The crew worked through the afternoon, but they seemed to be making little progress on the extensive damage the ship had taken. They could hoist one of the sails, the mizzensail, but they couldn't control it to catch the wind, or to steer the ship in any desired direction.
Thus was their condition when Catti-brie called out an alert from the crow's nest. Deudermont and Drizzt rushed side by side to see what she was calling about, both fearing that it might be a pirate vessel. If that was the case, damaged as she was and without Robillard, the proud Sea Sprite might be forced to surrender without a fight.
No pirate blocked their path, but directly ahead loomed a curtain of thick fog. Deudermont looked up to Catti-brie, and the young woman, having no explanation, only shrugged in reply. This was no usual occurrence. The sky was clear, except for this one fog bank, and the temperature had been fairly constant. "What would cause such a mist?" Drizzt asked Deudermont. "Nothing that I know of," the captain insisted. "Man some oars!" he yelled out to the crew. "Try to put up a sail. Let us see if
we can navigate around it."
By the time Deudermont turned his attention back to the sea before them, however, he found Drizzt shaking his head doubtfully, for the fog already loomed much nearer. It was not stationary.
"It is approaching us," the captain breathed in disbelief.
"Swiftly," Drizzt added, and then the drow, with his keen ears, heard the chuckle of Harkle Harpell and knew in his heart that this was the wizard's work. He turned in time to see the man disappearing through the hatch belowdecks, and started to follow. Drizzt stopped before he reached the hatch, though, hearing Deudermont's gasp and the nervous cries of many crewmen.
Catti-brie scrambled down the rigging. "What is it?" she asked, near desperation.
Into the gray veil they went. The sound of splashing water went away, as did any sensation of movement. Crewmen huddled together and many drew out their weapons, as if expecting some enemy to climb aboard from the dark mist.
It was Guenhwyvar who gave Drizzt the next clue of what might be going on. The panther came to Drizzt's side, ears flattened, but her expression and demeanor showing more curiosity than fear.
"Dimensional," the drow remarked.
Deudermont looked at him curiously.
"This is Harkle's doing," Drizzt said. "The wizard is using his magic to get us off the open sea."
Deudermont's face brightened at that notion, so did Catti-brie's-at least until both of them took a moment to consider the source of their apparent salvation.
Catti-brie looked out at the thick fog. Suddenly, drifting in a damaged ship across empty waters did not seem like such a bad thing.
"What do you mean?" Robillard roared. He slapped his hands together fiercely and translated his question into the watery, gurgling language of the water elemental.
The reply came without hesitation, and Robillard knew enough of such a creature to understand that it had the means to
know the truth of the matter. This one had been cooperative, as elemental creatures go, and Robillard did not believe that it was lying to him.
The Sea Sprite was gone, vanished from the sea.
Robillard breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the next reply, that the ship had not sunk, had simply drifted out of the waters.
"Harkle Harpell," the wizard reasoned aloud. "He has gotten them into a port. Well done!" Robillard considered his own situation then, alone and so far from land. He commanded the elemental to keep him moving in a generally easterly direction, and explained that he would need the creature until the next dawn. Then he took out his spellbook, a fabulous leatherbound and watertight work, and moved its golden tassel bookmark to the page containing his teleportation spell.
Then the wizard sat back and relaxed. He needed to sleep, to gather his strength and his energy. The elemental would see to his safety for now, and in the morning he would use his spell to put him in his private room in the guild hall in Waterdeep. Yes, the wizard decided, it had been a difficult and boring few weeks, and now was a good time for some restful shore leave.
Deudermont would just have to catch up with him later.
The Sea Sprite drifted in a surreal stillness, no sound of water or wind, for many minutes. The fog was so thick about them that Drizzt had to hang very low over the rail to even see the water. He didn't dare reach out and touch that gray liquid, not knowing what Harkle's spell, if this was indeed Harkle's spell, might be doing.
At last they heard a splash, the lap of a wave against the prow of the ship. The fog began to thin almost immediately, but though they couldn't see their surroundings, everyone on board sensed that something had changed.
"The smell," Catti-brie remarked, and the heads of all those near her bobbed in agreement. Gone was the salty aroma, so thick that it left a taste in your mouth, replaced by a crisp summer scent, filled with trees, flowers, and the slick feel of an inlet swamp. The sounds, too, had changed, from the empty, endless
whistle of the wind and the muted splashes of deep water to the gentle lapping of lesser waves and the trilling of ...
"Songbirds?" Drizzt asked.
The fog blew away, and all of the crew breathed a sigh of relief, for they were near to land! To the left loomed a small island, tree-covered, centered by a small castle and dotted with large mansions. A long bridge stretched in front of the Sea Sprite, reaching from the island to the shore, to the docks of a fair-sized, walled town. Behind the town, the ground sloped up into tall mountains, a landmark that no sailor could miss, but that Deudermont did not know. Many boats were about, though none much bigger than the rowboats the Sea Sprite carried astern. All the crews stood, staring blankly at the magnificent sailing ship.
"Not Waterdeep," Deudermont remarked. "Nor anywhere near to the city that I know of."
Drizzt surveyed the area, studying the coastline that curled back behind them. "Not the open sea," he replied.
"A lake," Catti-brie reasoned.
All three of them looked at each other for a moment, then yelled out, "Harkle!" in unison. The Harpell, expecting the call, scrambled out of the hatch and bounded right up beside them, his expression full of cheer.
"Where are we?" Deudermont demanded.
"Where the fates wanted us to be," the mage said mysteriously, waving his arms, the voluminous sleeves of his robe flying wide.
"I'm thinking ye'll have to do better than that," Catti-brie put in dryly.
Harkle shrugged and lowered his arms. "I do not know for sure, of course," he admitted. "The spell facilitates the move-not a random thing-but wherever that might be, I cannot tell."
"The spell?" Deudermont asked.
"The fog of fate," Drizzt answered before Harkle could. "The same spell that brought you to us."
Harkle nodded through the drow's every word, his smile wide, his expression one of pride and accomplishment.
"You put us in a lake!" Deudermont roared angrily.
Harkle stammered for a reply, but a call from the water cut the private conversation short. "Yo ho, Sea Sprite!"
The four went to the rail, Drizzt pulling the hood of his cloak over his head. He didn't know where they were, or what recep-
tion they might find, but he felt it likely that the greeting would be less warm if these sailors discovered that the Sea Sprite carried a drow elf.
A fair-sized fishing boat had pulled up alongside, its crew of six studying the schooner intently. "You've seen battle," an old graybeard, seeming to be the skipper of the fishing boat, reasoned.
"A storm," Deudermont corrected. "As fierce a blow as I've ever known."
The six fishermen exchanged doubting looks. They had been on the water every day for the last month and had seen no storms.
"Far from here," Deudermont tried to explain, recognizing the doubting expressions.
"How far can you get?" the old graybeard asked, looking about at the ever-present shoreline.
"Ye'd be surprised," Catti-brie answered, casting a sidelong glance at the blushing Harkle.
"Where did you put in?" the graybeard asked.
Deudermont held his hands out wide. "We are the Sea Sprite, out of Waterdeep."
The doubting expressions turned into open smirks. "Waterdeep?" the graybeard echoed.
"Are we in another world?" Catti-brie whispered to Drizzt, and the drow found it hard to honestly comfort her, especially with Harkle Harpell behind it all.
"Waterdeep," Deudermont said evenly, seriously, with as much conviction as he could muster.
"You're a long way from home, captain," another of the fishermen remarked. "A thousand miles."
"Fifteen hundred," the graybeard corrected.
"And all of it land," another added, laughing. "Have you wheels on the Sea Sprite?" That brought a chuckle from the six and from several other crews of boats moving close to investigate.
"And a team of horses I'd like to see," a man on another boat put in, drawing more laughter.
Even Deudermont managed a smile, relieved that he and his ship were apparently still in the Realms. "Wizard's work," he explained. "We sailed the Sea of Swords, five hundred miles southwest of the Moonshaes, when the storm found us and left us
drifting. Our wizard"-Deudermont looked over to Harkle- "cast some enchantment to get us into port."
"He missed," howled a man.
"But he got us off of the open sea," Deudermont said when the laughter died away. "Where we surely would have perished. Pray tell me, good sailors, where are we?"
"This is Impresk Lake," the graybeard replied, then pointed to shore, to the walled town. "Carradoon."
Deudermont didn't recognize the names.
"Those are the Snowflakes," the skipper continued, indicating the mountains.
"South," Catti-brie said suddenly. All eyes turned to her. "We are far south of Waterdeep," she said. "And if we sailed south from the lake, we'd get to the Deepwash, then to Vilhon Reach in the Inner Sea."
"You have the place," the graybeard announced. "But you'd not draw enough water to get that ship to Shalane Lake."
"And unless you've wings with those wheels, you won't be sailing over the Cloven Mountains!" the man beside the graybeard roared. But the laughter was subdued now, all the sailors, on the Sea Sprite and on the fishing boats, digesting the gravity of the situation.
Deudermont blew a long sigh and looked to Harkle, who cast his gaze to the deck. "We'll worry about where we are going later," Deudermont said. "For now, the task is to repair the Sea Sprite." He turned to the graybeard. "I fear that your lake hasn't enough draw," he said. "Is there a long wharf, where we might put in for repairs?"
The skipper pointed to Carradoon Island, and one long dock jutting out in the direction of the Sea Sprite.
"The draw is deeper on the northern side of the island," the man next to him remarked.
"But the long dock is privately owned," a third fisherman put in.
"We'll get permission to put her in," the graybeard said firmly.
"But the task is not so easy," Deudermont interjected. "We've not the sails, nor the steering to navigate. And I do not know these waters, obviously."
"Put out some lines, Captain ..."
"Deudermont," the Sea Sprite's captain replied. "Captain Deudermont."
"My name's Terraducket," the graybeard said. "Well met." He signaled to all the other boats as he spoke, and already they were swarming about the Sea Sprite, trying to get in position.
"We'll get you in to the docks, and Carradoon has a fair number of shipwrights to help in your repairs," Terraducket went on. "Even on that mast, though we'll have to find a tall tree indeed to replace it! Know that it will cost you a fair number of stories about your sailing adventures on the Sea of Swords, if I know my fellows!"
"We've a fair number to tell!" Deudermont assured him.
The ropes went out and the fishing fleet put in line and began to guide and tow the great schooner.
"The brotherhood of sailors extends to those upon the lakes," Drizzt remarked.
"So it would seem," Deudermont agreed. "If we had crew to replace, I'd know where to begin my search." The captain looked over to Harkle, who was still staring forlornly at the deck. "You did well, Master Harpell," Deudermont said, and the wizard's face brightened as he looked up at the man. "We would have perished in the uncharted waters so far from the Moonshaes, and now we shall live."
"But on a lake," Harkle replied.
Deudermont waved that notion away. "Robillard will find us, and the two of you will find a way to put us back where we belong, I do not doubt. For now, my ship and my crew are safe, and that is all that matters. Well done!"
Harkle verily glowed.
"But why are we here?" Catti-brie had to ask.
"The fog of fate," Drizzt and Harkle said in unison.
"And that means that there is something here that we need," the wizard went on.
"Need for what?" Catti-brie asked.
"For the quest, of course!" Harkle roared. "That is what this is all about, is it not?" He looked around as if that should explain everything, but saw that the stares coming back at him were not looks of comprehension. "Before the storm, we were heading for ..."
"Waterdeep," Deudermont answered. "Your spell has not put us closer to Waterdeep."
Harkle waved his hands frantically. "No, no," he corrected. "Not for Waterdeep, but for a priest, or perhaps a wizard, in Waterdeep."
"And you think that we're more likely to find a spellcaster of the power we need here than in Waterdeep?" Drizzt asked incredulously. "In this tiny town so far from home?"
"Good Captain Terraducket," Harkle called.
"Here," came the reply from farther away than before, for Terraducket's fishing boat had moved forward to join in the towing line.
"We seek a priest," Harkle said. "A very powerful priest ..."
"Cadderly," Terraducket interrupted without hesitation. "Cadderly Bonaduce. You'll not find a more powerful priest in all the Realms!" Terraducket boasted, as if this Cadderly was the property of all of Carradoon.
Harkle cast a superior glance at his friends. "Fog of fate," he remarked.
"And where might we find this Cadderly?" Deudermont asked. "In Carradoon?"
"No," came Terraducket's reply. "Two day's march out, into the mountains, in a temple called the Spirit Soaring."
Deudermont looked to Harkle, no more doubting questions coming to surface.
Harkle clapped his hands together. "Fog of fate!" he said again. "Oh, and it all fits so well," he said excitedly, as though another thought had just popped into his head.
"Fits like the Sea Sprite in a lake," Catti-brie put in sarcastically, but Harkle just ignored her.
"Don't you see?" the wizard asked them all, excited once more and flapping those winglike arms. "Sea Sprite and Spirit Soaring. SS and SS, after all! And fog of fate, ff."
"I'm needin' a long sleep," Catti-brie groaned.
"And HH!" Harkle bellowed. Drizzt looked at him curiously. "Harkle Harpell!" the excited wizard explained, then he poked a finger the drow's way. "And DD for Drizzt Do'Urden! FF for fog of fate, and SS and SS, HH and DD! And you . . ." he pointed at Catti-brie.
"Doesn't work," the young woman assured him.
"Doesn't matter," Drizzt added. Deudermont was biting hard on his lip, trying not to steal Harkle's moment of glory with a burst of laughter.
"Oh, there's something in the letters," Harkle said, speaking to himself more than to the others. "I must explore this!"
"Explore yer mind," Catti-brie said to him, and then she added under her breath, so that only Drizzt and Deudermont could hear, "Better take a big lantern and a dwarf's cave pack."
That brought a snicker.
"But your father!" Harkle yelled suddenly, leaping at Catti-brie. She barely held back from slugging him, so great was her surprise.
"Me father?" she asked.
"BB!" Harkle, Drizzt, and Deudermont all said together, the drow and the captain feigning excitement.
Catti-brie groaned again.
"Yes, yes. Bruenor Battlehammer," Harkle said to himself, and started walking away. "BB. Oh, I must explore the correlation of the letters, yes, I must."
"While ye're thinkin' on it, find the correlation of BF," Catti-brie said to him. The distracted wizard nodded and rambled along, making a straight path to Deudermont's private quarters, which Harkle had practically taken over.
"BF?" the captain asked Catti-brie.
"Babbling fool," she and Drizzt replied together, drawing yet another laugh from those nearby. Still, neither Drizzt nor Catti-brie, Deudermont nor any of the others could dismiss the fact that the "babbling fool" had apparently saved the Sea Sprite, and had put them closer to their goal.
Part 3
THE NATURE OF EVIL
They are the absolutes, the pantheon of ideals, the goodly gods and the evil fiends, forever locked in the struggle for the souls of the mortals. The concept that is Lloth is purely evil; that of Mielikki, purely good. As opposite as black and white, with no shades of gray in between. Thus are the concepts, good and evil. Absolute, rigid. There can be no justification for a truly evil act; there is no shade of gray. While an act of good often brings personal gain, the act itself is absolute as its measure is based on intent. This is epitomized by our beliefs in the pantheon, but what of the mortal races, the rational beings-the humans and the races of elvenkind and dwarvenkind, the gnomes and the halflings, the goblinoids and giantkin? Here the question muddles, the absolutes blend.
To many, the equation is simple: I am drow, drow are evil, thus I am evil.
They are wrong. For what is a rational being if not a choice? And there can be no evil, nor any good, without intent. It is true that in the Realms there are races and cultures, particularly the goblinoids, which show a general weal of evil, and those, such as the surface elves, which lean toward the concept of good. But even in these, which many consider personifications of an absolute, it is the individual's intents and actions that ultimately decide. I have known a goblin who was not evil; I am a drow who has not succumbed to the ways of his culture. Still, few drow and fewer goblins can make such claims, and so the generalities hold.
Most curious and most diverse among the races are the humans. Here the equation and the expectations muddle most of all. Here perception reins supreme. Here intent is oft hidden, secret. No race is more adept than humans at weaving a mask of
justification. No race is more adept than humans at weaving a mask of excuses, at ultimately claiming good intent. And no race is more adept at believing its own claims. How many wars have been fought, man against man, with both armies espousing that god, a goodly god, was on their side and in their hearts?
But good is not a thing of perception. What is "good" in one culture cannot be "evil" in another. This might be true of mores and minor practices, but not of virtue. Virtue is absolute.
It must be. Virtue is the celebration of life and of love, the acceptance of others and the desire to grow toward goodness, toward a better place. It is the absence of pride and envy, the willingness to share our joys and to bask in the accomplishments of others. It is above justification because it is what truly lies in each and every heart. If a person does an evil act, then let him weave his mask, but it will not hide the truth, the absolute, from what is naked within his own heart.
There is a place within each of us where we cannot hide from the truth, where virtue sits as judge. To admit the truth of our actions is to go before that court, where process is irrelevant. Good and evil are intents, and intent is without excuse.
Cadderly Bonaduce went to that place as willingly and completely as any man I have known. I recognize that growth within him, and see the result, the Spirit Soaring, most majestic and yet most humble of human accomplishments.
Artemis Entreri will go to that place. Perhaps not until the moment of his death, but he will go, as we all must eventually go, and what agony he will realize when the truth of his evil existence is laid bare before him. I pray that he goes soon, and my hope is not born of vengeance, for vengeance is an empty prayer. May Entreri go of his own volition to that most private place within his heart to see the truth and, thus, to correct his ways. He will find joy in his penance, true harmony that he can never know along his present course.
I go to that place within my heart as often as I am able in order to escape the trap of easy justification. It is a painful place, a naked place, but only there might we grow toward goodness; only there, where no mask can justify, might we recognize the truth of our intents, and thus, the truth of our actions. Only there, where virtue sits as judge, are heroes born.