The woman curled up her fist and punched Delly hard, right in the face. As Delly fell away, the stranger tore Colson from her arms.
Delly reached out even as she fell, trying to grab the baby back, but the big thug drove a heavy forearm across her chest, speeding her descent. She landed hard on her back, and the brute wasted no time in scrambling atop her.
A crash from the side granted her a temporary reprieve, all eyes turning to see one of the other brutes standing amidst a pile of broken dinnerware—very expensive dinnerware.
“Find something for carrying it, you fool!” the woman yelled at him. She glanced all about the room, finally settling her gaze on one of the heavy, long drapes, then motioned for the creature to be quick.
She gave a disgusted sigh, then stepped forward and kicked the brute that was still atop Delly hard in the ribs. “Just kill the witch and be done with it,” she said.
The brute looked up at her, as defiant as any of them had yet been, and shook its head.
To Belly's dismay, the woman merely waved away the ugly creature, giving in.
Delly closed her eyes and tried to let her mind fly free of her body.
The thug that had dropped the dinnerware scrambled across the room to the drapery beside the open window and with one great tug, pulled it free. The brute started to turn back for the remaining dinnerware, but it stopped, regarding a curious sculpture revealed by removing the curtain. It was a full-sized elf figure, dressed in the garb of an adventurer and apparently made of some ebony material, black stone or wood. It stood with eyes closed and two ornate scimitars presented in a cross-chest pose.
“Huh?” the brute said.
“Huh?” it said again, reaching slowly to feel the smooth skin.
The eyes popped open, penetrating, lavender orbs that froze the giantkin in place, that seemed to tell the brute without the slightest bit of doubt that its time in this world was fast ending.
* * * * * * * * * *
With a blur the creature hardly even registered, the “statue” exploded into motion, scimitars cutting left and right. Around spun the drow elf, gaining momentum for even mightier slashes. A double-cut, one scimitar following the other, opened the stunned half-ogre from shoulder to hip. A quick-step put the drow right beside the falling brute. He reversed his grip with his right hand and plunged one enchanted blade deeply into the half-ogre's back, severing its spine, then half-turned and hamstrung the beast—both legs—with a precise and devastating slash of the other blade.
Drizzt stepped aside as the dying half-ogre crumbled to the floor.
“You should probably get off of her,” the drow said casually to the next brute; who was laying atop Delly, staring at Drizzt incredulously.
Before the pirate woman could even growl out, “Kill him!” the third half-ogre charged across the room at Drizzt, a course that brought him right past the opened window. Halfway across, a flying black form intercepted the brute. Six hundred pounds of snapping teeth and raking claws stopped dead the half-ogre's progress toward Drizzt and launched it back toward the center of the room.
The brute flailed wildly, but the panther had too many natural weapons and too much sheer strength. Guenhwyvar snapped one forearm in her maw, then ripped her head back and forth, shattering the bone and tearing the flesh. All the while, the panther's front paws clawed repeatedly at the frantic brute's face, too quick for the other arm to block. Guen's powerful back legs found holds on the half-ogre's legs and torso, claws digging in, then tearing straight back.
The surviving half-ogre rolled off of Delly and onto its feet. It lifted its weapon, a heavy broadsword, and rushed the drow, thinking to cut Drizzt in half with a single stroke.
The slashing sword met only air as the agile drow easily sidestepped the blow, then poked Twinkle into the brute's belly and danced another step away.
The half-ogre grabbed at the wound, but only for a moment. It came on fast with a straightforward thrust.
The scimitar Icingdeath, in Drizzt's left hand, easily turned the broadsword to the side. Drizzt stepped forward beside the lunging brute and poked it hard again with Twinkle, this time the scimitar's tip scratching off a thick rib.
The half-ogre roared and spun, slashing mightily as it went, expecting to cut Drizzt in half. Again the blade cut only air.
The half-ogre paused, dumbfounded, for its opponent was nowhere to be seen.
“Strong, but slow,” came the drow's voice behind it. “Terrible combination.”
The half-ogre howled in fear and leaped to the side, but Icingdeath was quicker, slashing in hard at the side of its neck. The half-ogre took three running strides, hand going up to its torn neck, then stumbled to one knee, then to the ground, writhing in agony.
Drizzt started toward it to finish it off but changed direction and stopped cold, staring hard at the woman who had backed to the wall beside the room's broken doors. The baby girl was in her arms, with a narrow, deadly dagger pressed up against the child's throat.
“What business does a dark elf have in Waterdeep?” the woman asked, trying to sound calm and confident, but obviously shaken. “If you wish the house as your own target, I will leave it to you. I assure you I have no interest in speaking with the authorities.” The woman paused and stared hard at Drizzt, a smile of recognition at last coming over her.
“You are no drow come from the lightless depths as part of a raid,” the woman remarked. “You sailed with Deudermont.”
Drizzt bowed to her and didn't even bother trying to stop the last half-ogre he had grievously wounded as it crawled toward the woman. Across the room, Guenhwyvar stalked about the wall, flanking the woman, leaving the other half-ogre torn and dead in a puddle of its own blood and gore.
“And who are you who comes unbidden to the House of Deudermont?” Drizzt asked. “Along with some less-than-acceptable companions.”
“Give me Colson!” pleaded the second woman—who must have been Delly Curtie. She was still on the floor, propped on her elbows. “Oh, please. She has done nothing.”
“Silence!” the pirate roared at her. She looked back at Drizzt, pointedly turning that nasty dagger over and over against the child's throat. “She will get her child back, and alive,” the woman explained. “Once I am out of here, running free.”
“You bargain with that which you only think you possess,” Drizzt remarked, coming forward a step.
The half-ogre had reached its boss by that time. With great effort, it worked itself into a kneeling position before her, climbing its arms up the wall and pulling itself to its knees.
Gayselle gave it one look, then her hand flashed, driving her dagger deep into the brute's throat. It fell away gasping, dying.
The woman, obviously no novice to battle, had the dagger back at the child's throat in an instant, a flashing movement that made Delly cry out and had both Drizzt and Guenhwyvar breaking for her briefly. But only briefly, for that dagger was in place too quickly, and there could be no doubt that she would put it to use.
“I could not take him with me and could not leave the big mouth behind,” the woman explained as the drow looked at her dying half-ogre companion.
“As I can not let you leave with the child,” the drow replied.
“But you can, for you have little choice,” she announced. “I will leave this place, and I will send word as to where you can retrieve the uninjured babe.”
“No,” Drizzt corrected. “You will give the babe to her mother, then leave this place, never to return.”
The woman laughed at the notion. “Your panther friend would catch me and pull me down before I made the street,” she said.
“I give you my word,” Drizzt offered.
Again, the woman laughed. “I am to take the word of a drow elf?”