That baggage did not change the sincere admiration that Drizzt held for the woman, though, nor did it make him emotionally push aside that admiration for any fears that it would lead him down a more dangerous and unwanted road. Catti-brie had initiated their present plan the day after Sea Sprite, the pirate-hunting ship of their friend Captain Deudermont, had appeared in Waterdeep harbor. They wanted to go aboard and sail with Deudermont, and likely, had they walked to the plank where the ship was moored, the Captain would have welcomed them aboard with a wide smile and opened arms. But Catti-brie, ever in search of adventure and hardly afraid of a risk, had convinced Drizzt to up the stakes. She had led the way into the tavern, had gone in alone, actually, night after night. She had formulated the plan, confirmed the lay-out, and had dragged Drizzt every step of the way to this point.
“Go and get some rest,” Drizzt bade her. He drew forth his two thin-bladed scimitars, one proffered from the lair of a vanquished white dragon and possessed of mighty magic, the other, also powerfully enchanted, the gift of a arch-wizard. He placed them together and wrapped them in cloth, then tied off the bundle and slung it over his shoulder.
“Three hours after sunset?” Catti-brie asked.
Drizzt nodded, then paused, and thinking ahead, he drew out from his belt pouch a small onyx figurine shaped in the likeness of a black panther. He offered Catti-brie a smile and a wink, and tossed the enchanted statuette to her.
Catti-brie felt the magnificent workmanship of the idol, then tucked it away and answered Drizzt’s smile with a nod, accepting the great responsibility he had just placed upon her, the great faith he had just put in her.
A moment later, the drow shooed her away, then, with a glance up and down the empty alley, he sorted out a path to the lone second-floor window on this side of the building and began to climb. He went in, confirmed the lay-out as Catti-brie had described it, even the line of windows, one building to the other, and nodded. The window in this building, too, was partially covered by boards, but Drizzt decided against removing any, for fear of tipping off the intended victims.
He came back out a short while later, without his baggage.
The black skinned elf walked into the common room of the tavern with all the swagger he could muster. He knew that every eye would turn upon him. He knew that every hand would go to a sword or dagger, that every muscle would tighten in hatred and fear. That was the reputation of his race-well-earned, he agreed, and so he accepted the initial fear and hatred he inevitably inspired as a simple fact of his life. He knew, too, that his own reputation might precede him in this particular section of this particular city, and so he wasn’t traveling openly, but hid his most telling feature, his lavender eyes. He had his thick and long white hair combed in front of his face, covering his left eye, and over his right eye he wore a black patch of fine netting that afforded him a darkened, but acceptable, view of his surroundings.
He wore dirty and somewhat ragged clothing, loose fitting and with an old blanket set about his shoulders as a cloak. His belt was a simple sash of cheap material, and tucked into it was a long and unremarkable dagger. He didn’t want to get into a fight, so poorly armed and armored, and thus he assumed the confident swagger, playing upon every fear and prejudice that surface-dwellers rightly held for the race of drow.
He moved right up to the bar and noted the scowl of the tavernkeeper.
“Fear not,” he said, distorting the words as if the language was unfamiliar to him. “I ask of you no drink, buffoon. I come to speak to Thurgood of Baldur’s Gate, and have no business with you.”
The tavernkeeper scowled more fiercely.
“You will be dead before you realize that you’ve insulted me,” Drizzt promised.
That seemed to back the man off somewhat. Across the bar from him, and just down from Drizzt, a young woman, a serving wench, whispered to the tavernkeeper, “Don’t ye be a fool,” then turned to Drizzt.
“Thurgood’s there,” she said, indicating a table in the back corner of the common room. “The big one with the beard.”
Drizzt had known that all along, of course, since Catti-brie had been thorough in her investigation.
“Ye should bring him a drink, ye know,” the woman went on. “He’s wanting a drink with every introduction to those wanting to sail with him.”
Drizzt stared at the man, then turned to consider the tavernkeeper, who seemed as defiant and unmoving as ever. “Mayhaps I’ll bring him the head of the owner, that he can claim all the drink as his own.”
The man bristled, as did several of the folk seated at the bar, ruffians all, but Drizzt knew how to properly play a bluff, and he just calmly walked away, cutting a straight line for Thurgood’s table.
The gazes of all four men seated at that table, as well as all of those standing nearby, were upon the drow through every stride, and Drizzt surveyed them all carefully, watching for the flicker of movement that might show an attack. He wished he had his scimitars with him, instead of a simple long knife. He had no doubt that every man in the tavern knew well how to put a weapon to quick and deadly use.
Catti-brie wasn’t covering his moves this time.
He walked right up between the two closest seated men, to the table’s edge.
“Seek I one Thurgood of Baldur’s Gate,” he said, twisting his mouth as if the common language of Waterdeep was uncomfortable and unnatural to him.
Across the table from him, the barrel-chested man crossed his arms over his chest and brought one hand up to stroke his thick and wild black beard.
“Thurgood you are?”
“Who’s askin’?”
“Masoj of Menzoberranzan,” Drizzt lied, taking the name of a former associate, the one from whom he had taken the magical statuette that allowed him to summon the great panther Guenhwyvar to his side.
“Never heard o’ no Masoj,” Thurgood answered. “Never heard o’ no Menzoberranzan.”
“Of no consequence is that,” Drizzt answered. “You seek crew. I am crew.”
The big man cocked an eyebrow and turned slyly to his companions, all of whom began to chuckle. “Been on many boats, have ye?”
“Demon ships, sailing the planes of existence,” Drizzt answered without the slightest hesitation.
“Not sure it’s the same thing,” Thurgood replied, and Drizzt noted a slight tremor in his voice, one he was trying hard to hide, obviously, and one that betrayed his intrigue.
“Same thing,” said Drizzt.
Thurgood motioned to the man on his left, who reached down, untied his belt and tossed it, a rope, to Drizzt. Before Thurgood even started to offer instructions, Drizzt’s hands worked in a blur, tying off three different kinds of knots in rapid succession before tossing the rope back to the man. Fortunately for Drizzt, both of his voyages with Deudermont had not been idle ones as a mere passenger. Anyone sailing with Sea Sprite and her crew was expected to pull his weight, in work and in battle, and with his drow nimbleness, Drizzt had proven especially adept at tying off lines.
Thurgood nodded as he looked at the rope, but again worked hard to keep his face straight. His gaze went from the rope, to Drizzt’s eyepatch, to Drizzt’s sash belt and the knife fastened there.
“Ye know how to use that thing?”
“I am drow,” Drizzt replied, and the man beside Thurgood scoffed. “Drow who do not fight well, die poorly.”
“So I been told,” said Thurgood, and he elbowed the doubting man.
“I will not die poorly,” Drizzt said, and as he did, he turned his head to fix the doubting man with an imposing stare, though of course, the drow’s eyes were covered. Still, the thug did wilt a bit under the forward-leaning and imposing posture that accompanied that hidden gaze.
“You seek crew. I am crew,” Drizzt repeated, turning square to Thurgood.
“Masoj of Menzoberranzan?”
Drizzt nodded.
“Ye come back in two days,” Thurgood instructed. “Right here. We’ll talk then.”
Drizzt nodded
again, turned to glower at the man beside the big man, then snapped right about and walked casually away. He thought to draw out his knife and twirl it about, then go hand to hand a few times in rapid succession before fast tucking it back into his belt.
He brushed the thought away, though. Sometimes the most intimidating threat was the one not made.
His knife had been taken and he was blindfolded, but Drizzt had expected as much, and he knew well enough the steps along these alleyways and where Thurgood’s men were taking him. It did occur to him many times that the group might well kill him, and in that possibility, he would be completely helpless, unless, of course, Catti-brie was watching from afar. He had to trust in that.
Because it had to be this way.
He heard the wide wooden door creak open and smelled the stagnant air of the little-used warehouse. Inside, the small group walked a maze of piled sacks and large boxes to the back corner of the building, where they started up a wooden half-staircase, half-ladder. Despite the blindfold, the nimble Drizzt had no trouble at all in navigating the maze and the climb, and as soon as he came up to the second story, a man roughly pulled off his blindfold.
The drow was quick to shake his head, flopping his hair back over one eye, his dark, see-through eyepatch still in place on the other.
The room was as he remembered it, with the raised wooden dais set in the center-back, a wooden seat built atop it. Thurgood sat in that throne, resting comfortably back and to the side, eyeing Drizzt with what seemed to be little real concern.
“Welcome, Masoj of Menzoberranzan,” he said as Drizzt was led to stand before him. The guards fell away then, moving to either side of the room, and Drizzt used that opportunity to take a good measure of all in attendance. He quick-counted seven, scallywags all, and none seeming overly impressive, other than perhaps Thurgood himself. Even that one didn’t concern Drizzt too much. Likely, he would prove the typical bully brawler, a straightforward attacker who would try to quickly overwhelm an opponent with brute force.
Drizzt had left many similar brawlers dead in his wake.
“You wish to join the crew,” Thurgood stated. “When will you be able to sail?”
“I have no ties and no responsibilities.”
“I could walk ye to the dock straightaways and ye’d be able to step aboard?”
Drizzt paused for a second, noting the change in dialect, Thurgood’s “you’s” becoming “ye’s.” Those around him seemed to take no note. Perhaps this one was more worldly than he was letting on? The drow filed that notion away, a quiet reminder to be ready for anything, and quickly pushed past the pause.
“The sooner I am away from this city, the better,” Drizzt replied. “There are many here who would wish me gone.”
“Found a bit o’ trouble, did ye?”
The drow shrugged as if it did not matter.
“Ye ever kill anyone, Masoj of Menzoberranzan?” Thurgood asked, and he leaned forward in his chair.
“More than anyone in this room,” Drizzt answered, and he doubted he was lying. “More than all of you together.”
Thurgood slumped back in his chair, eyeing the drow and smiling … weirdly, Drizzt thought. At the side of the room, several of the men bristled as if insulted, and the two who had taken Drizzt to this place cautiously approached.
“Well, then,” Thurgood said, his tone, demeanor and accent changing. “Consider yourself taken down by your own words, then, Masoj of Menzoberranzan. Damned by a confession.”
The two flanking Drizzt leaped for him, and the drow fell flat and dove forward, crashing against the front of the dais. His mind worked in one direction, summoning a globe of impenetrable darkness over the highest concentration of men, at the left-hand side of the large room, while his hands worked independently, tearing free the board he had loosened and replaced at the front of the dais. Relief flooded through him when the felt the handles of his scimitars still in position within the cubby, and he rushed back and to his feet, yanking the blades free and raising them up high and wide to intimidate, to freeze in place for just an instant, those attackers closest.
The drow gave a great shout, seeming as if he would charge right for Thurgood, but instead, as he had planned, he dropped right to the floor before the large man.
He heard the splinter of wood behind him; he saw the flash of a silver-streaking magical arrow slash the air above him. He looked forward, expecting to see Thurgood pinned through the chest to the wooden chair, but instead saw the flash of explosion as the arrow slammed against an invisible, magical shield-a globe, he realized, as the lines of sparking blue power fingered out in a tree-like semi-circle about the pirate leader.
The drow muttered a curse under his breath, but had no time to dwell on the unexpected turn, for the two attackers were on him then, even as he rose again. His scimitars worked independently, batting aside surprisingly skillful and coordinated thrusts.
The drow pivoted right, letting his right arm fly out behind him, his scimitar slashing across to defeat a second thrust from the attacker to his left, who was now behind him, while his other blade worked fast and hard against the one presented before him. He tapped the sword outside, moving it across to his right, and then again, and then, surprising his attacker and moving with blinding speed, he brought his left-hand scimitar in a third time, but down lower, hooking it under the blade and yanking it out wide the other way. A short riposte had that scimitar thrusting in hard, scoring a hit that sent the attacker falling to the floor and clutching his chest.
Drizzt hadn’t the time to finish the move, and instead leaped forward and to the side, throwing himself into a forward roll. The man behind him pursued, but a second crackle of wood signaled Catti-brie’s second shot from across the way. The arrow hummed through the air, clipping the man pursuing Drizzt and sending him falling away in pain as the bolt soared past, to again explode against the globe protecting Thurgood.
Drizzt heard that explosion, but didn’t see it as he charged the next three men in line. He came in low, blades leading, and the closest man dropped his axe down low to intercept the thrust. But then Drizzt leaped high, without slowing in the least, coming in above the man’s rising axe. He planted a foot on the surprised man’s chest and sprang away toward the next man in line. The drow’s legs wagged wildly to avoid the upraised sword of the second man, and he even managed a snap-kick at the man’s face as he came down to the side. Again, his scimitar was in place to defeat the thrust of the attacker’s sword, and he even started to counter with his second blade.
But the man proved amazingly resilient, and Drizzt only then realized that the sword thrust had been a feint, and that the real danger was coming from the man’s second weapon, a dagger.
He threw his hips out wide to avoid, but still got cut across the side, and then he had to throw himself backwards and again to the side as the third man came in at him.
He followed right through the roll, coming easily back to his feet and reversing his momentum, and indeed, catching both pursuers by surprise.
Suddenly inside the reach of their long swords, Drizzt pumped his fists and sent his blades in a whirl of motion, scoring minor slashing hits and solid smashes into their respective faces. Not waiting to see if they could withstand that barrage, the drow fast-stepped through.
He cut a quick turn, then froze, startled, as did everyone else in the room, as another arrow plowed through the partially boarded window, and then another right behind.
“Masoj of Menzoberranzan!” Thurgood roared, and Drizzt spun on him.
The man stood on the dais, his shield still crackling with dispersing energy from the last two hits, his face locked in an expression of outrage.
Drizzt did a quick scan. The men across the way had escaped his globe of darkness and regrouped. For all his efforts and surprise, Drizzt had only taken three men out of the fighting, and Catti-brie had been ineffective, other than the one arrow that had accidentally clipped a pursuer.
And now that surprise
was gone.
There was only one chance, it seemed, and with an accepting grin on his face, the drow took it, charging the dais, knowing he could get there before Thurgood’s men could intercept and hoping that the magical shield wouldn’t stop him.
Barely three running strides away, Drizzt saw Thurgood flash his hands forward, saw a flare of energy from a ring the man was wearing, and got hit by a blast of wind so powerful that it stopped him in his tracks and sent him flying backwards in a wild tumble!
Drizzt somewhat controlled his roll, but still smashed hard into the wall all the way across the room from Thurgood, below and to the side of the window through which Catti-brie’s arrows had flown. He put his feet under him as fast as possible, expecting pursuit from the many pirates, but saw that it was Thurgood again who was most menacing. The man waggled his fingers and darts of energy shot forth, speeding across the room. Drizzt, as nimble as any fighter in Waterdeep, tried to dodge this way and that, but the magical bolts swerved and pursued and burned into him.
He fought through the stinging pain, he dismissed his surprise that this brutish-looking ruffian was, in fact, a wizard, and his senses caught just enough of an indication of spellcasting for him to react.
He dove flat to the floor as a tremendous bolt of lightning scarred the air above him, blowing out a hole in the wall behind him, its thunderous report and brilliant flash sending men all about the room stumbling back in a blinded daze.
“Kill him!” Thurgood demanded, and his crack crew moved in from every angle.
Drizzt knew he was dead, that there was no escape. He leaped back to his feet, prepared to kill several before he died, and then he fell aside again as the remaining wooden planks over the window burst inward and a great black form crashed into the room.
Guenhwyvar!
Silently praising Catti-brie for putting that magical, summoning statuette to such timely use, ready to turn the tide as the pirates fell back in awe and terror before the six-hundred pound black panther, Drizzt set himself for a second charge.
Guenhwyvar hit the ground running, cut fast left and crashed into a pair of men, sending them flying, then cut back to the right and leaped for Thurgood.
The Collected Stories, The Legend of Drizzt (forgotten realms) Page 15
