In Luskan, the City of Sails, in
the tavern named The Cutlass . . .
"Fight or flee," Bruenor called
to Drizzt as he rushed behind his friend to intercept a trio coming in.
He saw his answer in Drizzt's eyes, simmering with
eagerness--and in the dark elf's actions. The drow rushed forward over
the fallen, squirming barmaid to meet the swings of the next two in line
with a series of powerful parries and twisting counters. In the blink of
an eye, Drizzt had both men reversing direction, back on their heels and
working furiously to keep up with his darting scimitars.
Bruenor lifted his shield arm high, accepting the
heavy blow of an Ashmadai's clubbing scepter. He swept his axe across
under that upraised arm, but the human woman managed to duck out of
reach, and two tiefling warriors to her right rushed in at the apparent
opening.
But Bruenor was too seasoned and too crafty to
make an obvious gaffe. His swing was genuine, and he added to its weight
and momentum purposely, lifting up on the ball of his leading foot and
spinning a perfectly-timed full pivot to bring his shield right back in
alignment with the new attackers. The foaming mug held strong against
the stab of the sharpened scepter end, and it took only a slight lift
for the dwarf to effectively deflect an overhead club from the other.
He went forward, driving his shield and the
tieflings' weapons up and out as he did, barreling right under his
uplifted shield. Bruenor launched a second slash with his axe, which
brought blood, catching the thigh of the tiefling on the far right, and
brought a howl of pain as the half-devil fell back and over, holding his
torn leg.
Bruenor ran right over him, kicking him in the
face for good measure. As he passed, the dwarf skidded down low, sliding
right under a table, and there he turned and stood powerfully, lifting
the table with him and throwing it and its many mugs and plates, both
full and empty, back in the faces of the remaining two pursuers.
With a violent flurry, Drizzt rushed between his
own pair of Ashmadai, a lumbering half-orc and a dark-skinned human who
might have been Tumishan. Both fell aside with multiple cuts on their
arms and torsos, shielding themselves defensively though the drow looked
past them, eagerly wading into the next enemies in line.
Drizzt knew that speed was his ally. He and
Bruenor had to keep moving ferociously to prevent an organized line of
attack against them, and that was just the way he liked it.
He ran to a table, jumped up on it, jumped off
again, blades flashing with every step, cracking against staff and
spear, slicing clothing and skin. Howls and screams, cracking wood and
breaking glass marked his passing, like a black tornado cutting a swath
of absolute destruction. More than once he abruptly stopped and spun,
defeating pursuit with a flurry of parries and thrusts.
On one such turn, Drizzt brought both his blades
in from opposite directions and at different angles, scissoring the
thrusting spear with such force that he tore it from his pursuer's
grasp. The woman threw her hands up, expecting an onslaught of
scimitars, but Drizzt knew that those behind him were closing fast.
He jumped and set his feet on chairs, one left and
one right, then sprang up again, tucking a tight back flip as he wound
his way over the pursuer, who barreled right under and past him and
inadvertently stabbed his own ally. That fact hadn't set in, Drizzt
knew, by the time he landed behind the stumbling man, Icingdeath
sweeping across to slash the back of the man's legs, just below his
buttocks.
How he howled!
Drizzt whirled, slashing long and wildly to keep
the others at bay; no less than five of the enemy had formed a
semi-circle around him. He set himself low, unwilling to commit and
ready to react, forcing them to make the first move.
He managed to glance at Bruenor, to find his
friend standing atop the bar, similarly surrounded.
"Die well, elf!" Bruenor called.
"Always as intended!" Drizzt yelled back, not a
hint of regret in his voice.
