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even, solid strokes.
His left arm useless and his left eye seeing no more than a blur, Entreri
knew that he could not hope to win. Drizzt saw it, too, and he picked up the
tempo, slapping again and again at the slowing saber in an effort to further
weary Entreri's only defense.
But as Drizzt pressed into the battle, his magical mask once again loosened
and dropped from his face.
Entreri smirked, knowing that he had once again dodged certain death. He saw
his out.
"Caught in a lie?" he whispered wickedly.
Drizzt understood.
"A drow!" Entreri shrieked to the multitude of people he knew to be watching
the battle from nearby shadows. "From the Forest of Mir! A scout, a prelude to
an army! A drow!"
Curiosity now pulled a throng from their concealments. The battle had been
interesting enough before, but now the street people had to come closer to
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verify Entreri's claims. Gradually a circle began to form around the combatants,
and Drizzt and Entreri heard the ring of swords coming free of scabbards.
"Good-bye, Drizzt Do'Urden," Entreri whispered under the growing tumult and
the cries of "Drow!" springing up throughout the area. Drizzt could not deny the
effectiveness of the assassin's ploy. He glanced around nervously, expecting an
attack from behind at any moment.
Entreri had the distraction he needed. As Drizzt looked to the side again,
he broke away and stumbled off through the crowd, shouting, "Kill the drow! Kill
him!"
Drizzt swung around, blades ready, as the anxious mob cautiously moved in.
Catti-brie and Bruenor came up onto the street then and saw at once what had
happened, and what was about to happen. Bruenor rushed to Drizzt's side and
Catti-brie notched an arrow.
"Back away!" the dwarf grumbled. "Suren there be no evil here, except for
the one ye fools just let get away!"
One man approached boldly, his spear leading the way.
A silver explosion caught the weapon's shaft, severing its tip. Horrified,
the man dropped the broken spear and looked to the side, to where Catti-brie had
already notched another arrow.
"Get away," she growled at him. "Leave the elf in peace, or me next shot
won't be lookin' for yer weapon!"
The man backed away, and the crowd seemed to lose its heart for the fight as
quickly as it had found it. None of them ever really wanted to tangle with a
drow elf anyway, and they were more than happy now to believe the dwarf's words,
that this one wasn't evil.
Then a commotion down the lane turned all heads. Two of the guards posing as
bums outside the thieves' guild pulled open the door - to the sound of fighting
- and charged inside, slamming the door behind them.
"Wulfgar!" shouted Bruenor, roaring down the road. Catti-brie started to
follow but turned back to consider Drizzt.
The drow stood as if torn, looking one way, to the guild, and the other, to
where the assassin had run. He had Entreri beaten; the injured man could not
possibly stand up against him.
How could he just let Entreri go?
"Yer friends need ye," Catti-brie reminded him. "If not for Regis, then for
Wulfgar."
Drizzt shook his head in self-reproach. How could he even have considered
abandoning his friends at that critical moment? He rushed past Catti-brie,
chasing Bruenor down the road.
* * *
Above Rogues Circle, the dawn's light had already found Pasha Pook's lavish
chambers. LaValle moved cautiously toward the curtain at the side of his room
and pushed it aside. Even he, a practiced wizard, would not dare to approach the
device of unspeakable evil before the sun had risen, the Taros Hoop, his most
powerful - and frightening - device.
He grasped its iron frame and slid it out of the tiny closet. On its stand
and rollers, it was taller than he, with the worked hoop, large enough for a man
to walk through, fully a foot off the floor. Pook had remarked that it was
similar to the hoop the trainer of his great cats had used.
But any lion jumping through the Taros Hoop would hardly land safely on the
other side.
LaValle turned the hoop to the side and faced it fully, examining the
symmetrical spider web that filled its interior. So fragile the webbing
appeared, but LaValle knew the strength in its strands, a magical power that
transcended the very planes of existence.
LaValle slipped the instrument's trigger, a thin scepter capped with an
enormous black pearl, into his belt and wheeled the Taros Hoop out into the
central room of the level. He wished that he had the time to test his plan, for
he certainly didn't want to disappoint his master again, but the sun was nearly
full in the eastern sky and Pook would not be pleased with any delay.
Still in his nightshirt, Pook dragged himself out into the central chamber
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at LaValle's call. The guildmaster's eyes lit up at the sight of the Taros Hoop,
which he, not a wizard and not understanding the dangers involved with such an
item, thought a simply wonderful toy.
LaValle, holding the scepter in one hand and the onyx figurine of Guenhwyvar
in the other, stood before the device. "Hold this," he said to Pook, tossing him
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