and so the fight was apparently over.

But Harkle couldn't let Robillard have the last word, not that way. He looked to the zombies struggling in the ice, and then glowered at Robillard. Deliberately, he reached into his deepest pocket and pulled forth a ceramic flask. "Super heroism," he explained. "You have perhaps heard of Tenser?"

Robillard put a finger to pursed lips. "Oh, yes," he said a moment later. "Of course, crazy Tenser." Robillard's eyes went wide as he considered the implications. Tenser's most renowned spell reportedly transformed a wizard into a warrior for a short duration-a berserk warrior!

"Not the Tenser!" Robillard yelled, tackling Harkle where he stood, pinning the man down before he could pop the cork off the potion flask.

"Help me!" Robillard begged, and the others were there in a moment. The battle, and the contest, was at its end.

They pulled themselves together and Deudermont announced that it was time to get off the beach.

Drizzt motioned to Catti-brie and immediately moved out front, more than ready to be on the move. The woman didn't immediately follow. She was too intent on the continuing, now-

friendly, exchange between the wizards. Mostly, she was watching Robillard, who seemed much more animated and happy. She thought perhaps Harkle Harpell was indeed having a positive effect on the man.

"Oh, that digging spell worked so very well with my Bigby variation," she heard Harkle say. "You really must teach it to me. My cousin, Bidderdoo, he is a werewolf, and he has this habit of burying everything about the yard, bones and wands and the like. The dig spell will help me to recover ..."

Catti-brie shook her head and rushed to catch up with Drizzt. She skidded to an abrupt stop, though, and looked back to the rowboat. More particularly, she looked back to Dunkin Tallmast, who was seated in the beached craft, shaking his head back and forth. Catti-brie motioned to the others and they all went back to the man.

"I wish to go back to the boat," Dunkin said sternly. "One of the wizards can get me there." As he spoke, the man was clutching the rail so tightly that the knuckles on both his hands had whitened for lack of blood.

"Come along," Drizzt said to him.

Dunkin didn't move.

"You have been given a chance to witness what few men have ever seen," the ranger said. As he spoke, Drizzt took out the panther figurine and dropped it on the sand.

"You know more about Caerwich than any other aboard the Sea Sprite," Deudermont added. "Your knowledge is needed."

"I know little," Dunkin retorted.

"But still more than any other," Deudermont insisted.

"There is a reward for your assistance," Drizzt went on, and Dunkin's eyes brightened for an instant-until the drow explained what he meant by the word "reward."

"Who knows what adventure we might find here?" Drizzt said excitedly. "Who knows what secrets might be unveiled to us?"

"Adventure?" Dunkin asked incredulously, looking to the carnage along the beach, and to the zombies still frozen in the water. "Reward?" he added with a chuckle. "Punishment, more likely, though I have done nothing to harm you, any of you!"

"We are here to unveil a mystery," Drizzt said, as though that fact should have piqued the man's curiosity. "To learn and to grow. To live as we discover the secrets of the world about us."

"Who wants to know?" Dunkin snapped, deflating the drow and dismissing his grandiose speech. Waillan Micanty, inspired by the drow's words, had heard enough of the whining little man. The young sailor moved to the side of the beached rowboat, tore Dunkin's hands free of the rail and dragged the man onto the sand.

"I could have done that with much more flair," Robillard remarked dryly.

"So could Tenser," said Harkle.

"Not the Tenser," Robillard insisted.

"Not the Tenser?"

"Not the Tenser," Robillard reiterated, in even tones of finality. Harkle whimpered a bit, but did not respond.

"Save your magic," Waillan said to both of them. "We may need it yet."

Now it was Dunkin's turn to whine.

"When this is over, you will have a tale to widen the eyes of every sailor who puts in at Mintarn Harbor," Drizzt said to the small man.

That seemed to calm Dunkin somewhat, until Catti-brie added, "If ye live."

Drizzt and Deudermont both scowled at her, but the woman merely grinned innocently and walked away.

"I will tell his tyrancy," Dunkin threatened, but no one was listening to him anymore.

Drizzt called to Guenhwyvar and when the panther came onto the beach, the seven adventurers gathered around Deudermont. The captain drew a rough outline of the island in the sand. He put an X on the area indicating their beach, then another one outside his drawing, to show the location of the Sea Sprite.

"Ideas?" he asked, looking particularly at Dunkin.

"I've heard people speak of 'the Witch of the Moaning Cave,' " the small man offered sheepishly.

"There might be caves along the coast," Catti-brie reasoned. "Or up here." She put her finger down onto Deudermont's rough drawing, indicating the one mountain, the low cone that comprised the bulk of Caerwich.

"We should search inland before we put back out into the sea," Deudermont reasoned, and none of them had to follow his gaze to the frozen zombies to be reminded of the dangers along the shore

of Caerwich. And so off they trudged, inland, through a surprisingly thick tangle of brush and huge ferns.

Almost as soon as they had left the openness of the beach behind, sounds erupted all about them-the hoots and whistles of exotic birds, and throaty howling calls that none of them had heard before. Drizzt and Guenhwyvar took up the point and flanks, moving off to disappear into the tangle without a sound.

Dunkin groaned at this, not liking the fact that his immediate group had just become smaller. Catti-brie chuckled at him, drawing a scowl. If only Dunkin knew how much safer they were with the drow and his cat moving beside them.

They searched for more than an hour, then took a break in a small clearing halfway up the low conical mountain. Drizzt sent Guenhwyvar off alone, figuring that the cat could cover more ground in the span of their short break than they would search out the rest of the day.

"We will come down the back side of the cone, then move southward, all the way around and back to the boat," Deudermont explained. "Then back up and over the cone, and then to the north."

"We may have walked right past the cave without ever seeing it," Robillard grumbled. It was true enough, they all knew, for the tangle was so very thick and dark, and the mist had not diminished in the least.

"Well, perhaps our two wizards could be of use," Deudermont said sarcastically, "if they hadn't been so absorbed in wasting their spells to prove a point."

"There were enemies to strike down," Harkle protested.

"I could've cut 'em down with me bow," said Catti-brie.

"And wasted arrows!" Harkle retorted, thinking he had her in a logic trap.

Of course, the others all knew, Catti-brie's quiver was powerfully enchanted. "I don't run out of arrows," she remarked, and Harkle sat back down.

Drizzt interrupted then, abruptly, by hopping to his feet and staring hard into the jungle. His hand went to the pouch that held the onyx figurine.

Catti-brie jumped to her feet, taking up Taulmaril, and the others followed suit.

"Guenhwyvar?" the woman asked.

Drizzt nodded. Something had happened to the panther, but he wasn't sure of what that might be. On a hunch, he took out the figurine, placed it on the ground, and called to the panther once more. A moment later, the gray mist appeared, and then took form, Guenhwyvar pacing nervously about the drow.

"There's two of them things?" Dunkin asked.

"Same cat," Catti-brie explained. "Something sent Guen home."

Drizzt nodded and looked to Deudermont. "Something that Guenhwyvar could find again," he reasoned.

Off they went, through the tangle, following Guenhwyvar's lead. Soon they came to the northern slopes of the cone, and behind a curtain of thick hanging moss, they found a dark opening. Drizzt motioned to Guenhwyvar, but the panther would not go in.

Drizzt eyed her curiously.

"I'm going back to the boat," Dunkin remarked. He took a step away, but Robillard, tired of the man's foolishness, drew out a wand and pointed it right between Dunkin's eyes. The wizard said not a word, he didn't have to.

Dunkin turned back to the cave.

Drizzt crouched near to the panther. Guenhwyvar would not enter the cave, and the drow had no idea of why that might be. He knew that Guenhwyvar was not afraid. Might there be an enchantment on the area that prevented the panther from entering?

Satisfied with that explanation, Drizzt drew out Twinkle, the fine scimitar glowing its customary blue, and motioned for his friends to wait. He slipped past the mossy curtain, waited a moment so that his eyes could adjust to the deeper gloom, then moved in.

Twinkle's light went away. Drizzt ducked to the side, behind the protection of a boulder. He realized that he was not moving as quickly as expected, his enchanted anklets were not aiding him.

"No magic," he reasoned, and then it seemed perfectly clear to him why Guenhwyvar would not enter. The drow turned to go back out, but found his impatient friends already slipping in behind him. Both Harkle and Robillard wore curious expressions. Catti-brie squinted into the gloom, one hand fiddling with the suddenly useless cat's eye pendant strapped to her forehead.

"I have forgotten all of my spells," Harkle said loudly, his voice echoing off the bare wall of the large cave. Robillard slapped his hand over Harkle's mouth.

"Ssssh!" the calmer wizard hissed. When he thought about what Harkle had said, though, Robillard had his own outburst. "As have I!" he roared, and then he slapped his hand over his own mouth.

"No magic in here," Drizzt told them. "That is why Guenhwyvar could not enter."

"Might be that is what sent the cat home," Catti-brie added.

The discussion ended abruptly, and all heads swung about to regard Waillan as the light of a makeshift torch flared brightly.

"I'll not walk in blindly," the young sailor explained, holding high the burning branches he had strapped together.

None of them could argue. Just the few feet they had gone past the cave's entrance had stolen most of the light, and their senses hinted to them that this was no small place. The cave felt deep, and cool. It seemed as if the sticky humidity of the island air had been left behind outside.

As they moved in a bit farther, the torchlight showed them that their senses were telling the truth. The cave was large and roughly oval in shape, perhaps a hundred feet across at its longest point. It was uneven, with several different levels across its broken floor and gigantic stalactites leering down at them.

Drizzt was about to suggest a systematic exploration, when a voice cut the stillness.

"Who would seek my sight?" came a cackle from the rear of the cave, where there appeared to be a rocky tier a dozen feet above the party's present level. All of the group squinted through the gloom. Catti-brie tightened her grip on Taulmaril, wondering how effective the bow might be without its magic.

Dunkin turned back for the door, and out came Robillard's wand, though the wizard's gaze was firmly set ahead, upon the tier of boulders. The small man hesitated, then realized that Robillard had no power against him, not in here.

"Who would seek my sight?" came the cackling question again.

Dunkin bolted out through the moss.

As one, the group looked back to the exit.

"Let him go," Deudermont said. The captain took the torch from Waillan and moved forward slowly, the other five following

in his wake. Drizzt, ever cautious, moved to the shadows offered by the side wall of the cave.

The question came a third time, in rehearsed tones as though the witch was not unaccustomed to visits by sailors. She showed herself to them then, moving out between a tumble of boulders. The hag was old, ancient, wearing a tattered black shift and leaning heavily on a short and polished staff. Her mouth was open-she seemed to be gasping for breath-showing off a single, yellow tooth. Her eyes, appearing dull even from a distance, did not blink.

"Who will bear the burden of knowledge?" she asked. She kept her head turned in the general direction of the five for a short while, then broke into cackling laughter.

Deudermont held his hand up, motioning for the others to halt, then boldly stepped forward. "I will," he announced. "I am Deudermont of the Sea Sprite, come to Caerwich ..."

"Go back!" the hag yelled at him so forcefully that the captain took a step backward before he realized what he was doing. Catti-brie bent her bow a bit more, but kept it low and unthreatening.

"This is not for you, not for any man!" the hag explained. All eyes shifted to regard Catti-brie.

"It is for two, and only two," the hag went on, her croaking voice rhythmic, as though she was reciting a heroic poem. "Not for any man, or any male whose skin browns under the light of the sun."

The obvious reference sent Drizzt's shoulders slumping. He came out of the shadows a moment later, and looked to Catti-brie, who seemed as crestfallen as he in the sudden realization that this was, after all, about Drizzt once more. Deudermont had almost been killed in Waterdeep, and that the Sea Sprite and her crew were in peril, a thousand miles from their usual waters, because of his legacy.

Drizzt sheathed his blades and walked over to Catti-brie, and together they moved past the startled captain, and out in front to face the blind witch.

"My greetings, renegade of Daermon N'a'shezbaernon," the blind witch said, referring to Drizzt's ancient family name, a name that few outside of Menzoberranzan would know. "And to you, daughter of a dwarf, who hurled the mightiest of spears!"

That last sentence caught the pair off guard, and confused them for just a moment, until they realized the reference. The witch must be speaking of the stalactite that Catti-brie had dropped, the great "spear" that drove through the dome of House Baenre's chapel! This was about them, about Drizzt's past, and the enemies they thought they had left behind.

The blind hag motioned for them to come closer, and so they did, walking with as much heart as they could muster. They were barely ten feet from the ugly woman when they stopped. They were several feet below her as well, a fact that made her-someone who knew what she should not have known-seem all the more imposing. The crone pulled herself up as high as she could, showing great effort in trying to straighten her bowed shoulders, and aligned her sightless orbs straight with those of Drizzt Do'Urden.

Then she recited, quietly and quickly, the verse Errtu had given her:

No path by chance but by plot,

Further steps along the road of his father's ghost.

The traitor to Lloth is sought

By he who hates him most.

The fall of a house, the fall of a spear,

Puncture the Spider Queen's pride as a dart.

And now a needle for Drizzt Do'Urden to wear

'Neath the folds of his cloak, so deep in his heart.

A challenge, renegade of renegade's seed,

A golden ring thee cannot resist!

Reach, but only when the beast is freed

From festering in the swirl of Abyss.

Given to Lloth and by Lloth given

That thee might seek the darkest of trails.

Presented to one who is most unshriven

And held out to thee, for thee shall fail!

So seek, Drizzt Do'Urden, the one who hates thee most.

A friend, and too, a foe, made in thine home that was first.

There thee will find one feared a ghost

Bonded by love and by battle's thirst.

The blind hag stopped abruptly, her sightless eyes lingering, her entire body perfectly still, as though the recital had taken a great deal of her strength. Then she drifted back between the stones, moving out of sight.

Drizzt hardly noticed her, just stood, shoulders suddenly slumped, strength sapped by the impossible possibility. "Given to Lloth," he muttered helplessly, and only one more word could he speak, "Zaknafein."

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