He couldn't see! Drizzt realized as he stepped aside and Obould continued to press the attack at the empty air before him.
Kill him now! the hungry Khazid'hea implored, and the drow, in complete agreement, didn't even scold the sentient sword.
He stepped in suddenly and drove Khazid'hea at a seam in the orc king's fabulous armor, and the fine blade bit through and slid into Obould's side.
How the great orc howled and leaped, tearing the sword right from Drizzt's grasp. Obould staggered back several steps, blood leaking out beside the sticking blade.
"Treachery!" Obould yelled, and he reached up and yanked the ruined helmet from his head, throwing it over the cliff face. "You cannot beat me fairly, and you cannot beat me unfairly!"
To Drizzt's amazement, he came on again.
* * * * *
"Unbelievable," whispered Tos'un.
"Stubborn," Kaer'lic corrected with a snarl.
"Gruumsh!" howled the gleeful and crying Tsinka, and all the orcs cheered, for if that sword protruding from Obould's side would prove a mortal wound, it did not show at all in the great orc's pressing attacks.
"He doesn't even know when he's dead," Kaer'lic grumbled, and she launched into a spell, then, a calling to magical items she had fastened by the grace of Lady Lolth.
It was time to end the travesty.
* * * * *
Drizzt tried to battle past his incredulity and properly respond to Obould's renewed attacks. It took him several parries and a few last-second dodges to even realize that he should draw out Twinkle to replace his lost sword.
"And what have you gained for all of your treachery, drow?" Obould demanded, pressing forward and slashing away.
"You are without a helmet, and that is no small thing," Drizzt shouted back. "The turtle has come out of its shell."
"Only so that I can look down upon you in the last moments of your life, fool!" Obould assured him. "That you might see the pleasure on my face as your body grows cold!" He ended with a devastating charge, and turned in anticipation even as Drizzt started to jump aside.
The move caught Drizzt off guard, for it was truly an all-or-nothing, victory-or-defeat maneuver. If Obould guessed wrong, turning opposite Drizzt's sudden dodge, then Drizzt would have little trouble in slamming one or both of his scimitars down upon the back of the orc's skull.
But Obould guessed right.
On his heels, corralled and running out of retreating room, Drizzt parried desperately. So fast was Obould's sword-work that Drizzt couldn't even think of launching an effective counter. So furious was the orc king's attack that Drizzt didn't even entertain any thoughts of swinging for his exposed head. Drizzt understood the power behind Obould's swings, and he knew that he could not fend that greatsword. Not the shirt he had taken from the dead dark elf, not even the finest suit of Bruenor's best mithral stock would save him from being cloven in half.
Very simply, Obould had guessed right in his turn and Drizzt understood that he was beaten.
Both his blades slapped against the slashing greatsword, Icingdeath extinguishing the stubborn fires yet again. But the shock of the block sent waves of numbness up the drow's arm, and even with a two-bladed parry, he could not fully deflect the swing. He fell down—that, or he would have been cut in half—and scrambled into a forward roll, but he could not get fully past Obould without taking a hit, a kick at least. He braced himself for the blow.
But it did not fall.
Drizzt came around as he got back to his feet, to see Obould squirming and jerking wildly.
"What?" the orc king growled, and he jolted left then right.
It took Drizzt several seconds to sort it out, to notice that the spider clasps on Obould's armor were animating. Eight-legged creatures scrambled all over the orc, and by Obould's roars and jerking movements, it seemed as if more than a few were stopping to bite him.
As the orc thrashed, pieces of that fabulous armor suit went flying. One vambrace fell to the stone, and he kicked his legs to free himself of the tangle of flapping jambs. His great breastplate fell away, as well as one pauldron and the backplate. The remaining pauldron flapped outward, held in place only by the embedded sword—and how Obould howled whenever that vicious blade moved.
Not understanding, not even caring, Drizzt leaped in for the kill.
And promptly leaped back out, as Obould found his focus and countered with a sudden and well-timed sword thrust. Drizzt winced as he back-stepped, blood staining his enchanted shirt on the side. He stared at his opponent through every inch of his retreat, stunned that Obould had found the clarity to so counter.
Separated and with a moment's respite, Obould straightened. His face twisted into a grimace and he slapped one hand across to splatter a spider that had found a soft spot in his toughened orc hide. He brought his hand across, throwing the arachnid carcass to the ground, then reached over, growled and grimacing, and pulled Khazid'hea free of his side, taking the pauldron with it.
Wield me as your own! the sword screamed at him.
With a feral and explosive roar, Obould threw the annoying sword over the cliff.
"Treachery again!" he roared at Drizzt. "You live up to the sinister reputation of your heritage, drow."
"That was not my doing," Drizzt yelled back. "Speak not to me of treachery, Obould, when you encase yourself in an armor my blades cannot penetrate."
That retort seemed to quiet and calm the orc, who stood more upright and assumed a pensive posture. He even offered a nod of concession to Drizzt on that point, ending with a smile and an invitation: "I wear none now."
Obould held his arms out wide, and brought his greatsword flaming to life, inviting the drow to continue.
Drizzt straightened against the sting in his side, returned the nod, and leaped ahead.
Those watching the fight, drow and orc alike, did not cheer, hoot, or groan over the next few moments. They stood, one and all, transfixed by the sudden fury of the engagement, by the hum of swords, and the dives and leaps of the principals. Blade rang against blade too many times to be heard as distinguishable sounds. Blades missed a killing mark by so narrow a margin, again and again, that the onlookers continually gasped.
The confusion of the battle challenged Drizzt at every level. One moment, he felt as if he was fighting Artemis Entreri, so fluid, fast, and devious were Obould's movements. And the next moment, he was painfully reminded by a shocking wave of reverberating energy flowing up his arm that he might well be battling a mighty giant.
He let go of all his thoughts then, and fell into the Hunter, allowing his rage to rise within him, allowing for perfect focus and fury.
He knew in an instant that the creature he faced was no less intense.
* * * * *
Any traces of her charm spell was gone then, Kaer'lic knew, as Tsinka Shinriil, finding herself deceived by the drow's work on Obould's armor, leaped up beside Kaer'lic and began shrieking at her.
"You cannot defeat him! Even your treachery pales against the power of
Obould!" she screamed. "You chose to betray a god, and now you will learn the folly of your ways!"
Truly it seemed a moment of absolute glee for the idiot Tsinka, and that, Kaer'lic could not allow. The drow's hand shot up as she mouthed the last words of a spell, creating a sudden disturbance in the air, a crackling jolt of energy that sent Tsinka flying away and to the ground.
"Kill her," Kaer'lic instructed Tos'un, who moved immediately to see to the enjoyable task.
"Wait," Kaer'lic said. "Let her live a bit longer. Let her witness the death of her god."
"We should just be gone from this place," said Tos'un, clearly intimidated by the spectacle of King Obould, who was matching the skilled drow cut for cut.