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.Drizzt knew all too well what that foretold.He let fly the arrow, missing badly, for he was already moving, scrambling up from his perch, as he let go of the bowstring.In truth, he let fly the arrow as much to clear it from the bow as anything else.He rushed out along the branch, nimbly balancing as he flipped the magical quiver and then the bow over his shoulders, and by the time he got out on the limb, the thinner wood beginning to bend under his weight, he had his scimitars in hand.The tree exploded behind him, the mage’s fireball turning twilight into noontime.It was not a concussive blast, though Drizzt wished it had been, for the air around him instantly began to simmer and sting with licks of flame.Now he used the elasticity of the branch, springing up and away with abandon.Only his magical anklets had saved him from grievous wounds from the intensity of the blast—no novice, this mage! Without the magic speeding his steps, that fireball would have caught him fully, to no good end.Though he had escaped the bulk of that blast, he found himself more than twenty feet in the air, flying free and clear of the branches, with nothing to grasp and only the hard ground to cushion his fall.He took some comfort, or enjoyment, in the look of horror upon the mage’s face as he descended from on high.He noted the terrain, and took heart that it was mostly clear before him.The drow turned himself over in mid-air, landing in a forward roll, coming up with a desperate swing as he passed by the mage before going into another forward roll, and a third to absorb the momentum.He crashed through some brush, painfully, but managed to come up to his feet relatively unscathed.The same could not be said of the mage, who spun around in circles with blood spurting from the gash Drizzt’s scimitar had sliced across his throat.Drizzt tried to orient himself, to figure out where his companions might be.An image of his blades diving in at Entreri’s back flashed in his mind, and brought forth a surprising amount of anger—rage he quickly focused on the situation at hand.He charged off at full speed, moving from cover to cover, from tree to brush to boulder, then even up into the lower branches of another tree.Shouts rang up all around him as the enemy tried to get a bead on him, tried to coordinate against him.He reversed his course, then cut out again, springing from the tree branch to a clearing behind some underbrush, then speeding through at full speed to surprise a pair of Shadovar who were still pointing at the tree he had climbed, yelling out directions.They almost got their weapons up to block.Drizzt ran on, leaving the two writhing on the ground.Anger grew with his speed, fueled by images of Entreri and Dahlia sharing that intimate moment.He heard a cry from in front and knew he had been spotted, knew that those ahead would put up a better defense—against his scimitars, at least.So he sheathed the blades as he sprinted and drew out his bow, and burst into sight of the trio.One, two, three went his arrows, blowing one shade away, lifting him into the air, cutting a second down with a glancing blow that still opened her skin from shoulder to shoulder, and sending the third diving away in panic.Drizzt rushed through, crossing their position and disappearing into the brush so quickly that the unwounded shade wasn’t even sure where he had gone.“We cannot catch him,” the Netheril commoner admitted to Lord Alegni when he rejoined the tiefling at the magical gate.“He moves like a ghost—into the trees as quickly as we run along the ground.”“You have sorcerers,” Alegni replied, and he looked past the soldier to a few other shades now approaching, more than one of them glancing back over his shoulder with clear alarm.“Two are dead, slain by the drow!” the shade replied, and as his voice rose, he could barely suppress his terror.“What of the other two?” Alegni asked—asked all of them as the others came scurrying up.“Tell me that you fools have killed Dahlia or Barrabus!”It was all bluster, for Herzgo Alegni didn’t believe any such thing, nor did he desire any such thing.Not here, in this time or place or manner.The tiefling found himself a bit surprised by his feelings concerning this obvious abject failure.The lords of Netheril, after all, were never easy or merciful regarding failure.“Nay, my lord,” the commoner admitted.“I fear they have eluded us.”“The sword,” Alegni asked [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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