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well-placed bites out in the streets could replenish the supply of the wretched
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things - but Pook knew that the heroes cutting their way through his guild would
eventually wind up in his face.
Regis, held off the ground by the seat of his pants by one of Pook's hill
giant eunuchs, watched, too. The mere sight of Bruenor, whom Regis had believed
killed in Mithril Hall, brought tears to the halfling's eyes. And the thought
that his dearest friends had traveled the breadth of the Realms to rescue him
and were now fighting for his sake as mightily as he had ever witnessed,
overwhelmed him. All of them bore wounds, particularly Catti-brie and Drizzt,
but all of them ignored the pain as they tore into Pook's militia. Watching them
felling foes with every cut and thrust, Regis had little doubt that they would
win through to get to him.
Then the halfling looked to the side of the Taros Hoop, where LaValle stood,
unconcerned, his arms crossed over his chest and his pearl-tipped scepter
tapping on one shoulder.
"Your followers do not fare so well, Rassiter," the guildmaster remarked.
"One might even note their cowardice."
Rassiter shuffled uneasily from one foot to the other.
"Is it that you cannot hold to your part of our arrangement?"
"My guild fights mighty enemies this night," Rassiter stammered. "They . . .
we have not been able . . . the fight is not yet lost!"
"Perhaps you should see to it that your rats fare better," Pook said calmly,
and Rassiter did not miss the command's - the threat's tone. He bowed low and
rushed out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him.
Even the demanding guildmaster could not hold the wererats wholly
responsible for the disaster at hand.
"Magnificent," he muttered as Drizzt fought off two simultaneous thrusts and
sliced down both wererats with individual, yet mystically intertwined counters.
"Never have I seen such grace with a blade." He paused for a moment to consider
that thought. "Perhaps once."
Surprised at the revelation, Pook looked at LaValle, who nodded in accord.
"Entreri," LaValle inferred. "The resemblance is unmistakable. We know now
why the assassin coaxed this group to the south."
"To fight the drow?" Pook mused. "At last, a challenge for the man without
peer?"
"So it would seem."
"But, where is he, then? Why has he not made his appearance?"
"Perhaps he already has," LaValle replied grimly.
Pook paused to consider the words for a long moment; they were too
unconscionable for him to believe. "Entreri beaten?" He gasped. "Entreri dead?"
The words rang like sweet music to Regis, who had watched the rivalry
between the assassin and Drizzt with horror from its inception. All along, Regis
had suspected that those two would fall into a duel that only one could survive.
And all along, the halfling had feared for his drow friend.
The thought of Entreri gone put a new perspective on the battle at hand for
Pasha Pook. Suddenly he needed Rassiter and his cohorts again; suddenly the
carnage he watched through the Taros Hoop had a more direct impact on his
guild's immediate power.
He leaped from his seat and ambled over to the evil device. "We must stop
this," he snarled at LaValle. "Send them away to a dark place!"
The wizard grinned wickedly and shuffled off to retrieve a huge book, bound
in black leather. Opening it to a marked page, LaValle walked before the Taros
Hoop and began the initial chantings of an ominous incantation.
* * *
Bruenor was first out of the room, searching for a likely route to Regis -
and for more wererats to chop down. He stormed along a short corridor and kicked
open a door, finding, not wererats, but two very surprised human thieves.
Holding a measure of mercy in his battle-hardened heart - after all, he was the
invader - Bruenor held back his twitching axe hand and shield-slammed the two
rogues to the ground. He then rushed back out into the corridor and fell in line
with the rest of his friends.
"Watch yer right!" Catti-brie cried out, noting some movement behind a
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tapestry near the front of the line, beside Wulfgar. The barbarian pulled the
heavy tapestry down with a single heave, revealing a tiny man, barely more than
a halfling, crouched and poised to spring. Exposed, the little thief quickly
lost his heart for the fight and just shrugged apologetically as Wulfgar slapped
his puny dagger away.
Wulfgar caught him up by the back of the neck, hoisting the little man into
the air and putting his nose to the thief's. "What manner are you?" Wulfgar
scowled. "Man or rat?"
"Not a rat!" the terrified thief shrieked. He spat on the ground to
emphasize his point. "Not a rat!"
"Regis?" Wulfgar demanded. "You know of him?"
The thief nodded eagerly.
"Where can I find Regis?" Wulfgar roared, his bellow draining the blood from
the thief's face.
"Up," the little man squeaked. "Pook's rooms. All the way up." Acting solely
on instinct for survival, and having no real intentions to do anything but get
away from the monstrous barbarian, the thief slipped one hand to a hidden dagger
tucked in the back of his belt.
Bad judgment.
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