"Crunch! Crunch!" the huge ogre roared, speaking to the elf and waving Aegis-fang.
"Slash, slash," came a remark behind the brute, spinning it around in surprise.
"Huh?"
The elf moved out around the side of the ogre and froze in place, staring hard at the slender dark figure who had come into the room.
Slowly Drizzt reached up and pulled his wet shirt down from in front of his face.
The ogre staggered, eyes bulging, but the drow was no longer even looking at the brute. He was staring hard at the elf, at the pair of blue, gold-flecked eyes staring out at him from behind the holes in a thin black mask, regarding him with haunting familiarity and intense hatred.
The ogre stammered over a couple more words, finally blurting, "Drow!"
"And no friend," said the elf. "Crunch him."
Drizzt, his scimitars still sheathed, simply stared at the elf, trying to figure out where he had seen those eyes before, where he had seen this elf before. And how had this one known right away that he was an enemy, almost as if expecting him?
"He has come to take your hammer, Bloog," the elf said teasingly.
The ogre exploded into motion, its roar shaking the stone of the walls. It grabbed up the hammer in both hands and chopped mightily at the drow. Or tried to, for Aegis-fang arced up behind the brute to slam hard into the low ceiling, cracking free a chip that dropped onto Bloog's head.
Drizzt didn't move, didn't take his intense stare off the elf, who was making no move against him, or even toward him.
Bloog roared again and stooped a bit. He tried again to crush the drow flat, this time with the hammer clearing the low ceiling and coming over in a tremendous swat.
Drizzt, who was standing somewhat sideways to the brute, hopped and did a sidelong somersault at the ogre, inside the angle of the blow. Even as the drow came around, he drew out his scimitars then landed lightly and bore into Bloog, stabbing several times and offering one slash before skittering out to the side opposite the elf.
The ogre retracted Aegis-fang easily with one arm, while he tried to grab at the drow with his free hand.
Drizzt was too quick for that, and as Bloog reached out in pursuit, the drow, who was skittering backward and still looking at the ogre, launched a double slash at the exposed hand.
Bloog howled and pulled his bloody hand in, but came forward in a sudden and devastating rush, Aegis-fang whipping wildly.
Drizzt dropped down to the floor, scrambled forward, came back up and rolled around the ogre's bulk, scoring a vicious double slash against the back of Bloog's hip as he passed. He stopped short, though, and rushed back expecting a charge from the elf, who now held a fine sword and dagger.
But the elf only laughed at him, and continued to stare.
"Bloog crunch you down!" the stubborn ogre roared, bouncing off the wall with a turn and charging back at Drizzt.
Aegis-fang whipped out, right and left, but Drizzt was in his pure fighting mode now, certainly not underestimating this monster - not with Aegis-fang in his grasp and not after he had nearly lost to a smaller ogre out by the tower.
The drow ducked the first swing, then ducked the second, and both times the drow managed to score small stings against the ogre's huge forearms.
Bloog swung again, and again Drizzt dropped to the floor. Aegis-fang smashed against the stone of the hearth, bringing a surprised squeak from Regis - who was still inside the chimney - that made Drizzt wince in fear.
Drizzt went forward hard, but the ogre didn't back from the twin stabbing scimitars, accepting the hit in exchange for a clear shot at the drow's puny head.
The whipping backhand with Aegis-fang, coming across and down, almost got Drizzt, almost smashed his skull to little bits.
He stabbed again, and hard, and rushed out to the side, but the ogre hardly seemed hurt, though his blood was running from many wounds.
Drizzt had to wonder how many hits it would take to bring this monster down.
Drizzt had to wonder how much time he had before others rushed in to the ogre's aid.
Drizzt had to wonder when that elf, seeming so very confident, would decide to join in.
Screaming to Tempus, his god of battle, the former guiding light in his warrior existence, the son of Beornegar charged along the winding trail. Sometimes the path was open to his right and sometimes blocked by low walls of stone. Sometimes the mountain on his left was steep and sheer, other times it sloped gradually, affording him a wider view of the mound.
And affording archers hiding among the higher rocks clear shots at him.
But Wulfgar ran on, coming to a place where the path leveled out. Around a bend ahead, in a larger area, he heard the ogre rock-thrower. With a silent prayer to Tempus, the barbarian charged right in, howling when the brute saw him, ducking when the surprised ogre hurled its boulder at him.
Seeing the boulder fly above the mark, the ogre reached for a heavy club, but Wulfgar was too fast for the brute to get its weapon ready. And the barbarian was too enraged, too full of battle-lust, for the ogre to accept the bardiche hit. The weapon pounded home with tremendous force, driving deep into theogre's chest, sending it back against the wall, where it slumped in the last moments of its life.
But as Wulfgar leaped back, he understood that he was in trouble. For in that mighty hit, he felt the bardiche handle crack apart. It didn't splinter completely, but Wulfgar knew that the integrity of the weapon had been severely compromised. Worse still, a rock at the back of the clearing, against the mountain, suddenly rolled aside, revealing a passageway. Out poured another half-ogre, roaring and charging. A small and ugly man came out beside it, with a red-haired, powerful-looking woman behind them.
An arrow skipped off the stone right beside the backing barbarian, and he understood that he had to stay closer to the mountain wall in this exposed place.
He bore in on the half-ogre, then stopped fast as the brute lowered its head and shoulder and tried to barrel over him. How glad Wulfgar was at that moment that he had been trained by Drizzt Do'Urden, that he had learned the subtleties and wisdom of angled deflection instead of just shrugging off every hit and responding in kind. He slipped to the side a single step, leaving his leg out in front of the overbalancing brute, then turned as the half-ogre stumbled past, planting the butt of his weapon behind the half-ogre's armpit and shoving with all his strength.
Wulfgar took some relief as the brute barreled forward, right over the lip of the front side of the clearing, tumbling over the rocks there. He didn't know how far down the mountainside the brute might be falling, but he understood that it was out of the fight for a while, at least.
And a good thing that was, for the human pirate was right there, stabbing with a nasty sword, and Wulfgar had to work furiously to keep that biting tip at bay. Worse, the red-haired woman bore in, her sword working magnificently, rolling around the blocking bardiche and forcing Wulfgar back with a devilish thrust.
She was good. Wulfgar recognized that at once. He knew it would take all his energy if he was to have any hope. So the barbarian took a chance, stepping forward suddenly and accepting a slight stab from the man on his side.
That stab had little energy, though, for as the man started to attack, Wulfgar let go of his weapon with his right hand and punched straight out, connecting on the pirate's face even as his smile started to widen. Before his sword could slip deeply into the barbarian's side, the pirate was flying away, crumpling to the stone.
Then it was Wulfgar and Sheila Kree - Wulfgar recognized that this was indeed the pirate leader. How he wished she was holding Aegis-fang instead of this fine-edged sword. How he would have loved to summon the warhammer from her hand at that moment, then turn it back against her!
As it was, the barbarian had to work furiously to keep the warrior pirate at bay, for Sheila was surely no novice to battle. She stabbed and slashed, spun a complete circle and dived her sword in at Wulfgar's neck. The barbarian found himself forced back out into the open and took another hit as an arrow slashed down across his shoulder.
Sheila's smile widened.
A large ogre came out of the opening in the mountainside. Another roar came from above, and yet another from behind Wulfgar and not so far down the mountain - the half-ogre he had tripped up, he knew, on its way back.
"I need you!" the desperate barbarian cried out to his friends, but the wind stole the momentum from that call.
He knew that Catti-brie and Bruenor, wherever they were, would not likely hear him. He felt the bardiche handle cracking even more in his hand, and believed that the weapon would break apart in his hands with the next hit.
He forced his way forward again, skipping to his left, trying to delay the ogre's entry into the fray for as long as possible. But then he saw yet another form come out of the opening, another human pirate, it seemed, and he knew that he was doomed.
Drizzt scored and scored again, using the tight quarters and the low ceiling against the huge ogre. This one would have proven a much tougher opponent outdoors, the drow knew, especially with Aegis-fang in hand. But in here, now that he had the ogre's speed sorted out, the drow was too quick and too experienced.
Wound after wound opened up on the howling Bloog, and the ogre started calling for the elf to jump in and help.
And that elf did come forward, and Drizzt prepared a new strategy he had just worked out for keeping the ogre between him and this newest opponent. Before the drow could implement that strategy, though, the ogre lurched suddenly. A new and deeper wound appeared behind Bloog's hip, and the elf smiled wickedly.
Drizzt looked at the elf with amazement, and so did the ogre.
And the elf promptly drove the sword in again. The ogre howled and spun, but Drizzt was right there, his scimitar taking the beast deep in the kidney.
Back and forth it went, the two skilled warriors picking away while poor Bloog turned back and forth, never recovering from that initial surprise and the deep wound.
Soon enough, the big ogre went down hard and lay still.
Drizzt stood staring at the elf from across the large body. His scimitar tips lowered toward the floor, but he had them ready, unsure of this one's motives and intent.
"Perhaps I am a friend," the elf said, in a tone that was mocking and insincere. "Or perhaps I just wanted to kill you myself and grew impatient with Bloog's pitiful efforts against you."
Drizzt was circling then, and so was the elf, moving about Bloog's body, keeping it between as a deterrent to the potential foe.
"It would seem as if only you can answer which of the possibilities it might be."
The elf snorted derisively. "I have waited for this moment for years, Drizzt Do'Urden," came the surprising response.
Drizzt took a deep breath. This was as challenger here, perhaps someone who had studied his abilities and reputation and had prepared against him. This was not one to take lightly - he had seen the warrior's graceful movements against Bloog - but the drow suddenly remembered that he had more at stake here than this one fight, that he had others counting on him.
"This is not the time for a personal challenge," he said.
"This is exactly the time," the elf answered. "As I have arranged!"
"Regis!" Drizzt called.
The drow burst forward, putting both scimitars in one hand, grabbing Aegis-fang with the other, and tossing it into the hearth. The halfling leaped down to grab it up, pausing only to see the first exchange as the elf leaped in at Drizzt, sword and dagger flashing.
But Drizzt was away in the blink of an eye, scimitars out and ready, balanced in a perfect defensive posture.
Regis knew that he had no place in this titanic struggle, so he gathered up the warhammer and climbed back up the chimney, then moved down the other side passage toward the apparently empty room they had already scouted.
The wind was just right, and so Catti-brie heard Wulfgar's desperate call for help after all. She knew he was in trouble, could hear the fighting up above, could see the half-ogre scrambling, almost back to the ledge.
But the woman, who had leaped across the ravine to the winding trail, was held in place by a barrage of arrows coming down at her.
Guenhwyvar had finally taken form by then, but before Catti-brie could even offer a command to the panther, an arrow drove down into the cat. Guenhwyvar, with a great roar, leaped away.
Catti-brie worked furiously then, using every opportunity to pop back out from the mountainside and let fly a devastating missile. Her arrow blasted through stone, and given the cry of pain and surprise, apparently scored a hit on one of the archers. But they were many, and she was stuck and could not get to Wulfgar.
She did manage to slip out and let fly at the half-ogre that was stubbornly climbing back to Wulfgar's position, her missile slamming the creature in the hip and sending it into a slide back down the slope.
But Catti-brie took an arrow for her efforts, the missile biting into her forearm. She fell back against the wall with a cry. The woman clutched at the shaft gingerly, then steeled her gaze and her grip. Growling away the agony, she pushed the arrow through. Catti-brie reached for her pack, pulling forth a bandage and tightly wrapping the arm.
"Bruenor, where are you?" she said quietly, fighting against despair.
It occurred to her as more than a passing possibility that they had all come together again just to be sundered apart, and permanently.
"Oh, get to him, Guen," the woman quietly begged, tying off the bandage and wincing away the pain as she set another arrow.
He fought brilliantly, purely on instinct, without rage and without fear. But he got hit again and again, and though no one wound was serious, Wulfgar knew that it was only a matter of time - a very short amount of time - before they overcame him. He sang out to Tempus, thinking it fitting, hoping it acceptable to the god, that he be singing that name as he died.
For surely this was the end for the son of Beornegar, with the red-haired pirate and the ogre pressing him, with his weapon falling apart in his hands, with a third opponent swiftly moving in.
No one could get to him in time.
He was glad, at least, that he might die honorably, in battle.
He took a stinging hit from the red-haired pirate, then had to pivot fast to block the ogre, and knew even as he turned that it was over. He had just left an opening for Sheila Kree to cut him down.
He glanced back to see the fatal blow.
Wulfgar, content for the first time in so many years, smiled.
Shouts of surprise from above clued Catti-brie, and she dared to leap out into the open.
There, above her, mighty Guenhwyvar charged the archers' nest, taking arrow after stinging arrow, but never veering and never slowing. The archers were standing then, and so the woman wasted no time in putting an arrow into the side of one's head, then taking down another.
She took aim for a third, but held the shot, for Guenhwyvar leaped in among the nest then, scattering the band. One man tried to scramble up the back side, farther up the mountain, but a great black paw caught him in the back of his leg and tore him back down.
Another man leaped over the rim of the nest, falling and bouncing, preferring to the fall to the grim fate at the claws of the panther. He tried desperately to control his descent and finally managed to settle on a stone.
Right in Catti-brie's sights.
He died quickly, at least.
Sheila Kree had him dead, obviously so, and her sword dived in at Wulfgar's exposed flank.
But the pirate leader had to pull back before ever hitting the mark, for a pair of legs wrapped around her waist, and a pair of daggers stabbed in viciously at the sides of her neck.
The veteran pirate bent forward, flipping the cunning assassin over her.
"Morik, ye dog!" she cried as the rogue went into a roll that stood him up right beside Wulfgar, bloody daggers in hand.
Sheila stumbled backward, taking some comfort as more of her fighters passed her by.
"Kill 'em both!" she screamed as she staggered back into the cave complex.
"Like old times, eh?" Morik said to the stunned Wulfgar, who was already back to fending the ogre attacker.
Wulfgar could hardly respond. He just shook his head at the unexpected reprieve.
"Like old times?" Morik said again, as he fell into a fight with a pair of dirty pirates.
"We didn't win many of the fights in the old times," Wulfgar poignantly reminded him, for the odds had far from evened.
Drizzt worked his scimitars in a flurry of spinning parries, gradually turning them and altering his angle, moving his defensive posture into one more offensive, and forcing the elf back.
"Well done," the elf congratulated, skipping over one of fallen Bloog's legs.
"I do not even know your name, yet you bear me this hatred," the drow remarked.
The elf laughed at him. "I am Le'lorinel. That is the only name you need to hear."
Drizzt shook his head, staring at those intense eyes, somewhat recognizing them, but unable to place them.
And he was back into the fray, as Le'lorinel leaped forward, blades working furiously.
A sword came at Drizzt's head and he picked it off with an upraised scimitar. Le'lorinel turned the sword under the drow's curving blade and came ahead with a left-hand thrust of the dagger, a brilliant move.
But Drizzt was better. He accepted the cunning turn of the blades and instead of trying to move his second blade in front to deflect the dagger, he rolled to his right, driving his scimitar in toward the center, pushing the sword across and forcing his opponent to shift and alter the dagger thrust.
The drow's second blade came around with a sweep, driving against the elf's side.
The blade bounced off. Drizzt might as well have tried to slash through stone.
The drow rushed out, eyeing the turning and smiling Le'lorinel. He knew the enchantment immediately, for he had seen wizards use it. Was this elf a spellsword, then, a warrior trained in both the arcane and martial arts?
Drizzt hopped fallen Bloog's bloody chest, making a fast retreat to the back of the room, near to the hearth.
Le'lorinel continued to smile and held up one hand, whispering something Drizzt did not hear. The ring flared, and the elf moved even faster, hastened by yet another enchantment.
Oh, yes, this one was indeed prepared.
Regis dropped Aegis-fang down onto the burning logs, then scrambled as low as he could, rolled over so that he was going down head first, and caught the lip of the hearth and swung himself out. He was glad, as his feet kicked through the flames, that he was wearing heavy winter boots instead of walking in his typical barefoot manner.
The halfling scanned the room, seeing it much as Drizzt had described. He reached back and pulled Aegis-fang from the fire, then started across the room, to the partially opened door.
He went through silently, coming into a smaller chamber, this one some sort of alchemical workshop. There loomed the other door, with daylight streaming in around it.
The halfling ran for it, grabbed the handle, and tugged it open.
Then he was hit by a series of stinging, burning bursts against his hip and back. With a squeal, Regis scrambled out onto a natural balcony, but one that left him nowhere to run. He saw the fighting almost directly below him, so he threw the warhammer as far as he could, which wasn't very far, and cried out for Wulfgar.
Regis scrambled back, not even watching the hammer's bouncing descent. He saw the sorceress then, her invisibility enchantment dispelled. She stared at him from the side of the room, her hands working in the midst of casting yet another spell.
Regis yelped and ran out of the room into the main chamber, heading first for the hearth, then veering for another door.
The air around him grew thick with drifting strands of sticky, string like material. The halfling changed course yet again, making for the hearth, hoping its flames would burn this magical webbing away. He never got close, though, his strides shortened, his momentum stolen.
He was caught, encased in magical webbing that was holding him fast and was so thick around him he couldn't even breathe.
And the sorceress was there, in front of him, on the outside of the webbing barely a few inches away. She lifted a hand, holding a shining dagger up to Regis's face.
Another archer went down. Ignoring the burning pain and tightness in her arm, Catti-brie set another arrow to her bow.
More archers had appeared above Guenhwyvar. As the woman took aim on that position, she noted another movement in a more dangerous place, a ledge high up above where Wulfgar was fighting.
Catti-brie whirled and nearly fired.
It was Regis, falling back - and Aegis-fang, falling down!
Catti-brie held her breath, thinking that the warhammer would bounce all the way down to the sea, but it caught suddenly and held in place on a small ledge up above and to the side.
"Call for it!" she screamed repeatedly.
With a glance to the lower archer ledge, where she knew Guenhwyvar was still engaged, she ran along the trail.
Drizzt made the hearth and skidded down to one knee, dropping Icingdeath to the stone floor and reaching into the glowing fireplace. Out his arm pumped, then back in, then out again, launching a barrage of missiles at Le'lorinel. One hit, then another. The elf blocked a third, a spinning stick, but the missile broke apart across the elf s blade, each side spinning in to score a hit.
None of them were serious, none of them would have been even without the stoneskin defense, but every one, every strike upon the elf, removed a bit more of the defensive enchantment.
"Very wise, drow!" Le'lorinel congratulated, and on the elf warrior came, sword flashing for the stooping drow.
Drizzt grabbed his blade and started up, then dropped back to the floor and kicked out, his foot barely hitting Le'lorinel's shin.
Then Drizzt had to roll to the side and over backward to his feet, against the wall. His scimitars came up immediately, ringing with parry after parry as Le'lorinel launched a series of strong attacks his way.
The bardiche was falling apart in his hands by then, as Wulfgar worked against the ogre.
To the side, Morik, too, found himself hard-pressed by a pair of pirates, both wielding vicious-looking cutlasses,
"We can't win!" the rogue cried.
"Then why did you help me?" Wulfgar countered.
Morik found his next words caught in his throat. Why indeed had he gone against Sheila Kree? Even when he had come visible again, on the ramp descending from Chogurugga's chamber, it would not have been difficult for him to find a shadowy place to sit out the fight. Cursing himself for what he now had to consider a foolhardy decision, the rogue leaped ahead, daggers slashing. He landed in a turn that sent his dark cloak flying wide.
"Run away!" he cried out, leaving the cloak behind as a pair of slashing cutlasses came against it. He skittered behind Wulfgar, moving between a pair of huge boulders and heading up the trail.
Then he came back onto the small clearing, shouting, "Not that way!" Yet another ogre was in fast pursuit.
Wulfgar groaned as this new foe seemed to be entering the fray - and another, he noted, seeing movement beside Morik.
But that was no ogre.
Bruenor Battlehammer leaped up onto the rock as Morik passed underneath. Axe in both hands and down behind him, the dwarf took aim as the oblivious ogre came by in fast pursuit.
Crack!
The hit resounded like splitting stone, and everyone on the clearing stopped their fighting for just a moment to regard the wild-eyed red-haired dwarf standing atop the stone, his axe buried deeply into the skull of an ogre that was only still upright because the mighty dwarf was holding it there, trying to tug the axe back out.
"Ain't that a beautiful sound?" Bruenor called to Wulfgar.
Wulfgar shook his head and went back into defensive action against the ogre, and now with the two pirates joining in. "Took you long enough!" he replied.
"Quit yer bitchin'!" Bruenor yelled back. "Me girl's seen yer hammer, ye durn fool! Call for it, boy!"
The ogre in front of Wulfgar stepped back to get some charging room, roared defiantly, and lifted its club, coming on hard.
Wulfgar threw his ruined bardiche at the beast, who blocked it with its chest and arm and tossed the pieces aside.
"Oh, brilliant!" complained Morik, who was back behind Wulfgar, coming around to engage the two pirates.
But Wulfgar wasn't even listening to the complaint or to the threats from the enraged ogre. He was yelling out instead, trusting Bruenor's word.
"What you to do now, puny one?" the ogre said, though its expression changed considerably as it finished the question. A finely crafted warhammer appeared in Wulfgar's waiting grasp.
"Catch this one," the barbarian remarked, letting fly.
As it had with the cracked bardiche, the ogre tried to accept the blow with its chest and its arm, tried to just take the hit and push the warhammer aside.
But this was no cracked bardiche.
The ogre had no idea why it was sitting against the wall then, unable to draw breath.
His hand up high in the air, Wulfgar called out again for the hammer.
And there it was, in his grasp, warrior and weapon united.
A cutlass came in at him from the side, along with a cry of warning from Morik.
Wulfgar snapped his warhammer down, blasting the thrusting cutlass away. With perfect balance, as if the warhammer was an extension of his own arm, Wulfgar turned the weapon and swung it out hard.
The pirate flew away.
The other turned and ran, but Morik had him before he reached the opening, stabbing him down.
Another ogre exited the cave and glared threateningly at nearby Morik, but a blue streak cut between the barbarian and the rogue, knocking the brute back inside.
The friends turned to see Catti-brie standing there, bow in hand.
"Guen's got them up above," the woman explained.
"And Rumblebelly's up there too, and likely needin' us!" howled Bruenor, motioning for them.
They ran on up the path, winding farther around the mountain. They came to another level, wide area with a huge door facing them, set into the mountain.
"Not that one," Morik tried to explain. "Big ogres . . ."
The rogue shut up as Bruenor and Wulfgar fell over the door, hammer and axe chopping, splintering the wood to pieces.
In the pair went.
Chogurugga and her attendants were waiting.
Their weapons rang against each other repeatedly, a blur of motion, a constant sound. Hastened by the enchantment, Le'lorinel matched Drizzt's blinding speed, but unlike the drow, the elf was not used to such lightning reflexive action.
Scimitar right, scimitar left, scimitar straight ahead, and Drizzt scored a hard stab against Le'lorinel's chest that would have finished the elf had it not been for the stonelike dweomer.
"How many more will it stop?" the drow asked, growing more confident now as his routines slipped around Le'lorinel's defenses. "We need not do this."
But the elf showed no sign of letting up.
Drizzt slashed out with his right, then spun as Le'lorinel, parrying, went into a circuit to the right as well, both coming together out of their respective spins with a clash of four blades.
Drizzt turned his blade over the elf's, driving Le'lorinel's down. When the elf predictably stabbed ahead, the drow leaped into a somersault right over the attack, landing on his feet and falling low as the sword swished over his head. Drizzt slashed out, scoring on Le'lorinel's hip, then kicked out as the elf retreated, clipping a knee.
Le'lorinel squeaked in pain and stumbled back a few steps.
The enchantment was defeated. The next scimitar hit would draw blood.
"There is no need for this," Drizzt graciously said.
Le'lorinel glared at him, and smiled again. Up came the ring, and with a word from the elf, it flashed again.
Drizzt charged, wanting to beat whatever trick might be coming next.
But Le'lorinel was gone, vanished from sight.
Drizzt skidded to a stop, eyes widening with surprise. On instinct, he reached within himself to his own magical powers, his innate drow abilities, and summoned a globe of darkness about him, one that filled the room and put him back on even footing with the invisible warrior.
Just as Le'lorinel had expected he would. For now, with the ring's fourth enchantment - the most insidious of the group - the invisible elf s form was outlined again in glowing fires.
Drizzt moved in, spinning and launching slashing attack routines, as he had long ago learned when fighting blindly. Every attack was also a parry, his scimitars whirling out wide from his body.
And he listened, and he heard the shuffle of feet.
He was on the spot in an instant and took heart when his blade rang against a blocking sword, awkwardly held.
The elf had miscalculated, he believed, had altered the fight into one in which the experienced drow held a great advantage.
He struck with wide-reaching blows, coming in from the left and the right, keeping his opponent before him.
Right and left again, and Drizzt turned suddenly behind his second swing, spinning and slashing with the right as he came around.
The victory was his, he knew, from the position of the blocking sword and dagger, the elf caught flatfooted and without defense.
His scimitar drove against Le'lorinel's side, tearing flesh.
But at precisely the same instant, Drizzt, too, got hit in the side.
Unable to retract or slow his blow, Drizzt had to finish the move, the scimitar bouncing off of a rib, tearing a lung and cutting back out across the front of the elf's chest.
And the same wound burrowed across the drow's chest.
Even as the pain exploded within him, even as he stumbled back, tripping over Bloog's leg and falling hard to the floor against the wall, Drizzt understood what had happened, recognized the fire shield enchantment, a devilish spell that inflicted damage upon anyone striking the spell-user.
He lay there, one lung collapsing, his lifeblood running out freely.
Across the way, Le'lorinel, dying as Drizzt was dying, groaned.