Everywhere the city of Murann, the main seaport of Amn, smelled of fish. From its plastered villas and elegant gardens to its teeming slums and bustling mercantile districts, the penetrating, oily odor intruded throughout each building, penetrating walls and floors and every fiber of clothing.

But nowhere was the smell so strong as at the shore of the harbor itself, where Halloran now found himself laboring under the blaze of a hot afternoon sun. The waterfront bustled with activity – the cries of animals, the creaking of cranes and timbers, and the shouts of men. A pounding din arose behind him, where one of the greatest shipyards of the Sword Coast churned out vessel after vessel – heavy galleys for war or trade; stocky, seaworthy caravels; or large carracks, with their towering rear decks.

It was one of the latter, a short, blunt-bowed vessel with three tall masts and the characteristic raised deck at her stern, that stood at the dockside by the young cavalryman. Like the other carracks and caravels, Osprey carried no oars, depending upon the rigging of her sails to maneuver with or against the wind. Stores of salt pork and bacon had been stored belowdecks, and Hal now watched a group of stevedores roll huge kegs of water over the ship's aft gangplank.

Suddenly an anxious whinny pulled his attention to the bow.

"Easy now! She's not to be struck!" Halloran barked the rebuke at the swarthy stevedores who struggled to lead his mare onto a narrow gangplank.

The trio of men set back to their task with more patience, and soon had coaxed Storm onto the sheltered deck of the Osprey. Two other horses already stood there, under the partial shelter of a taut tarpaulin.

"And what will be the shore she next trods?" mused a gruff voice.

Halloran heard familiar clumping footsteps and turned to greet Captain Daggrande.

The spice fields of Kara-Tur, I should think."

Daggrande snorted. "Not in the Realms I know! Sailing west to go east… it's preposterous!"

Halloran himself still wondered at the audacity of Cordell's mission. Nonetheless, his utter confidence in the captain-general dispelled any doubts he may have held regarding the eventual success of the voyage.

Since the mission had been announced six months earlier, a whirlwind of activity had preceded this day as the legion prepared for its most daring expedition ever. A small fleet of six car-racks and nine caravels had assembled in Murann. The men of the legion had been informed of the mission and told that it was voluntary. Only a few dozen had declined the opportunity for adventure, and those had quickly been replaced.

Cordell had trained his five hundred legionnaires for shipboard transport, and the men practiced loading and unloading the horses for landings where ports and quays might not be available. Two hundred sailors were recruited, brave men or simply foolhardy. Even with the uncertain destination of the voyage, a festive sense of adventure accompanied all of the preparations.

Now the horses whinnied in agitation. Hounds barked and scrambled underfoot. They were taking several dozen of the large, shaggy greyhounds that served as camp sentries and war dogs.

Ample supplies of food and water, extra weapons and armor, and all the provisions for march and battle had been collected in warehouses along the wharf, and were now being moved by laboring dockworkers into the holds of the ships.

"Why are you coming if you think it's madness?" Halloran asked Daggrande.

The dwarf cast Hal a sly look. "Because the Cordell I know would not embark on a quest like this unless he knew there was something out there. My guess is it'll yield enough treasure for the lot of us to live out our lives in luxury!"

"How can he know? What makes you so sure?"

"It's that Bishou – him and the lady wizard." Daggrande spat. His feelings toward elves were well known, and the elven mage Darien seemed to arouse an even stronger distaste than usual in the dwarf's already cantankerous nature. He shook his head ruefully as he continued.

"I got to admit, their powers can be handy. I'll wager a year's coin that both of them have seen enough of what's out there to tell Cordell this is a gamble worth taking.

"Besides, dwarven lore is full of tales of distant lands of riches. It's said that you could once travel under the Trackless Sea and come up in a land to the west. One of the greatest wars between dwarves and the drow was supposedly fought miles under the sea floor."

Halloran nodded, impressed. The drow, or dark elves, were fabled as a race of great evil and vast power. Their skills included powerful magic, skilled weaponcraft, and deadly combat abilities. Nowadays they were not very common, having been driven from the territories of all civilized nations.

"They say it was the drow that ended that war," continued Daggrande, "by starting a fire so great, so enormous, that the rocks themselves melted away and the sea poured in to destroy that whole section of the underdark.

"Destroyed forever, but with lands of richness rumored to exist on the other side. And that's enough for me! After all, Cordell's luck ain't run out yet!" The dwarf's eyes twinkled. "Say, it sounds like congratulations are in order."

Hal nodded, smiling in spite of himself. "Captain of horse. The rank is permanent now! I'll have command over all four wings."

"Well, don't let it go to your head. But I'm proud of you anyways, and you should be pleased."

"One other thing, though. Beware Alvarro. He's a jealous, hotheaded type, and he was hoping to get the command himself."

"I've already noticed him scowling at me," the young man replied, nodding. "But I can handle him."

Halloran looked across the placid harbor to the rolling sea beyond. Now, before him, the enclosed port looked like a forest of denuded trees, so numerous were the masts of the vessels crowding the sheltered waters. The usual trading vessels now stood at anchor offshore, for all available quays had been given over to the loading of Cordell's expedition.

The fifteen ships lined the wharves, the largest of them no more than one hundred feet long. Each would carry a few horses and some forty men, the pick of the legion, together with a dozen or more sailors. The last of the horses had now boarded, and individual captains glared and cursed along the waterfront, tending to final details of the loading.

"Where's Cordell?" asked the young captain, realizing that the captain-general had not been paying his usual meticulous attention to every personal detail.

"He and that elf -" again a pause for a noisy spit – "spent the day bartering in the alchemists' market. Laying in a few potions for the voyage… or the lands beyond the voyage."

Halloran suppressed a shudder. "I think I'll trust to my own steel." He laid a hand upon the reassuring leather hilt of his longsword.

"Wise words. For me, I'll depend on the edge of my axe, the strength of my arm, and little else!" Absently the dwarf removed his small, double-bitted axe from his belt. He began stroking the edge with a whetstone while watching the activity throughout Murann harbor.

The startling blare of a brass horn brought all activity on the waterfront to an abrupt halt. "The general must be back," grumbled Daggrande, pushing the axe back into his belt. "Best hear what he's got to say."

Remaining tasks were postponed as all the members of the expedition filed between the waterfront buildings to gather in the great plaza of Murann. There indeed stood Captain-General Cordell, resplendent in a purple velvet tunic draped over his steel breastplate. He carried his brimmed helmet at his side, standing bareheaded on the podium in the sunny square.

"Who else is up there?" grumbled the dwarf, unable to see as the human members of the legion pressed around.