The Spine of the World - By R. A. Salvatore Page 0,12

of the bandana Creeps had tied about his head.

"Head and a half taller than me," Morik answered. "Maybe two."

Creeps glanced to his pirate companion, an exotic specimen, indeed. The man had a thick topknot of black hair and tattoos all about his face, neck, and practically every other patch of exposed flesh-and since all he wore was a kilt of tiger skin, there was more than a little flesh exposed. Just following Creeps's glance to the other sent a shudder along Morik's spine, for while he didn't know the specifics of Creeps's companion, he had certainly heard the rumors about the "man," Tee-a-nicknick. This pirate was only half human, the other half being qullan, some rare and ferocious warrior race.

"Sea Sprite's in port," Creeps remarked to Morik. The rogue nodded, for he had seen the three-masted schooner on his way to this drinking hole.

"He wore a beard just about the jawline," Morik added, trying to give as complete a description as he could.

"He sit straight?" the tattooed pirate asked.

Morik looked at Tee-a-nicknick as if he did not understand.

"Did he sit straight in his chair?" Creeps clarified, assuming a pose of perfect posture. "Lookin' like he had a plank shoved up his arse all the way to his throat?"

Morik smiled and nodded. "Straight and tall."

Again the two pirates shared a glance.

"Soundin' like Deudermont," Creeps put in. "The dog. I'd give a purse o' gold to put me knife across that one's throat. Put many o' me friends to the bottom, he has, and cost all o' us prettily."

The tattooed pirate showed his agreement by hoisting a bulging purse of coins onto the table. Morik realized then that every other conversation in the hole had come to an abrupt halt and that all eyes were upon him and his two rakish companions.

"Aye, Morik, but ye're likin' the sight," Creeps remarked, indicating the purse. "Well, it's yer own to have, and ten more like it, I'm guessin'." Creeps jumped up suddenly, sending his chair skidding back across the floor. "What're ye sayin', lads?" he cried. "Who's got a gold coin or ten for the head o' Deudermont o' Sea Sprite?"

A great cheer went up throughout the rathole, with many curses spoken against Deudermont and his pirate-killing crew.

Morik hardly heard them, so focused was he on the purse of gold. Deudermont had come to see Wulfgar. Every man in the place, and a hundred more like them, no doubt, would pitch in a few more coins. Deudermont knew Wulfgar well and trusted him. A thousand gold pieces. Ten thousand? Morik and Wulfgar could get to Deudermont, and easily. Morik's greedy, thieving mind reeled at the possibilities.
Chapter 2 ENCHANTMENT
She came skipping down the lane, so much like a little girl, and yet so obviously a young woman. Shiny black hair bounced around her shoulders, and her green eyes flashed as brightly as the beaming smile upon her fair face.

She had just spoken to him, to Jaka Sculi, with his soulful blue eyes and his curly brown hair, one strand hanging across the bridge of his nose. And just speaking to him made her skip where she might have walked, made her forget the mud that crept in through the holes in her old shoes or the tasteless food she would find in her wooden bowl at her parents' table that night. None of that mattered, not the bugs, not the dirty water, nothing. She had spoken to Jaka, and that alone made her warm and tingly and scared and alive all at the same time.

It went as one of life's little unrealized ironies that the same spirit freed by her encounter with the brooding Jaka inspired the eyes of another to settle upon her happy form.

Lord Feringal Auck had found his heart fluttering at the sight of many different women over his twenty-four years, mostly merchant's daughters whose fathers were looking for another safe haven northwest of Luskan. The village was near to the most traveled pass through the Spine of the World where they might resupply and rest on the perilous journey to and from Ten-Towns in Icewind Dale.

Never before had Feringal Auck found his breathing so hard to steady that he was practically gasping for air as he hung from the window of his decorated carriage.

"Feri, the pines have begun sending their yellow dust throughout the winds," came the voice of Priscilla, Feringal's older sister. She, alone, called him Feri, to his everlasting irritation. "Do get inside the coach! The sneezing dust is