R.A. Salvatore - Maestro

Tiago’s cadence, strike and step, was almost hypnotic, the flecks caught within Vidrinath sparkling like the stars seen atop Kelvin’s Cairn. Drizzt could almost feel the chill breeze on his face again, and how he wanted to be there …

Tiago huffed and puffed as he scrambled to keep pace and keep the offensive press, but Drizzt easily turned the stabbing blade.

Tiago dropped his right shoulder back and leaped ahead with unexpected ferocity, shield leading. But only for a moment. As Drizzt reacted, so, too, did Tiago, anticipating Drizzt’s reactions perfectly.

Drizzt went right and Tiago turned right, Vidrinath coming forward.

Tiago had first blood, and Drizzt’s hip burned from the poisonous strike.

Drizzt reset his position and his pace, accepting the gash and confident that he could defeat the drow sleeping poison.

The sight of the blood spurred Tiago, it seemed, and he came on as before, only much quicker now, Vidrinath leading and stabbing, changing angles with each strike, short stabs and sweeping reversals.

Twinkle and Icingdeath met the barrage, the three blades ringing together and scraping apart, and always that shield finishing the exchange, cutting off Drizzt’s attack.

The altar was near, and the young Baenre came on with a shield rush again, angling to Drizzt’s right. And as with the initial attack, he forced Drizzt out to the left-but this time, with Vidrinath ready.

But Drizzt knew that, and so didn’t go left. Icingdeath came down hard on the shield, a stunning blow that interrupted the bull rush.

Tiago cried in glee, thinking he had him, and enacted the web properties of his shield to grasp Icingdeath fast against it.

But then Drizzt, his feet on the top edge of the altar for leverage, was against that shield, too, pressing forward from above, driving Tiago back and down and twisting, and leaving the surprised warrior at a sudden and likely fatal disadvantage.

Tiago had no choice. He had to force Orbbcress to release its hold, or he would have been driven to the ground awkwardly, and thus exposed to Drizzt’s free scimitar. He spun desperately out to his right as he released Orbbcress’s grip, and so did Drizzt, diving down the other way from the altar, landing in a headlong roll that brought him right back to his feet, where he spun about in time to engage the angry Tiago’s renewed charge.

“You fight with tricks of your fine armaments,” Drizzt accused him, spinning and parrying, his feet moving too fast for Tiago to properly pursue in time so that he wasn’t simply blocked yet again. “Where are you, Tiago Baenre, without those gifts your heritage provides?”

“Do you claim no baubles?” an increasingly-agitated Tiago countered.

“Won in fair combat,” taunted Drizzt. “Can you say the same?”

On came Tiago with a wild sweep of his sword, and Drizzt sucked in his belly and leaped back out of range.

But in came the growling Baenre, throwing himself into Drizzt, shield leading. Drizzt struck down hard with both his blades to break the rush and keep the fierce warrior at bay.

And Orbbcress caught both of Drizzt’s scimitars, hilt to tip.

Drizzt couldn’t press forward this time. He had no altar behind him to bring him up high and grant him overpowering leverage. He tugged back, but futilely.

Tiago had his feet under him, and had both of those blades captured. He rolled his chest down and to his right, turning his shield, driving Drizzt over, and flipped a reverse grip on Vidrinath as he went.

If Drizzt let go of his caught blades and tried to grapple, Tiago would simply continue the turn and put a backhanded strike through the fool’s chest.

But Drizzt didn’t let go and was pulled with him.

Tiago stepped forward with his left foot and jerked back strongly to the right, eyes sparkling as both blades were pulled from Drizzt’s grasp.

He must have seen Drizzt’s feet beneath his moving shield, the unarmed heretic trying to get away-but even with his magical enhancements, Drizzt could not get out of range.

The moment of glory was upon him. With his legs properly placed under him, with all of his core strength driving up against the overbalanced drow, Drizzt had to stumble backward as Tiago whipped his shield back around to the left, arm going out wide while he flipped Vidrinath in his right hand for a brutal slash.

Tiago opened his shoulders-his entire body moved in perfect balance and perfect harmony, the power of the mighty swing coming from the strength of his legs, from the turning of his hips.

Undeniable.

Deadly.

“Brilliant!” Yvonnel gasped as she saw Tiago executing that turn and swing, as she noted Drizzt without his scimitars, fighting for balance.

“A champion is crowned,” said Yiccardaria.

Athrogate stood by the stem of the new Hosttower of the Arcane, hands on hips and a continual sigh blowing from his mouth.

Ambergris was there with him, moving about the recently constructed trunk of the planned tower, examining the joints between the fitted pieces, casting a spell here or there, but ultimately shaking her head.

“It ain’t workin’,” Athrogate explained to Catti-brie, when she and the other magic-using architects of the project arrived to his summons. A swarm of dwarves was gathering as well.

“The progress seems remarkable,” Lord Parise Ulfbinder replied, nodding as he worked, his eyes up the ten-foot-tall trunk of the structure. “Better than I would have ever imagined!”

Athrogate snorted derisively.

“Can you not find enough pieces?” Ilnezhara put in, and she looked from Athrogate to Lady Avelyere, who was leading the search for shards from the original Hosttower.

“We’ll never find them all,” Lady Avelyere replied, “but surely a substantial portion will be recovered.”

“Won’t matter,” Athrogate told them. “Ain’t workin’!” He moved over to the structure and Ambergris, and motioned for Skullbreaker, her two-handed mace. He spit into his hands, hoisted the weapon, and to the shock of all watching, slammed it against the side of the tower.

The stone disintegrated beneath the weight of the blow, and large cracks ran out from the spot of impact.

“Wouldn’t hold a twig for long, ne’er mind a branch big enough to hold rooms and such,” the dwarf explained.

“If we thicken the walls, we might be goin’ up higher,” Ambergris agreed. “But we’ll not e’er replicate them tree branches that made for the first tower.”

“We’ll need to find different spells to strengthen the bends and joints,” Catti-brie suggested.

“Or better builders,” Gromph remarked.

“No designs to support a one-armed arch, ye durned elf,” Athrogate argued, and others, wizard and dwarf alike, took up the debate.

“Or our puzzle approach is errant,” one giant voice yelled above them, drawing the attention of all.

“This was my fear,” the cloud giant, Caecilia went on. “We have approached the reconstruction as a matter of collecting the old pieces and then weaving dwarven masonry and magical spells to put the puzzle back together. I was doubtful from the start.”

“Ye got a better idea?” Athrogate asked skeptically, hands on hips and a scowl on his face. “We got no design prints.”

“We’re not even for knowin’ what them pieces are made of,” Ambergris added. “Seem to be crystal, mostly, aye, but there’s more.”

“The lack of a design rendering is damaging,” Caecilia admitted.

“Because it was constructed wholly of magic,” Gromph argued.

“Puzzling, as well,” said Lord Parise. “Surely they worked with a plan.”

“Surely they did not,” argued Gromph. “The Hosttower was a magical artwork, not a dwarven construct.”