Dolgan, in his guise as the first mate, grunted a greeting.

Riven pretended to make insignificant conversation, but caught Azriim's gaze and indicated the wands the slaad rotated in and out of his hands.

Warding the ship, Azriim explained.

Above them, the crew was at work in the rigging, unfurling sails.

"We sail at moonrise," Azriim said, confirming what the crewman had said to Riven. He continued to walk the deck, with Dolgan at his side.

Riven tired of the slaadi's company in short order. With nothing to do but wait for the ship to set sail, Riven returned to his quarters and brooded. The thump of activity went on for several hours, then shouts were heard, and the ship began to move away from the pier.

As Demon Binder sailed out of the harbor and out into the open sea, Riven emerged onto the deck, up the stern-castle to the aft railing. He felt the eyes of the crew on him, saw the questions in their expressions, but ignored them and offered no information. He leaned on the rail and watched Selgaunt and its torches and lamps vanish into the distance. For a moment, he wondered what his girls were doing, if they would miss him. He wondered, too, if Cale was in the city, looking for him.

He suspected so.

For the hundredth time, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.

* * * * *

From their room in the Murky Depths, Cale tried to scry Riven or the slaadi but met with no success. He was not surprised. No doubt the Sojourner had bolstered the ability of the slaadi to avoid detection. He tried, too, to scry Sakkors, focusing the spell's magic using only the city's name. That failed as well. He and Jak would need to use more mundane methods.

For a night and two days Jak and Cale frequented the taverns and eateries of the Dock District, carousing among the watermen. It felt good to Cale. The atmosphere reminded him of his early professional life in Westgate, when things had seemed less complicated and earning coin had been his only concern.

He and Jak sprinkled fivestars and drink among sailors, courtesans, merchants, ferrymen, serving girls, bartenders, dockworkers, and anyone else who might have had an ear to recent events. Cale used his ability to stand invisibly in the shadows to move unseen among the crowds.

As always, the dockside establishments were awash in rumors and schemes-dragon attacks in the north seemed a popular bit of nonsense-but none of them fit what Cale knew of Riven and the slaadi. Cale watched dozens of ships come and go from the harbor, wondering with each if he was watching the slaadi escape. After a time he began to suspect that Riven and the slaadi had not returned to Selgaunt after all, or that they had secured passage on a smuggler's ship outside the harbor.

The second night, after another fruitless day, he and Jak walked back toward the Murky Depths.

"You ever think about doing something like that?" Jak said, and nodded at a group of glory-seekers walking along the docks: two warriors in mail hauberks, both armed with swords and bows, what looked like a paunchy wizard, to judge from his robes and the esoterica hanging from his belt, and an armored priest of Lathander, with a yellow sun enameled on his breastplate and a mace at his waist. The four adventurers joked among themselves as they walked the waterfront, laughing about some jest made at the wizard's expense.

"An itchie?" Cale asked, incredulous. "Are you jesting?"

Jak shook his head. "I don't mean an adventurer, Cale, at least not exactly. I mean . . . you know, someone who does big things." He cleared his throat. "A hero, is what I'm saying."

Cale would have chuckled if not for the earnestness in Jak's voice. He said, "Adventurers are coin grubbers and tomb robbers, Jak. They're not heroes, if there even are such people."

Jak stopped and faced him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean, 'if there are such people?' You do not think there are any? What about Tchazzar? The Seven Sisters? Khelben Arunsun? Even King Azoun of Cormyr, before he fell."

Cale shook his head and said, "Those people have done big things, great things maybe, but to call them heroes? I don't know, Jak. The word .. . reduces a man, makes him more myth than real."

"What does that mean?" Jak asked.

"It means. . . ." Cale fumbled for words. "Do you think that what we know about the men and women you named amounts to even a fraction of who they were or what they did? They slew a dragon, defeated an army, faced a demon. All well and good. But how did they treat their friends? Their family? I'll wager they experienced more failures than successes. Should that not factor into the evaluation? We take one aspect of who they were or what they did, grab onto it because we like it or think it admirable, and call them heroes. Hells, Jak, you and I have faced demons, even a dragon. No one knows, no one will remember but us, and I would wager a fortune that no one will call us heroes. Will they?"

Jak surprised him by saying softly, "I don't know. Maybe they will."

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.