Robillard was into his spellcasting before Deudermont agreed to heed the warning. The wizard sent his energy out directly in front of the Sea Sprite, brought up a ridgelike swell of water that halted the ship's drifting momentum. Down came the Sea Sprite's sails, and down dropped the anchor with a splash that seemed to echo ominously about the decks for many seconds.
"How deep?" Deudermont asked the crewmen manning the anchor. The chain was marked in intervals, allowing them to gauge the depth when they put the anchor down.
"A hundred feet," one of them called back a moment later.
Drizzt rejoined the captain at the wheel. "A reef, by my guess," the drow said, explaining his call for a stop. "There is a hulk in the water barely two ship-lengths ahead of us. She's fully under, except for the tip of her mast, but standing straight. Something brought her down in a hurry."
"Got her bottom torn right off," Robillard reasoned.
"I figure us to be a few hundred yards from the beach," Deudermont said, peering hard into the mist. He looked to the stern. The Sea Sprite carried two small rowboats, one hanging on either side of the poop deck.
"We could circle again," Robillard remarked, seeing where the captain's reasoning was leading. "Perhaps we will find a spot with a good draw."
"I'll not risk my ship," Deudermont replied. "We will go in using the rowboat," he decided. He looked to a group of nearby crewmen. "Drop one," he instructed.
Twenty minutes later, Deudermont, Drizzt, Catti-brie, the two wizards, Waillan Micanty and a very reluctant and very frightened Dunkin glided away from the Sea Sprite, filling their row-boat so completely that its rim was barely a hand above the dark water. Deudermont had left specific instructions with those remaining on the Sea Sprite. The crew was to put back out of the mist a thousand yards and wait for their return. If they had not returned by nightfall, the Sea Sprite was to move out away from the island, making one final run at Caerwich at noon the next day.
After that, if the rowboat had not been spotted, she was to sail home.
The seven moved away from the Sea Sprite, Dunkin and Waillan on the oars and Catti-brie peering over the prow, expecting to find a reef at any moment. Farther back, Drizzt knelt beside Deudermont, ready to point out the mast he had spotted.
Drizzt couldn't find it.
"No reef," Catti-brie said from the front. "A good and deep draw, by me own guess." She looked back to Drizzt and especially to Deudermont. "Ye might've bringed her in right up to the damned beach," she said.
Deudermont looked to the drow, who was scanning the mist hard, wondering where that mast had gone to. He was about to restate what he had seen when the rowboat lurched suddenly, her bottom scraping on the rocks of a sharp reef.
They bumped and ground to a halt. They might have gotten hung up there, but a spell from Robillard brought both wizards, Deudermont and Catti-brie floating above the creaking planks of the boat, while Drizzt, Dunkin and Waillan cautiously brought the lightened boat over.
"All the way in?" Drizzt remarked to Catti-brie.
"It wasn't there!" the young woman insisted. Catti-brie had been a lookout for more than five years, and was said to have the best eyes on the Sword Coast. So how, she wondered, had she missed so obvious a reef, especially when she was looking for exactly that?
A few moments later, Harkle, at the very stern of the rowboat, gave a startled cry and the others turned to see the mast of a ship sticking out of the water right beside the seated wizard.
Now the others, especially Drizzt, were having the same doubts as Catti-brie. They had practically run over that mast, so why hadn't they seen it?
Dunkin tugged furiously at his ear.
"A trick of the fog," Deudermont said calmly. "Bring us around that mast." The command caught the others off guard. Dunkin shook his head, but Waillan slapped him on the shoulder.
"Hard on the oar," Waillan ordered. "You heard the captain."
Catti-brie hung low over the side of the rowboat, curious to learn more about the wreck, but the mist reflected in the water, leaving her staring into a gray veil whose secrets she could not penetrate. Finally, Deudermont gave up on gathering any information out here, and commanded Waillan and Dunkin to put straight in for the island.
At first, Dunkin nodded eagerly, happy to get off the water. Then, as he considered their destination, he alternated pulls on the oar with pulls on his ear.
The surf was not strong, but the undertow was and it pulled back against the rowboat's meager progress. The island was soon in sight, but it seemed to hang out there, just beyond their grasp, for many moments.
"Pull hard!" Deudermont ordered his rowers, though he knew that they were doing exactly that, were as anxious as he to get
this over with. Finally, the captain looked plaintively to Robillard, and the wizard, after a resigned sigh, stuck his hand into his deep pockets, seeking the components for a helpful spell.
Still up front, Catti-brie peered hard through the mist, studying the white beach for some sign of inhabitants. It was no good; the island was too far away, given the thick fog. The young woman looked down instead, into the dark water.
She saw candles.
Catti-brie's face twisted in confusion. She looked up and rubbed her eyes, then looked back to the water.
Candles. There could be no mistake about it. Candles. . under the water.
Curious, the woman bent lower and looked more closely, finally making out a form holding the closest light.
Catti-brie fell back, gasping. "The dead," she said, though she couldn't get more than a whisper out of her mouth. Her sharp movements alone had caught the attention of the others, and then she hopped right to her feet, as a bloated and blackened hand grabbed the rim of the rowboat.
Dunkin, looking only at Catti-brie, screamed as she drew out her sword. Drizzt got to his feet and scrambled to get by the two oarsmen.
Catti-brie saw the top of the ghost's head come clear of the water. A horrid, skeletal face rose to the side of the boat.
Khazid'hea came down hard, hitting nothing but the edge of the boat and driving right through the planking until it was at water level.
"What are you doing?" Dunkin cried. Drizzt, at Catti-brie's side, wondered the same thing. There was no sign of any ghost, there was just Catti-brie's sword wedged deeply into the planking of the rowboat.
"Get us in!" Catti-brie yelled back. "Get us in!"
Drizzt looked at her hard, then looked all around. "Candles?" he asked, noticing the strange watery lights.
That simple word sparked fear in Deudermont, Robillard, Waillan and Dunkin, sailors all, who knew the tales of sea ghosts, lying in wait under the waves, their bloated bodies marked by witchlight candles.
"How pretty!" said an oblivious Harkle, looking overboard.
"Get us to the beach!" Deudermont cried, but he needn't have bothered, for Waillan and Dunkin were pulling with all of their strength.
Robillard was deep into spellcasting. He summoned a wave right behind the small craft and the rowboat was lifted up and sent speeding toward shore. The jolt of the sudden wave knocked Catti-brie to the deck and nearly sent Drizzt right over.
Harkle, entranced by the candles, wasn't so fortunate. As the wave crested, coming right over the tide line, he tumbled out.
The rowboat shot ahead, sliding hard onto the beach.
In the surf, ten yards offshore, a drenched Harkle stood up.
A dozen grotesque and bloated forms stood up around him.
"Oh, hello. ." the friendly Harpell started, and then his eyes bulged and nearly rolled from their sockets.
"Eeyah!" Harkle screamed, plowing through the undertow and toward the shore.
Catti-brie was already up and in position, lifting Taulmaril and fitting an arrow. She took quick aim and let fly.
Harkle screamed again as the arrow streaked right past him. Then he heard the sickening thump and splash as an animated corpse hit the water, and understood that he was not the woman's target.
> Another arrow followed closely, taking out the next nearest zombie. Harkle, as he came to more shallow water, tore himself free of grabbing weeds and quickly outdistanced the other monsters. He had just cleared the water, putting a few feet of moist sand behind him, when he heard the roar of flames and glanced back to see a curtain of fire separating him from the water, and from the zombies.
He ran the rest of the way up the beach to join the other six by the rowboat and expressed his thanks to Robillard, shaking the wizard so hard that he broke the man's concentration.
The curtain of blocking fire fell away. Where there had been ten zombies, there were now a score, and more were rising from the water and the weeds.
"Well done," Robillard said dryly.
Catti-brie fired again, blasting away another zombie.
Robillard waggled the fingers of one hand and a bolt of green energy erupted from each of them, soaring down the beach. Three hit one zombie in rapid succession, dropping it to the water. Two sped past, burning into the next monster in line and likewise sending it down.
"Not very creative," Harkle remarked.
Robillard scowled at him. "You can do better?"
Harkle snapped his fingers indignantly, and so the challenge was on.
Drizzt and the others stood back, weapons ready, but knowing better than to charge down at their foes in the face of wizardly magic. Even Catti-brie, after a couple of more shots, lowered her bow, giving the competing spellcasters center stage.
"A Calimshan snake charmer taught me this one," Harkle proclaimed. He tossed a bit of twine into the air and chanted in a cracking, high-pitched voice. A line of seaweed came alive to his call, rose up like a serpent and immediately wrapped itself about the nearest zombie, yanking the thing down under the surf.
Harkle smiled broadly.
Robillard snorted derisively. "Only one?" he asked, and he launched himself into the throes of another spell, spinning and dancing and tossing flakes of metal into the air. Then he stopped and pivoted powerfully, hurling one hand out toward the shore. Shards of shining, burning metal flew out, gained a momentum all their own, and sent a barrage into the zombies' midst. Several were hit, the ignited metals clinging to them stubbornly, searing through the weeds and the remnants of clothing, through rotted skin and bone alike.
A moment later, a handful of the gruesome zombies tumbled down.
"Oh, simple evocation," Harkle chided and he answered Robillard's spell by pulling out a small metal rod and pointing it toward the water.
Seconds later, a lightning bolt blasted forth. Harkle aimed it at the water and the bolt blasted in, spreading wide in a circular pattern, engulfing many monsters.
How weird, even funny, that sight appeared! Zombie hair popped up straight and the stiff-moving things began a strange, hopping dance, turning complete circles, rolling this way and that before spinning down under the waves.
When it was over, the zombie ranks had been cut in half, though more were rising stubbornly all along the beach.
Harkle smiled widely and snapped his fingers again. "Simple evocation," he remarked.
"Indeed," muttered Robillard.
Catti-brie had eased her bowstring by this point, and was smiling, sincerely amused, as she regarded her companions. Even Dunkin, so terrified a moment before, seemed ready to laugh aloud at the spectacle of the battling wizards. In looking at the pair, Deudermont was glad, for he feared that the sight of such horrid enemies had defeated his team's heart for this search.
It was Robillard's turn and he focused on a single zombie that had cleared the water and was ambling up the beach. He used no material components this time, just chanted softly and waved his arms in specific movements. A line of fire rushed out from his pointing finger, reaching out to the unfortunate target monster and then shrouding it in flames, an impressive display that fully consumed the creature in but a few moments. Robillard, concentrating deeply, then shifted the line of fire, burning away a second monster.
"The scorcher," he said when the spell was done. "A remnant from the works of Agannazar."
Harkle snorted. "Agannazar was a minor trickster!" he declared, and Robillard scowled.
Harkle reached into a pocket, pulling forth several components. "Dart," he explained, lifting the item. "Powdered rhubarb and the stomach of an adder."
"Melf!" Robillard cried happily.
"Melf indeed!" echoed Harpell. "Now there was a wizard!"
"I know Melf," said Robillard.
Harkle stuttered and stopped his casting. "How old are you?" he asked.
"I know Melf's work," Robillard clarified.
"Oh," said Harkle and he went back to casting.
To prove his point, Robillard reached into his own pocket and produced a handful of beads that smelled of pine tar. Harkle caught the aroma, but paid it little heed as he was in the throes of the final runes of his own spell by then.
The dart zipped out from Harkle's hand, rocketing into the belly of the closest zombie. Immediately it began to pump forth acid, boring an ever-widening hole right through the creature. The zombie grasped futilely at the wound, even bent low as if it meant to peer right through itself.
Then it fell over.
"Melf!" Harkle proclaimed, but he quieted when he looked back to Robillard and saw tiny meteors erupting from the wizard's hand, shooting out to blast mini-fireballs among the zombie ranks.
"Better Melf," Harkle admitted.
"Enough of this foolishness," Captain Deudermont put in. "We can simply run up off the beach. I doubt they will pursue." Deudermont's voice trailed away as he realized that neither wizard was paying him much heed.
"We are not on the ship," was all that indignant Robillard would reply. Then to Harkle, he said, "Do you admit defeat?"
"I have not yet begun to boom!" declared the obstinate Harpell.
Both launched themselves into spells, among the most powerful of their considerable repertoires. Robillard pulled out a tiny bucket and shovel, while Harkle produced a snakeskin glove and a long, painted fingernail.
Robillard cast first, his spell causing a sudden and violent excavation right at the feet of the closest zombies. Beach sand flew wildly. The monsters walked right into the pit, falling from sight. Robillard shifted his angle and muttered a single word, and another pit began, not far to the side of the first.
"Dig," he muttered to Harkle, between chants.
"Bigby," Harkle countered. "You know of Bigby?"
Robillard blanched despite his own impressive display. Of course he knew of Bigby! He was one of the most powerful and impressive wizards of all time, on any world.
Harkle's spell began as a gigantic disembodied hand. It was transparent and hovered over the beach, in the area near Robillard's first pit. Robillard looked hard at the hand. Three of the fingers were extended, pointing toward the hole, but the middle finger was curled back and under the thumb.
"I have improved on Bigby," Harkle boasted. A zombie ambled between the gigantic hand and the hole.
"Doink!" commanded the Harpell and the hand's middle finger popped out from underneath the thumb, slamming the zombie on the side of the head and launching it sideways into the pit.
Harkle turned a smug smile at Robillard. "Bigby's Snapping Digits," he explained. He focused his thoughts on the hand again, and it moved to his will, gliding all along the beach and «doinking» zombies whenever they came within range.
Robillard didn't know whether to roar in protest or howl in
laughter. The Harpell was good, he had to admit, very good. But Robillard wasn't about to lose this one. He took out a diamond, a gem that had cost him more than a thousand gold pieces. "Otiluke," he said defiantly, referring to yet another of the legendary and powerful wizards whose works were the staples of a magician's studies. Now it was Harkle's turn to blanch, for he had little knowledge of the legendary Otiluke.
When Robillard considered that diamond, and the quickly diminishing ranks of their monstrous adversaries, he had to wo
nder if it was really worth the price. He snapped his fingers with a revelation, popped the diamond back into his pocket and took out a thin sheet of crystal instead.
"Otiluke," he said again, choosing another variation of the same spell. He cast the spell and immediately, all along the beach, the surf simply froze, locking fast in the thick ice those zombies who had not yet come out of the water.
"Oh, well done," Harkle admitted as Robillard slapped his hands together in a superior motion, wiping himself clean of the zombies and of Harkle. The spells had cleared the beach of enemies, and so the fight was apparently over.
But Harkle couldn't let Robillard have the last word, not that way. He looked to the zombies struggling in the ice, and then glowered at Robillard. Deliberately, he reached into his deepest pocket and pulled forth a ceramic flask. "Super heroism," he explained. "You have perhaps heard of Tenser?"
Robillard put a finger to pursed lips. "Oh, yes," he said a moment later. "Of course, crazy Tenser." Robillard's eyes went wide as he considered the implications. Tenser's most renowned spell reportedly transformed a wizard into a warrior for a short duration-a berserk warrior!
"Not the Tenser!" Robillard yelled, tackling Harkle where he stood, pinning the man down before he could pop the cork off the potion flask.
"Help me!" Robillard begged, and the others were there in a moment. The battle, and the contest, was at its end.
They pulled themselves together and Deudermont announced that it was time to get off the beach.
Drizzt motioned to Catti-brie and immediately moved out front, more than ready to be on the move. The woman didn't immediately follow. She was too intent on the continuing, now-
friendly, exchange between the wizards. Mostly, she was watching Robillard, who seemed much more animated and happy. She thought perhaps Harkle Harpell was indeed having a positive effect on the man.
"Oh, that digging spell worked so very well with my Bigby variation," she heard Harkle say. "You really must teach it to me. My cousin, Bidderdoo, he is a werewolf, and he has this habit of burying everything about the yard, bones and wands and the like. The dig spell will help me to recover …"
Catti-brie shook her head and rushed to catch up with Drizzt. She skidded to an abrupt stop, though, and looked back to the rowboat. More particularly, she looked back to Dunkin Tallmast, who was seated in the beached craft, shaking his head back and forth. Catti-brie motioned to the others and they all went back to the man.
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