Sea of Swords pod-4

by Robert Salvatore

  Thus the pair were perfectly unprepared for what befell the House of Deudermont that dark night.

  Gayselle was the first to Deudermont's front door, accompanied by one of the brutes who, using the polymorph potion, was doing a pretty fair imitation of the physical traits of Captain Deudermont. So good, in fact, that Gayselle found herself wondering if she had misnamed the brute Dumb-bunny. With a look around to see that the streets were quiet, Gayselle nodded to Lumpy, who was standing at the end of the walk, between the two hedgerows. Immediately, the brute began rubbing its feet on the stones, gaining traction and grinning wickedly.

  One of the double doors opened to the knock, just three or four inches, for it was, as expected, secured with a chain. A cleanshaven, large man with short black hair and a brow so furrowed it seemed as if it could shield his eyes from a noonday sun, answered.

  “Can I help you …?”

  His voice trailed off, though, as he scanned the man standing behind the woman, a man who surely resembled Captain Deudermont.

  “I have brought the brother of Captain Deudermont,” Gayselle answered. “Come to speak with his long-lost sibling.”

  The guard's eyes widened for just a moment, then he resumed his steely, professional demeanor. “Well met,” he offered, “but I fear that your brother is not in Waterdeep at this time. Tell me where you will be staying and I will inform him as soon as he returns.”

  “Our funds are low,” Gayselle answered quickly. “We have been on the road for a long time. We were hoping to find shelter here.”

  The guard thought it over for just a moment but then shook his head. His orders concerning such matters were uncompromising, despite this surprising twist, and especially so with a woman and her child as guests in the house. He started to explain, to tell them he was sorry, but that they could find shelter at one of several inns for a reasonable price.

  Gayselle was hardly listening. She casually looked back down the walk, to the eager half-ogre. The pirate gave a slight nod, setting Lumpy into a charge.

  “Perhaps you will then open your door for the third of my group,” the woman said sweetly.

  Again the guard shook his head. “I doubt—” he started to say, but then his words and his breath were stolen away as the half-ogre hit the doors in a dead run, splintering wood and tearing free the chain anchors. The guard was thrown back and to the floor, and the half-ogre stumbled in to land atop him.

  In went Gayselle and the Deudermont impersonator, drawing weapons. The half-ogre willed away the illusionary image, dropping the human facade.

  The guard on the floor started to call out, as he tried to scramble away from the half-ogre, but Gayselle was there, dagger in hand. With a swift and sure movement, she slashed open his throat.

  The second guard came through the door at the side of the foyer. Then, his expression one of the purest horror, he sprinted for the stands.

  Gayselle's dagger caught him in the back of the leg, hamstringing him. He continued on stubbornly, limping up the stairs and calling out. Dumb-bunny caught up to him and with fearful strength yanked him off the stairs and sent him flying back down to the bottom. The other half-ogre waited there.

  Grumpy, still in human form, entered. He calmly closed the doors, though one no longer sat straight on its bent hinges.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Delly heard clearly the sour note from below that ended her song. Having grown up around ruffians, having seen and been involved in many, many brawls, the woman understood the gist of what was happening below.

  “By the gods,” she muttered, biting off a wail before it could give her and Colson away.

  She hugged the child close to her and rushed to the door. She cracked it, peeked out, then swung it wide. She paused only long enough to kick off her hard shoes, knowing they would give her away, then padded quietly along the corridor between the wall and the banister. She hugged the wall, not wanting to be spotted from the foyer below, and that, she could tell from the noises— grunting and heavy punches—was where the intruders were. Had she been alone, she would have rushed down the stairs and joined in the fight, but with Colson in her arms, the woman's only thoughts were for the safety of her child.

  Past the front stairs, Delly turned down a side passage and ran full out, cutting through Deudermont's personal suite to the back staircase. Down she went, holding her breath with every step, for she had no way of knowing if others might be in the house, perhaps even in the room below.

  She heard a noise above her and understood that she had few options, so she pushed right through the door into the elaborate drawing room. One of the windows was open across the wide room. A chill breeze was blowing in, just catching the edge of one opened drape, fluttering it below the sash tie.

  Delly considered the route. Those large windows overlooked a rocky drop to the cove. She cursed herself then for having discarded her shoes, but she knew in her heart that it made little difference. The climb was too steep and too treacherous—she doubted the intruders had gained access from that direction— and she didn't dare attempt it with Colson in her arms.

  But where to go?

  She turned for the room's main doors, leading to a corridor to the foyer. There were side rooms off that corridor, including the kitchen, which held a garbage chute. Thinking she and Colson could hide in there, she rushed to the doors and cracked them open—but slammed them immediately and dropped the locking bar across them when she saw the approach of hulking figures. She heard running steps on the other side, followed by a tremendous crash as someone hurled himself against the locked doors.

  Delly glanced all around, to the stairs and the open window, not knowing where she should run. So flustered was she that she didn't even see another form slip into the room.

  The doors got hit again and started to crack. Delly heard one powerful man pounding hard against the wood. The woman retreated.

  Then came some running footsteps, and another threw himself against the doors. They burst open, a large hulking form going down atop the pile of kindling. A woman entered, flanked by one, and the second as the door-breaker stood up. They were two of the ugliest, most imposing brutes Delly Curtie had ever seen. She didn't know what they were, having had few experiences outside of Luskan, but from their splotchy greenish skin and sheer size she understood that they had to be some kind of giantkin.

  “Well, well, pretty one,” said the strange woman with a wicked smile. “You're not thinking of leaving before the party is over, are you?”

  Delly turned for the stairs but didn't even start that way, seeing yet another of the brutes slowly descending, eyeing her lewdly with every step.

  Delly considered the window behind her, the one that she and Wulfgar used to spend so many hours at, watching the setting sun or the reflection of the stars on the dark waters. She couldn't possibly get out and away without being caught, but she honestly considered that route anyway, thought of running full speed and throwing herself and Colson down onto the rocks, ending it quickly and mercifully.

  Delly Curtie knew this type of ruffian and understood that she was surely doomed.

  The woman and her two companions took a step toward her.

  The window, Delly decided. She turned and fled, determined to leap far and wide to ensure a quick and painless end.

  But the third giantkin had come down from the stairs by then, Delly's hesitation costing her the suicidal escape. The brute caught her easily with one huge arm, pinning her tightly to its massive chest.

  It turned back, laughing, and was joined by the howls of its two ogre companions. The woman, though, seemed hardly amused. She stalked up to Delly, eyeing her every inch.

  “You're Deudermont's woman, aren't you?” she asked.

  “No,” Delly answered honestly, but her sincerity was far from apparent in her tone, since she was trembling so with fear.

  She wasn't so much afraid for herself as for Colson, though she knew that the next few moments of her life, likely the last fe
w moments of her life, were going to be as horrible as anything she had ever known.

  The strange woman calmly walked over to her, smiling. “Deudermont is your man?”

  “No,” Delly repeated, a bit more confidently.

  The woman slapped her hard across the face, a blow that had Delly staggering back a step. A thug promptly pulled her forward, though, back into striking range.

  “She's a tender one,” the brute said with a lewd chuckle, and it gave Delly’s arms a squeeze. “We plays with her 'fore we eats her!”

  The other two in the room started laughing, one of them gyrating its hips crudely.

  Delly felt her legs going weak beneath her, but she gritted her teeth and strengthened her resolve, realizing that she had a duty that went beyond the sacrifice that was soon to be forced upon her.

  “Do as ye will with me,” she said. “And I'll be making it good for ye, so long as ye don't hurt me baby.”

  The strange woman's eyes narrowed as Delly said that, the woman obviously not thrilled about Delly taking any kind of control at all. “You get your fun later,” she said to her three companions, then she swiveled her head, scanning each in turn. “Now go and gather some loot. You wouldn't wish to face the boss without any loot, now would you?”

  The brute holding Delly tensed at the words but didn't let her go. Its companions, however, scrambled wildly, falling all over each other in an attempt to satisfy their boss's demands.

  “Please,” Delly said to the woman. “I'm not a threat to ye and won't be any trouble. Just don't be hurting me babe. Ye're a woman, so ye know.”

  “Shut your mouth,” the stranger interrupted harshly.

  “Eats 'em both!” the giantkin holding Delly shouted, taking a cue from the woman's dismissive tone.

  The woman came forward a step, hand upraised, and Delly flinched. But this slap went past her, striking the surprised brute. The woman stepped back, eyeing Delly once more.

  “We will see about the baby,” she said calmly.

  “Please,” Delly pleaded.

  “For yourself, you're done with, and you know it,” the woman went on, ignoring her. “But you tell us the best loot and we might take pity on the little one. I might even consider taking her in myself.”

  Delly tried hard not to wince at that wretched thought.

  The stranger's smile widened as she leaned closer, regarding the child. “She can not be pointing us out to the watch, after all, now can she?”

  Delly knew she should say something constructive at that point, knew that she should sort through the terror and the craziness of all of this and lead the woman on in the best direction for the sake of Colson. But it proved to be too much for her, a stymieing realization that she was soon to die, that her daughter was in mortal peril, and there was not a thing she could do about it. She stuttered and stammered and in the end said nothing at all.

  The woman curled up her fist and punched Delly hard, right in the face. As Delly fell away, the stranger tore Colson from her arms.

  Delly reached out even as she fell, trying to grab the baby back, but the big thug drove a heavy forearm across her chest, speeding her descent. She landed hard on her back, and the brute wasted no time in scrambling atop her.

  A crash from the side granted her a temporary reprieve, all eyes turning to see one of the other brutes standing amidst a pile of broken dinnerware—very expensive dinnerware.

  “Find something for carrying it, you fool!” the woman yelled at him. She glanced all about the room, finally settling her gaze on one of the heavy, long drapes, then motioned for the creature to be quick.

  She gave a disgusted sigh, then stepped forward and kicked the brute that was still atop Delly hard in the ribs. “Just kill the witch and be done with it,” she said.

  The brute looked up at her, as defiant as any of them had yet been, and shook its head.

  To Belly's dismay, the woman merely waved away the ugly creature, giving in.

  Delly closed her eyes and tried to let her mind fly free of her body.

  The thug that had dropped the dinnerware scrambled across the room to the drapery beside the open window and with one great tug, pulled it free. The brute started to turn back for the remaining dinnerware, but it stopped, regarding a curious sculpture revealed by removing the curtain. It was a full-sized elf figure, dressed in the garb of an adventurer and apparently made of some ebony material, black stone or wood. It stood with eyes closed and two ornate scimitars presented in a cross-chest pose.

  “Huh?” the brute said.

  “Huh?” it said again, reaching slowly to feel the smooth skin.

  The eyes popped open, penetrating, lavender orbs that froze the giantkin in place, that seemed to tell the brute without the slightest bit of doubt that its time in this world was fast ending.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  With a blur the creature hardly even registered, the “statue” exploded into motion, scimitars cutting left and right. Around spun the drow elf, gaining momentum for even mightier slashes. A double-cut, one scimitar following the other, opened the stunned half-ogre from shoulder to hip. A quick-step put the drow right beside the falling brute. He reversed his grip with his right hand and plunged one enchanted blade deeply into the half-ogre's back, severing its spine, then half-turned and hamstrung the beast—both legs—with a precise and devastating slash of the other blade.

  Drizzt stepped aside as the dying half-ogre crumbled to the floor.

  “You should probably get off of her,” the drow said casually to the next brute; who was laying atop Delly, staring at Drizzt incredulously.

  Before the pirate woman could even growl out, “Kill him!” the third half-ogre charged across the room at Drizzt, a course that brought him right past the opened window. Halfway across, a flying black form intercepted the brute. Six hundred pounds of snapping teeth and raking claws stopped dead the half-ogre's progress toward Drizzt and launched it back toward the center of the room.

  The brute flailed wildly, but the panther had too many natural weapons and too much sheer strength. Guenhwyvar snapped one forearm in her maw, then ripped her head back and forth, shattering the bone and tearing the flesh. All the while, the panther's front paws clawed repeatedly at the frantic brute's face, too quick for the other arm to block. Guen's powerful back legs found holds on the half-ogre's legs and torso, claws digging in, then tearing straight back.

  The surviving half-ogre rolled off of Delly and onto its feet. It lifted its weapon, a heavy broadsword, and rushed the drow, thinking to cut Drizzt in half with a single stroke.

  The slashing sword met only air as the agile drow easily sidestepped the blow, then poked Twinkle into the brute's belly and danced another step away.

  The half-ogre grabbed at the wound, but only for a moment. It came on fast with a straightforward thrust.

  The scimitar Icingdeath, in Drizzt's left hand, easily turned the broadsword to the side. Drizzt stepped forward beside the lunging brute and poked it hard again with Twinkle, this time the scimitar's tip scratching off a thick rib.

  The half-ogre roared and spun, slashing mightily as it went, expecting to cut Drizzt in half. Again the blade cut only air.

  The half-ogre paused, dumbfounded, for its opponent was nowhere to be seen.

  “Strong, but slow,” came the drow's voice behind it. “Terrible combination.”

  The half-ogre howled in fear and leaped to the side, but Icingdeath was quicker, slashing in hard at the side of its neck. The half-ogre took three running strides, hand going up to its torn neck, then stumbled to one knee, then to the ground, writhing in agony.

  Drizzt started toward it to finish it off but changed direction and stopped cold, staring hard at the woman who had backed to the wall beside the room's broken doors. The baby girl was in her arms, with a narrow, deadly dagger pressed up against the child's throat.

  “What business does a dark elf have in Waterdeep?” the woman asked, trying to sound calm and confident, but obviously sha
ken. “If you wish the house as your own target, I will leave it to you. I assure you I have no interest in speaking with the authorities.” The woman paused and stared hard at Drizzt, a smile of recognition at last coming over her.

  “You are no drow come from the lightless depths as part of a raid,” the woman remarked. “You sailed with Deudermont.”

  Drizzt bowed to her and didn't even bother trying to stop the last half-ogre he had grievously wounded as it crawled toward the woman. Across the room, Guenhwyvar stalked about the wall, flanking the woman, leaving the other half-ogre torn and dead in a puddle of its own blood and gore.

  “And who are you who comes unbidden to the House of Deudermont?” Drizzt asked. “Along with some less-than-acceptable companions.”

  “Give me Colson!” pleaded the second woman—who must have been Delly Curtie. She was still on the floor, propped on her elbows. “Oh, please. She has done nothing.”

  “Silence!” the pirate roared at her. She looked back at Drizzt, pointedly turning that nasty dagger over and over against the child's throat. “She will get her child back, and alive,” the woman explained. “Once I am out of here, running free.”

  “You bargain with that which you only think you possess,” Drizzt remarked, coming forward a step.

  The half-ogre had reached its boss by that time. With great effort, it worked itself into a kneeling position before her, climbing its arms up the wall and pulling itself to its knees.

  Gayselle gave it one look, then her hand flashed, driving her dagger deep into the brute's throat. It fell away gasping, dying.

  The woman, obviously no novice to battle, had the dagger back at the child's throat in an instant, a flashing movement that made Delly cry out and had both Drizzt and Guenhwyvar breaking for her briefly. But only briefly, for that dagger was in place too quickly, and there could be no doubt that she would put it to use.