The Halfling's Gem
Catti-brie and Taulmaril proved the swifter. In an instant, another arrow was on the magical bow’s string and sent away. It exploded into the bandit’s heavy shield and tore through, tossing the helpless man off the back of his mount and into the realm of death.
The riderless horse broke stride. Catti-brie caught its reins as it trotted by and swung up into the saddle to pursue the bandit who had cut her.
Drizzt still stood atop his camel, towering above his foes and deftly dancing away from the strikes of riders rushing by, all the while weaving his two magical scimitars into a dance of mesmerizing death. Again and again, bandits thought they had an easy shot at the standing elf, only to find their swords or spears catching nothing but air, and then to suddenly discover Twinkle or the other magical scimitar slicing a clean line across their throats as they started to gallop away.
Then two came in together, broadside to the camel and behind Drizzt. The agile drow leaped about, still comfortably holding his perch. Within mere seconds, he had both of his foes on the defensive.
Wulfgar finished the last of the three he had dropped, then sprang away from the mess, only to find his stubborn camel rising in front of him again. He slammed the nasty thing again, this time with Aegis-fang, and it dropped to the ground beside the bandits.
With that battle at an undeniable end, the first thing the barbarian noticed was Drizzt. He marveled at the magnificent dance of the drow’s blades, snapping down to deflect a curved sword or to keep one of the drow’s two opponents off balance. Drizzt would dispose of both of them in a matter of seconds.
Then Wulfgar looked past the drow, to where another rider quietly trotted in, his spearhead angled to catch Drizzt in the back.
“Drizzt!” the barbarian screamed as he heaved Aegis-fang at his friend.
At the sound of the shout, Drizzt thought Wulfgar was in trouble, but when he looked and saw the warhammer spinning toward his knees, he understood immediately. Without hesitation, he leaped out and over his foes in a twisting somersault.
The charging spearman didn’t even have time to lament his victim’s escape, for the mighty warhammer spun in over the camel’s humps and smashed his face flat.
Drizzt’s dive proved beneficial in his fight up front as well, for he had caught both swordsmen by surprise. In the split second of their hesitation, the drow, though he was upside down in midair, struck hard, thrusting his blades downward.
Twinkle dug deeply into a chest. The other bandit managed to dodge the second scimitar, but it came close enough for Drizzt to lock its hilt under the man’s arm. Both riders came tumbling down with the drow, and only Drizzt landed on his feet. His blades crossed twice and dived again, this time ending the struggle.
Seeing the huge barbarian unarmed, another rider went after him. Wulfgar saw the man coming and poised himself for a desperate strike. As the horse charged in, the barbarian feinted to his right, away from the rider’s sword arm and as the rider had expected. Then Wulfgar reversed direction, throwing himself squarely in the horse’s path.
WuIfgar accepted the stunning impact and locked his arms about the horse’s neck and his legs onto the beast’s front legs, rolling backward with the momentum and causing the horse to stumble. Then the mighty barbarian yanked with all his might, bringing horse and rider right over him.
The shocked bandit could not react, though he did manage to scream as the horse drove him into the ground. When the horse finally rolled away, the bandit remained, buried upside down to the waist in the sand, his legs lolling grotesquely to one side.
His boots and beard filled with sand, Bruenor eagerly looked for someone to fight. Among the tall mounts, the short dwarf had been overlooked by all but a handful of the bandits. Now, most of them were already dead!
Bruenor rushed away from the protection of the riderless camels, banging his axe on his shield to draw attention to himself. He saw one rider turning to flee from the disastrous scene.
“Hey!” Bruenor barked at him. “Yer mother’s an ore-kissin’ harlot!
Thinking he had every advantage over the standing dwarf, the bandit couldn’t pass up the opportunity to answer the insult. He rushed over to Bruenor and chopped down with his sword.
Bruenor brought his golden shield up to block the blow, then stepped around the front of the horse. The rider swung about to meet the dwarf on the other side, but Bruenor used his shortness to his advantage. Barely bending, he slipped under the horse’s belly, back to the original side, and thrust his axe up over his head, catching the confused man on the hip. As the bandit lurched over in pain, Bruenor brought his shield arm up, caught turban and hair in his gnarled fingers, and tore the man from his seat. With a satisfied grunt, the dwarf chopped into the bandit’s neck
“Too easy!” the dwarf grumbled, dropping the body to the ground. He looked for another victim, but the battle was over. No more bandits remained in the bowl, and Wulfgar, Aegis-fang back in his hands, and Drizzt were standing easily.
“Where’s me girl?” Bruenor cried.
Drizzt calmed him with a look and a pointing finger.
On the top of a dune to the side, Catti-brie sat atop the horse she had commandeered, Taulmaril taut in her hands as she looked out over the desert.
Several riders galloped across the sand in full flight and another lay dead on the other side of the dune. Catti-brie put one of them in her sights, then realized that the fighting had ended behind her.
“Enough,” she whispered, moving the bow an inch to the side and sending the arrow over the fleeing bandit’s shoulder.
There has been enough killing this day, she thought.
Catti-brie looked at the carnage of the battle scene and at the hungry buzzards circling patiently overhead. She dropped Taulmaril to her side. The firm set of her grim visage melted away.
ee the pleasure it promises,” the guildmaster teased, scraping his hand over the barbed tip of a single spike sticking out of a block of wood on the center of the room’s little table.
Regis purposely curled his lips into a stupid smile, pretending to see the obvious logic of Pook’s words.
“Just drop your palm onto it,” Pook coaxed, “then you will know the joy and will again be part of our family.”
Regis searched for a way out of the trap. Once before he had used the ruse, the lie within a lie, pretending to be caught under the magical charm’s influence. He had worked his act to perfection then, convincing an evil wizard of his loyalty, then turning on the man at a critical moment to aid his friends.
This time, though, Regis had even surprised himself, escaping the ruby pendant’s insistent, hypnotizing pull. Now, though, he was caught: A person truly duped by the gem would gladly impale his hand on the barbed spike.
Regis brought his hand above his head and closed his eyes, trying to keep his visage blank enough to carry out the dupe. He swung his arm down, meaning to follow through on Pook’s suggestion.
At the last moment, his hand swerved away and banged harmlessly on the table.
Pook roared in rage, suspecting all along that Regis had somehow escaped the pendant’s influence. He grabbed the halfling by the wrist and smashed his little hand onto the spike, wiggling it as the spike went through. Regis’s scream multiplied tenfold when Pook tore his hand back up the barbed instrument.
Then Pook let him go and slapped him across the face as Regis clutched his wounded hand to his chest.
“Deceiving dog!” the guildmaster shouted, more angry with the pendant’s failure than with Regis’s facade. He lined up for another slap but calmed himself and decided to twist the haffling’s stubborn will back on Regis.
“A pity,” he teased, “for if the pendant had brought you back under control, I might have found a place for you in the guild. Surely you deserve to die, little thief, but I have not forgotten your value to me in the past. You were the finest thief in Calimport, a position I might have offered you once again.”
“Then no pity for the failure of the gem,” Regis
dared to retort, guessing the teasing game that Pook was playing, “for no pain outweighs the disgust I would feel at playing lackey to Pasha Pook!”
Pook’s response was a heavy slug that knocked Regis off his chair and onto the floor. The halfling lay curled up, trying to stem the blood from both his hand and his nose.
Pook rested back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. He looked at the pendant, resting on the table in front of him. Only once before had it failed him, when he had tried it on a will that would not be captured. Luckily, Artemis Entreri had not realized the attempt that day, and Pook had been wise enough not to try the pendant on the assassin again.
Pook shifted his gaze to Regis, now passed out from the pain. He had to give the little halfling credit. Even if Regis’s familiarity with the pendant had given him an edge in his battle, only an iron will could resist the tempting pull.
“But it will not help you,” Pook whispered at the unconscious form. He sat back in his chair again and closed his eyes, trying to envision still another torture for Regis.
The tan-robed arm slipped in through the tent’s flap and held the limp body of the red-bearded dwarf upside down by the ankle. Sali Dalib’s fingers started their customary twiddle, and he flashed the gold-and-ivory smile so wide that it seemed as if it would take in his ears. His little goblin assistant jumped up and down at his side, squealing, “Magic, magic, magic!”
Bruenor opened one eye and lifted an arm to push his long beard out of his face. “Ye be likin’ what ye’re seeing?” the dwarf asked slyly.
Sali Dalib’s smile disappeared, and his fingers got all tangled together.
Bruenor’s bearer—Wulfgar, wearing the robe of one of the bandits—walked into the tent. Catti-brie came in behind him.
“So ’twas yerself that set the bandits upon us,” the young woman growled.
Sali Dalib’s exclamation of shock came out as so much gibberish, and the wily merchant spun away to flee… only to find a neat hole sliced into the back of his tent and Drizzt Do’Urden standing within it, leaning on one scimitar while the other rested easily on his shoulder. Just to heighten the merchant’s terror, Drizzt had again taken off the magical mask.
“Uh … um, de bestest road?” the merchant stammered
“Bestest for yerself and yer friends!” Bruenor growled.
“So they thought,” Catti-brie was quick to put in.
Sali Dalib curled his smile sheepishly, but he had been in tight spots a hundred times before and had always weaseled his way out. He lifted his palms, as if to say, “You caught me,” but then jerked into a dizzying maneuver, pulling several small ceramic globes out of one of his robe’s many pockets. He slammed them to the floor at his feet. Explosions of multicolored light left a thick, blinding smoke in their wake, and the merchant dashed for the side of the tent.
Instinctively Wulfgar dropped Bruenor and jumped ahead, catching an armful of emptiness. The dwarf plopped onto the floor headfirst and rolled to a sitting position, his one-horned helm tilted to the side of his head. As the smoke thinned, the embarrassed barbarian looked back to the dwarf, who just shook his head in disbelief and mumbled, “Suren to be a long adventure.”
Only Drizzt, ever alert, had not been caught unawares. The drow had shielded his eyes from the bursts, then watched the smoky silhouette of the merchant darting to the left. Drizzt would have had him before he got out of the hidden flap in the tent, but Sali Dalib’s assistant stumbled into the drow’s way. Barely slowing, Drizzt slammed Twinkle’s hilt into the little goblin’s forehead, dropping the creature into unconsciousness, then slipped the mask back on his face and jumped out to the streets of Memnon.
Catti-brie rushed by to follow Drizzt, and Bruenor leaped to his feet. “After ’im, boy!” the dwarf shouted at Wulfgar. The chase was on.
Drizzt caught sight of the merchant slipping into the throng of the streets. Even Sali Dalib’s loud robe would blend well in the city’s myriad of colors, so Drizzt added a touch of his own. As he had done to the invisible mage on the deck of the pirate ship, the drow sent a purplish glowing outline of dancing flames over the merchant.
Drizzt sped off in pursuit, weaving in and out of the crowd with amazing ease and watching for the bobbing line of purple ahead.
Bruenor was less graceful. The dwarf cut ahead of Catti-brie and plunged headlong into the throng, stomping toes and using his shield to bounce bodies out of his way. Wulfgar, right behind, cut an even wider swath, and Catti-brie had an easy time following in their wake.
They passed a dozen lanes and crashed through an open market, Wulfgar accidentally overturning a cart of huge yellow melons. Shouts of protest erupted behind them as they passed, but they kept their eyes ahead, each watching the person in front and trying not to get lost in the overwhelming bustle.
Sali Dalib knew at once that he was too conspicuous with the fiery outline to ever escape in the open streets. To add to his disadvantage, the eyes and pointing fingers of a hundred curious onlookers greeted him at every turn, signposts for his pursuers. Grabbing at the single chance before him, the merchant cut down one lane and scrambled through the doors of a large stone building.
Drizzt turned to make certain that his friends were still behind, then rushed through the doors, skidding to a stop on the steam-slicked marble floor of a public bathhouse. Two huge eunuchs moved to block the clothed elf, but as with the merchant who had come in just before, the agile Drizzt regained his momentum too quickly to be hindered. He skated through the short entry corridor and into the main room, a large open bath, thick with steam and smelling of sweat and perfumed soaps. Naked bodies crossed his path at every step, and Drizzt had to he careful where he placed his hands as he slipped through.
Bruenor nearly fell as he entered the slippery chamber, and the eunuchs, already out of their positions, got in front of him.
“No clothes!” one of them demanded, but Bruenor had no time for idle discussions. He stamped a heavy boot onto one of the giant’s bare feet, then crunched the other foot for good measure. Wulfgar came in then and heaved the remaining eunuch aside.
The barbarian, leaning forward to gain speed, had no chance to stop or turn on the slippery floor, and as Bruenor turned to make his way along the perimeter of the bath, Wulfgar slammed into him, knocking them both to the floor and into a slide they could not brake.
They bounced over the rim of the bath and plunged into the water, Wulfgar coming up, waist deep, between two voluptuous and naked, giggling women.
The barbarian stammered an apology, finding his tongue twisted within the confines of his mouth. A slap across the back of his head shook him back to his senses.
“Ye’re looking for the merchant, ye remember?” Catti-brie reminded him.
I am looking!” Wulfgar assured her.
“Then be lookin’ for the one lined in purple!” Catti-brie shot back.
Wulfgar, his eyes freed with the expectation of another smack, noticed the single horn of a helmet poking out of the water at his side. Frantically he plunged his hand under, catching Bruenor by the scruff of the neck and hoisting him out of the bath. The not-too-happy dwarf came up with his arms crossed over his chest and shaking his head in disbelief once again.
Drizzt got out the back door of the bathhouse and found himself in an empty alley, the only unpopulated stretch he had seen since entering Memnon. Seeking a better vantage, the drow scaled the side of the bathhouse and jogged along the roof.
Sali Dalib slowed his pace, thinking he had slipped the pursuit. The drow’s purple fire died away, further adding to the merchant’s sense of security. He wound his way through the back-alley maze. Not even the usual drunks leaned against the walls to inform his pursuers. He moved a hundred twisting yards, then two, and finally down an alley that he knew would turn onto the largest marketplace in Memnon, where anyone could become invisible in the blink of an eye.
As Sali Dalib approached the end of the alley, however, an elven form dropped in front of him an
d two scimitars flashed out of their sheaths, crossing before the stunned merchant, coming to rest on his collarbones, then drawing lines on either side of his neck.
When the four friends returned to the merchant’s tent with their prisoner, they found, to their relief, the little goblin lying where Drizzt had bopped him. Bruenor none too gently pulled the unfortunate creature up behind Sali Dalib and tied the two back to back. Wulfgar moved to help and wound up hooking a loop of the rope over Bruenor’s forearm. The dwarf wiggled free and pushed the barbarian away.
“Should’ve stayed in Mithral Hall,” Bruenor grumbled. “Safer with the gray ones than beside yerself and the girl!”
Wulfgar and Catti-brie looked to Drizzt for support, but the drow just smiled and moved to the side of the tent.
“Ha ha ha ha ha,” Sali Dalib giggled nervously “No problem here. We deal? Many riches, I have. What you need—”
“Shut yer mouth!” Bruenor snapped at him. The dwarf winked at Drizzt, indicating that he meant to play the bad guy role in the encounter.
“I don’t be lookin’ for riches from one what’s tricked me,” Bruenor growled. “Me heart’s for revenge!” He looked around at his friends. “Ye all saw his face when he thought me dead. Suren was him that put the riding bandits on us.”
“Sali Dalib never—” the merchant stammered.
“I said, ‘Shut yer mouth!’” Bruenor shouted in his face, cowing him. The dwarf brought his axe up and ready on his shoulder.
The merchant looked to Drizzt, confused, for the drow had replaced the mask and now appeared as a surface elf once again. Sali Dalib guessed the truth of Drizzt’s identity, figuring the black skin to be more fitting on the deadly elf, and he did not even think of begging for mercy from Drizzt.
“Wait on it, then,” Catti-brie said suddenly, grabbing the handle of Bruenor’s weapon. “May that there be a way for this dog to save his neck.”
“Bah! What would we want o’ him?” Bruenor shot back, winking at Catti-brie for playing her part to perfection.