Catti-brie and Drizzt looked at each other throughout the tale with honest concern. If Jarlaxle was interested in their friend, perhaps Wulfgar was not so safe after all. Even more perplexing to them, though, was the question of why the dangerous Jarlaxle would be interested in Wulfgar in the first place.
Morik went on to assure the two that he'd had no dealings with Jarlaxle or his lieutenants in months and didn't expect to see any of them again. “Not since that human assassin showed up and told me to run away,” Morik explained. “Which I did, and only recently came back. I'm smarter than to have that band after me, but I believe the human covered my trail well enough. He could not have gone back to them if they believed I was still alive, I would guess.”
“Human assassin?” Drizzt asked, and he could guess easily enough who it might have been, though as to why Artemis Entreri would spare the life of anyone and risk the displeasure of mighty Bregan D'aerthe, the drow could not begin to guess. But that was a long tale, likely, and one that Drizzt hoped had nothing to do with Wulfgar.
“Where can we find Sheila Kree?” he asked, stopping Morik before he could really get going with his dark elf stories.
Morik stared at him for a few moments. “The high seas, perhaps,” he answered. “She may have a favored and secret port— in fact, I believe I have heard rumors of one.”
“You can find out for us?” Catti-brie asked.
“Such information will not come cheaply,” Morik started to explain, but his words were lost in a great gulp when Drizzt, a friend of a rich dwarf king whose stake in Wulfgar's return was no less than his own, dropped a small bag bulging with coins on the table.
“Tomorrow night,” the drow explained. “In here.”
Morik took the purse, nodded, and went fast out of the Cutlass.
“Ye're thinking the rogue will return with information?” Catti-brie asked.
“He was an honest friend of Wulfgar's,” Drizzt answered, “and he's too afraid of us to stay away.”
“Sounds like our old friend got himself mixed up in a bit of trouble and adventure,” Catti-brie remarked.
“Sounds like our old friend found his way out of the darkness,” Drizzt countered, his smile beaming behind his dark features, his lavender eyes full of sparkling hope.
Chapter 8 TEARING AT THE WARRIOR'S SOUL
They found the merchant vessel listing badly, a fair portion of her sails torn away by chain-shot, and her crewmen—those who were still aboard—lying dead, sprawled across the deck. Deudermont and his experienced crew knew that others had been aboard. A ship such as this would normally carry a crew of at least a dozen and only seven bodies had been found. The captain held out little hope that any of the missing were still alive. An abundance of sharks could be seen in the water around the wounded caravel, and probably more than a few had their bellies full of human flesh.
“No more than a few hours,” Robillard announced to the captain, catching up to Deudermont near to the damaged ship's tied-off wheel.
The pirates had wounded her, stripped her of her crew and her valuables, then set her on a tight course, circling in the water. In the stiff wind that had been blowing all day, Deudermont had been forced to order Robillard to further damage the merchant vessel, letting loose a lightning bolt to destroy the rudder, before he could allow Sea Sprite to even catch hold of the caravel.
“They would have taken a fair haul from her,” Deudermont reasoned.
The remaining stocks in the merchant vessel's hold indicated
That the ship, bound from Memnon, had been carrying a large cargo of fabrics, though the cargo log said nothing about any exotic or exceptional pieces.
“Minimal value goods,” Robillard replied. “They had to take a substantial amount simply to make the scuttling and murder worth their time. If they filled their hold, they're obviously running for land.” He paused and wetted a finger, then held it up. “And they've a favorable breeze for such a journey.”
“No more favorable than our own,” the captain said grimly. He called to one of his lieutenants, who was standing nearby ordering a last check for any survivors, to be followed by a hasty return to Sea Sprite.
The hunt was on.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Standing not so far away from Captain Deudermont and Robillard, Wulfgar heard every word. He agreed with the assessment that the atrocity was barely hours old. With the strong wind, the fleet Sea Sprite, her holds empty, would quickly overtake the laden pirate, even if the pirate was making all speed for safe harbor.
The barbarian closed his eyes and considered the forthcoming battle, his first action since Sea Sprite had put back out from Waterdeep. This would be a moment of truth for Wulfgar, a time when his determination and strength of will would have to take command from his faltering fortitude. He looked around at the murdered merchant sailors, men slaughtered by bloodthirsty pirates. Those killers deserved the harsh fate that would likely find them soon, deserved to be sent to a cold and lonely death in the dark waters, or to be captured and returned to Waterdeep, even to Luskan, for trial and execution.
Wulfgar told himself that it was his duty to avenge these innocent sailors, that it was his responsibility to use his gods-given prowess as a warrior to help bring justice to a wild world, to help bring security to helpless and innocent people.
Standing there on the deck of the broken merchant caravel, Wulfgar tried to consciously appeal to every ennobling characteristic, to every ideal. Standing there in that place of murder, Wulfgar appealed to his instincts of duty and responsibility, to the altruism of his former friends—to Drizzt, who would not hesitate to throw himself in harm's way for the sake of another.
But he kept seeing Delly and Colson, standing alone against the harshness of the world, broken in grief and poverty.
A prod in the side alerted the barbarian to the scene about him, to the fact that he and the lieutenant who had poked him were the only remaining crewmen on the wounded caravel. He followed the lieutenant to the boarding plank and noted that Robillard was watching his every step.
Stepping back onto Sea Sprite, the barbarian took one last glance at the grisly scene on the merchant ship and burned the images of the dead sailors into his consciousness that he might recall it when the time came for action.
He tried very hard to suppress the images of Delly and Colson as he did, tried to remind himself of who he was and of who he must be.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Using common sense and a bit of Robillard's magic, Sea Sprite had the pirate in sight soon after the next dawn. It seemed a formidable craft, a large three-master with a prominent second deck and catapult. Even from a distance, Deudermont could see many crewmen scrambling about the pirate's deck, bows in hand.
“Carling Badeen?” Robillard asked Deudermont, moving beside him near the prow of the swift-sailing schooner.
“It could be,” the captain replied, turning to regard his thin friend.
Sea Sprite had been chasing Carling Badeen, one of the more notorious pirates of the Sword Coast, off and on for years. It appeared they'd finally caught up to the elusive cutthroat. By reputation, Badeen's ship was large but slow and formidably armored and armed, with a crack crew of archers and a pair of notorious wizards. The pirate Badeen himself was known to be one of the more bloodthirsty of the breed, and certainly the gruesome scene back at the merchant ship fit the pattern of Badeen's work.
“If it is, then we must be at our very best, or risk losing many crewmen,” Robillard remarked.
Deudermont, his eye back against his spyglass, did not disagree.