Throbbing pain in her arm reminded Icelin that they were not safe even crouched behind these rocks. Gritting her teeth, she wrapped blood-soaked fingers around the quarrel’s shaft and pulled it out. Flesh tore as streaks of fiery pain shot up her arm. When she could stand it, Icelin examined the barbed weapon. A mixture of blood and a black, ichor-like substance coated the point.
“Are you all right?” Ruen asked, his gaze traveling from her wound to the drow and back again, as if he couldn’t decide which danger to address first.
“The quarrels are poisoned,” Icelin said. Her fingers shook when she touched her wound. A numbing fatigue traveled up her arms, weighing them down. “I think it’s a sleep poison. At least I hope it is and not something worse.”
The fatigue quickly spread to her chest, her legs-Icelin rolled onto her side, putting her back against the wet rocks by the river. The frigid water revived her a little. She had to stay alert, but all she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep.
“Hold on,” Ruen said. He yanked up Icelin’s sleeve and covered the wound, then folded her fingers around her staff. “Keep the light down,” he said. “Don’t make yourself a target.”
“Come ashore and fight us, you bloody cowards!” shouted Garn, drawing Icelin’s attention momentarily away from her wound. He made a sharp gesture. A ribbon of water coiled up from the river and encircled his hand, forming the shape of another rune. The water snapped out, its foam crests like barbs that lashed at the drow crossbowmen and caused them to waver in midair.
The drow wizard raised his hands, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the blows. Water slapped the skin of his cheeks with audible cracks. His red eyes burned, and he shouted in incoherent fury.
“Like that, did you?” Garn’s deep, taunting laughter echoed in the cavern. “I’ll have you down from there. See if I don’t!”
The drow wizard shouted something in an unfamiliar tongue, snarling the words as his hands clawed the air in a complex gesture. A curtain of flame rose at the wizard’s feet and rippled across the river.
“Get down!” Icelin cried, and Ruen, who had been moving among the stones, making his way to the river, went down on his belly. Flames roared over their heads, leaving a trail of steam over the river that temporarily obscured the drow.
“Got them angry now!” Garn touched the rocks along the shoreline, tracing symbols furiously as he crawled to where Icelin and Ruen crouched. “Watch your heads, you two,” he told them and splayed his hand against the nearest stone.
A burst of gold light shot up from the rocks, pushing the flames back to the edge of the river and creating a pocket of protection around them. Steam still rose in thick clouds. They couldn’t see the drow, but at least the drow couldn’t see them either.
Ruen again began crawling to the river. “What are you doing?” Icelin demanded. “The river’s still covered in fire.”
“You’re right.” Ruen took off his hat and tossed it to her. “Don’t let this get burned.”
Icelin caught the hat and suppressed the urge to hurl it into the fire. “You idiot! If the flames don’t get you, the river’s current will! You won’t be able to get to them.” Icelin reached out to grab his arm and missed.
Ruen leaped to his feet and ran toward the river. He jumped through the flames beyond Garn’s protective barrier and disappeared. A breath passed, and Icelin heard a splash. She looked over the rocks, but Ruen was underwater.
When she glanced back, she saw that Obrin paced the riverbank behind Garn’s barrier, prowling like a caged beast. He twirled his axe in his hands, hairy knuckles gripping the handle.
Seeing his distress, Icelin brought her staff up close to her face. The dwarf needed to be able to get at the drow through the fire and steam, and Icelin wanted to make sure Ruen was all right. That meant getting rid of the fire. Her body was still sluggish from the poison, but manipulating water was not a difficult spell, not with the cave breezes to aid her, and the staff guided and focused her energy.
Whispering the words of the spell, Icelin held up the staff. She pointed it across the river, and a burst of air shot out, stirring up waves. The roiling water from her spell pierced the curtain of fire and quelled it. Cool air flowed through the cavern in the wake of the blaze. When the steam dissipated, Icelin saw the drow wizard was still standing on air in the middle of the river. One of the drow warriors had levitated high above and hovered near the cavern ceiling, his hand crossbow held at the ready. The third drow was nowhere in sight.
The missing warrior didn’t seem to trouble Obrin. He shouted a laugh and hurled his axe at the drow hovering near the ceiling. The weapon spun end over end, black horns flashing. The drow tried to dodge, but it was too late. Obrin’s axe impaled the warrior in the chest with a sickening thud. The force of impact bent the drow’s lithe body backward and knocked him out of the grip of the levitation spell. He fell into the river, and both he and the axe disappeared beneath the water.
“You’re outmatched, little drow!” Garn shouted at the wizard. “Your spells won’t protect you forever.”
The wizard laughed scornfully. “You hardly have the advantage, dwarf,” he answered in Common. “One of your comrades is weak from our poison, and the other is missing a weapon. How much longer will your own magic protect you? Why don’t you retreat to your city? We’ll root you out there eventually, but why not claim some peace while you can?”
Icelin watched Garn’s face. She expected him to react with anger, to strike out at the drow with his axe as Obrin had done, but Garn’s expression remained a mask of impassivity. He went to stand next to Obrin, and the two of them exchanged a glance. Garn murmured, “We’re not lost yet, wizard,” and touched the axe on his belt. The runes along the blade flashed.
Obrin held out his hands, palms up, and his own axe materialized in the air. Obrin took the weapon, smiled faintly, and nodded to his father.
The drow’s gloating expression vanished. Furiously, he began casting again-conjuring shields, Icelin guessed, so he wouldn’t find himself with Obrin’s axe blade protruding from his stomach.
Ruen burst from the river, coughing and scrubbing water out of his eyes. The second drow crossbowman surfaced in front of him. A dagger glinted in his grip, reflecting the light from Icelin’s staff.
“Ruen!” Icelin screamed.
Ruen grabbed the drow’s wrist before he could stab him with the weapon. They grappled with each other and the current for a breath, but Ruen was the stronger. He turned the dagger aside and forced the drow’s arm down, driving the weapon into the warrior’s own stomach. Ruen pushed the drow’s body aside, letting the river carry it away.
Icelin picked up Ruen’s hat and went to the shoreline. Ruen swam across, fighting the current, and pulled himself, dripping, from the water. He accepted his hat gravely and put it on his head.
“Are you all right?” Icelin asked.
He nodded. “And you?”
“Well enough.” Icelin leaned on her staff for support. Her sleeve had stopped the bleeding. Weakness dragged at her limbs, but she gritted her teeth against it. She’d been in the Underdark less than a day, and already she was sick of it. “Your comrades are gone, and I’m strong enough to hurl more spells at you,” she shouted at the drow wizard. “Surrender!”
Shields in place, the wizard turned to look at Icelin. His eyes changed, the red light deepening with hatred and a resolve that frightened her. Cornered as he was, he’d kill himself and all of them before he let himself be taken. The drow raised his hands and so did Icelin, spitting out the words to one of her most potent spells. She did it without thinking.
Or considering the consequences.
Her staff clattered to the ground as an all too familiar wave of sickness washed over her, a clawing sensation in her stomach that spread outward to her limbs. She tried to concentrate on the spell, but it was too big, a wild thing growing inside her. On a broken cry, Icelin thrust her arms out from her body.