Cale laughed to hide his shock. "You waxing philosophical as you age?"
"No," the little man said, and they started walking again. "I just think that doing something good and being remembered for it-even if for nothing else-is worthwhile. And whether the histories call you a hero or not doesn't change the fact of the heroism."
Cale thought about that, then said, "Maybe you have some truth there. But aren't we already doing good things, little man? Big things?"
Jak looked past the ships, out to the bay. "Most of the time I think so. Still, if we get a chance.. . ."
"What?"
Still looking out to sea, Jak said, "If we get the chance, let's be heroes." He looked back at Cale. "All right?"
Cale could think of nothing to say. He was not sure that he was made of the stuff of heroes, the stuff of Storm Silverhand and Khelben; he was not sure that a priest of Mask could be a hero. But to satisfy Jak he managed, "All right, Jak. If we get a chance."
"Is that an oath?" Jak asked.
"That's an oath," Cale answered. "What's animating this, little man?"
"Nothing," Jak answered. "Just thinking aloud."
Cale let it rest there, and with that, the two friends walked back to the inn.
The next day they caught a lead. The docks buzzed with news of two bodies found floating in the bay. Most of the stories suggested that both corpses had been mutilated. Most also suggested that the bodies were those of two sailors, both from the same ship. Cale and Jak took hold of the tale, its various incarnations, and followed it to its end to find the truth of it. Sprinkling coin among the laborers on the docks and finally bribing one of the harbormaster's undermasters, they learned that only one of the bodies had been mutilated-his skull had been opened and emptied-and the sailors had been the captain and first mate of a Thayan ship, Demon Binder, that had set to two nights earlier. Cale learned too that Demon Binder transported slaves. The rumors spoke of a mutiny. Cale knew better.
"That's our ship," Cale said as the three of them sat around a table in the Depth's taproom. Cale figured that the slaadi had taken the form of the slain captain and mate and brought Riven aboard, probably in disguise.
Jak frowned. "They put to sea two days ago. We don't know where they're headed. Even if we can find a faster ship, how can we catch them?"
Cale already had an idea. "The Sojourner may have warded the slaadi and Riven against scrying, but he did not ward the ship. We know its name and there's power in that. A divination can find it. And if I can see it, I can move us there during the night."
Jak and Magadon looked at him, and both grinned.
The three finished their meal then retired to their opulent room. Sitting on the end of one of the three down-stuffed beds, Magadon checked and rechecked his arrows, oiled his bow, meditated in silence. Jak inventoried his pouches, his tobacco, sharpened his blades. The schk schk of steel on whetstone kept the time.
Cale sat at an oak desk, on which rested a basin of clear water. He held Weaveshear across his knees and waited, silently imploring Mask to ensure the success of the scrying. Streaks of shadow moved from his hands into the blade, from the blade back into his hands. Sunlight spilled through the western window and painted the floor. The light crept across the slats as sunset approached. The shadows in the room grew longer, darker.
Even without looking out the window, Cale knew the very moment the sun sank below the horizon. He thought of casting then, but decided against it.
"What are we waiting for?" Magadon asked.
"Midnight," Cale answered. Midnight was the hour sacred to Mask. Cale would wait for it. "Have some food brought up," he said to Magadon. "Eat. Keep up your strength."
Magadon and Jak did just that. Cale did not eat. He focused. He knew intuitively when midnight arrived. Moonbeams strained through the shutters. The shadows were at their deepest; Cale's connection to his god was at its most profound.
"Now," Cale said, and his comrades rose to stand beside him.
Cale leaned forward over the basin, studied its still water. Running his thumb along Weaveshear's edge, he slit his skin and drew blood. His flesh regenerated the wound almost immediately but he had what he needed. He let a few drops of blood fall into the basin. He swirled shadows around his fingertips until they grew tangible and he let them, too, fall into the water. He breathed on the basin and stirred the mixture with his fingertips.
Calling upon Mask to show him Demon Binder, he cast the divination. With nothing more than the ship's name to drive the spell, the casting faltered. Cale compensated with his will, forcing the magic to reveal what he needed to know.
Within moments, the water in the basin solidified into a surface as smooth, black, and shining as polished basalt. A wavering image took shape in the blackness-a two-masted cog with great, square sails full of wind, sailing on the smooth sea. The perspective showed the vessel from a distance, as though Cale were seeing through a bird's eye above it.
"There it is," breathed Jak, standing on his tiptoes to see into the basin.
The ship had two crow's nests, one on the mainmast, one on the mizzenmast. A two-story forecastle squatted on the decks to fore, and a sterncastle to the rear. Lanterns hung from the stern, the gunnels, the post over the helmsman. Cale saw no sailors moving on deck, though one of the crow's nests contained a watchman. The crew slept on deck or in quarters. The ship was on nightwatch but had not set its anchor or furled its sails. It was sailing through the night, by the light of a waxing Selune and her tears. Cale knew that to be unusual. Azriim must have been in a hurry.
"The crew will fight," Magadon said, "unless they can be shown the slaadi's true form."
Cale nodded. He figured the cog's crew numbered perhaps a score.
"We'll go in fast and quiet," he said. "We find the slaadi, put them down, and get out. But if the crew gets in the way ..." He looked his friends in the eyes. "They are Thayans and slavers. Remember that."
Neither Magadon nor Jak protested.
"Riven?" Jak asked.
Cale shook his head. He did not know what to expect from Drasek Riven. "If necessary, we put him down too."
The little man pulled out his holy symbol and prayed to Brandobaris. When he completed the casting, a soft glow covered him, Cale, and Magadon. The glow faded but left a warm feeling in its wake.
Jak explained, "A prayer to Brandobaris. We may need the help."
"A good thought," Cale said.
He felt a tickling under his scalp.
We are linked, Magadon said.
Cale nodded. They were as prepared as they could be.
He pulled the shadows around them, found the link in the darkness between their room in the Murky Depths and the aft deck of Demon Binder.
In a moment, they were on the open sea, aboard a Thayan slave ship.
* * * * *
Riven awoke, certain that he had heard Cale whispering something to him. He sat up with a start, hand on one of his sabers, and looked about his quarters. He saw no one.
He had been dreaming, and the dream had been a vision sent to him by the Shadowlord. He had seen a tower in ruins but rebuilt before his eyes, a priestess of Cyric screaming in rage. The shadows had laughed at the priestess's ire. He had seen himself and the slaadi together in the tower as darkness fell.
His skin went gooseflesh at the memory. His heart was racing. He could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, that someone was watching him. Long ago he had learned not to ignore those feelings.
He rose, donned his weapons and an overcloak, and padded out of his room.