Chapter 5: Daggers in the Dark
Much to Zayana's surprise, and she was sure that the hobgoblin guard at the entrance had had no idea, Zegorath's did in fact have special guests that night. She had been bored stiff for some time, yet feigning interest in the fights, brutish and unaesthetic as they were, when her attention was drawn to the newest contestant. Not the ogre, wielding a club the size of most drow elves, but the other, a shirtless drow wearing nothing but tight leather trousers and a half-mask to conceal his identity. The drow, unlike his opponent, certainly was aesthetically pleasing, ashen skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat, every muscle defined and taut as he wielded two slim swords. He played to the crowd as well, passing up more than one opportunity to finish off the ogre in deference to dancing away and furthering the brutes humiliation with slashes that drew blood and severed tendons, but didn't do any true damage. Zayana, firm in the belief of drow superiority over all other races, didn't realize there was anything out of the ordinary about this elf other than his extreme visual appeal, until Drizzt suddenly stiffened alongside her, then quietly asked her for her coin-purse. Bemused, she handed it to him right as the drow warrior leapt into the air, somersaulting, and drew both swords across the ogre's throat, instantly ending the fight, and its life. A crew of kobolds instantly rushed into the arena and dragged the ogre out.
Drizzt watched with narrow focus as he recognized the drow elf in the arena. Not by looks, for the mask obscured enough of his features, and Drizzt had never before seen him shirtless, but by fighting style. Many drow elves, Drizzt included, wielded two weapons at once, and of those most used the slim swords preferred by dexterous warriors around the realms, but few could fight like that. The moment the ogre was hauled out, and it became clear the drow warrior was staying in for another bout, Drizzt signaled over the attendant. The room exploded in chatter as the warrior's opponents for the next bout came out, three duegar in full plate armour, tall shields overlapping to cover their fellows and wielding gleaming spears. Drizzt smirked. Zegorath's was going to make a killing off the betting on this bout. Of course, so was Drizzt. Handing over both coin-purses, his own and Zayana's, he spoke to the attendant. "All of it on the drow," he slurred, feigning intoxication, though he had barely drunk enough to feel a light buzz.
"Of course, sir," the attendant confirmed, handing him a ticket for his bet. Drizzt leaned back into the couch, tucking the ticket into his belt-pouch alongside Guenhwyvar's figurine.
"Are you serious?" Zayana demanded hoarsely, "That's what you wanted my coin-purse for?"
"Just wait," Drizzt grinned back at her. "Let's head down to the floor, I want to talk to him when he's done. Act like you're drunk." With that, he levered himself off the couch before extending his arm to help Zayana up. She did an admirable acting job as they traversed the steps down to the floor of the amphitheatre, Drizzt smirking every time he heard a spectator comment on how the drow elf was already as good as dead. They made it down to the floor just in time for the bout to start.
The duegar closed ranks, shields clashing together, spears lancing forward towards their opponent, three gleaming blades flying forward as the duegar tried to seize the element of surprise. Whirling blades forced the spears wide of the drow's body as he dashed past the sharp blades and inside the range of the spears. Suddenly the deadly weapons were mere sticks in the hands of the duegar, as the drow warrior threw his shoulder forward into the seam where two shields met, forcing through behind the protection of the shields and driving one sword through a gap in the heavy plate armour of the middle duegar, snuffing out the deep dwarf's life instantly. The duegar to his right merely dropped his spear and shield to the ground and dove onto the drow, wrapping his lean frame in powerful, burly arms. The other duegar kicked his fellow's body away and poised his spear to strike, only to stab nothing as the drow slithered free of the now-weaponless duegar's grasp in a display of power and dexterity. Backing away, the drow levelled his swords at the ready, daring his weaponless opponent to expose himself going for his spear, while also watching the duegar with spear in hand. Suddenly he exploded into motion, driving the spear-wielding opponent back in a flurry of blows before backflipping away, twisting mid-somersault to land crouched, one knee resting on the ground, and drove a sword powerfully upwards through the eyeslit of the other duegar's helmet as the duegar bent low to retrieve his spear. All of a sudden, there were now only two living combatants in the arena, and the remaining duegar warrior began to shuffle backwards quickly, putting his vulnerable back to the edge of the arena, protecting his front and side with the tall shield.
It was all for naught, and Drizzt saw it in his mind's eye before it happened. Two quick slashes of one sword drove the duegar's spear high and wide. The second sword stabbed in at the duegar's face, forcing the tall shield high to defend, allowing the drow warrior to sweep his leg low, unbalancing his opponent, and then both swords low into the knee joint of the duegar's armour, crippling him and dropping him to the ground. A simple technique, Drizzt mused, but difficult to execute, regardless of its simplicity. A quick roll away avoided any late retaliation, then the drow stalked forward cooly and dispatched his armoured opponent with a quick thrust of the blade. The arena erupted in disbelief. Many patrons were openly voicing their displeasure, even suggesting some manner of cheating, but to no avail. The management of Zegorath's would brook no serious argument, and no patron would risk the retaliation of the establishment. In Menzoberranzan, power lay with those who could wield it, and within their own walls, nobody would challenge them.
The drow warrior towelled off his sweat, far more than he had started with, and strode across with a flirtatious smirk, noticing Zayana's eyes devouring his form. But before he could say anything, Drizzt stepped in front, looking through the metal cage surrounding the arena. "Hello, Berg'inyon."
Back in their booth, curtains drawn and away from prying eyes, Drizzt and Berg'inyon clasped each others' forearms in the traditional manner of drow warriors not expecting betrayal at a moment's notice from their fellow. "I assume you remember Zayana," Drizzt prompted, gesturing to the priestess, who once again removed her hood, "she almost killed me when I bet her entire coin-purse on your victory, but I knew it was a sure thing from the moment I recognized you. You ought to be more careful, you know," he advised slyly, "if I could recognize you, who knows who else could have, and not all eyes are as friendly as mine." Berg'inyon merely grunted in response.
"Tell me, Berg'inyon," Zayana interjected, laying her hand on his bicep and thrusting her chest just slightly forward, "what possessed you to want to take part in this crude entertainment? I can't imagine you need the money, though if you do, Drizzt has just won plenty betting on you, perhaps you should bet on yourself."
Berg'inyon drew back his lips in a vicious smile, eyeing Zayana as a predator eyes its prey. "Where else could I go that I could show off my skills to pretty ladies such as yourself" he winked, "and without a shirt on at that?"
"And yet," Zayana purred with an exaggerated pout, "you have your shirt back on now. Such a shame," she continued, rubbing her hand along his bicep in sensuous stroking movements.
Drizzt watched their interplay with amusement, but this was business, not pleasure. That it was not the business he had come to Zegorath's to complete, and merely a fortuitous happenstance, didn't mean that he was willing to pass up his opportunity to get information from the Baenre thirdboy just so Zayana could get laid. She could always fuck Berg'inyon after he left anyway. "Feel free to stay as long as you want," he interrupted, "I have the room booked all night, you won't be disturbed. But I have other commitments to attend to, so if I could have a moment?" The others fell silent and looked at him curiously. "House Do'Urden are no threat to House Baenre," he said, "and indeed our two houses have long history of working together. Right now House Do'Urden draws the eyes of many houses away from the greatest prize, but if Do'Urden is no more, how long will it take for those eyes to shift their target?" A look of understanding dawned on Berg'inyon's face. "I don't ask for military support or open declaration," he continued, "but access to Baenre's sources of information could greatly prolong the life of House Do'Urden." That any information provided by House Baenre would be double- and triple-checked against other sources before being used was left unspoken, but nobody was ignorant of that. "No need to answer now," he continued, pulling his piwafwi cloak tight and raising the hood, "I will be here in two days, should you choose to accept." With that, he slipped through the curtains and out into the amphitheatre.
Berg'inyon raised his eyebrows, and quirked a seductive smile at the priestess. "I'm almost convinced to help him," the Baenre thirdboy murmured seductively, "but what do you say you give me a little more convincing?"
Zayana just licked her lips in response. She'd been eyeing Berg'inyon since he first stepped in the ring, and he knew it.
Drizzt had not just been using his 'other commitments' as an excuse to avoid watching his two companions tear each other's clothes off in front of him. He was in fact now running late, he mused, as he hustled through the amphitheatre and back out onto the street through a different exit to the one by which he had entered. And just in time, as he was met by an irritated drow elf, flanked by an equally irritated young human. "You're late," grumbled the one-eyed warrior irreverently. Artemis said nothing, yet his displeasure was palpable. Having been tasked with traversing Menzoberranzan both rapidly and stealthily, and having completed a number of information-gathering targets on the way, to be forced to wait outside what equates to an upscale gambling den while their leader did whatever one does in an upscale gambling den clearly rankled. Drizzt supposed he hadn't really needed to secrete one of their information caches in a sewer, but how else was he to test the fortitude of his new team?
"Khazra and Ghazryn are following the target," one-eyed Yalael reported after a pause.
"Very good," Drizzt responded, then hesitated. For all his skill with weapons, he had not done much in terms of leading a team, just a couple of lessons on group tactics at the Academy. As he pondered the next step, he realized Yalael was getting impatient, but there was only so far good preparation could go before you had to start making things up on the fly.
This was why he'd brought the grizzled veteran on board though, so he may as well use the elder drow's expertise. "What do you think we should do, Yalael?" Drizzt asked.
To his credit, the older drow managed not to look too surprised at the young nobleman asking the advice of a commoner, and immediately gave his suggestion. "We need to divert the target without his retinue getting suspicious, then spring the ambush. Khazra should be able to provide us an illusion of a street blockage that the target's porters will want to avoid, and allow us to detour them into favourable terrain. If I'm not mistaken, Ghazryn should have some tricks in his pouches, and then we get up close and personal as quick as possible."
Drizzt nodded. It was a sound plan, or at least it seemed that way to his inexperienced ears. "Let's go find the others then," he agreed.
Finding the other members of the Do'Urden team was simple enough. As they traversed the rooftops, Khazra and Ghazryn had been leaving behind small, heated tokens, out of sight from ground level, but easy to spot for the infravision of the drow on the rooftops. In short order, they caught up with the wizard and the small warrior, gliding up soundlessly behind them. Peering over a ledge, Drizzt got the first sight of his target, or at least of the palanquin in which his target rested, carried by four goblin slaves, one at each corner, and guarded by four drow warriors, one on each side.
Drizzt quickly relayed the plan to his team in the intricate hand and facial code of the drow, reinforcing with vigorous signalling that the assault had to be quick, soundless, and with daggers only. It was important that no-one be able to identify the hands of House Do'Urden in this, and certainly Drizzt's dual-scimitar fighting style was far too recognizable to be used here. For the others, perhaps this was not such a concern, as none of them were well-known enough, neither did they have such a distinctive fighting style, but as much as anything, this was a test of their new team, and so at least some handicap seemed appropriate.
From there, events moved quickly. Khazra scouted ahead, and once out of sight of the slow-moving palanquin set up a convincing illusion of a fallen fish-cart, blocking the main thoroughfare and strewing raw, rotten fish across the street. The wizard assured Drizzt that this would be sufficient to convince the guards, on foot as they were, to take a detour without attempting to investigate too closely. In the nearest alleyway, Artemis, the smallest of the group, squeezed himself into an overturned crate, ready to burst out and rush the palanquin. Ghazryn readied himself for a leap from the roof towards the front of the approaching group, and Drizzt did the same for the rear, while canny Yalael merely removed his piwafwi to reveal a vagrant's outfit underneath and laid in a doorway, feigning sleep.
They heard it before they saw the palanquin turn into the alley, the goblin litter-bearers taking little care to walk quietly. Drizzt readied himself to access his innate powers, and, at the perfect time, cast a globe of darkness over the front of the palanquin, signalling his team to the attack and blinding the drow warrior at the front, as well as two of the goblins. Immediately, he leapt down, tucking into a roll to let his right shoulder take the impact on the stone floor of the cavern, then lashing up with the dagger in his left hand to slit the throat of the drow guard at the rear, taken completely by surprise with barely time to even blink. Popping to his feet, Drizzt swung his arms simultaneously, connecting the hilt of each dagger with the temple of one of the goblin slaves. Both slaves crumpled to the ground, unconscious, at the same moment that the poles supporting the front of the palanquin clattered to the ground. Khazra had been responsible for the two goblins, while the warriors of the group took out the drow. For a moment, all was quiet, and Drizzt realized that his comrades had been successful as well. All four drow guards were dead, and all four goblins out of action. He smirked. Maybe leadership wasn't so hard after all. A almost indiscernible blur of motion caught his eye as lightning-quick Ghazryn, still cloaked in his piwafwi, dashed towards the curtain of the palanquin and ripped it aside, then threw a thunderbolt of a punch at the occupant, driving the target forcefully into the curtain on the other side, causing it to bulge out. Drizzt's smirk slipped. That should have been him, but fortunately the small warrior had been alert. With barely a second glance, Yalael and Ghazryn pulled the now-unconscious target from the palanquin and lifted his limp body onto the nearest rooftop. As one, their group evacuated the scene, leaving the Braeryn district as they had entered, by the roofs of the district's buildings.
