The shocked bandit could not react, though he did manage to scream as the
horse drove him into the ground. When the horse finally rolled away, the bandit
remained, buried upside-down to the waist in the sand, his legs lolling
grotesquely to one side.
His boots and beard filled with sand, Bruenor eagerly looked for someone to
fight. Among the tall mounts, the short dwarf had been overlooked by all but a
handful of the bandits. Now, most of them were already dead!
Bruenor rushed away from the protection of the riderless camels, banging his
axe on his shield to draw attention to himself. He saw one rider turning to flee
from the disastrous scene.
"Hey!" Bruenor barked at him. "Yer mother's an orc-kissin' harlot!"
Thinking he had every advantage over the standing dwarf, the bandit couldn't
pass up the opportunity to answer the insult. He rushed over to Bruenor and
chopped down with his sword.
Bruenor brought his golden shield up to block the blow, then stepped around
the front of the horse. The rider swung about to meet the dwarf on the other
side, but Bruenor used his shortness to his advantage. Barely bending, he
slipped under the horse's belly, back to the original side, and thrust his axe
up over his head, catching the confused man on the hip. As the bandit lurched
over in pain, Bruenor brought his shield arm up, caught turban and hair in his
gnarled fingers, and tore the man from his seat. With a satisfied grunt, the
dwarf chopped into the bandit's neck.
"Too easy!" the dwarf grumbled, dropping the body to the ground. He looked
for another victim, but the battle was over. No more bandits remained in the
bowl, and Wulfgar, Aegis-fang back in his hands, and Drizzt were standing
easily.
"Where's me girl?" Bruenor cried.
Drizzt calmed him with a look and a pointing finer.
On the top of a dune to the side, Catti-brie sat atop the horse she had
commandeered, Taulmaril taut in her hands as she looked out over the desert.
Several riders galloped across the sand in full flight and another lay dead
on the other side of the dune. Catti-brie put one of them in her sights, then
realized that the fighting had ended behind her.
"Enough," she whispered, moving the bow an inch to the side and sending the
arrow over the fleeing bandit's shoulder.
There has been enough killing this day, she thought.
Catti-brie looked at the carnage of the battle scene and at the hungry
buzzards circling patiently overhead. She dropped Taulmaril to her side. The
firm set of her grim visage melted away.
15
The Guide
"See the pleasure it promises," the guildmaster teased, scraping his hand
over the barbed tip of a single spike sticking out of a block of wood on the
center of the room's little table.
Regis purposely curled his lips into a stupid smile, pretending to see the
obvious logic of Pook's words.
"Just drop your palm onto it," Pook coaxed, "then you will know the joy and
will again be part of our family."
Regis searched for a way out of the trap. Once before he had used the ruse,
the lie within a lie, pretending to be caught under the magical charm's
influence. He had worked his act to perfection then, convincing an evil wizard
of his loyalty, then turning on the man at a critical moment to aid his friends.
This time, though, Regis had even surprised himself, escaping the ruby
pendant's insistent, hypnotizing pull. Now, though, he was caught: A person
truly duped by the gem would gladly impale his hand on the barbed spike.
Regis brought his hand above his head and closed his eyes, trying to keep
his visage blank enough to carry out the dupe. He swung his arm down, meaning to
follow through on Pook's suggestion.
At the last moment, his hand swerved away and banged harmlessly on the
table.
Pook roared in rage, suspecting all along that Regis had somehow escaped the
pendant's influence. He grabbed the halfling by the wrist and smashed his little
hand onto the spike, wiggling it as the spike went through. Regis's scream
multiplied tenfold when Pook tore his hand back up the barbed instrument.
Then Pook let him go and slapped him across the face as Regis clutched his
wounded hand to his chest.
"Deceiving dog!" the guildmaster shouted, more angry with the pendant's
failure than with Regis's facade. He lined up for another slap but calmed
himself and decided to twist the halfling's stubborn will back on Regis.
"A pity," he teased, "for if the pendant had brought you back under control,
I might have found a place for you in the guild. Surely you deserve to die,
little thief, but I have not forgotten your value to me in the past. You were
the finest thief in Calimport, a position I night have offered you once again."
"Then no pity for the failure of the gem," Regis dared to retort, guessing
the teasing game that Pook was playing, "for no pain outweighs the disgust I
would feel at playing lackey to Pasha Pook!"
Pook's response was a heavy slug that knocked Regis off his chair and onto
the floor. The halfling lay curled up, trying to stem the blood from both his
hand and his nose.
Pook rested back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. He
looked at the pendant, resting on the table in front of him. Only once before
had it failed him, when he had tried it on a will that would not be captured.
Luckily, Artemis Entreri had not realized the attempt that day, and Pook had
been wise enough not to try the pendant on the assassin again.
Pook shifted his gaze to Regis, now passed out from the pain. He had to give
the little halfling credit. Even if Regis's familiarity with the pendant had
given him an edge in his battle, only an iron will could resist the tempting
pull.
"But it will not help you," Pook whispered at the unconscious form. He sat
back in his chair again and closed his eyes, trying to envision still another
torture for Regis.
* * *
The tan-robed arm slipped in through the tent's flap and held the limp body
of the red-bearded dwarf upside-down by the ankle. Sali Dalib's fingers started
their customary twiddle, and he flashed the gold-and-ivory smile so wide that it
seemed as if it would take in his ears. His little goblin assistant jumped up
and down at has side, squealing, "Magic, magic, magic!"
Bruenor opened one eye and lifted an arm to push his long beard out of his
face. "Ye be likin' what ye're seeing?" the dwarf asked slyly.
Sali Dalib's smile disappeared, and his fingers got all tangled together.
Bruenor's bearer - Wulfgar, wearing the robe of one of the bandits walked
into the tent. Catti-brie came in behind him.
"So 'twas yerself that set the bandits upon us," the young woman growled.
Sali Dalib's exclamation of shock came out as so much gibberish, and the
wily merchant spun away to flee . . . only to find a neat hole sliced into the
back of his tent and Drizzt Do'Urden standing within it, leaning on one scimitar
while the other rested easily on his shoulder. Just to heighten the merchant's
terror, Drizzt had again taken off the magical mask.
"Uh . . . um, de bestest road?" the merchant stammered.
"Bestest for yerself and yer friends!" Bruenor growled.
"So they thought," Catti-brie was quick to put in.
Sali Dalib curled his smile sheepishly, but he had been in tight spots a
hundred times before and had always weaseled his way out. He lifted his palms,
as if to say, "You caught me," but then jerked into a dizzying maneuver, pulling
several small ceramic globes out of one of his robe's many pockets. He slammed
them to the floor at his feet. Explosions of multicolored light left a thick,
blinding smoke in their wake, and the merchant dashed for the side of the tent.
Instinctively Wulfgar dropped Bruenor and jumped ahead, catching an armful
of emptiness. The dwarf plopped onto the floor headfirst and rolled to a sitting
position, his one-horned helm tilted to the side of his head. As the smoke
thinned, the embarrassed barbarian looked back to the dwarf, who just shook his
head in disbelief and mumbled, "Suren to be a long adventure."
Only Drizzt, ever alert, had not been caught unawares. The drow had shielded
his eyes from the bursts, then watched the smoky silhouette of the merchant
darting to the left. Drizzt would have had him before he got out of the hidden
flap in the tent, but Sali Dalib's assistant stumbled into the drow's way.
Barely slowing, Drizzt slammed Twinkle's hilt into the little goblin's forehead,
dropping the creature into unconsciousness, then slipped the mask back on his
face and jumped out to the streets of Memnon.
Catti-brie rushed by to follow Drizzt, and Bruenor leaped to his feet.
"After 'im, boy!" the dwarf shouted at Wulfgar. The chase was on.
Drizzt caught sight of the merchant slipping into the throng of the streets.
Even Sali Dalib's loud robe would blend well in the city's myriad of colors, so
Drizzt added a touch of his own. As he had done to the invisible mage on the
deck of the pirate ship, the drow sent a purplish glowing outline of dancing
flames over the merchant.
Drizzt sped off in pursuit, weaving in and out of the crowd with amazing
ease and watching for the bobbing line of purple ahead.
Bruenor was less graceful. The dwarf cut ahead of Cattibrie and plunged
headlong into the throng, stomping toes and using his shield to bounce bodies
out of his way. Wulfgar, right behind, cut an even wider swath, and Cattibrie
had an easy time following in their wake.
They passed a dozen lanes and crashed through an open market, Wulfgar
accidentally overturning a cart of huge yellow melons. Shouts of protest erupted
behind them as they passed, but they kept their eyes ahead, each watching the
person in front and trying not to get lost in the overwhelming bustle.
Sali Dalib knew at once that he was too conspicuous with the fiery outline
to ever escape in the open streets. To add to his disadvantage, the eyes and
pointing fingers of a hundred curious onlookers greeted him at every turn,
signposts for his pursuers. Grabbing at the single chance before him, the
merchant cut down one lane and scrambled through the doors of a large stone
building.
Drizzt turned to make certain that his friends were still behind, then
rushed through the doors, skidding to a "stop on the steam-slicked marble floor
of a public bathhouse.
Two huge eunuchs moved to block the clothed elf, but as with the merchant
who had come in just before, the agile Drizzt regained his momentum too quickly
to be hindered. He skated through the short entry corridor and into the main
room, a large open bath, thick with steam and smelling of sweat and perfumed
soaps. Naked bodies crossed his path at every step, and Drizzt had to be careful
where he placed his hands as he slipped through.
Bruenor nearly fell as he entered the slippery chamber, and the eunuchs,
already out of their positions, got in front of him.
"No clothes!" one of them demanded, but Bruenor had no time for idle
discussions. He stamped a heavy boot onto one of the giant's bare feet, then
crunched the other foot for good measure. Wulfgar came in then and heaved the
remaining eunuch aside.
The barbarian, leaning forward to gain speed, had no chance to stop or turn
on the slippery, floor, and as Bruenor turned to make his way along the
perimeter of the bath, Wulfgar slammed into him, knocking them both to the floor
and into a slide they could not brake.
They bounced over the rim of the bath and plunged into the water, Wulfgar
coming up, waist deep, between two voluptuous and naked, giggling women.
The barbarian stammered an apology, finding his tongue twisted within the
confines of his mouth. A slap across the back of his head shook him back to his
senses.
"Ye're looking for the merchant, ye remember?" Catti-brie reminded him.
"I am looking!" Wulfgar assured her.
"Then be lookin' for the one lined in purple!" Catti-brie shot back.
Wulfgar, his eyes freed with the expectation of another smack, noticed the
single horn of a helmet poking out of the water at his side. Frantically he
plunged his hand under, catching Bruenor by the scruff of the neck and hoisting
him out of the bath. The not-too-happy dwarf came up with his arms crossed over
his chest and shaking his head in disbelief once again.
Drizzt got out the back door of the bathhouse and found himself in an empty
alley, the only unpopulated stretch he had seen since entering Memnon. Seeking a
better vantage, the drow scaled the side of the bathhouse and jogged along the
roof.
Sali Dalib slowed his pace, thinking he had slipped the pursuit. The drow's
purple fire died away, further adding to the merchant's sense of security. He
wound his way through the back-alley maze. Not even the usual drunks leaned
against the walls to inform his pursuers. He moved a hundred twisting yards,
then two, and finally down an alley that he knew would turn onto the largest
marketplace in Memnon, where anyone could become invisible in the blink of an
eye.
As Sali Dalib approached the end of the alley, however, an elven form
dropped in front of him and two scimitars flashed out of their sheaths, crossing
before the stunned merchant, coming to rest on his collarbones, then drawing
