R. Salvatore - The Collected Stories, The Legend of Drizzt

Out came Charon’s Claw, Entreri’s deadly sword, his jeweled dagger appearing in his other hand. With little regard for those formidable weapons, the two closest of the stone constructs charged in, side by side. Charon’s Claw went out to meet that charge, Entreri snapping the sword left and right to force an opening. He shifted sidelong and rushed ahead, between the stone swords, between the statues, and he managed to snap off a quick slash at one with his sword, and stabbed hard at the other. Both blades bit, and for any mortal creature, either might have proved a fatal strike. But the constructs had no life energy for Entreri’s vampiric dagger to siphon, and no soul for Charon’s Claw to melt.

They were not his preferred opponents, Entreri knew, and he lamented that no one seemed to hire flesh and blood guards anymore.

He didn’t dwell on it, though, and pressed past the two male statues.

The two females came at Entreri fast and hard, leaping at him and clawing the air with stony fingers.

Entreri hit the floor in a sidelong roll. He got kicked by both, but accepted the heavy hits so that he could send both tumbling forward, off balance, to smash into their male counterparts. Stone crumbled and dust flew in the heavy collision, and Entreri was fast to his feet, wading in from behind and bashing hard with his powerful sword.

As the statues unwound and turned on him in force, Entreri called upon another of Charon’s Claw’s tricks, waving the blade in a wide arc and summoning forth a black wall of ash as he did. Behind that optical barrier, the assassin went out to the side, then reversed and charged right back in as the lead statues crashed through the opaque screen.

Again his sword went to work ferociously, chopping at the stone. And again, Entreri waved a wall of clouding ash and rushed away.

In the temporary reprieve, he noted that two of the statues were down and crumbled, and a third, one of the women, was hopping toward him on one leg, its other lying on the floor. Beside it came one of the males, seemingly unscathed.

Entreri rushed ahead to meet that charge before the male could get far out in front of the crippled female. In came the stone sword, and Entreri hooked it expertly with his dagger and turned it out, then jerked it back in as he went out, slipping past the male and going low, then cutting across with his sword, taking the remaining leg from the hopping female. She crashed down hard and Entreri came up fast, planting his foot on her face and springing away just in front of a mighty downward chop from the male’s sword.

A downward chop that split the female’s head in half.

Entreri hit the ground in a spin and came right back in, one against one. He slipped Charon’s Claw inside the blade of the thrusting stone sword, then lifted as he turned to drive the weapon and weapon arm up high. He stepped forward and jabbed his dagger hard into the armpit of the statue, then disengaged Charon’s Claw at such an angle that he was able to crack it down across the statue’s face as he moved off to the side. The statue turned to pursue, but Entreri was already reversing his direction, moving with perfect balance and sudden speed.

He hit the statue across the face again as he passed, but that was merely the feint, for as the statue threw its sword arm up to block, Entreri turned and rushed under that arm, coming out the other way in perfect balance and position to slam Charon’s Claw against the upper arm of the already-damaged sword arm.

That arm fell to the floor.

The statue came on, clawing at him with its one hand. Entreri’s blades worked in a blur, expertly taking the fingers from the statue’s hand one at a time.

Then he whittled the hand to a stump in short order. The statue tried to head butt him, but its head fell to the floor.

“Stubborn rock,” Entreri remarked, and he lifted his foot up, braced it against the torso, and shoved the lifeless thing away and to the floor.

His weapons went away in the flash of an eye, and he turned to regard the room, taking in the sight of treasure after treasure.

“I’m working for the wrong person,” he mumbled, awestricken.

He shrugged and began his search for the driftwood flute of Idalia. Before long, he realized that the destroyed statues were deconstructing, their essence and materials drifting back out the open door to the columns-as he’d expected they would.

When they were finally back in place outside on the columns, magically repairing as if nothing had happened, Entreri closed and locked the door. Anyone approaching would think all was as it had been, or so he hoped.

As soon as the couple walked through the tower door and he got a good look at the infamous Ilnezhara, Entreri wondered if there might not be more to Tazmikella’s antipathy toward her former friend than simple merchant rivalry. For Ilnezhara seemed everything that Tazmikella was not. Her hair hung long and lustrous, and so rich in hue that Entreri couldn’t decide if it was reddish-blond or reddish-brown, or even copper colored, perhaps. Her eyes were blue and big-enormous, actually, but they did not unbalance her bright face. Though her nose was thin and straight, and her cheekbones high and pronounced, her lips were as thick and delicious as any Entreri had ever seen. She was taller than the five-and-a-half-foot Jarlaxle by several inches, and moved her slender form with as much grace as the nimble drow.

“I do find you entertaining,” she said to the drow, and she tossed her thick hair.

Entreri knew that he was well hidden, tucked in a cranny partly covered by a tapestry and concealed by a many-armed rack holding bowls of many colors. There was no way that Ilnezhara could see him, but when she tossed her hair and her face flashed his way, he felt the intensity of her gaze upon him.

She went right back to her conversation with Jarlaxle, and Entreri silently scolded himself. When had he ever so questioned his abilities? Had he been taken in by the woman’s beauty? He shook the thought away and concentrated on the conversation playing out before him. The couple were seated on a divan then, with Ilnezhara curled up beside the charming drow, her finger delicately tracing circles on his chest, for she had opened the top two buttons of his fine white shirt. She was speaking of entertainment, still.

“It is my way,” Jarlaxle replied. “I have traveled so many of the surface lands, from tavern to tavern and palace to palace, entertaining peasants and kings alike. I find my charms my only defense against the inevitable impressions offered by my black skin.”

“With song? Will you sing to me, Jarlaxle?”

“Song, yes, but my talents are more musical.”

“With instruments? I have a fine collection, of course.”

She pulled herself from the divan and began striding toward the back of the room. There were indeed many instruments back there, Entreri knew, for of course he had searched much of the tower already. Several lutes and a magnificent harp, all of exceeding quality and workmanship, graced the back area of this first floor.

“Your wonderful fingers must trace delicate sounds about the strings of a lute,” Ilnezhara said-rather lewdly, Entreri thought-as she lifted a lute from a soft case to show to Jarlaxle.

“In truth, it is my kiss,” said the drow. Entreri tried not to let his disgusted sigh be heard. “My breath. I favor the flute above all.”

“The flute?” echoed Ilnezhara. “Why, indeed, I have one of amazing timbre, though it is not much to view.”

Jarlaxle leaned toward her. Entreri held his breath, not even realizing that it all seemed too easy.

Ilnezhara continued toward the back of the room.

“Would you like to see it?” she asked coyly. “Or rather, would you like to see where I keep it?”