And his eyes went wide as he saw the severed limb—his severed limb! — lying off to the side.
His brother Ivan slammed into him from the side, slapping a cloak tightly around Pikel's blood-spurting stump, and other dwarves nearby howled and rushed to help.
Pikel was sitting then, ushered down by his brother.
"Oooo," he said.
CHAPTER 16 EMBRACING THE HUNTER
Ad'non Kareese's long, slender fingers traced a line down over Innovindil's delicate chin, down the moon elf's birdlike neck and to the base of her throat.
"Can you feel me?" the drow teased, though he believed, of course, that the paralyzed surface elf couldn't understand his language.
"Have your way with the creature and be done with her," Donnia said from behind him.
Ad'non smiled, keeping his head turned away from his companion so that she could not see the amusement he was taking at her obvious consternation. She understood his intended action as debasement more than any real emotional connection, of course—and as she was drow herself so she was certainly going to find her own pleasures with their paralyzed playthings—but still, there sounded a bit of unmistakable agitation around the edges of her voice.
Amusing.
"If I find you soft and warm, perhaps I will keep you alive for a while, Ad'non said to Innovindil.
He watched the surface elf's eyes as he spoke and could see that they were indeed reacting to the sound of his voice and the feel of his touch. Yes, she couldn't outwardly make any movements—the drow poison had done its job well—but she understood what was happening, understood what he was about to do to her, and understood that she had no chance to get out of it.
That made it all the sweeter.
Ad'non ran his hand lower, across the female's small breasts and down over her belly. Then he stood up and stepped back. He glanced back at Donnia, who stood with her arms crossed over her chest.
"We should drag them to a different cave," he said to his companion. "Let us keep them prisoner."
"Her, perhaps," Donnia replied, indicating Innovindil. "For that one, there will be only death."
It seemed fine enough to Ad'non, and he glanced back at the female elf and grinned.
And he couldn't see her—a ball of blackness covered her and her companion.
Never to be taken completely by surprise, the two dark elves swung around, Ad'non unsheathing his swords, Donnia drawing a blade and her hand crossbow. The form behind them, by the entrance, was easily enough distinguishable. It was a drow standing calmly, standing ready, scimitars drawn.
"Traitor!" Donnia growled, and she lifted her crossbow and fired.
* * *
Drizzt trembled with rage when he first entered the cave, seeing the two elves lying flat, and the two drow standing over them. He had known of the trouble before he'd ever come in, for the calls and stomping hooves of the pegasi outside had alerted him from some distance away. Without thinking twice, the drow ranger had broken into a run, leaping down the flat rock from which he'd often observed the area, and charging between the winged horses even as the darkness globes dissipated.
So alarmed was Drizzt that he hadn't even paused long enough to bring forth Guenhwyvar.
And he faced the drow pair.
He didn't even see the movement, but he heard the distinctive click, and remembered well enough that telltale sound. The ranger spun, pulling his cloak in a wide sweep around him.
His quick defense caught the dart in the swinging cloak, but even as the dart stuck in place, the second click sounded. Drizzt spun again, but the second dart got past the flying cloak and struck him in the hip.
Almost immediately, Drizzt felt the numbing chill of the drow poison.
He staggered back toward the exit and thought to call in Guenhwyvar. He couldn't reach for his belt pouch, though, for it was all he could do to hold fast to his weapons.
"How wonderful of you to join us, Drizzt Do'Urden," said the female drow who'd shot him.
Her words, spoken in the language of his homeland, brought him drifting back across the years, brought him back to images of Menzoberranzan and his family, of House Do'Urden and Zaknafein, of Narbondel glowing with heat and the great structures of the drow palaces, stalagmite and stalactite palaces, shaped and set with sweeping balconies and decorated with multicolored accents of faerie fire.
He saw it all so clearly—the early days beside his sisters and training with the weapons masters at Melee Magthere, the school for drow warriors.
The sound of metal clinking against stone woke him up, and only then did he realize that he was leaning heavily on the wall and that he had dropped one of his blades.
"Ah, Drizzt Do'Urden, I had hoped you would put up a better fight than this," said the male drow. The sound of his voice alone told Drizzt that his enemy was steadily approaching. "I have heard so much of your prowess."
Drizzt couldn't keep his eyes open. He felt the numbness flowing through his lower extremities so that he couldn't even feel the ground beneath his feet. The only reason he was still standing, he understood through the haze that was filtering his thoughts, was because of his angle against the wall.
The poison crept in, and so did the sword-wielding drow.
Drizzt tried to fight back against the numbness, tried hard to find his center, tried hard to shake his mind clear of the cloudy disorientation.
He could not.
"Now perhaps we have found a true plaything, Ad'non," he heard the drow female remark from somewhere so very, very distant.
"Too dangerous is this one, my dear Donnia," the male argued. "He dies quickly."
"As you will…"
Her voice trailed away, and it seemed to Drizzt as if he was falling far away, into a pit of blackness from which there could be no escape.
* * *
Wulfgar lay on the stone, peering down, trying to discern the best angle of approach toward the ledge where Taulmaril balanced precariously.
Behind him, Catti-brie tied a rope around her waist and checked the length of the cord.
"The devilish sword almost had me enthralled," the woman admitted as Wulfgar turned around and sat up facing her. "I've not felt its call so insistently in many months."
"Because you are tired," Wulfgar replied. "We're all tired. How many times have our enemies come at us? A dozen? They give us no rest."
"Just hit the damned thing with a rock, send it tumbling to the floor, and go get it," said Torgar, coming over with Shingles McRuff beside him.
Both of them were limping, and Shingles was holding one arm protectively close against his side.
"We've tried," Wulfgar replied.
"How is Pikel?" Catti-brie asked. "And Pwent?"
"Pwent's hopping mad," Shingles replied.
"Nothing new there," the woman remarked.
"And Pikel's said nothing but 'oooo' since he lost the arm," Shingles added. "I'm thinking it'll take him a bit afore he's used to it. Banak sent him down to Mithral Hall for better tending."
"He'll live, though, and that's more than many can say," added Torgar.
"Well, be quick about getting yer bow," Shingles said. "Might that we'll all be going inside the hall soon enough." He glanced back over his shoulder toward the distant ridge and the giants. "We can hold firm so far, as long as we're not stupid enough to chase the damned orcs back in range of the brutes. But they're bringin' up big logs and building giant-sized catapults. Once them things are throwing, we'll be fast out o' here."
Wulfgar and Catti-brie exchanged concerned looks, for neither had any answer to that logic.
"Banak would've called for the retreat to begin already," said Torgar, "except now we've got a force set west of Keeper's Dale, and he knows that if he surrenders this ground, they'll have the dickens getting back to the gate, since they'd be crossing the dale right under giant fire."