Tos’un’s defense mirrored Drizzt’s movements, hands rolling, blades turning in and out, rolling over each other with equal harmony.

Drizzt kept in tight and kept the strokes short, not willing to let Tos’un put any weight behind Khazid’hea. He thought that to be Tos’un’s only possible advantage, the sheer viciousness and power of that sword, and without it, Drizzt, who had defeated the greatest weapons master of Menzoberranzan, would find victory.

But Tos’un matched his rolling fury, anticipated his every move, and even managed several short counterstrikes that interrupted Drizzt’s rhythm, and one that nearly got past Drizzt’s sudden reversal and defense and would have surely gutted him. Surprised, Drizzt pressed the attack even more, rolling his hands more widely, changing the angles of attack more dramatically.

He slashed—one, two, three—downward at Tos’un’s left shoulder, spun suddenly as the last parry sounded, and turned lower as he went so that as he came around, both his swords tore for Tos’un’s right side. He expected a down-stroke parry from Khazid’hea, but Tos’un turned inside the attack, bringing his drow blade across to block. As he turned, he stabbed Khazid’hea back and down over his right shoulder.

Drizzt ducked the brunt of it, but felt the bite as the sword sliced down his shoulder blade, leaving a long and painful gash. Drizzt ran straight out from the engagement and dived forward in a roll, turning as he came up to face the pursuing Tos’un.

It was Tos’un’s turn, and he came on with fury, stabbing and slashing, spinning completely around and with perfect balance and measured speed.

Ignoring the pain and the warm blood running down the right side of his back, Drizzt matched that intensity, parrying left and right, up and down, the blades ringing in one long note as they clanged and scraped. With every parry of Khazid’hea, Drizzt caught the sword more softly, retreating his own blade upon contact, as he might catch a thrown egg to avoid breaking it. That was more taxing, though, more precise and time-consuming, and the necessity of such a concentrated defense prevented him from regaining the momentum and the offense.

Around and around the sheltered lea they went, Tos’un pressing, not tiring, and growing more confident with every strike.

He had a right to do so, Drizzt had to admit, for he fought brilliantly, fluidly, and only then did Drizzt begin to understand that Tos’un had done with Khazid’hea that which Drizzt had refused to allow. Tos’un was letting the sword infiltrate his thoughts, was following the instincts of Khazid’hea as if they were his own. They had found a complementary relationship, a joining of sword and wielder.

Worse, Drizzt realized, Khazid’hea knew him, knew his movements as intimately as a lover, for Drizzt had wielded the sword in a desperate fight against King Obould.

He understood then, to his horror, how Tos’un had so easily anticipated his rollover and second throw move after the initial cross and parry. He understood then, to his dilemma, his inability to set up a killing strike. Khazid’hea knew him, and though the sword couldn’t read his thoughts, it had taken a good measure of the fighting techniques of Drizzt Do’Urden. Just as damaging, since Tos’un had apparently given over to Khazid’hea’s every intrusion, the sword and the trained drow warrior had found a symbiosis, a joining of knowledge and instinct, of skill and understanding.

For a fleeting moment, Drizzt wished that he had not dismissed Guenhwyvar, as tired as she had been after finally leading him to Tos’un Armgo.

A fleeting moment indeed, for Tos’un and Khazid’hea came on again, hungrily, the drow stabbing high and low simultaneously then spinning his blades over in a cross, and back again with a pair of backhand slashes.

Drizzt backed as Tos’un pursued. He parried about half the strikes—mostly those of the less dangerous drow blade—and dodged the other half cleanly. He offered no counters, allowing Tos’un to press, as he tried to find the answers to the riddle of the drow warrior and his mighty sword.

Back he stepped, parrying a slash. Back he stepped again, and he knew that he was running out of room, that the stone throne was near. He began to parry more and retreat less, his steps slowing and becoming more measured, until he felt at last the thick granite of the throne behind his trailing heel.

Apparently sensing that Drizzt had run out of room, Tos’un came forward more aggressively, executing a double thrust low. Surprised by the maneuver, Drizzt launched a double-cross down, the appropriate parry, where he crossed his scimitars down over the two thrusting swords. Drizzt had long ago solved the riddle of that maneuver. Before, the defender could hope for no advantage beyond a draw.

Tos’un would know that, he realized in the instant it took him to begin the second part of his counter, kicking his foot through the upper cross of his down-held blades, and so when Tos’un reacted, Drizzt already had his improvisation ready.

He kicked for Tos’un’s face, so it appeared. Tos’un leaned back and drove his swords straight up, his intent to knock the kicking Drizzt, already in an awkward maneuver, off his balance.

But Drizzt shortened his kick, which could have no more than glanced Tos’un’s face anyway, and changed the angle of his momentum upward then used Tos’un’s push from below to bolster that directional change. Drizzt leaped right up and tucked in a tight turn that spun him head-over-heels to land lightly atop the seat of the stone throne, and it was Tos’un who overbalanced as the counterweight disappeared in a back flip, the drow staggering back a step.

Typical of an Armgo, Tos’un growled and came right back in, slashing across, which Drizzt hopped easily. Up above, Drizzt had the advantage, but Tos’un tried to use sheer aggressiveness to dislodge him from the seat, slashing and stabbing with abandon. One swipe cut across short of Drizzt, who threw back his hips, and sent Khazid’hea hard into the back of the stone throne. With a crack and a spark, the sword slashed through, leaving a gouge in the granite.

“I will not let you win, and I will not let you flee!” Drizzt cried in that moment, when the stone, though it hadn’t stopped the sword, surely broke Tos’un’s rhythm.

Drizzt went on the offensive, hacking down at Tos’un with powerful and straightforward strokes, using his advantageous angle to put his weight behind every blow. Tos’un tried to not retreat as a drum roll of bashing blades landed against his upraised swords, sending shivers of numbness down his arms, but Drizzt had him defending against angles varying too greatly for him to ever get his feet fully under him. Soon he had no choice but to fall back, stumbling, and Drizzt was there, leaping from the seat and coming down with a heavy double chop of his blades that nearly took Tos’un’s swords from his hands.

“I will not let you win!’ Drizzt cried again, throwing out the words in a release of all his inner strength as he backhanded across with Icingdeath, smashing Tos’un’s drow-made sword out to the side.

And that was the moment when Drizzt could have ended it, for Twinkle’s thrust, turn, and out-roll had Khazid’hea too far to the side to stop the second movement of Icingdeath, a turn and stab that would have plunged the blade deep into Tos’un’s chest.

Drizzt didn’t want the kill, for all the rage inside him for Innovindil. He played his trump.

“I will again wield the magnificent Khazid’hea!” he cried, disengaging instead of pressing his advantage. He went back just a couple of steps, and only for a few heartbeats—long enough to see a sudden wave of confusion cross Tos’un’s face.

“Give me the sword!” Drizzt demanded.

Tos’un cringed, and Drizzt understood. For he had just given Khazid’hea what it had long desired, had just spoken the words Khazid’hea could not ignore. Khazid’hea’s loyalty was to Khazid’hea alone, and Khazid’hea wanted, above all else, to be wielded by Drizzt Do’Urden.