Fostyr was silent for a time, letting Jherek have time to regain his composure. "I just wanted to point out the possibilities," he said.

"At the temple?"

"Yes."

Jherek almost wanted to laugh in spite of the heartache that filled him. He shook his head and asked, "A pirate for a priest?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"No, Fostyr. What I need is a ship bound for Baldur's Gate."

"Why?"

Jherek thought about his answer, considered telling the priest about the voice that had plagued him, about the vision Madame litaar had concerning that city, but he didn't. "Because I have to," he said. "I've been told that whatever calling I have in this life will be found there. At least some part of it."

"You seek the truth of that?"

"Aye."

"And if you find that it's not true?"

Jherek looked out at the rolling blue sea and said simply, "I don't know."

"The north is dangerous country now, along the trade routes."

"I know. Have you found a ship I can travel on?"

"No." Fostyr sighed. "Even with all the contacts I know, no one is willing to take a man on without papers. There's talk that some of the pirates are getting conspirators on board some vessels to sabotage them. If you're not known, they won't take you on."

The only people who'd know him, Jherek realized, would be sailors from Velen. They would have heard all about his heritage by now. That was no answer, either. He turned to the priest and said, "I've got to go."

"Now?"

"Aye. I feel as though I'm getting behind now." That feeling had been nagging at Jherek since the fever had broke.

"You're in no shape to travel," the priest protested.

"I suppose there's only one way to find out." Jherek stood and took up his pack and bedroll. The cutlass hung on his hip.

Fostyr watched him silently for a moment. "You're very driven, aren't you?" he asked finally as he too rose to his feet.

"Aye," Jherek answered, "only it's more like… haunted." He was relieved the priest wasn't going to try to argue with him further.

"Then I'll wish you godspeed," Fostyr said, offering his hand, "and provisions."

"No," Jherek replied. "I'll not take any more charity."

"You can't eat pride."

Jherek gave him a crooked grin, but didn't feel as brave as he tried to sound. "Pride's all I've got left, Fostyr, and not much of that. I'll have to work with what I've got." He took his coin pouch out and dumped all the coins inside onto the table, knowing the priest would never accept them.

"What are you doing?" Fostyr asked.

"I'm making it harder on whatever's driving me," Jherek answered, knowing the truth of his words. "All my life my ill luck has kept me from having things no matter how hard I worked. Well, now I have nothing but the clothes on my back. I've been told that if a thing is supposed to happen, a way will be made." He folded the empty coin pouch up and put it away. "I'm going to test that."

The priest nodded. "You may be surprised, my friend," he said. "Know that the door will always be open here should you need us." He offered his hand.

Jherek shook the priest's hand. "There's one other thing," he said, reaching into his pack and pulling out a folded sheet of paper. "I've written a letter. I'd appreciate it if you could have someone send it to Velen."

"Of course."

"Thank you for your hospitality. Tell the others goodbye for me." Jherek didn't think he had the courage to go through any more good-byes. They were getting to be a habit.

He walked out of the temple courtyard and turned his steps toward the docks.

Less than an hour later, Jherek stood in a ragged line with two dozen other men down by the docks, waiting as the caravan master walked toward them from the wagon he'd just drove up in. He stood as straight as he could, knowing that his face was still marked and his eye nearly swollen shut. At least his vision didn't appear to be harmed.

The caravan master was a big man, beefy and broad, burned by years of travel in the hot tropical sun. His clothing was sweat-stained and covered in grime. He wore a two-handed broadsword over his back. His leather armor showed signs of repair and of battle. Scars covered his body and marked his face.

"Listen up," he barked. "My name's Frauk. I got a caravan going out by evening so we can avoid most of the heat of the day. We're going to be traveling all night, so any man that don't think he can make that, step out now."

Three of the men swapped looks, then stepped out of the line, drifting back toward the taverns where most of them had come from.

"I just got back from a caravan coming out of Water-deep," Frauk said, "and I want you to know what you're facing. Since the shipping's gotten so dangerous along the Sword Coast and the overland trade routes have opened up again, you might think you'll be traveling well-traveled roads. Well, I'm here to tell you that the ores and goblins are traveling those roads too. You might be able to figure out which end of a horse is which, but if you don't know how to fight, if you're not willing to fight, you might as well cut your throat here before we leave and save the ores and goblins the trouble."

Five other men left, grumbling to themselves, trying to act like the caravan master's words hadn't frightened them.

"Those of you still interested," Frauk said, "I can promise you long hours, short pay, and little patience. We're making a profit by getting shipments up and down the coast on time. I'll be dogging every step you make if you lag." He paused. "Now before I get a good look at you, are there any questions?"

Jherek looked at the man and asked, "How far north is this caravan going?"

"As far north as Baldur's Gate, boy," Frauk replied. "If things look prosperous enough, maybe on into Waterdeep. That suit you?"

"Aye, sir."

Frauk narrowed his gaze." 'Aye, sir?' Are you a damned sailor, boy?"

Jherek. hesitated, knowing that his bad luck was already showing again. Anger stole over him, giving his tongue a sharper edge than he'd have liked. "Aye, sir, and a good one."

"What the hell are you doing trying to sign up on a caravan?"

"I need the work, sir," Jherek replied.

Frauk came closer, taking long strides. "Can you sit a horse, boy?"

"Aye, sir."

Frauk stopped less than a foot from him, glaring at him with cold blue eyes. "Have you been in a fight, boy? It looks like you've been in a fight lately."

"Aye, sir."

Frauk glared at him and put his hands on his hips. "Do you know how to fight, boy?"

"Aye, sir."

Frauk spat on the ground and shook his head in derision. "From the looks of you it don't look like it. Bruised up, beat up… I need men who know how to handle themselves. Grab your gear and get the hell out of my line." He turned smartly on his heel and walked down the line to a big man. "Now you, you'll do just fine. Go put your gear on that wagon."

Embarrassment and anger flooded through Jherek. He shouldn't have been surprised. His luck had doomed him from the start. There'd never been a chance. He'd only made a fool of himself. He reached down for his packs and took them up, turned, and walked away.

Two other caravans had offered to hire him, but they'd both been bound for the south. None of the ones he'd found going north so far had needed men.

He trudged away from the line, listening to the caravan master hire another man. He tried to think of what else he could do, but he was out of options. The anger inside him grew until he couldn't stand it any more. He hadn't been fairly judged and he knew it. He rated more than an offhand dismissal from the caravan master, and he meant to have it. He wasn't just going to quietly go away this time. If that voice wanted to push him, then he was going to push back.