R. Salvatore - Night of the Hunter

The assassin didn’t know whether to hang there and let it all play out or find a way to join in the melee. He brought his metal scrap up to the lock and slipped it in, easily managing the tumblers. But when the cage was unlocked, he held it tightly closed, still unsure of his course and not wanting to get stung by Berellip’s lightning glyph.

His leg and his ribs ached from the beating the drider had put upon him. He put more weight on that particularly injured leg, ensuring that it would hold his weight. Then he settled his thoughts and reached into his warrior core, determined to ignore the pain if the need arose.

He watched the unwinding battle and waited and figured he’d sort it out.

And indeed he did, almost immediately, when he saw Drizzt in trouble across the way, squared up against a pair of skilled drow warriors, and more so when he saw a third enemy approaching him, swords in hand.

“To the lower tunnels!” he heard a fourth dark elf call to that one, and the swordsman nodded but did not veer to follow.

Nay, that third drow came for Entreri, his hands wringing eagerly around his weapon hilts, his intent clear in his red eyes.

Entreri set his cage to swinging.

“They’ll not have you, iblith !” the drow said, rushing in fast to stab at him. He thrust his sword through the bands of metal, or tried to, but Entreri deftly rotated the hanging and swinging cage so that as the sword came through, the band of metal went against it and turned it.

And at that same moment, Entreri opened the cage, back across from the thrusting sword, and threw himself backward and up. The lightning glyph charged into him, but he was expecting it, and used to it, though his foe was not.

Indeed, as that shock went up the blade of the sword, to the hilt and into the grasping hand, the drow yelped in pain and surprise and dropped the weapon.

And around came the cage in its swing, its door, arcing with lightning magic, opened like a biting maw.

The drow was too quick for that, though, and he fell back, but first fell down to the floor to retrieve his blade.

Except that his blade was not there.

And the swinging, sparking cage was empty.

Down low, caught by utter surprise, and against Artemis Entreri, the drow had no chance. He managed to block the first stab, even to deflect the second, and he almost got his legs back under him to stand.

Almost.

He felt the blood fountaining from his collar, felt the human pull the second sword from his grasp, felt the stone floor, which suddenly seemed so cold.

So cold.

Wulfgar tangled with a horde of goblins, several bloodthirsty enemies leaping all over each other to get at him.

Regis faced just one opponent, but he would have gladly traded places with his large friend. For this was a drow, a dark elf warrior, supremely armed and armored and trained, and it only took the halfling the first exchange-his rapier thrust easily knocked aside and his dirk barely clipping the thrusting sword in time to move it aside of his face-for him to realize that he was sorely overmatched.

On came the drow with a dazzling flourish, and Regis retreated fast and thought to simply warp-step as the first movement in a full retreat!

But no, a snake was in his hand, re-grown on the dagger, and as the drow pursued, the halfling threw it at him. Up it crawled, the leering spectral face appeared, and the charging drow’s feet came out from under him as he was yanked backward.

“Heigh-ho!” Regis cheered and leaped ahead to stab at him, but he skidded to a fast stop as the drow twisted around and stabbed back over his shoulder into that leering face, which disappeared in a heartbeat.

Still twisting and rolling, the formidable drow was back on his feet before Regis had taken another step.

“Wulfgar!” Regis cried, throwing the second snake, and again the drow was tugged back, and again he stabbed and broke free and came back up.

And charged, and Regis shot him in the face with his hand crossbow.

The drow staggered forward, Regis fell to the ground, and a great sweep of Aegis-fang swept the air above him and sent the dark elf spinning away.

“Well fought!” Wulfgar congratulated.

Regis nodded as he stood once more, not disagreeing, but surely glad that he was surrounded by such fine allies … and carrying such unusual and powerful toys.

And doubly glad when he saw the next enemies charging fast into the fray, a trio of horrid abominations, huge half-spiders that the halfling knew were far beyond him, with or without his toys.

The drow battled wildly, stabbing up with her knife, but Guenhwyvar caught her arms in curling claws and held her firmly as the panther’s back claws went into a swift rake. One feline foot caught hold and the sheer power of the cat pulled the drow from her defensive curl. Fine armor, this one wore, but the claws caught hold repeatedly and tore at the supporting leather straps, loosening the various mail pieces and allowing Guenhwyvar’s next rake to take a bit more flesh.

The drow tried hard to break free, throwing herself to the side, and Guenhwyvar did retract the claws of one paw.

If the drow thought it a small victory, the hope was short-lived, though, as that paw came down upon her face, claws extending, hooking.

A heavy blow struck Guenhwyvar in the flank, throwing the cat around sideways. She went with the weight of it, roaring in pain and anger, and tugged her claw free, taking the drow’s face with it. Before she had even settled, Guenhwyvar slashed across, snapping the long spear that had embedded in her flank, and sprang away fearlessly, flying into the torso of the intervening drider.

The creature closed up to accept the hit and brought its half spear in to batter the cat.

The panther drove on, kicking and clawing and biting, her maw always snapping for the drider’s face, forcing it back, back, until Guenhwyvar could scale a bit higher and drive a bit harder, and the tangled combatants rolled over in a thrashing heap.

The drider cried out for help, but no goblins would go near this deadly cat, and suddenly there seemed to be few dark elves around.

The drider cried out again, but found that it was yelling right into Guenhwyvar’s mouth as the panther bit down powerfully upon its face.

“Split them, girl!” Bruenor called, and Catti-brie was already deep into her spellcasting. She stepped up between Bruenor on her right, Regis on her left, and with Wulfgar to the left of him, and sent a line a fire running out from her extended hands, right at the drider in the middle of the approaching trio.

The targeted drider screeched and tried to go to its right, for the fury of the wall of fire burned out the other way, but just as the spidery creature came free of the blinding flames, Aegis-fang crashed against it, jolting it and stunning it and driving it back the other way, back into the conflagration.

Catti-brie fell back and moved behind Bruenor as he broke out to the side, and she began casting immediately.

On came the drider on that side, the hot side, of the fire wall, and out charged Bruenor to meet it. The dwarf slid in low on his knees, under the creature’s stabbing long spear, and he cracked his axe against the hard exoskeleton of the monster’s front leg.

Up came his foaming-mug buckler, turning aside another spear stab, and Bruenor hit it again.

Then the dwarf leaped back, blinded and surprised as a lightning bolt sizzled over his head, slamming his opponent and staggering the drider backward.

Catti-brie had forked that bolt, Bruenor realized, for behind his opponent came the middle drider, batting at the stubborn flames that curled and ate its skin. The force of the lightning bolt jolted the distracted creature backward, its trailing legs collapsing, and down it went, halfway to the floor, the hungry flames still biting.