lips.
She quickly got ahead of his blocks, the weapons coming at him from any and every angle, battering him, cutting him, raising welt after welt. One strike hit his left forearm so forcefully they both heard the crack of bone before he even knew he’d been hit.
Stunned, off balance, and nearing the end of his strength, the warrior desperately punched out at Dahlia.
She dropped, turned, and swung her right arm up, looping her weapon under and around his extended shoulder. She continued her turn, throwing the back of her hip into his, bending him over her, and with a sudden yank on the entangling weapon, she flipped Themerelis right over her shoulder.
He fell flat on his back, his breath blasted from his lungs, his eyes and thoughts unfocused.
Dahlia didn’t slow, spinning circles, finally squaring up to the fallen man as she brought her hands clapping together in front of her, rejoining the central four-foot length of Kozah’s Needle. She waved the break-staff up one way then reversed, expertly aligning the side sticks and calling upon the weapon to rejoin. The instant she was holding a singular eight-foot staff again she drove one end to the ground and pole-vaulted off it high into the air, turning the weapon as she went and screaming,
“Yee-Kozah!”
to the dark clouds above.
She landed right beside Themerelis, driving the break-staff’s forward tip down like a spear into the man’s chest.
Fingers of lightning crackled out from the impact and the weapon slid through the man, clipping his backbone and pressing down into the ground.
Dahlia screamed out to the ancient, long-forgotten god of lightning again as she stood victorious, one hand holding the impaled weapon at midpoint, the other arm straight out to the other side, her head thrown back so she was looking up to the sky.
A blast of lightning coupled with a tremendous thunderstroke hit the upper tip of the staff and channeled down. Some of its burning force entered Dahlia, bathing her in crawling lines of blue-white energy, but most of it jolted into Themerelis with devastating effect. His arms and legs extended out wide, to their limits and beyond, kneecaps and elbows popping in protest. His eyes bulged as if they would fly from their sockets, and his hair, all of his hair, stood out straight, dancing wildly. A great hole was blown right through the man along the length of the metal staff that impaled him.
And Dahlia held on, basking in the power as it flowed through her lithe form.
She looked down at the gathered barbarians.
Finally she spotted Herzgo Alegni among them, moving forward through their ranks.
“Herzgo Alegni, this is your son!” she cried.
She threw the baby from the cliff.
AN OLD DWARF’S LAST ROAD
H E WAS JUST A BOY … MANY YEARS AGO,” THE WOMAN PROTESTED . S HE rubbed her elderly father’s shoulders, and the man was clearly uncomfortable with the obvious contradictions between his tale and the reality before them.
Drizzt Do’Urden held up his dark hands to reassure the two, to show the older man that he didn’t disbelieve him.
“It was here,” the man, Lathan Obridock, said. “As wondrous a wood as I’ve e’er seen or heard tell of. Full o’ springtime and warmth, and singing, and bells ringing. We all seen it, me and Spragan, and Addadearber and … what was that captain’s name now?”
“Ashelia,” Drizzt answered.
“Aye!” the old man said. “Ashelia Larson, who knew the lake better than any. Great captain, that lady. Just out fishing, you know. And we come across the lake …” He pointed back at the dark waters of Lac Dinneshere, tracing a line from a distance out to the rotted old remnants of what had once been a wharf, the ruins of an old shack just up the shore from it. “We were bringing that ranger … Roundie. Aye, Roundie. He paid Ashelia to get him across the lake, I guess. You should be speaking with him.”
“I did,” Drizzt replied, trying to keep the exasperation out of his
She quickly got ahead of his blocks, the weapons coming at him from any and every angle, battering him, cutting him, raising welt after welt. One strike hit his left forearm so forcefully they both heard the crack of bone before he even knew he’d been hit.
Stunned, off balance, and nearing the end of his strength, the warrior desperately punched out at Dahlia.
She dropped, turned, and swung her right arm up, looping her weapon under and around his extended shoulder. She continued her turn, throwing the back of her hip into his, bending him over her, and with a sudden yank on the entangling weapon, she flipped Themerelis right over her shoulder.
He fell flat on his back, his breath blasted from his lungs, his eyes and thoughts unfocused.
Dahlia didn’t slow, spinning circles, finally squaring up to the fallen man as she brought her hands clapping together in front of her, rejoining the central four-foot length of Kozah’s Needle. She waved the break-staff up one way then reversed, expertly aligning the side sticks and calling upon the weapon to rejoin. The instant she was holding a singular eight-foot staff again she drove one end to the ground and pole-vaulted off it high into the air, turning the weapon as she went and screaming,
“Yee-Kozah!”
to the dark clouds above.
She landed right beside Themerelis, driving the break-staff’s forward tip down like a spear into the man’s chest.
Fingers of lightning crackled out from the impact and the weapon slid through the man, clipping his backbone and pressing down into the ground.
Dahlia screamed out to the ancient, long-forgotten god of lightning again as she stood victorious, one hand holding the impaled weapon at midpoint, the other arm straight out to the other side, her head thrown back so she was looking up to the sky.
A blast of lightning coupled with a tremendous thunderstroke hit the upper tip of the staff and channeled down. Some of its burning force entered Dahlia, bathing her in crawling lines of blue-white energy, but most of it jolted into Themerelis with devastating effect. His arms and legs extended out wide, to their limits and beyond, kneecaps and elbows popping in protest. His eyes bulged as if they would fly from their sockets, and his hair, all of his hair, stood out straight, dancing wildly. A great hole was blown right through the man along the length of the metal staff that impaled him.
And Dahlia held on, basking in the power as it flowed through her lithe form.
She looked down at the gathered barbarians.
Finally she spotted Herzgo Alegni among them, moving forward through their ranks.
“Herzgo Alegni, this is your son!” she cried.
She threw the baby from the cliff.
AN OLD DWARF’S LAST ROAD
H E WAS JUST A BOY … MANY YEARS AGO,” THE WOMAN PROTESTED . S HE rubbed her elderly father’s shoulders, and the man was clearly uncomfortable with the obvious contradictions between his tale and the reality before them.
Drizzt Do’Urden held up his dark hands to reassure the two, to show the older man that he didn’t disbelieve him.
“It was here,” the man, Lathan Obridock, said. “As wondrous a wood as I’ve e’er seen or heard tell of. Full o’ springtime and warmth, and singing, and bells ringing. We all seen it, me and Spragan, and Addadearber and … what was that captain’s name now?”
“Ashelia,” Drizzt answered.
“Aye!” the old man said. “Ashelia Larson, who knew the lake better than any. Great captain, that lady. Just out fishing, you know. And we come across the lake …” He pointed back at the dark waters of Lac Dinneshere, tracing a line from a distance out to the rotted old remnants of what had once been a wharf, the ruins of an old shack just up the shore from it. “We were bringing that ranger … Roundie. Aye, Roundie. He paid Ashelia to get him across the lake, I guess. You should be speaking with him.”
“I did,” Drizzt replied, trying to keep the exasperation out of his
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