“Oh, do kill him,” Regis said to Drizzt.
“The fight is over, good dwarf,” Drizzt said.
“I ain’t thinking that,” replied the dwarf.
“I’m going to get my captain, to usher him away,” Drizzt explained. “Luskan is not for Deudermont, so it has been decided by the Luskar themselves. Thus, we go. There is no reason to continue this madness.”
“Nah,” the dwarf spouted, unconvinced. “I been wantin’ to test me morningstars against the likes o’ Drizzt Do’Urden since I heared yer name, elf. And I been hearin’ yer name too many times.” He drew his morningstars from over his shoulders.
Drizzt scimitars appeared in his hands as if they had been there all along.
“Bwahahahaha!” the dwarf roared in laughing applause. “As quick as they’re saying, are ye?”
“Quicker,” Drizzt promised. “And again I offer you this chance to be gone. I’ve no fight with you.”
“Now there’s a wager I’m willin’ to take,” said the dwarf, and he came forward, laughing maniacally.
CHAPTER 33
SUNSET IN LUSKAN
T here could be no mistaking the Crow’s forward leaning posture as he approached Arabeth Raurym, who had been summoned to his audience chamber at Ten Oaks.
Where lie your loyalties?” he asked.
Arabeth tried to keep her own posture firm and aggressive, but failed miserably as the small but strangely intimidating young man strode toward her. “Are you threatening me, an Overwizard of the Hosttower of the Arcane?”
“The what?”
“The achievement still merits respect!” said Arabeth, but her voice faltered just a bit when she noted that the Crow had drawn a long, wicked dagger. “Back, I warn you…”
She retreated a few quick steps and began waving her arms and chanting. Kensidan kept the measure of his approach and seemed in no hurry to interrupt her spellcasting. Arabeth blasted him full force with a lightning bolt, one that should have lifted him out of his high boots, however tight the lacing, and sent him flying across the room to slam into the back wall, a blast that should have burned a hole into him and sent his black hair to dancing, a blast that should have sent his heart to trembling before stopping all together.
Nothing happened.
The lightning burst out from Arabeth’s fingers, then just…stopped.
Arabeth’s face crinkled in a most unflattering expression and she gave a little cry and stumbled to her right, toward the door.
At that moment, Kensidan, tingling with power, knew he’d been right to trust the voices in the darkness all along. He rushed forward just enough to tap Arabeth on the shoulder as she rushed past, and in that touch, he released all of the energy of her lightning bolt, energy that had been caught and held.
The woman flew through the air, but not so far, for she had enacted many wards before entering the room and much of the magic was absorbed. Of more concern, a globe of blackness appeared at the door, blocking her way. She gave a little yelp and staggered off to the side again, the Crow laughing behind her.
Three figures stepped out from the globe of darkness.
Kensidan watched Arabeth all the while, grinning as her eyes opened, as she tried to scream, and stumbled again, falling to the floor on her behind.
The second of the dark elves thrust his hands out toward her, and the woman’s screams became an indecipherable babble as a wave of mental energy rushed through her, jumbling her thoughts and sensibilities. She continued her downward spiral to lay on the floor, babbling and curling up like a frightened child.
“What is your plan?” said the leader of the drow, the one with the gigantic plumed hat and the foppish garb. “Or do you intend to have others fight all of your battles this day?”
Kensidan nodded, an admission that it did indeed seem that way. “I must make my mark for the greater purpose we intend,” he agreed.
“Well said,” the drow replied.
“Deudermont is mine,” the high captain promised.
“A formidable foe,” said the drow. “And one we might be better off allowing to run away.”
Kensidan didn’t miss that the psionicist gave his master a curious, almost incredulous look at that. A free Deudermont wouldn’t give up the fight, and would surely return with many powerful allies.
“We shall see,” was all the Crow could promise. He looked to Arabeth. “Don’t kill her. She will be loyal…and pleasurable enough.”
The drow with the big hat tipped it at that, and Kensidan nodded his gratitude. Then he flipped his cloak up high to the sides and as it descended, Kensidan seemed to melt beneath its dropping black wings. Then he was a bird, a large crow. He flew to the sill of his open window and leaped off for Suljack’s palace, a place he knew quite well.
“He will be a good ally,” Kimmuriel said to Jarlaxle, who had resumed the helm of Bregan D’aerthe. “As long as we never trust him.”
A wistful and nostalgic sigh escaped Jarlaxle’s lips as he replied, “Just like home.”
Any thoughts Regis had of rushing in to help his friend disappeared when Drizzt and this curious dwarf joined in battle, a start so furious and brutal that the halfling figured it to be over before he could even draw his—in light of the titanic struggle suddenly exploding before him—pitiful little mace.
Morningstar and scimitar crossed in a dizzying series of vicious swings, more a matter of the combatants trying to get a feel for each other than either trying to land a killing blow. What stunned Regis the most was the way the dwarf kept up with Drizzt. He had seen the dark elf in battle many times, but the idea that the short, stout, thick-limbed creature swinging unwieldy morningstars could pace him swing for swing had the halfling gaping in astonishment.
But there it was. The dwarf’s weapon hummed across and Drizzt angled his blade, swinging opposite, just enough to force a miss. He didn’t want to connect a thin scimitar to one of those spiked balls.
The morningstar head flew past and the dwarf didn’t pull it up short, but let it swing far out to his left to connect on the wall of the alleyway, and when it did, the ensuing explosion revealed that there was more than a little magic in that weapon. A huge chunk of the building blasted away, leaving a gaping hole.
Pulling his own swing short, his feet sped by his magical anklets, Drizzt saw the opening and charged ahead, only wincing slightly at the crashing blast when the morningstar hit the wooden wall.
But the slight wince was too much; the momentary distraction too long. Regis saw it and gasped. The dwarf was already into his duck and turn as the spiked ball took out the wall, coming fast around, his left arm at full extension, his second morningstar head whistling out as wide as it could go.
If his opponent hadn’t been a dwarf, but a taller human, Drizzt likely would have had his left leg caved in underneath him, but as the morningstar head came around a bit lower, the drow stole his own forward progress in the blink of a surprised eye and threw himself into a leap and back flip.
The morningstar hit nothing but air, the drow landing lightly on his feet some three strides back from the dwarf.
Again, against a lesser opponent, there would have been a clear opening then. The great twirling swing had brought the dwarf to an overbalanced and nearly defenseless state. But so strong was he that he growled himself right out of it. He ran a couple of steps straight away from Drizzt, diving into a forward roll and turning as he did so that when he came up, over, and around, he was again directly squared to the drow.
More impressively, even as he came up straight, his arms already worked the morningstars, creating a smooth rhythm once again. The balls spun at the ends of their respective chains, ready to block or strike.
“How do you hurt him?” Regis asked incredulously, not meaning for Drizzt to hear.
The drow did hear, though, as was evidenced by his responding shrug as he and the dwarf engaged yet again. They began to circle, Drizzt sliding to put his back along the wall the morningstar had just demolished, the dwarf staying opposite.