Robert Salvatore: Sea of Swords

“Here we go,” Catti-brie whispered to him a moment later.

Regis kept his eyes closed, kept his hand tap-tapping, at a quicker pace now. He did peek out of his left eye just a bit, to see a trio of scruffy-looking rogues walking down the road.

Catti-brie brought the wagon to a halt. “Oh, good sirs!” she cried. “Can ye be helpin' me and me boy, if ye please? My man done got hisself killed back at the mountain pass, and I'm thinking we're a bit o' the lost. Been days going back and forth, and not knowing which way's best for the Ten-Towns.”

“Very clever,” Regis whispered, covering his words by smacking his lips and shifting in his seat, seeming very much asleep.

Indeed, the halfling was impressed by the way Catti-brie had covered their movements, back and forth along the road, over the last few days. If the band had been watching, they'd be less suspicious now.

“But I don't know what I'm to do!” Catti-brie pleaded, her voice taking on a shrill, fearful edge. “Me and me boy here, all alone and lost!”

“We'll be helping ye,” said the skinny man in the center, redheaded and with a beard that reached nearly to his belt.

“But fer a price,” explained the rogue to his left, the largest of the three, holding a huge battle-axe across his shoulders.

“A price?” Catti-brie asked.

“The price of your wagon,” said the third, seeming the most refined of the group, in accent and in appearance. He wore a colorful vest and tunic, yellow on red, and had a fine-looking rapier set in his belt on his left hip.

Regis and Catti-brie exchanged glances, hardly surprised.

Behind them they heard a bump, and Regis bit his lip, hoping Bruenor wouldn't crash out and ruin everything. Their plans had been carefully laid, their initial movements choreographed to the last step.

Another bump came from behind, but the halfling had already draped his arm over the bench and banged his fist on the backboard of the seat to cover the sound.

He looked to Catti-brie, at the intensity of her blue eyes, and knew it would be his turn to move very, very soon.

* * * * * * * *

He'll be the most formidable, Catti-brie told herself, looking to the rogue on the right, the most refined of the trio. She did glance to the other end of their line, though, at the huge man. She didn't doubt for a moment that he could cut her in two with that monstrous axe of his.

“And a bit o' the womanflesh,” the rogue on the left remarked, showing an eager, gap-toothed smile. The man in the middle smiled evilly, as well, but the one on the right glanced at the other two with disdain.

“Bah, but she's lost her husband, so she's said!” the burly one argued. “She could be using a good ride, I'd be guessing.”

The image of Khazid’hea, her razor-sharp sword, prodding the buffoon's groin, crossed Catti-brie's mind, but she did well to hide her smile.

“Your wagon will, perhaps, suffice,” the refined highwayman explained, and Catti-brie noted that he hadn't ruled out a few games with her completely.

Yes, she understood this one well enough. He'd try to take with his charms what the burly one would grab with his muscles. It would be more fun for him if she played along, after all.

“And all that's in it, of course,” the refined highwayman went on. “A pity we must accept this donation of your goods, but I fear that we, too, must survive out here, patrolling the roads.”

“Is that what ye're doing, then?” Catti-brie asked. “I'd've marked ye out as a bunch o' worthless thieves, meself.”

That opened their eyes!

“Two to the right and three to the left,” Catti-brie whispered to Regis. “The dogs in front are mine.”

“Of course they are,” Regis replied, and Catti-brie glanced over at him in surprise.

That surprise lasted only a moment, though, only the time it took for Catti-brie to remind herself that Regis understood her so very well, and had likely followed her emotions through the discussion with the highwayman as clearly as she had recognized them herself.

She turned back to the halfling, smiling wryly, and gave a slight motion, then turned back to the highwaymen.

“Ye've no call or right to be taking anything,” she said to the thieves, putting just enough of a tremor in her voice to make them think her bold front was just that, a front hiding sheer terror.

Regis yawned and stretched, then popped wide his eyes, feigning surprise and terror. He gave a yelp and leaped off the right side of the wagon, running out into the mud.

Catti-brie took the cue, standing tall, and in a single tug pulling off her phony woolen dress, tossing it aside and revealing herself as the warrior she was. Out came Khazid’hea, the deadly Cutter, and the woman reached under the lip of the wagon seat, pulling forth her bow. She leaped ahead, one stride along the hitch and to the ground beside the horse, pulling the beast forward in a sudden rush, using its bulk to separate the big man from his two partners.

* * * * * * *

The three thugs to the left hand side of the wagon saw the movement and leaped up from the mud, drawing swords and howling as they charged forward.

A lithe and quick-moving form rose up from a crouch behind a small banking to the side of them, silent as a ghost, and seeming almost to float, so quick were its feet moving, across the sloppy ground.

Shining twin scimitars came out from under the folds of a gray cloak; a white smile and violet eyes greeting the charging trio.

“ 'Ere, get him!” one thug cried and all three went at the drow. Their movements, two stabbing thrusts and a wild slash, were uncoordinated and awkward.

Drizzt's right arm went straight out to the side, presenting Icingdeath at a perfect angle to deflect the sidelong slash way up high, while his left hand worked over and in, driving the concave side of Twinkle down across both stabbing blades. Down came Icingdeath as Twinkle retracted, to slam against the extended swords, and down and across came Twinkle, to hit them both again. A subtle dip and duck backward had the drow's head clear of the outraged thug's backhand slash, and Drizzt snapped Icingdeath up quickly enough to stick the man in the hand as the sword whistled past.

The thug howled and let go, his sword flying free.

But not far, for the drow was already in motion with his left hand. He brought Twinkle across to hook the blade as it spun free. What followed was a dance that mesmerized the three thugs. A swift movement of the twin scimitars had the sword spinning in the air, over, under, and about, with the drow playing a song, it seemed, on the weapon's sides.

Drizzt finished with an over and about movement of Icingdeath that perfectly presented the sword back to its original owner.

“Surely you can do better than that,” the smiling drow offered as the hilt of the sword landed perfectly in the hand of the stunned thug.

The man screamed and dropped his weapon to the ground, turning around and running off.

“It's the Drizzit!” another of them shouted, similarly following.

The third, though, out of fear or anger or stupidity, came on instead. His sword worked furiously, forward in a thrust then back, then forward higher and in a roundabout turn back down.

Or at least, it started down.

Up came the drow's scimitars, hitting it alternately, twice each. Then over went Twinkle, forcing the sword low, and the drow went into a furious attack, his blades smashing hard, side to side against the overmatched thug's sword, hitting it so fast and with such fury that the song sounded as one long note.

The man surely felt his arm going numb, but he tried to take advantage of his opponent's furious movements by rushing forward suddenly, an obvious attempt to get in close and tie up the drow's lightning-fast hands.