Томас Рейд - Insurrection

«No one's expecting me for a bit,» Pharaun chuckled. «I suppose I could stay for a little while.»

Ryld knew Splitter would be next to useless in such tight quarters, so he had already reached down and grasped his short sword. He slid the blade smoothly and easily from its sheath in one smooth motion, remembering the feel of it in his hand, the balance, even as he brought it up to defend against the onrushing half-ogre. He parried die blow from the creatures upraised mace, then made a neat slice across the beast's midsection.

The half-ogre jerked just the tiniest bit in surprise, and Valas was on the creature from nowhere, drawing one of his kukris across its hamstring. There was a burst of light and a crackle from the strangely curved blade as it struck home, and the beast howled and toppled as it clutched its gut and leg in pain.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryld spotted sudden movement, and he ducked just in time to avoid a hurled mug. The cup passed over his shoulder and hit the wall near the table, shattering in a spray of pottery. Ryld didn't waste the moment evaluating the source of the attack. He slashed at another of the half-ogres, drawing a thin opening across its upper arm that welled with blood as the creature staggered back, then the warrior was spinning away and parrying a large cudgel that a third foe, off to his right, swung at him.

The confrontation was drawing the attention of other patrons in the taproom, and Ryld could hear more than a few of them cheering the half-ogres, cursing him and Valas, and perhaps eyeing a chance to get in on the action themselves.

This is about to get really ugly, the warrior thought, warily waving the blade between himself and the half-ogre that blocked his way out.

A crossbow bolt struck him in the ribs, but his piwafwi and breastplate prevented the missile from penetrating. Still, the force of the shot staggered him the slightest bit, and the cudgel crashed down on his left shoulder with a loud crunch. His entire arm went numb, and he nearly lost his footing when something hooked his leg behind and tried to topple him.

This is madness, the warrior thought as he scrambled back against the wall, shoving the table between himself and the rest of the patrons. Valas was nowhere to be seen.

Get him!» someone snarled from the crowd.

'Kill the dark elves!» another cried.

Yet no one seemed eager to approach him.

Ryld kept his short sword leveled at the threats in front of him as he scanned the room for his companion, wondering if the scout had abandoned him in favor of escape. It would hardly have been the first time Ryld found himself in such a position.

When a pair of quaggoths—huge, white-furred humanoids some-rimes known as deepbears—lunged at the warrior, Ryld was forced to return his attention to the difficulties at hand. Slashing with his short sword, he parried the spear the first creature tried to thrust through his chest, then sidestepped the second one's attack, which came very near to gashing his throat. A second crossbow bolt thunked against the wall near him, shattering against the stone.

At the same moment, Valas flashed into view again, having been hiding somehow in the middle of the crowd. The scout plunged both kukris into the back of the first quaggoth. Ryld blinked in surprise but took advantage of the opportunity to spin and slash low, cutting the second deepbear across both knees. Both creatures collapsed in sprays of blood as Valas joined Ryld against the wall.

«That was impressive,» Ryld said as he and the scout kept the shouting, cursing throng at bay with their weapons.

«When those two came for you, I saw a chance and took it.»

«How do you want to get out of here?» Ryld asked, surveying the room for any signs of escape. «Just fight our way through?»

«I don't know about you, but I've already got a means of escape,» Valas replied. «See you on the outside.»

With that, the scout backed into a shimmering blue doorway that had suddenly appeared at his back. Ryld had no time to gape as the door vanished from sight, leaving him alone against the horde of angry tavern patrons. A hobgoblin was closing warily from the right, while an ore and a strange lizard creature closed from the center and left, respectively.

Typical, he thought. Everyone but me must be able to blink in and out with those damnable doorways.

Ryld lunged in and cut high at the ore before spinning to deflect a blow from the lizard creature's short blade. The warrior kicked out at the hobgoblin and slashed again at the ore, this time catching his foe right across the cheek. Blood spattered, and Ryld began to work his way through the crowd, knowing he couldn't remain against the wall and hope to survive.

As he got in among the crowd and his opponents swirled around him, Ryld had an idea. Dropping to one knee, he made a couple of defensive thrusts as he reached down with his other hand and slapped the floor, calling up magical darkness. Nearly the entire taproom was engulfed in the inky blackness, and the battle cries of the crowd changed to the noise of confusion and panic. The darkness didn't bother Ryld. He was used to fighting blind, feeling and hearing his foes as easily as he'd watched them before.

The reaction of the pressing throng was exactly what Ryld had hoped for. Not eager to attack a foe they couldn't see and unwilling to get hit themselves, the crowd edged away from the warrior, giving him ample room. Reaching up, he slid Splitter off his back. With Valas gone, he no longer had to worry about controlling or shortening his swing. With the greatsword, he would be able to cut his way out much more quickly.

Not waiting for the unruly patrons to regain their wits, Ryld began slashing and cutting with bold stokes, clearing a path toward the door. The screams emanating from around the weapons master were unnerving to the rest of the brawlers. Quickly enough, Ryld emerged from the darkness, finding himself near the exit of the establishment. A couple more onlookers stood by the doorway, but when they saw the burly warrior appear with his great-sword leveled at them, they quickly scattered. Bruised and bleeding from several small cuts, Ryld darted through the exit and out onto the street.

Valas was leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the street, watching for him.

When Ryld saw the scout, he pursed his lips in displeasure, but before he could voice his anger, Valas nodded and said, «A lot easier to cut your way out of there without worrying about hitting me, wasn't it?»

Ryld opened his mouth to retort, realized that Valas was right, and snapped it shut again.

Finally, after the two of them began making their way down the thoroughfare, the warrior said, «The next place we try, we're taking a table near the front door.»

It was only after Ryld realized that they weren't having to push their way through the crowds on the street, who parted for them warily, did he realize that he was still carrying Splitter in his hand, the blade dripping with blood.

«Yes, Captain Xornbane, by all means, dispatch diem,» Faeryl's mother said as the gray dwarves closed in on both Drisinil and Quenthel.

The two drow and the draegloth, unable to flee, stared about themselves. While Jeggred merely seethed with rage, straining to break free of the magical hold over him, Quenthel and Drisinil looked wild, desperate. The duergar who had spoken motioned, and several of the other gray dwarves moved in, axes lifted.

«Wait!» Faeryl exclaimed, then leaned in close to whisper with Ssipriina privately for a moment. «Mother, let's not kill the two Men-zoberranyr yet. I'd like to keep them for a while.»

«I think that would be an extraordinarily bad idea,» one of the males near her mother said, also leaning in.