Catti-brie wasn’t sure how to take that.
“You do not know? They are capable wizards, both.”
“There are many capable wizards,” Catti-brie replied. “They have a child, a young child.”
“You do not wish them in the midst of a city controlled by the drow,” Lord Parise suggested.
“Reconsider, then,” said Lady Avelyere. “The practices of the Desai spellcasters, who spent decades hiding their talents, are a bit different from those I taught at the Coven, as, I’m sure you discovered, mine are different from those of the Harpells of Longsaddle, and those are different from those of this Archmage Gromph.”
“To truly recognize the old and lost magic that originally built the Hosttower, we may have to look at it from many different perspectives, and so from people skilled in the Art who have trained and honed their skills differently,” Lord Parise added. “This is why Jarlaxle has brought in Archmage Gromph and the dragons, and why he sent you to fetch me. Do not discount the potential contributions of the tribal casters, who employ different vocalizations and movements, even different spell components, in enacting their magical spells than wizards of other areas and schools.”
“I will consider it,” she replied, in a tone that ended that line of discussion. “Time is short.”
“And Jarlaxle is waiting,” said Lord Parise.
“No,” Catti-brie said, and the other two looked at her curiously. “Jarlaxle is away on a most important mission.”
“Another tale!” Lord Parise said happily. He finished his glass and turned back to the bottle.
But that, too, Catti-brie denied. “We must be on the road, immediately.”
“I will find someone to teleport us.”
“There is a place I must go first,” Catti-brie said. “A place not far.”
They left the Netherese enclave soon after, Catti-brie astride Andahar, and her companions upon magically summoned mounts. They rode hard to the south and soon came in sight of the Desai tents.
“Better that we wait here,” Lord Parise said, tipping his chin to Lady Avelyere.
“The war is over,” Catti-brie reminded him.
“I know that, but do they?”
Catti-brie started to reply, but held back as she considered the tribe beyond the tent of Niraj and Kavita. The Desai were ferocious warriors, many of whom had no doubt suffered great losses at the hands of the Netherese. She could not argue with confidence that her companions would be safe among those tents.
She rode in alone to the Desai encampment to bid farewell to her second family, while Lord Parise, Lady Avelyere, and a few others of Avelyere’s Coven, who had caught up with them, waited for her on the Netheril plain.
When the troupe turned to the west, for Luskan, Niraj and Kavita were not among their ranks.
CHAPTER 10
Anyone watching from the side would have thought them a single being, a marilith, perhaps, with six arms, all holding deadly weapons of extraordinary craftsmanship and imbued with powerful magic. Even those who knew these three warriors well-Drizzt, Entreri, and Jarlaxle-would have simply sat back and gasped.
Their coordination was marvelous. Their intertwining dance-rolling over each other’s thrusts, following a sweeping blade to cross to the other side of their battle line, ducking beneath the sidelong swipe of an ally’s weapon, even leaping at the last possible instant as a long sword or scimitar cut beneath-mesmerizing in its perfection and timing.
The demons in front of them, including balgura and manes, melted away, cut a dozen times, stabbed in the eye, the heart, the groin, and the line of three warriors steadily advanced, stepping over the smoking, dissipating husks of the fallen.
When the corridor widened, so, too, did their line. Whichever two were on the ends moved out wide, which only made the rolling dance a more athletic endeavor. Simple turns became dramatic leaps, and simple steps become quick jaunts. Having more enemies clustering in front of them only gave them more things to hit. The demons couldn’t keep up with the trio, and never seemed close to getting a weapon or a clawed hand anywhere near an intended target.
The power … Jarlaxle heard in his head, and it seemed more an expression of ecstasy than anything else.
The mercenary concentrated on the fight at hand, stabbing Khazid’hea forward, then twisting to parry the swing of a balgura’s heavy hammer.
In the simple parry, meant to deflect and not to block, the demon’s weapon fell apart, the shaft sliced cleanly and even the heavy stone head falling to the stone floor in two pieces, cut diagonally. Jarlaxle, intent on finishing the brute, which he did with a second thrust, only barely registered the destroyed hammer, but that image stayed with him as he moved forward.
He knew Khazid’hea, Cutter, was a powerful blade-a sword of sharpness-but the thought that such a simple twist could cut a heavy warhammer so easily and cleanly seemed purely ridiculous!
The power … he heard again in his head, and this time he knew it was the blade telepathically communicating.
Jarlaxle dismissed the noise in his thoughts and focused more fully on the battle at hand, reminding himself that working with such allies as Drizzt and Entreri could get one as readily killed by a friendly sword as an enemy blade if one was imperfect in the dance.
But that was exactly what seemed to be happening around him.
Drizzt leaped forward and fell into line, right beside a balgura. The demon hesitated only for the blink of an eye before biting at the drow dinner that had just served itself.
Jarlaxle’s fine sword intervened, cutting the balgura in the side of its face. But then Drizzt’s blade parried Jarlaxle’s, and a riposte sent Jarlaxle sliding backward.
“Foul tricksters!” Drizzt yelled. “Be warned, we are deceived!”
Entreri leaped past Jarlaxle then, going at Drizzt-clearly to kill the drow rather than support him!
Jarlaxle didn’t know what to do, so he reacted with the wand that had served him so well all these years. He hit the pair with a summoned gob of goo.
“You are both deceived!” he shouted as they tumbled away, and Jarlaxle filled the void immediately to stab hard at the balgura, forcing it back. To the side, Drizzt and Entreri were already both extricating themselves from the goo. Jarlaxle had only scored a glancing hit.
Jarlaxle threw down the feather from his magical hat, bringing forth the giant diatryma bird, and bade it drive back the balgura and the few remaining minor demons behind it. From a ring, he launched a blade barrier, a whirlwind of summoned swords, into the back of the demon pack, chewing at them and slicing them apart. From a necklace, he detached a small ruby and threw it to the far side of the enemy forces, melting a bunch of manes with a fireball.
Jarlaxle hated wasting his precious contingency spells and items-he could not summon the diatryma for another day, could not use the spell from his ring until he managed to get it recharged by a powerful priest, and it would take him many coins to replace the ruby on his necklace of fireballs. But there were other concerns.
He looked to his companions, shouting at them to stop. They were nearly free then, and already trying to swing at each other.
“By the gods, you idiots,” Jarlaxle screamed, “the fight is ended!”
The volume of his scream and the atypical behavior from Jarlaxle finally seemed to get through to them. Drizzt tore free of the remaining goo and stumbled backward, scimitars still in hand as he eyed Entreri suspiciously.
“Show your true form, d-demon,” Entreri ordered, but he stuttered at the end and blinked repeatedly, then stood up straight and glanced at Jarlaxle, clearly confused.
“It would seem that our demon enemies have some tricks of their own to play,” said Drizzt, who also sheathed his weapons then.