Robert Salvatore - Sea of Swords

He lay there, one lung collapsing, his lifeblood running out freely.

Across the way, Le'lorinel, dying as Drizzt was dying, groaned.

With equal intensity, Bruenor and Wulfgar charged into the large cave. Wulfgar headed to the side to intercept a pair of large, armored ogres while Bruenor went for the most exotic of the three, an ogress with light violet skin wearing a huge shining helmet and wielding an enormous scythe.

Morik came in behind the ferocious pair, tentatively, and making no definite strides to join the battle.

More eager behind him came Catti-brie. She had an arrow flying almost immediately, staggering one of the two ogres closing on Wulfgar.

That blast gave the barbarian all the momentum he needed. He drove hard against the other brute, Aegis-fang pounding repeatedly. The ogre blocked and blocked again, but the third chop hit it on the breastplate and sent it staggering backward.

Wulfgar bore in, smashing away.

The ogre's wounded companion tried to move back into the fight, but Catti-brie hit it with a second arrow, and a third. Howling with rage and pain, the brute turned and charged the door instead.

“Brilliant,” Morik groaned, and he cried out as a large form brushed past him, sending him sprawling.

Guenhwyvar hit the charging, arrow-riddled ogre head on. She leaped onto its face, clawing, raking, and biting. The brute stood straight, its momentum lost, and staggered backward, its face erupting in fountains of blood.

“Good girl,” said Catti-brie, and she turned and fired up above Bruenor, nailing the ogress, then drew out Khazid'hea. She paused and glanced back at Morik, who was standing against the wall, shaking his head.

“Well done,” he muttered, in obvious disbelief.

They were indeed an efficient group!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The magical darkness lifted.

Drizzt sat against the wall. Across from him sat Le'lorinel, in almost the exact posture and with a wound identical to the drow's.

Drizzt stared at his fallen opponent, his eyes widening. Thin magical flames still licked at Le'lorinel's skin, but Drizzt hardly noted them. For the wound, torn through Le'lorinel's leather vest and across the front, revealed a breast—a female breast!

And Drizzt understood so very much, and knew those eyes so much better, and knew who this truly was even before Le'lorinel reached up and pulled the mask off her face.

An elf, a Moon elf, once a little child whom Drizzt had saved from drow raiders. An elf driven to rage by the devastation of the drow on that fateful, evil day, when she was bathed in the blood of her own murdered mother to convince the dark elves that she, too, was already dead.

“By the gods,” the drow rasped, his voice weak for lack of air.

“You are dead, Drizzt Do'Urden,” the elf said, her voice equally weak and faltering. “My family is avenged.”

Drizzt tried to respond, but he could not begin to find the words. In this short time, how could he possibly explain to Le'lorinel that he had not participated in that murder, that he had saved her at great personal peril, and most importantly, that he was sorry, so very sorry, for what his evil kin had done.

He stared at Le'lorinel, bearing her no ill will, despite the fact that her misguided actions and blind vengeance had cost them both their very lives.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chogurugga was doing well against the mighty Bruenor Battlehammer, her potion-enhanced muscles, potion-enhanced speed, and potion-enhanced defenses more than holding their own against the dwarf.

Bruenor just growled and cursed, swatting powerfully, taking hits that would fell most opponents and shrugging them off with dwarven toughness then boring on, his axe slashing in.

He was losing, though, and he knew it, but then Catti-brie's arrow sizzled in above him, driving into the ogress's chest and sending her staggering backward.

“Oh, good girl!” the dwarf roared, taking the advantage to charge forward and press the offensive.

But even as he got there the ogress had yet another vial in hand and up to her lips, swallowing its contents in one great gulp.

Even as Bruenor closed, starting the battle once more, the ogress's wounds began to bind.

The dwarf growled in protest. “Damn healing potion!” he howled, and he got a hit in against Chogurugga's thigh, opening a gash.

Immediately, Chogurugga had another vial, one similar to the last, off of her belt and moving up to her lips. Bruenor cursed anew.

A black form sailed above the dwarf, slamming into the ogress and latching on.

Chogurugga flailed as Guenhwyvar tore at her face, front claws holding fast, fangs biting and tearing, back claws raking wildly.

The ogress dropped the vial, which hit the floor but did not break, and dropped her weapon as well. The ogress grabbed at the cat with both hands, trying to pull Guenhwyvar away.

The panther's hooked claws held tight, which meant that throwing Guenhwyvar aside would mean tearing her face right off. And of course Bruenor was right there, smashing the ogress's legs and midsection with mighty, vicious chops.

Bruenor heard a crash to the side, and Catti-brie was beside him, her powerful sword slicing easily through Chogurugga's flesh and bone.

The ogress toppled to the floor.

The two companions and Guenhwyvar turned about just as Wulfgar's hammer caved in the last ogre's skull, the brute falling right over its dead partner.

“This way!” Morik called from an exit across the wide room, with a corridor beyond heading farther up into the complex.

Bruenor paused to wait for his girl as Catti-brie stooped to retrieve Chogurugga's fallen vial.

“When I find out who's selling this stuff to damn ogres, I'll chop him up!” the frustrated dwarf declared.

Across the room, Morik bit his lower lip. He knew who it was, for he had seen Bellany's alchemical room.

Up went the companions, to the level corridor with five doors that marked Sheila Kree's complex. A groan from the side brought them immediately to one door, which Bruenor barreled through with dwarven subtlety.

There lay Drizzt, and there lay the elf, both mortally wounded.

Catti-brie came in right behind, moving immediately for Drizzt, but the drow stopped her with an upheld hand.

“Save her,” he demanded, his voice very weak. “You must.”

And he slumped.

Wulfgar stood at the door, horrified, but Morik didn't even slow at that particular room, but rather ran across the hall to Bellany's chambers. He burst through, and even as he was entering he prayed that the wizard hadn't trapped the portal.

The rogue skidded to a stop just inside the threshold, hearing a shriek. He turned to see a halfling extracting himself from a magical web.

“Who are you?” Regis asked, then quickly added, “See what I have?” He pulled open his shirt, lifting out a ruby pendant for Morik to see.

“Where is the sorceress?” Morik demanded, not even noticing the tantalizing gemstone.

Regis pointed to the open outer door and the balcony beyond and Morik sprinted out. The halfling glanced down, then, at his enchanted ruby pendant and scratched his head, wondering why it hadn't had its usual charming effect. Regis was glad that this small man was too busy to be bothered with him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Catti-brie paused, taken aback by the sincerity and demand in Drizzt's voice as he had given her the surprising instructions. The woman turned toward the fallen elf, whose breathing was as shallow as Drizzt's, who seemed, as did Drizzt, as if each breath might be her last.

“The Nine Hells ye will!” Bruenor roared, rushing to her and tearing the vial away.

Sputtering a string of curses, the dwarf went right to Drizzt and poured the healing liquid down his throat.