she knew beyond doubt. Drizzt had become something more than that, something more formidable.
But Briza was a high priestess of Lolth, near the top of the drow hierarchy. She would not be frightened away by a mere male.
“Surrender!” she demanded. Drizzt couldn’t even decipher her words, for the hunter standing against Briza was no longer Drizzt Do’Urden. The savage, primal warrior that memories of dead Zaknafein had invoked was impervious to words and lies.
Briza’s arm pumped, and the whip’s six viper heads whirled in, twisting and weaving of their own volition to gain the best angles of attack.
The hunter’s scimitars responded in an indistinguishable blur. Briza couldn’t begin to follow their lightning-quick motions, and when her attack routine was ended, she knew only that none ofthe snakeheads had found a mark, but that only five of the heads remained attached to the whip.
Now in rage that nearly matched her opponent’s, Briza charged in, flailing away with her damaged weapon. Snakes and scimitars and slender drow limbs intertwined in a deadly ballet.
A head bit into the hunter’s leg, sending a burst of cold pain coursing through his veins. A scimitar defeated another deceptive attack, splitting a head down the middle, right between the fangs.
Another head bit into the hunter. Another head fell free to the stone.
The opponents separated, taking measure of each other. Briza’s breath came hard after the few furious minutes, but the hunter’s chest moved easily and rhythmically. Briza had not been struck, but Drizzt had taken two hits.
The hunter had learned long ago to ignore pain, though. He stood ready to continue, and Briza, her whip now sporting only three heads, stubbornly came in on him. She hesitated for a split-second when she noticed Dinin still prone on the floor but with his senses apparently returning. Might her brother rise to her aid?
Dinin squirmed and tried to stand but found no strength in his legs to lift him.
“Damn you,” Briza growled, her venom aimed at Dinin, or at Drizzt—it didn’t matter. Calling on the power of her Spider Queen deity, the high priestess of Lolth lashed out with all of her strength.
Three snake heads dropped to the floor after a single cross of the hunter’s blades.
“Damn you!” Briza screamed again, this time pointedly at Drizzt. She grasped the mace from her belt and swung a vicious overhand chop at her defiant brother’s head.
Crossed scimitars caught the clumsy blow long before it found its mark, and the hunter’s foot came up and kicked once, twice, and then a third time into Briza’s face before it went back to the floor.
Briza staggered backward, blood in her eyes and running freely from her nose. She made out the lines of her brother’s form beyond the blurring heat of her own blood, and she launched a desperate, wide-arcing hook.
The hunter set one scimitar to parry the mace, turning its blade so that Briza’s hand ran down its cruel edge even as the mace swept wide of its mark. Briza screamed in agony and dropped her weapon.
The mace fell to the floor beside two of her fingers.
Dinin was up then, behind Drizzt, with his sword in his hand. Using all of her discipline, Briza kept her eyes locked on Drizzt, holding his attention. If she could distract him long enough …
The hunter sensed the danger and spun on Dinin.
All that Dinin saw in his brother’s lavender eyes was his own death. He threw his sword to the ground and crossed his arms over his chest in surrender.
The hunter issued a growling command, hardly intelligible, but Dinin fathomed its meaning well enough, and he ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.
Briza started to slip around, meaning to follow Dinin, but a scimitar blade cut her off, locking under her chin and forcing her head so far back that all she could see was the dark stone of the ceiling.
Pain burned in the hunter’s limbs, pain inflicted by this one and her evil whip. Now the hunter
But Briza was a high priestess of Lolth, near the top of the drow hierarchy. She would not be frightened away by a mere male.
“Surrender!” she demanded. Drizzt couldn’t even decipher her words, for the hunter standing against Briza was no longer Drizzt Do’Urden. The savage, primal warrior that memories of dead Zaknafein had invoked was impervious to words and lies.
Briza’s arm pumped, and the whip’s six viper heads whirled in, twisting and weaving of their own volition to gain the best angles of attack.
The hunter’s scimitars responded in an indistinguishable blur. Briza couldn’t begin to follow their lightning-quick motions, and when her attack routine was ended, she knew only that none ofthe snakeheads had found a mark, but that only five of the heads remained attached to the whip.
Now in rage that nearly matched her opponent’s, Briza charged in, flailing away with her damaged weapon. Snakes and scimitars and slender drow limbs intertwined in a deadly ballet.
A head bit into the hunter’s leg, sending a burst of cold pain coursing through his veins. A scimitar defeated another deceptive attack, splitting a head down the middle, right between the fangs.
Another head bit into the hunter. Another head fell free to the stone.
The opponents separated, taking measure of each other. Briza’s breath came hard after the few furious minutes, but the hunter’s chest moved easily and rhythmically. Briza had not been struck, but Drizzt had taken two hits.
The hunter had learned long ago to ignore pain, though. He stood ready to continue, and Briza, her whip now sporting only three heads, stubbornly came in on him. She hesitated for a split-second when she noticed Dinin still prone on the floor but with his senses apparently returning. Might her brother rise to her aid?
Dinin squirmed and tried to stand but found no strength in his legs to lift him.
“Damn you,” Briza growled, her venom aimed at Dinin, or at Drizzt—it didn’t matter. Calling on the power of her Spider Queen deity, the high priestess of Lolth lashed out with all of her strength.
Three snake heads dropped to the floor after a single cross of the hunter’s blades.
“Damn you!” Briza screamed again, this time pointedly at Drizzt. She grasped the mace from her belt and swung a vicious overhand chop at her defiant brother’s head.
Crossed scimitars caught the clumsy blow long before it found its mark, and the hunter’s foot came up and kicked once, twice, and then a third time into Briza’s face before it went back to the floor.
Briza staggered backward, blood in her eyes and running freely from her nose. She made out the lines of her brother’s form beyond the blurring heat of her own blood, and she launched a desperate, wide-arcing hook.
The hunter set one scimitar to parry the mace, turning its blade so that Briza’s hand ran down its cruel edge even as the mace swept wide of its mark. Briza screamed in agony and dropped her weapon.
The mace fell to the floor beside two of her fingers.
Dinin was up then, behind Drizzt, with his sword in his hand. Using all of her discipline, Briza kept her eyes locked on Drizzt, holding his attention. If she could distract him long enough …
The hunter sensed the danger and spun on Dinin.
All that Dinin saw in his brother’s lavender eyes was his own death. He threw his sword to the ground and crossed his arms over his chest in surrender.
The hunter issued a growling command, hardly intelligible, but Dinin fathomed its meaning well enough, and he ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.
Briza started to slip around, meaning to follow Dinin, but a scimitar blade cut her off, locking under her chin and forcing her head so far back that all she could see was the dark stone of the ceiling.
Pain burned in the hunter’s limbs, pain inflicted by this one and her evil whip. Now the hunter
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