R. Salvatore - The Companions

Regis yelped and threw his left hand up and across, catching the saber between its main blade and the one catch prod.

The one catch prod?

Regis didn’t understand as he noted the dirk, with only one of its jade snake catch blades showing. As he turned the saber out, he noticed the second jade serpent, and thought for a moment that it had magically curled down around his hand to secure his grip.

He yelped again, though, and much louder and with more fear, when he realized that the second snake was detached altogether! Detached and alive on his hand!

The tall man bulled forward, throwing the halfling backward, and out of sheer desperation, Regis stabbed his dirk hand forward and flung the small snake free. The halfling tumbled backward to the floor as the serpent flew, and he and his opponent both cried out when it landed on the tall man’s blouse. Hardly slowing, the snake slithered up fast, ahead of the man’s slapping hands and up to his neck.

And there the tiny thing-no longer than Regis’s forearm-wrapped around the tall man’s throat front to back, and when the ruffian reached to grab at it, he was tugged backward suddenly, arched over as if someone were behind him, choking him with a garrote.

A cold sensation flooded through Regis then, a profound and deathly chill. of the DesaiIdweon

And he saw a face leering at him from over the tall man’s shoulder, a withered face, a dead man’s face, the face of a ghost or a lich-Ebonsoul! Wide-eyed, the halfling cracked his boots against the floor and backstepped furiously. Regis couldn’t breathe, and neither, of course, could the tall man, who dropped his blade and grabbed at the snake with both hands, struggling mightily, his eyes bulging.

And the leering dead face seemed to be laughing, puffs of cold steam coming out of its mouth.

Then, with a burst of rolling gray smoke, the specter was gone.

The tall man fell over, quite dead, the snake lying limply now across his throat.

“Collect yourself,” Regis whispered through gasps. “Compose.” He pulled himself to a kneeling position, then glanced at his dirk. The one catch blade remained, and across the hilt to where the other had been, he saw the bud of a snake’s head, just beginning to sprout.

It would grow anew, he understood, much as the prism ring on his hand would recharge its magic. It was the magic of the blade that had slain the bad pirate, not Ebonsoul, though likely this had been the lich’s own dagger, Regis figured as he came to understand its value and power.

He went to his two enemies to ensure that they were dead, and relieved them of their coins, gems, and jewelry in the process. He prodded the serpent with his dirk, even rolled it over, but there was no life left in it.

He looked at the weapon once more, and it seemed to him as if the second blade had already grown a tiny bit more.

“It’s a magic item, not a curse,” he told himself. He recalled Wigglefingers’s claim that the dirk had other powers, and more importantly, that it had no sentience or ego, as so many powerfully enchanted weapons were known to possess. He thought of the leering specter and was glad of that.

The halfling took a deep breath and steadied himself. He had fancied himself a hero, had determined that he would be one this time around, that he would be a valuable member of the Companions of the Hall and not a tag-along to be protected. He nodded, looked to his weapons, and looked at his handiwork.

This was what it meant to be a hero. He wouldn’t shy from a fight, and he darned well meant to win them.

He nodded again, reminding himself that this fight was only half over.

The finely dressed halfling strode confidently around the wagons and into the light of the blazing campfire. He grinned back at the stupefied expressions of the two men-of course they were shocked, since they had paid to have him murdered, and yet, here he was!

As he walked past the burly Yoger, Regis pulled his hand crossbow out from under his traveling cloak and shot the man in the face, then dropped the weapon. It jangled down by his legs, for he had tethered it to his belt. With a flick of his wrist, Regis tossed a small serpent at the groaning man. It bounced against his belly and magically caught there, then slithered up fast, before the fool could begin to react.

Yoger cried out, then began to gasp and choke, but Regis never looked at him. Regis just kept walking toward Kermillon, his rapier and dirk still in his belt. Kermillon grabbed a small log from near the fire and began shouting out, warning the halfling back.

But Regis kept coming.

He heard Yoger fall over behind him, thrashing and kicking. He heard others from the nearby wagons calling out, confused, but he kept his focus on Kermillon, who waved the log threateningly.

Just as he stepped into range, just as the man began to swing, Regis activated his prism ring and warp-stepped past. Regis knew what to expect from it this time, and he leaped and twisted as he moved, spinning around. He landed just behind and to the side of Kermillon, and with his rapier in hand. He promptly stabbed up under the man’s ear, puncturing the skin, but just barely.

“Kindly drop the log,” he said, and when Kermillon hesitated, he stabbed the rapier in a bit more.

“Oh, please, Sir Spider!” Kermillon gasped, leaning over away from the pressing rapier tip.

“Kneel,” Regis ordered, and Kermillon slumped to his knees.

Regis looked past him then, to Yoger who continued to thrash and kick and squirm for all his life, but to no avail. Others came into the firelight just as Yoger went straight out, his legs twitching in the spasms of death.

“Here now, what?” another driver called to Regis and Kermillon. Others ran to Yoger.

“What’s this about then, little one?” another man demanded. “Tell them,” Regis said to Kermillon. The man said nothing.

“Tell them or I will slide my blade into your head, and explain my actions to them while I am wiping your brains off onto your shirt.”

Drivers, passengers, and merchants from the marketplace alike began to gather, forming a wall around the small fire and the combatants.

“You best be talking,” one demanded.

“Aye, and we best like your explaining!” another added.

Regis prodded his blade and Kermillon gave a little cry.

“Speak truthfully and I will lobby for leniency,” Regis said.

“I don’t know …,” Kermillon started.

“Two dead across the way!” announced a newcomer, a halfling dressed for the road and for battle it seemed. He walked into the light, a trio of other halflings similarly adorned right behind him. “Stuffings is dead in his tent,” the halfling went on. “Stuffings and the tall one. It would appear as if they tried to take advantage of a guest this night, and would I be right in assuming that we have that guest standing right before us?”

“Stuffings?” Regis asked.

“Stuffantle Tinderkeg to any who cared,” the halfling replied. “Just Stuffings to all the rest.”

“Aye, he coaxed me into his lair with the promise of a bed and a bath, and on coin from these two.” He prodded a bit and Kermillon yelped and leaned to the side. “Do tell them.”

“On your life, driver,” the other halfling said and he drew out a gleaming short sword.

“We did! We did!” Kermillon babbled. “But not to kill him! No, just to rob … and this one!” He fell away as the rapier was withdrawn, and turned back, poking a finger Regis’s way. “This one! All boasts and endless coin! Ah, but he’s a rat, I tell you! Insufferable rat!”

Regis laughed and snapped his rapier across, taking the man’s poking fingerline-height: Idweon before tucking it away in his belt as Kermillon curled up on the ground, howling in pain.