“We’re knowin’ yer every move then, ain’t we Captain Deudermont?” the pirate asked, licking his yellow teeth eagerly.

“Argus Retch,” Deudermont replied. “So, the reports of your insult to good taste weren’t exaggerated after all.”

The pirate cackled with laughter. “Paid good gold for these,” he said, and wiped his bloody sword across his pants—and though the blade did wipe clean, his obviously magical pants showed not a spot of the blood.

Deudermont resisted the urge to reply with a snide comment regarding the value of such an outfit and the possible fashion benefits of soiling the damned ugly thing, but he held his tongue. There would be no bargaining with the pirate, obviously, nor did the captain want to—particularly since a man loyal to Deudermont, an innocent man, lay dead at Retch’s feet.

In reply, then, Deudermont presented his sword.

“Ye got no crew to command here, Captain,” Argus Retch answered in response, lifting his own blade and drawing out a long dirk in his other hand. “Oh, but ye’re the best at maneuverin’ ships, ain’t ye? Let’s see how you turn a blade!” With that, he leaped forward, stabbing with his sword, and when that got deflected aside, he turned with the momentum and slashed his dirk across wildly.

Deudermont leaned back out of range of that swipe and quickly brought his sword before him, managing a thrust of his own that didn’t get near to hitting the pirate, but managed to steal Retch’s offensive initiative and force him back on his heels. The pirate went down low then, legs wide, blades presented forward, but wide apart, as well.

He began to circle in measured steps.

Deudermont turned with him, watching for some tell, some sign that the man would explode into an aggressive attack once more, and also take in the room, the battlefield. He noted the island counter, all full of cooking pots and bowls, and the narrow cabinets lined side-to-side along the side wall.

Retch’s jaw clenched and Deudermont noted it clearly, and so he was hardly surprised as the pirate leaped forward, sword stabbing.

Deudermont easily slipped beside the cooking island, and Retch’s succeeding dagger swipe missed by several feet.

“Stand still and fight me, ye dog!” Retch bellowed in protest, giving chase around the island.

Deudermont grinned at him, egging him on. The captain continued his retreat down the backside of the island, then around to the front, putting himself between the island and the row of cabinets.

Retch pursued, growling and slashing.

Deudermont stopped and let him close, but only so that he could grab the nearest cabinet with his free left hand and topple it forward, to fall right in front of the pirate. Retch leaped it, only to bang against the second cabinet as it similarly toppled, then the fourth, Deudermont having safely retreated past the third without pulling it down.

“I knew ye was a coward!” Retch cried, ending in a sputter as Deudermont used the moment while the pirate dodged the falling cabinet to swing his sword low and hard across the top of the island, smashing bowls and sending liquid and powdery flour flying at Argus Retch. The pirate waved his hands, futilely trying to block, and wound up with his face powdered in white, with several wet streaks along one cheek. His beard, too, lost its black hue in the flour storm.

Sputtering and spitting, he came forward, and turned his shoulder to rush sidelong past as Deudermont reached out for yet another cabinet to topple.

But Deudermont didn’t pull down the cabinet. Instead he used Retch’s defensive turn and the line of his free hand to step forward. He executed a quick double parry, sword and dirk, then stepped inside Retch’s sword reach and slugged the pirate hard in the face.

Retch’s nose cracked and blood poured forth to cake with the flour on his lip.

Deudermont started back, or seemed to, but in truth, he was merely rotating his shoulders, having reached back and turned his own sword expertly.

Retch came forward in outraged pursuit, thinking to stab the captain with his dagger, and shouting, “Curse ye, cheatin’ dog!”

At least, that’s what he meant to say, but he found his dagger going right by the captain and his words choked short as Deudermont’s fine sword drove up under his jaw, through his mouth and into his brain, and right through that with such force as to lift the hat right from Argus Retch’s head.

Deudermont did get stuck by the dagger for his daring move, but there was no strength behind the strike, for the pirate was already dead.

Still, Retch kept that surprised and outraged, wide-eyed expression for a long few heartbeats before falling forward, past the dodging captain, to land face-down on the floor.

“I wish I had the time to extend our battle, Argus Retch,” Deudermont said to the corpse, “but I’ve business to attend to more important than satisfying the sense of fair play from the likes of you.”

“Good that ye’re slowin’! Ye’d be smarter to be rowin’, cause this way ye ain’t goin’, ye know?” the dwarf bellowed, apparently amusing himself beyond all reason as he ended with a howling, “Bwahahahaha!”

“Oh, do kill him,” Regis said to Drizzt.

“The fight is over, good dwarf,” Drizzt said.

“I ain’t thinking that,” replied the dwarf.

“I’m going to get my captain, to usher him away,” Drizzt explained. “Luskan is not for Deudermont, so it has been decided by the Luskar themselves. Thus, we go. There is no reason to continue this madness.”

“Nah,” the dwarf spouted, unconvinced. “I been wantin’ to test me morningstars against the likes o’ Drizzt Do’Urden since I heared yer name, elf. And I been hearin’ yer name too many times.” He drew his morningstars from over his shoulders.

Drizzt scimitars appeared in his hands as if they had been there all along.

“Bwahahahaha!” the dwarf roared in laughing applause. “As quick as they’re saying, are ye?”

“Quicker,” Drizzt promised. “And again I offer you this chance to be gone. I’ve no fight with you.”

“Now there’s a wager I’m willin’ to take,” said the dwarf, and he came forward, laughing maniacally.

CHAPTER 33

SUNSET IN LUSKAN

T here could be no mistaking the Crow’s forward leaning posture as he approached Arabeth Raurym, who had been summoned to his audience chamber at Ten Oaks.

Where lie your loyalties?” he asked.

Arabeth tried to keep her own posture firm and aggressive, but failed miserably as the small but strangely intimidating young man strode toward her. “Are you threatening me, an Overwizard of the Hosttower of the Arcane?”

“The what?”

“The achievement still merits respect!” said Arabeth, but her voice faltered just a bit when she noted that the Crow had drawn a long, wicked dagger. “Back, I warn you…”

She retreated a few quick steps and began waving her arms and chanting. Kensidan kept the measure of his approach and seemed in no hurry to interrupt her spellcasting. Arabeth blasted him full force with a lightning bolt, one that should have lifted him out of his high boots, however tight the lacing, and sent him flying across the room to slam into the back wall, a blast that should have burned a hole into him and sent his black hair to dancing, a blast that should have sent his heart to trembling before stopping all together.

Nothing happened.

The lightning burst out from Arabeth’s fingers, then just…stopped.

Arabeth’s face crinkled in a most unflattering expression and she gave a little cry and stumbled to her right, toward the door.

At that moment, Kensidan, tingling with power, knew he’d been right to trust the voices in the darkness all along. He rushed forward just enough to tap Arabeth on the shoulder as she rushed past, and in that touch, he released all of the energy of her lightning bolt, energy that had been caught and held.