“See?” Hadrian said. “You’ve even got Mr. Cynical feeling optimistic about your chances. That’s gotta count for something.”

Wyatt forced a smile.

“Hey, we’ve got a question for you,” Royce said. “Do you have any idea what the horn is?”

“Sure, you’re looking right at it,” Wyatt declared, gesturing toward the point. “That’s the Horn of Delgos. As soon as we clear it, the captain will likely order the ship to weather round the point and then tack windward.”

Royce frowned. “Let’s assume for just a moment that I’m not an experienced sailor, shall we?”

Wyatt chuckled. “We’re gonna make a left turn and head east.”

“How do you know?”

Wyatt shrugged. “The horn is the farthest spit of land south. If we stay on this course, we’ll sail into the open sea. There’s nothing out there but whirlpools, Dacca, and sea serpents. If we weather round—er—turn left, we’ll sail up the eastern coast of Delgos.”

“And what’s up that way?”

“Not much. These cliffs you see continue all the way round to Vandon, the only other sea port in Delgos. Besides being the headquarters for the Vandon Spice Company, it’s also a haven for pirates, or more accurately the haven for pirates. We aren’t going there either. The Storm is as fine a ship as they come, but the jackals would gather like a pack of wolves and dog her until we surrender, or they sink us.”

“How does the spice company manage any trade, surrounded by pirates?”

“Who do you think runs the spice company?”

“Oh.”

“Beyond that?” Royce asked.

“Dagastan Bay and the whole coast of Calis, with ports at Wesbaden and Dagastan. Then you drift out of civilization and into the Ba Ran Archipelago, and no one goes there, not even pirates.”

“And you’re sure this here is the horn?”

“Yep, every sailor who’s ever been in the Sharon knows it. It’d be impossible to miss old Drumindor.”

Though the coast was still many leagues off, the ancient dwarven edifice was clearly visible now, standing taller than anything Hadrian had ever seen. He smiled at the irony, knowing dwarves had built it. The massive towers were close to eight hundred feet from the raw rocky base, where waves crashed, to the top of the dome. It appeared to be equal parts fortification and monument. In some respects, it resembled two massive gears laid on their sides, huge cylinders with teeth jutting seaward. From the top of each tower, smoke rose. Midway up were fins—arced openings like gigantic teapot spouts that pointed toward the ocean. Between the twin towers was a single-span stone bridge connecting them like a lintel over the entrance of the harbor.