“Masoj of Menzoberranzan?”
Drizzt nodded.
“Ye come back in two days,” Thurgood instructed. “Right here. We’ll talk then.”
Drizzt nodded again, turned to glower at the man beside the big man, then snapped right about and walked casually away. He thought to draw out his knife and twirl it about, then go hand to hand a few times in rapid succession before fast tucking it back into his belt.
He brushed the thought away, though. Sometimes the most intimidating threat was the one not made.
His knife had been taken and he was blindfolded, but Drizzt had expected as much, and he knew well enough the steps along these alleyways and where Thurgood’s men were taking him. It did occur to him many times that the group might well kill him, and in that possibility, he would be completely helpless, unless, of course, Catti-brie was watching from afar. He had to trust in that.
Because it had to be this way.
He heard the wide wooden door creak open and smelled the stagnant air of the little-used warehouse. Inside, the small group walked a maze of piled sacks and large boxes to the back corner of the building, where they started up a wooden half-staircase, half-ladder. Despite the blindfold, the nimble Drizzt had no trouble at all in navigating the maze and the climb, and as soon as he came up to the second story, a man roughly pulled off his blindfold.
The drow was quick to shake his head, flopping his hair back over one eye, his dark, see-through eyepatch still in place on the other.
The room was as he remembered it, with the raised wooden dais set in the center-back, a wooden seat built atop it. Thurgood sat in that throne, resting comfortably back and to the side, eyeing Drizzt with what seemed to be little real concern.
“Welcome, Masoj of Menzoberranzan,” he said as Drizzt was led to stand before him. The guards fell away then, moving to either side of the room, and Drizzt used that opportunity to take a good measure of all in attendance. He quick-counted seven, scallywags all, and none seeming overly impressive, other than perhaps Thurgood himself. Even that one didn’t concern Drizzt too much. Likely, he would prove the typical bully brawler, a straightforward attacker who would try to quickly overwhelm an opponent with brute force.
Drizzt had left many similar brawlers dead in his wake.
“You wish to join the crew,” Thurgood stated. “When will you be able to sail?”
“I have no ties and no responsibilities.”
“I could walk ye to the dock straightaways and ye’d be able to step aboard?”
Drizzt paused for a second, noting the change in dialect, Thurgood’s “you’s” becoming “ye’s.” Those around him seemed to take no note. Perhaps this one was more worldly than he was letting on? The drow filed that notion away, a quiet reminder to be ready for anything, and quickly pushed past the pause.
“The sooner I am away from this city, the better,” Drizzt replied. “There are many here who would wish me gone.”
“Found a bit o’ trouble, did ye?”
The drow shrugged as if it did not matter.
“Ye ever kill anyone, Masoj of Menzoberranzan?” Thurgood asked, and he leaned forward in his chair.
“More than anyone in this room,” Drizzt answered, and he doubted he was lying. “More than all of you together.”
Thurgood slumped back in his chair, eyeing the drow and smiling … weirdly, Drizzt thought. At the side of the room, several of the men bristled as if insulted, and the two who had taken Drizzt to this place cautiously approached.
“Well, then,” Thurgood said, his tone, demeanor and accent changing. “Consider yourself taken down by your own words, then, Masoj of Menzoberranzan. Damned by a confession.”
The two flanking Drizzt leaped for him, and the drow fell flat and dove forward, crashing against the front of the dais. His mind worked in one direction, summoning a globe of impenetrable darkness over the highest concentration of men, at the left-hand side of the large room, while his hands worked independently, tearing free the board he had loosened and replaced at the front of the dais. Relief flooded through him when the felt the handles of his scimitars still in position within the cubby, and he rushed back and to his feet, yanking the blades free and raising them up high and wide to intimidate, to freeze in place for just an instant, those attackers closest.
The drow gave a great shout, seeming as if he would charge right for Thurgood, but instead, as he had planned, he dropped right to the floor before the large man.
He heard the splinter of wood behind him; he saw the flash of a silver-streaking magical arrow slash the air above him. He looked forward, expecting to see Thurgood pinned through the chest to the wooden chair, but instead saw the flash of explosion as the arrow slammed against an invisible, magical shield-a globe, he realized, as the lines of sparking blue power fingered out in a tree-like semi-circle about the pirate leader.
The drow muttered a curse under his breath, but had no time to dwell on the unexpected turn, for the two attackers were on him then, even as he rose again. His scimitars worked independently, batting aside surprisingly skillful and coordinated thrusts.
The drow pivoted right, letting his right arm fly out behind him, his scimitar slashing across to defeat a second thrust from the attacker to his left, who was now behind him, while his other blade worked fast and hard against the one presented before him. He tapped the sword outside, moving it across to his right, and then again, and then, surprising his attacker and moving with blinding speed, he brought his left-hand scimitar in a third time, but down lower, hooking it under the blade and yanking it out wide the other way. A short riposte had that scimitar thrusting in hard, scoring a hit that sent the attacker falling to the floor and clutching his chest.
Drizzt hadn’t the time to finish the move, and instead leaped forward and to the side, throwing himself into a forward roll. The man behind him pursued, but a second crackle of wood signaled Catti-brie’s second shot from across the way. The arrow hummed through the air, clipping the man pursuing Drizzt and sending him falling away in pain as the bolt soared past, to again explode against the globe protecting Thurgood.
Drizzt heard that explosion, but didn’t see it as he charged the next three men in line. He came in low, blades leading, and the closest man dropped his axe down low to intercept the thrust. But then Drizzt leaped high, without slowing in the least, coming in above the man’s rising axe. He planted a foot on the surprised man’s chest and sprang away toward the next man in line. The drow’s legs wagged wildly to avoid the upraised sword of the second man, and he even managed a snap-kick at the man’s face as he came down to the side. Again, his scimitar was in place to defeat the thrust of the attacker’s sword, and he even started to counter with his second blade.
But the man proved amazingly resilient, and Drizzt only then realized that the sword thrust had been a feint, and that the real danger was coming from the man’s second weapon, a dagger.
He threw his hips out wide to avoid, but still got cut across the side, and then he had to throw himself backwards and again to the side as the third man came in at him.
He followed right through the roll, coming easily back to his feet and reversing his momentum, and indeed, catching both pursuers by surprise.
Suddenly inside the reach of their long swords, Drizzt pumped his fists and sent his blades in a whirl of motion, scoring minor slashing hits and solid smashes into their respective faces. Not waiting to see if they could withstand that barrage, the drow fast-stepped through.
He cut a quick turn, then froze, startled, as did everyone else in the room, as another arrow plowed through the partially boarded window, and then another right behind.
“Masoj of Menzoberranzan!” Thurgood roared, and Drizzt spun on him.