Robert Salvatore: The Pirate King

Drizzt’s heart sank lower when he followed that motion, for the gates on Closeguard Island were open once more, High Captain Kurth’s forces streaming onto and across the bridge. Looking back to Kensidan’s fighters, it wasn’t hard to figure out which side Kurth favored.

“It’s over,” said Drizzt.

“Luskan’s dead,” Regis agreed. “And we’ve got to get Deudermont out of here.”

Drizzt gave a shrill whistle and a moment later Guenhwyvar leaped from rooftop to rooftop to join him.

“Go to the docks, Guen,” the drow bade the panther. “Find a route for me.”

Guenhwyvar gave a short growl and leaped away.

“Let us hope that Robillard has a spell of transportation available and ready,” Drizzt explained to Regis. “If not, Guen will lead us.” He jumped down to the alleyway and helped slow Regis’s descent as the halfling came down behind him. They turned back the way they had come, picking the fastest route to the palace, toward a service door for the kitchen.

They had barely gone a few steps, though, when they found the way blocked by a most strange-looking dwarf.

“I once met me Drizzit the drow,” he chanted. “The two of us suren did have a good row. He did dart and did sting, how his blades they did sing, till me morningstars landed a blow!”

Drizzt and Regis stared at him open-mouthed.

“Bwahahahaha!” the dwarf bellowed.

“What a curious little beast,” Regis remarked.

Robillard landed on the deck of Sea Sprite holding up a gem that spread forth a most profound and powerful light, as if he had brought a piece of the sun with him. All around him, lacedons cowered and shrieked, their greenish-gray skin curling and shriveling under the daunting power of that sunlike beacon.

“Kill them while they cower!” Waillan Micanty shouted out, seeing so many of the crew stunned by the sudden and dominating appearance of their heroic wizard.

“Drive them off!” another man shouted, and his gaff hook tore into a ghoul as it shielded its burning eyes from the awful power of the gemstone.

All over the deck, the veteran crew turned the tide of the battle, with many lacedons simply leaping overboard to get away from the awful brightness and many more falling to deadly blows of sword and club and gaff hook.

Robillard sought out Micanty and handed him the brilliant gem. “Clear the ship,” he told the dependable sailor. “And prepare to get us out of the harbor and to open waters. I’m off for Deudermont.”

He started casting a teleport spell to return him to the palace then, but nearly got knocked off his feet as Sea Sprite shuddered under the weight of a tremendous blast. Licks of flame poked up from the deck planks, and Robillard understood then the blast to be magical, and to have come from Sea Sprite ’s own hold!

Without a word to Micanty, the wizard rushed to the bulkhead and threw it wide. He leaped down the stairs and saw his apprentice at once, lying charred and quite dead beside the burning table upon which still sat the crystal ball. Robillard’s gaze darted all about—and stopped cold when he saw Arklem Greeth, sitting comfortably on a stack of grain sacks.

“Oh, do tell me that you expected me,” the lich said. “Certainly you were smart enough to realize that I hadn’t destroyed myself in the tower.”

Robillard, his mouth suddenly very dry, started to answer, but just shook his head.

With great reluctance, Captain Deudermont headed out of his audience chamber toward the kitchen and the service door, where he knew Drizzt to be. For the first time in a long time, the captain’s thoughts were out to sea, to Sea Sprite and his many crewmen still aboard her. He couldn’t begin to guess what had precipitated the attack of undead monsters, but surely it seemed too detrimental and coordinated with the fighting in the streets to have been a coincidence.

A shout from a corridor on his left stopped Deudermont and brought him back to the moment.

“Intruders in the palace!” came the cry.

Deudermont drew out his sword and started down that corridor, but only a couple of steps. He had promised Robillard, and not out of any thought for his own safety. It was not his place, it could not be his place, to engage in street fights unless there was some hope of winning out.

Somewhere in the vast array of rooms behind him, a window shattered, then another.

Enemies were entering Suljack’s palace, and Deudermont had not the force to repel them.

He turned fast again, cursing under his breath and speeding for the kitchen.

The form came at him from the side, from a shadow, and the captain only noticed it out of the corner of his eye. He spun with catlike grace, swiping his sword across in a gradual arc that perfectly parried the thrusting spear. A sudden reversal sent the sword slashing back down across the chest of his attacker, opening a wide gash and sending the man crashing back into the shadows, gurgling with pain.

Deudermont rushed away. He needed to link up with Drizzt and Regis, and with them pave an escape route for those loyal to his cause.

He heard a commotion in the kitchen and kicked open the door, sword at the ready.

Too late, Deudermont knew, as he watched a cook slide to the floor off the end of a sword, clutching at the mortal wound in his chest. Deudermont followed that deadly line to the swordsman, and couldn’t hide his surprise at the garish outfit of the flamboyant man. He wore a puffy and huge red-and-white striped shirt, tied by a green sash that seemed almost a wall between the bright colors of the shirt and the even brighter blue of the man’s pants. His hat was huge and plumed, and Deudermont could only imagine the wild nest of hair crimped beneath it, for the man’s beard nearly doubled the size of his head, all black and wild and sticking out in every direction.

“We’re knowin’ yer every move then, ain’t we Captain Deudermont?” the pirate asked, licking his yellow teeth eagerly.

“Argus Retch,” Deudermont replied. “So, the reports of your insult to good taste weren’t exaggerated after all.”

The pirate cackled with laughter. “Paid good gold for these,” he said, and wiped his bloody sword across his pants—and though the blade did wipe clean, his obviously magical pants showed not a spot of the blood.

Deudermont resisted the urge to reply with a snide comment regarding the value of such an outfit and the possible fashion benefits of soiling the damned ugly thing, but he held his tongue. There would be no bargaining with the pirate, obviously, nor did the captain want to—particularly since a man loyal to Deudermont, an innocent man, lay dead at Retch’s feet.

In reply, then, Deudermont presented his sword.

“Ye got no crew to command here, Captain,” Argus Retch answered in response, lifting his own blade and drawing out a long dirk in his other hand. “Oh, but ye’re the best at maneuverin’ ships, ain’t ye? Let’s see how you turn a blade!” With that, he leaped forward, stabbing with his sword, and when that got deflected aside, he turned with the momentum and slashed his dirk across wildly.

Deudermont leaned back out of range of that swipe and quickly brought his sword before him, managing a thrust of his own that didn’t get near to hitting the pirate, but managed to steal Retch’s offensive initiative and force him back on his heels. The pirate went down low then, legs wide, blades presented forward, but wide apart, as well.

He began to circle in measured steps.

Deudermont turned with him, watching for some tell, some sign that the man would explode into an aggressive attack once more, and also take in the room, the battlefield. He noted the island counter, all full of cooking pots and bowls, and the narrow cabinets lined side-to-side along the side wall.