Gauntlgrym (Neverwinter #1)(111)

And Drizzt started shooting under her, his arrows clipping under the upraised shield of one, tearing through the creature’s torso, and blasting clean through the shield of the one beside it.

Dahlia let out a cry and kicked hard against a shield, throwing herself backward as spears arced up at her from behind the nearest row of creatures. She came down in a controlled roll beside Drizzt, her eyes wide.

“Just run!” she told him, and before he could ask her why, she scampered away toward the room.

Another arrow flashed away, and another, and Drizzt had to fall into the alcove to avoid a wall of thrown spears. He came right back to shoot some more, though, thinking to cover Dahlia’s retreat, but when he popped back out, he saw the ranks of his enemies thinned, salamanders diving aside and pressing against the wall to clear a path.

And Drizzt saw what Dahlia had seen from up high, and the same thought, just run, came screaming to mind.



“Two!” Bruenor announced, sliding the second bowl deep into its alcove and shutting the placard after it. From behind the metal door they heard the rush of water as the elemental tapped into the tendrils of the Hosttower. The dwarf nodded in satisfaction, and declared, “Two o’ ten!”

“Be quick, and lead on,” Jarlaxle bade him, words that hardly seemed necessary given the ruckus in the corridor just beyond the broken door. All three—Bruenor, Jarlaxle, and Athrogate—turned and looked that way, then, to see Dahlia diving into the room in a soaring somersault. She planted her staff just to the side as she rolled farther in, and pushed off, throwing herself out the other way, away from the three onlookers.

“What—?” was all Bruenor managed to say before a great rush of flames poured through the door with a dark form, Drizzt, within them, being carried along by the sheer force of the blast.

The drow landed in a short run as the flames dissipated, and looked to his friends, wisps of smoke rising from his cloak, Taulmaril in one hand, Icingdeath in the other, glowing fiercely.

“Oh, joy,” Drizzt deadpanned. “They have a dragon.”

Bruenor’s eyes went wide, as did his mouth, as did Athrogate’s features as well, and both let out a howl and ran off for the back side of the room, Dahlia angling to join them.

Jarlaxle put another lightning bolt into the open doorway for good measure, and wisely launched another magical glob into the opening as well, thinking to slow the pursuit. That sticky substance caught a trio of flying spears as an added benefit.

“Two elementals in place,” Jarlaxle assured Drizzt when the pair came together, bringing up the rear of the retreat. “Eight more and we’re nearly done!”

Drizzt didn’t glance back, focusing instead on Bruenor, who stood in the exit at the far end of the room, ready to slam the heavy door.

“You heard me when I told you they have a dragon,” the drow replied, and he shook his head and glanced back.

“Not a large one!” the other drow replied.

Drizzt was still shaking his head as they passed by Bruenor, who slammed the heavy stone door behind them. Nearby stood Athrogate, a heavy iron locking bar in hand, and the two dwarves had the portal quickly secured.

“I seen cooked cow, I seen cooked sow,” Athrogate sang, “Now thinking for sure that I’d be seein’ cooked drow! But ye don’t smell roasted and ye don’t look toasted, and it’s making me ask meself, ‘How, now, drow?’ Bwahaha!”

“A fine question, if asked stupidly,” Jarlaxle concurred as the troupe started swiftly away.

Drizzt didn’t answer. He sprinted out in front of the other four, taking up the point, slinging Taulmaril over his shoulder as he went and drawing out his second scimitar.

“Damned good blade,” Bruenor explained to the other three a short while later.

“Icingdeath …” Jarlaxle realized, catching on.

“Damned sword kept the flames away?” Athrogate asked.

“Carried it once, as I rode a burning dragon,” Bruenor remarked.

“A burnin’ dragon?” Athrogate asked, at the same time Jarlaxle fell a stride behind and silently mouthed the exact same three words.

“Aye, cooked it meself.”

The drow mercenary could only smile then and shake his head, knowing better than to disbelieve any of the outrageous stories those two old adventurers, Drizzt Do’Urden and Bruenor Battlehammer, might tell.

His grin disappeared as he looked ahead to Drizzt, though, seeing even in the way the drow moved the edge that had come to him. Drizzt had often seemed the carefree fighter, enjoying the battle, and Jarlaxle couldn’t deny the charm of that. But whatever remained of that carefree attitude had changed, and not subtly. Perhaps it was barely discernable to one who did not know the truth of Drizzt Do’Urden, but for Jarlaxle in particular, the change glared at him. He excused himself from the dwarves and Dahlia and quick-stepped far ahead to catch up to Drizzt.

“One battle after another,” he remarked.

Drizzt nodded and seemed bothered not at all.

“But all worth it because of the good we might accomplish here, yes?” Jarlaxle added.

Drizzt looked at him as if he was insane, and replied, “I have spent half a century in search of this place, for the sake of my friend.”

“And you care not that our work here may save a city?”

Drizzt shrugged. “Have you been to Luskan lately?”