Storm Silverhand's name upon my ship if I were not a friend of the Harpers?"

Ruha shrugged. "I know only what my eyes show me-and I can see that you have not called your men to arms.

You have no intention of aiding that ship."

"You'd do well to worry less about my intentions and think of your assignment. The Harpers are not given to hiring private ships unless the matter is urgent. Do you think Lady Silverhand would want you to risk your mis- sion over a fight that's none of your concern?"

"Storm Silverhand is not here."

The witch's reply was evasive because she did not know the answer to Captain Fowler's question. Storm Silverhand had told her only that she was to sail to the port village of Pros, where an important Harper named Vaerana Hawklyn would be waiting to take her to the city ofElversult. Presumably, Vaerana would explain Ruha's assignment, but even that was not certain.

Ruha looked toward the distant caravel. "I do know one thing: neither Storm Silverhand, nor any other

Harper, would turn a blind eye on so many people in such terrible danger. If you are truly her friend, you know this as well."

The sea was piled high before the Storm Sprite, block- ing all sight of the caravel and its attacker, but Captain

Fowler's gray eyes looked toward the unseen battle and lingered there many moments.

"It will go better for us, and them, if we arrive after the battle," he said. "If that dragon sends the Storm Sprite to lie in Umberlee's cold palace, we'll be of no use to the sur- vivors-or to those waiting in Pros."

Ruha laid a reassuring hand on the half-ore's hairy arm. "Captain Fowler, you may tell your men to arm themselves. I will not let the dragon sink your ship."

"Lady Witch, sea battles are wild things." The cap- tain's tone was overly patient, as though he were speak- ing to a little girl instead of a desert-hardened witch.

"Even with your magic, you might find you can't keep such a promise."

"Captain Fowler, I have fought more battles than you know. It is true that I have not won them all, but never have I abandoned someone else out of fear for myself."

These last words Ruha spoke with particular venom, for she was offended by Fowler's condescension. "But if you truly value your ship above other men's lives, the Harpers will guarantee my promise. If the dragon sinks the Storm

Sprite, we will buy you another."

Fowler's face hardened. "And why are you so keen to fight the drake, Witch? Do you think to redeem yourself for the Voonlar debacle?"

Ruha felt her cheeks redden, and her anger evaporated like water spilled upon the desert floor. "At least I know why you lack faith in me."

The Voonlar debacle had been Ruha's first assignment.

Storm Silverhand had sent her to work in a Voonlar tav- ern, where she was to serve as a secret intermediary and messenger. On her first day, a slave smuggler had crossed her palm with a silver coin. Ruha, failing to understand the significance of the gesture, had accepted the offering with thanks, then balked at delivering the expected ser- vices. Feeling slighted, the furious slaver had refused to accept the coin's return and drawn his dagger. He would certainly have killed the witch if one of his own men, a Harper spy, had not leapt to her defense. As it was, she and the spy had been forced to fight their way to safety, leaving the smuggler free to sell a hundred men, women, and children into bondage.

"I am sorry for the misery I caused the slaves of Voon- lar. Not a night passes when my nightmares do not ring with their cries." Ruha raised her chin and locked gazes with the half-ore. "But I assure you, my shame is as noth- ing compared to the disgrace of a coward who turns from those he can save."

The half-ore's arm slipped free of the tiller, his lips curling back to show sharp tusks and yellow fangs, and he stepped toward Ruha. The witch did not back away, nor did she avoid his eyes, and when there came on the wind a distant roar and the splintering of ship timbers,

Fowler was the first to glance away.

"Do not fear the dragon," Ruha urged. "My under- standing of magic far exceeds my knowledge of Heart- land customs."

Fowler shook his head as though trying to rid himself of some evil thought, and when he spoke, his voice was as low and guttural as a growl.

"As you wish, then!" He thrust his leathery palm under

Ruha's face. "But give me your pin. I wager this battle will go harder than you think, and if Umberlee takes offense at your gall, I'll want proof of your pledge."

Ruha started to object, then thought better and turned away. She reached inside her aba and removed the

Harper's pin hidden over her heart. It was a small silver brooch fashioned in the shape of a crescent moon, sur- rounded by four twinkling stars with a harp in the cen- ter. The pin had once belonged to Lander ofArchenbridge, a valiant scout who had died helping the Bedine tribes resist an army of rapacious Zhentarim invaders.

The witch handed the brooch to Fowler. "Guard it well. This pin was once worn by my beloved, and I cherish it more than life itself."

"That makes the risk the same for both of us." Fowler pinned the brooch inside his tunic, then hooked his arm around the tiller and turned his attention to the main deck. "Man the harpoons! Break out the axes and spears!

Ready yourselves for the attack!"

Every man upon the decks turned an astonished eye toward their captain, and the crew grumbled its displea- sure in one voice. A greasy-haired youth in a thin cotton tunic and gray, brine-stiffened trousers rushed up the stairs, stopping at the edge of the half deck.

"Cap'n, sure ye canno' mean to strike that dark thing first?"

"I can and do!" Fowler pulled a key from a chain around his neck and passed it to the man. "Now, you alley-spawned son of a tavern hag, open the weapon lock- ers before the witch calls the squids to drag us all down to Umberlee!"

The youth's eyes darted toward Ruha. Though the witch did not know who the squids were or how to sum- mon them, she took some lint from her pocket and tossed it to the wind, making many strange gestures and recit- ing her lineage in the lyrical tongue of the Bedine. The sailor leapt off the stairs and ducked into the somer- castle. Two of his fellows followed him inside, while sev- eral others struggled forward to the forecastle, fighting their way through the churning froth that boiled over the bow twice every minute.

The magic wind continued to drive the little cog onward. At intervals, Captain Fowler adjusted the tiller or ordered the crew to tighten a line, and each time they crested a dune, Ruha marvelled at how the distance between the Storm Sprite and her goal had closed. The sailors who had gone into the somercastle returned with boarding axes and spears for their companions, and those who had struggled forward to the forecastle also reap- peared, laden with thick-braided skeins and barbed har- poons twice a man's height. They tied lines about their waists and clambered onto the foredeck, where they pulled the oilskins off three ballistae and, fighting against raging waters and the ship's mad pitching, set to work stringing the heavy weapons. By the time they finished, the caravel lay a hundred yards ahead, lumbering forward at a shallow angle that would present her star- board side to the Storm Sprite.

The battered caravel stretched to five times the length of the little cog. Her hull, looming dark and sheer in the night, rose from the sea like a cliff. The wales were crowned by a crest of white railing, broken in many places and draped with shredded rigging. Her foremast, all that remained of three, could have scraped a cloud, and carried more cloth than three of the Storm Sprite's sails.

Having torn the somercastle completely off the car- avel, the dragon now crouched on the stern of the ship.