the open grate. When the drow's form began to exit onto the street, the assassin
cut down viciously with his saber.
Drizzt, running up the iron rungs in perfect balance, had his hands free,
however. Expecting such a move, he had crossed his scimitars up over his head as
he came through.
He caught Entreri's saber in the wedge and pushed it harmlessly aside.
Then they were faced off on the open street.
The first hints of dawn cracked over the eastern horizon, the temperature
had already begun to soar, and the lazy city awakened around them.
Entreri came in with a rush, and Drizzt fought him back with wicked counters
and sheer strength. The drow did not blink, his features locked in a determined
grimace. Methodically he moved at the assassin, both scimitars cutting with
even, solid strokes.
His left arm useless and his left eye seeing no more than a blur, Entreri
knew that he could not hope to win. Drizzt saw it, too, and he picked up the
tempo, slapping again and again at the slowing saber in an effort to further
weary Entreri's only defense.
But as Drizzt pressed into the battle, his magical mask once again loosened
and dropped from his face.
Entreri smirked, knowing that he had once again dodged certain death. He saw
his out.
"Caught in a lie?" he whispered wickedly.
Drizzt understood.
"A drow!" Entreri shrieked to the multitude of people he knew to be watching
the battle from nearby shadows. "From the Forest of Mir! A scout, a prelude to
an army! A drow!"
Curiosity now pulled a throng from their concealments. The battle had been
interesting enough before, but now the street people had to come closer to
verify Entreri's claims. Gradually a circle began to form around the combatants,
and Drizzt and Entreri heard the ring of swords coming free of scabbards.
"Good-bye, Drizzt Do'Urden," Entreri whispered under the growing tumult and
the cries of "Drow!" springing up throughout the area. Drizzt could not deny the
effectiveness of the assassin's ploy. He glanced around nervously, expecting an
attack from behind at any moment.
Entreri had the distraction he needed. As Drizzt looked to the side again,
he broke away and stumbled off through the crowd, shouting, "Kill the drow! Kill
him!"
Drizzt swung around, blades ready, as the anxious mob cautiously moved in.
Catti-brie and Bruenor came up onto the street then and saw at once what had
happened, and what was about to happen. Bruenor rushed to Drizzt's side and
Catti-brie notched an arrow.
"Back away!" the dwarf grumbled. "Suren there be no evil here, except for
the one ye fools just let get away!"
One man approached boldly, his spear leading the way.
A silver explosion caught the weapon's shaft, severing its tip. Horrified,
the man dropped the broken spear and looked to the side, to where Catti-brie had
already notched another arrow.
"Get away," she growled at him. "Leave the elf in peace, or me next shot
won't be lookin' for yer weapon!"
The man backed away, and the crowd seemed to lose its heart for the fight as
quickly as it had found it. None of them ever really wanted to tangle with a
drow elf anyway, and they were more than happy now to believe the dwarf's words,
that this one wasn't evil.
Then a commotion down the lane turned all heads. Two of the guards posing as
bums outside the thieves' guild pulled open the door - to the sound of fighting
- and charged inside, slamming the door behind them.
"Wulfgar!" shouted Bruenor, roaring down the road. Catti-brie started to
follow but turned back to consider Drizzt.
The drow stood as if torn, looking one way, to the guild, and the other, to
where the assassin had run. He had Entreri beaten; the injured man could not
possibly stand up against him.
How could he just let Entreri go?
"Yer friends need ye," Catti-brie reminded him. "If not for Regis, then for
Wulfgar."
Drizzt shook his head in self-reproach. How could he even have considered
abandoning his friends at that critical moment? He rushed past Catti-brie,
chasing Bruenor down the road.
* * *
Above Rogues Circle, the dawn's light had already found Pasha Pook's lavish
chambers. LaValle moved cautiously toward the curtain at the side of his room
and pushed it aside. Even he, a practiced wizard, would not dare to approach the
device of unspeakable evil before the sun had risen, the Taros Hoop, his most
powerful - and frightening - device.
He grasped its iron frame and slid it out of the tiny closet. On its stand
and rollers, it was taller than he, with the worked hoop, large enough for a man
to walk through, fully a foot off the floor. Pook had remarked that it was
similar to the hoop the trainer of his great cats had used.
But any lion jumping through the Taros Hoop would hardly land safely on the
other side.
LaValle turned the hoop to the side and faced it fully, examining the
symmetrical spider web that filled its interior. So fragile the webbing
appeared, but LaValle knew the strength in its strands, a magical power that
transcended the very planes of existence.
LaValle slipped the instrument's trigger, a thin scepter capped with an
enormous black pearl, into his belt and wheeled the Taros Hoop out into the
central room of the level. He wished that he had the time to test his plan, for
he certainly didn't want to disappoint his master again, but the sun was nearly
full in the eastern sky and Pook would not be pleased with any delay.
Still in his nightshirt, Pook dragged himself out into the central chamber
at LaValle's call. The guildmaster's eyes lit up at the sight of the Taros Hoop,
which he, not a wizard and not understanding the dangers involved with such an
item, thought a simply wonderful toy.
LaValle, holding the scepter in one hand and the onyx figurine of Guenhwyvar
in the other, stood before the device. "Hold this," he said to Pook, tossing him
the statuette. "We can get the cat later; I'll not need the beast for the task
at hand."
Pook absently dropped the statuette into a pocket.
"I have scoured the planes of existence," the wizard explained. "I knew the
cat to be of the Astral Plane, but I wasn't certain that the halfling would
remain there - if he could find his way out. And, of course, the Astral Plane is
very extensive."
"Enough!" ordered Pook. "Be on with it! What have you to show me?"
"Only this," LaValle replied, waving the scepter in front of the Taros Hoop.
The webbing tingled with power and lit up in tiny flashes of lightning.
Gradually the light became more constant, filling in the area between strands,
and the image of the webbing disappeared into the background of cloudy blue.
LaValle spoke a command word, and the hoop focused in on a bright, well-lit
grayness, a scene in the Astral Plane. There sat Regis, leaning comfortably
against the limned image of a tree, a starlight sketch of an oak, with his hands
tucked behind his head and his feet crossed out in front of him.
Pook shook the grogginess from his head. "Get him," he coughed. "How can we
get him?"
Before LaValle could answer, the door burst open and Rassiter stumbled into
the room. "Fighting, Pook," he gasped, out of breath, "in the lower levels. A
giant barbarian."
"You promised me that you would handle it," Pook growled at him.
"The assassin's friends-" Rassiter began, but Pook had no time for
explanations. Not now.
"Shut the door," he said to Rassiter.
Rassiter quieted and did as he was told. Pook was going to be angry enough
with him when he learned of the disaster in the sewers - no need to press the
point.
The guildmaster turned back to LaValle, this time not asking. "Get him," he
said.
LaValle chanted softly and waved the scepter in front of the Taros Hoop
again, then he reached through the glassy curtain separating the planes and
caught the sleepy Regis by the hair.
"Guenhwyvar!" Regis managed to shout, but then LaValle tugged him through
the portal and he tumbled on the floor, rolling right up to the feet of Pasha
Pook.
"Uh . . . hello," he stammered, looking up at Pook apologetically. "Can we
talk about this?"
Pook kicked him hard in the ribs and planted the butt of his walking stick
on Regis's chest. "You will cry out for death a thousand times before I release
you from this world," the guildmaster promised.
Regis did not doubt a word of it.
21
Where No Sun Shines
Wulfgar dodged and ducked, slipping into the midst of lines of statues or
behind heavy tapestries as he went. There were simply too many of the wererats,
closing in all about him, for him to even hope to escape.
He passed one corridor and saw a group of three ratmen rushing down toward
him. Feigning terror, the barbarian sprinted beyond the opening, then pulled up
short and put his back tight against the corner. When the ratmen rushed into the
room, Wulfgar smashed them down with quick chops of Aegis-fang.
He then retraced their steps back down the passage, hoping that he might
confuse the rest of his pursuers.
He came into a wide room with rows of chairs and a high ceiling - a stage
area for Pook's private showings by performing troupes. A massive chandelier,
thousands of candles burning within its sconces, hung above the center of the
room, and marble pillars, delicately carved into the likenesses of famed heroes
and exotic monsters, lined the walls. Again Wulfgar had no time to admire the
decorations. He noticed only one feature in the chamber: a short staircase along
one side that led up to a balcony.
Ratmen poured in from the room's numerous entrances. Wulfgar looked back
over his shoulder, down the passage, but saw that it, too, was blocked. He
shrugged and sprinted up the stairs, figuring that that route would at least
allow him to fight off his attackers in a line rather than a crowd.
Two wererats rushed up right on his heels, but when Wulfgar made the landing
and turned on them, they realized their disadvantage. The barbarian would have
towered over them on even footing. Now, three steps up, his knees ran level with
their eyes.
It wasn't such a bad position for offense; the wererats could poke at
Wulfgar's unprotected legs. But when Aegis-fang descended in that tremendous
arc, neither of the rat men could possibly slow its momentum. And on the stairs,
they didn't have much room to move out of the way.
The war hammer cracked onto the skull of one ratman with enough force to
break his ankles, and the other, blanching under his brown fur, leaped over the
side of the staircase.
Wulfgar nearly laughed aloud. Then he saw the spears being readied.
He rushed into the balcony for the cover the railings and the chairs might
provide and hoping for another exit. The wererats flooded onto the staircase in
pursuit.
Wulfgar found no other doors. He shook his head, realizing that he was
trapped, and slapped Aegis-fang to the ready.
What was it that Drizzt had told him about luck? That a true warrior always
seemed to find the proper route - the one open path that casual observers might
consider lucky?
Now Wulfgar did laugh out loud. He had killed a dragon once by dislodging an
icicle above its back. He wondered what a huge chandelier with a thousand
burning candles might do to a room full of ratmen.
"Tempus!" the barbarian roared to his battle god, seeking a measure of
deity-inspired luck to aid his way - Drizzt did not know everything, after all!
He launched Aegis-fang with all his strength, breaking into a dead run after the
war hammer.
Aegis-fang twirled across the room as precisely as every throw Wulfgar had
ever made with it. It blasted through the the chandelier's supports, bringing a
fair measure of the ceiling down with it. Ratmen scrambled and dove off to the
side as the massive ball of crystal and flames exploded onto the floor.
Wulfgar, still in stride, planted a foot atop the balcony railing and
leaped.
* * *
Bruenor growled and brought his axe up over his head, meaning to chop the
door to the guildhouse down in a single stroke, but as the dwarf pounded through
the final strides to the place, an arrow whistled over his shoulder, scorching a
hole around the latch, and the door swung free.
Unable to break his momentum, Bruenor barreled through the opening and
tumbled head over heels down the stairs inside, taking the two surprised guards
along with him.
Dazed, Bruenor pulled himself to his knees and looked back up the stairs, to
see Drizzt sprinting down five steps at a stride and Catti-brie just cresting
the top to follow.
"Durn ye, girl!" the dwarf roared. "I told ye to tell me when ye was meaning
to do that!"
"No time," Drizzt interrupted.. He leaped the last seven steps - and clear
over the kneeling dwarf - to intercept two wererats coming in on Bruenor's back.
Bruenor scooped up his helmet, plopped it back in place, and turned to join
the fun, but the two wererats were long dead before the dwarf ever got back to
his feet, and Drizzt was rushing away to the sounds of a larger battle farther
in the complex. Bruenor offered Catti-brie his arm as she came charging past, so
