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In Darkness Reborn

• Chapter 17 of the Legends of the DragonRider

Anitra shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. She was standing close to Direza's shoulder, ready to protect her if need be, while Melora and Mel guarded the door in full armor. However, if their guest decided that Direza needed to be dead, she was unpleasantly certain that she wouldn't be able to stop him. _Maybe_she could take him down in a straight fight, just the two of them, but she wasn't even sure of that - and she certainly wouldn't be able to protect anybody else while fighting a warrior of his magnitude. It made her feel kind of useless - a sensation she wasn't very used to.

Fortunately, so far, the legendary Drizzt Do'urden didn't seem inclined to draw his twin scimitars. He was sitting calmly before Direza's working-desk, eyes guarded, listening attentively to her offer. "So you truly intend to free all of the slaves?" He asked, sounding more than a little skeptical. "It may have been a long time since I left this city, but I haven't forgotten how central slave-labor is to its economy..." Direza smiled tolerantly, and nodded. "It is indeed, but nonetheless, I do. Did you not pay attention to my speech?"

Drizzt scoffed. "Sure - and a pretty speech it was too, but I wasn't born yesterday. Even among humans, I've learned not to accept a leader's word out of hand, and you are still Drow. Besides, your speech rather failed to address the issue of how you intend to_feed_ this city without slaves manning all the farms and ranches that surround it." Shaking her head, Direza sighed. "That is true - and in that regard, I may be guilty of a lie by omission. The truth, after all, isn't pretty. I'm essentially counting on the worst qualities of mankind."

"Explain." Drizzt requested, leaning back and folding his arms. It was clear from his eyes that he still wasn't prepared to take Direza's word for_anything_, but he was at least willing to hear her out, which was pretty impressive considering how many drow had attempted to kill him over the years. Smiling wanly, Direza unrolled a scroll and glanced at the figures held within. "I know, at this point, roughly how many slaves there are in this city and surrounding lands. Figures for the rest of the empire are shakier, but either way, the number is... high. Very, very high. Slavery has, as you said, been the cornerstone of the Drow economy for millenia. Even with the slave-raids ceased for now, many breeding-pits remain active. Now, once I give all these people their freedom... where do you suppose they will go?"

Drizzt's face grew stony, and he reluctantly nodded. "I see now. They will literally have nowhere else to go. The kingdoms above may be interested in retrieving some few, specific captives - particularly those who were of noble blood - and some of the more righteous will welcome back all those who were captured in raids on their lands. But most will have no interest in dealing with thousands of peasants suddenly returning - their lands have no doubt already been handed out to others... after all, 'nobody escapes the Dark City'. And there will be no place at all for those who were _born_in this forsaken pit."

Putting the scroll down again, Direza returned the nod - her face conflicted. Normally, Anitra realized, she would've hidden that. But she was making an effort to be honest with this man, no doubt suspecting that he'd detect any falsehood she'd care to level at him, and likely assume the worst about what was hiding behind it. "That is, indeed, the gist of it. For most of the freed slaves, there will be a simple choice - climb to the surface and live there as landless refugees, or else stay, and continue with the work you're already comfortable with, now with more wages and less torture. I expect many who take the first option will soon return, too. Few places up there welcome refugees - while down here, there will be a huge demand for paid labor. Everyone who needs strong hands and backs will have to _compete_for it, offering decent salaries and conditions in the hopes of attracting work-seekers who are no longer chained to their post."

Tapping his arm with one slender finger, Drizzt seemed to chew on this for a moment. "I have heard worse plans..." he finally conceded. "But if you have everything figured out so well, why are the slaves - those found on the territory you control - still in their pits and cages?" Direza grimaced, and scratched her head. "Frankly? Because I have nowhere else to put them._Providing them with safe and well-paid labor just isn't feasible while the war rages. Neither is returning them to the surface. And the farms _must continue to run, for now, without the temporary disruption that the freeing of the slaves will cause. A starving army will not win any wars."

Drizzt snorted, but she quickly held up a hand to stop him before he could speak. "Before you say what I know you're thinking... I have already made arrangements for a large relief-shipment of food, as well as basic medical supplies. Enough to fill Commorragh's empty larders. It cannot get here while control of the paths to the surface remain contested, but as soon as we have secured victory, we'll be set. With that 'buffer', we will indeed be able to affect the emancipation of the slaves without leaving anybody to starve. So, no, I will not be using that particularly expedient excuse to continuously put off freeing the slaves in the name of maintaining the food-supply..."

Anitra smiled at this. Those arrangements had been her idea... indirectly, anyway. She'd been the one to suggest that even if they remained ambivalent about helping Drow, the dragons of the Utopia would surely be eager to help all these poor, beleaguered_slaves_ that were stuck down here along with them, right? Sure, she hadn't actually considered the fact that, while they had managed to sneak through, a merchant caravan wouldn't want to go within a hundred leagues of any of the Underdark entrances without_complete_ assurance of their safety... so that approach couldn't really be used to bring in any vital, war-winning supplies. But, Direza had taken the idea and run with it, then Blake had magically transmitted her request back to the Utopia via the communications-network that the dragons had set up by now in order to support their various scouting- and spying-activities. The Utopia had sent back an acknowledgment shortly after - they would be drawing on their extensive mercantile contacts to prepare a relief-caravan, which would - reluctantly - deliver the goods as far as the Underdark entrance once they received direct confirmation that the coast was clear.

For his part, Drizzt flashed a rare, wry smile. "Fair enough. I see you, too, have grown used to people expecting the worst from you. Not surprising, I suppose - having spent some time on the surface, after all." Direza nodded, returning the smile with a more genuine one of her own. "I have indeed - and let me take this opportunity to once again thank you for the hospitality your son provided when I first left this place. I fear I was terribly unprepared for the journey - while naively thinking myself ready for anything the surface-world could throw at me. Without his help, I suspect I would not have survived for long up there. I trust young Wulfgar remains well, incidentally?"

Drizzt snorted in a particularly parental way, or so it seemed to Anitra, who had some experience in those sorts of matters herself. "He remains mopey and childish about my continued refusal to take him along on my travels, certainly..." he replied dryly. "Seemed to be under the impression that sneaking into Commorragh on a possibly-suicidal quest to free as many slaves as possible during the bloody civil war that consumes it is some grand adventure that I selfishly denied him the opportunity to participate in." Direza chuckled sympathetically, a grin forming on her face. "Perhaps he had a point - after all, this probably wasn't the reception you were expecting, hmm? Besides, you can hardly blame a young man like him for feeling both lonely and left out, under the circumstances. You... are all that he has, after all. I saw the gravestone, you know - and paid my respects there."

The atmosphere darkened somewhat at that, and Drizzt's nod was curt at best. A sore spot, no doubt, and Anitra could understand why. She'd heard the stories, after all - he'd taken a human for his lover and wife, and the fact that both of them would have known where it would inevitably lead well in advance would only have made that ending all the more bitter. It reminded her of how lucky she was that her_life was linked to her beloved Blake's - but if all went well, she_would outlive everybody else she cared for in time. First Melora, then Mel, and eventually Direza too - even her own son, dear little Jet, would one day find age and infirmity catching up to him... while she would remain young and spry as long as Blake still lived. Heck, based on what they'd learned about the nature of Black Dragons by now, it seemed fairly likely that he simply didn't age, providing her with a potentially infinite lifespan. So, yes, she understood the pain in Drizzt's voice as he suggested that they get back on task.

Direza readily did so, and proceeded to outline what she had in mind. First of all, he'd be given the immediate right to inspect every slave-holding in the parts of Commorragh and its surroundings currently controlled by the Reclaimers. He's thus be able to confirm for himself - and indeed, help her confirm - that her various orders about the treatment of slaves during this interim were being followed. In short: No killing, no torturing, and the Haemonculi had been ordered to turn over any slaves currently in their keeping... though, this had proven a depressingly small amount. It seemed that they'd 'used up' virtually all of the slaves in their keeping while they pursued Urien Rakarth's desperate attempt to 'perfect' his new-type Driders - which wasn't really a surprise. They probably wouldn't have taken to raiding the city's other factions for test-subjects if they still had slaves on hand, after all.

"While you inspect, though, keep an eye out for anyone who seem to have both the skill and the will to wield a sword..." Direza then suggested, prompting a narrow-eyed gaze from Drizzt. She returned it with a pleasant smile. "The idea of arming the slaves in order to swell our ranks has been broached by several of my supporters - after all, we are fighting for their freedom, so why shouldn't they join in? However, I refuse to employ them as arrow-fodder, and we haven't had anyone available who could be counted on to lead a force of well-armed, well-trained slaves without risking a sword in the back - not without certain magical control-measures that I am unwilling to employ. Until now, that is."

It took some convincing, of course. Direza had to first assure him that he'd get to make the offer to any prospective recruits himself, ensuring that it really was given as an offer, with no pressure applied. She had to make it clear that those willing to fight would be paid for it - giving them a head start on their future lives as free men, or travel-money if they decided to try their luck on the surface. She even had to reassure Drizzt that the slaves indeed would follow him, given half a chance. "Even in the deepest, darkest slave-pits in Commorragh, the name of Drizzt Do'urden is still whispered, the tales of your accomplishments recounted in hushed voices when the slaves need to gather the courage to face another day of torment and back-breaking labor." Direza smiled sardonically. "I know this, because it came across my desk while I was High Priestess, being an endemic issue that the slave-keepers had entirely failed to stamp out despite their best efforts. I never found any feasible solution to the problem, and I doubt my successor has managed any better."

This, at least, prompted an equally-sarcastic grin from Drizzt. "No solution - short of parading my head through the city on a pike, I suppose?" Direza shook her head, maintaining an admirably straight face. "That is one of the unfeasible solutions that many suggested, but none ever succeeded at implementing." The exchange prompted a brief laugh - before Drizzt finally nodded. "In the past, I sometimes dreamed of rallying the slaves of Commorragh into a worthy fighting-force and leading them to freedom..." he admitted, with a bemused expression on his face. "But not quite like this."

With that, he left - with Direza's messengers spreading out before him like the bow-wave of a ship, making sure that everyone knew of his current status, and that he met no resistance as he inspected the slave-quarters and searched for likely recruits. "There'll be more than he probably suspects..." Direza commented offhand as she leaned back in her chair, breathing a sigh of relief that the discussion had gone so well. "Captured soldiers who haven't forgotten the feel of a spear in their grip, slave-gladiators who've managed to survive enough bouts to learn the hard way, even the battle-thralls that some of the minor Houses sometimes use to inflate their numbers. Of course, they still won't amount to much, compared to the forces we already have available - neither as skilled as the Wyches nor as numerous as the Hellions - but that's not really the point of the exercise..."

Anitra nodded, glancing at the now-closed door that Drizzt had just departed by. She didn't really understand all the tricks and plans Direza was juggling these days, but she did recognize the value of a powerful symbol just fine. "So, what's next then?" She asked casually, and was answered by a broad smile spreading across Direza's normally-gentle face - one that made her seem, in that moment, every inch the fearsome Empress of the Drow that had held the Dark City together for three hundred years. "Next? Heh. All of the pieces are now finally in place. We've already won. All that remains is to inform our enemies of this fact."

This was worth a raised eyebrow from Anitra. "Drizzt was the final piece you were waiting on? I know he's a legendary hero and all, but is he really that good?" The surprised look Direza gave her for this made her wince - however brief it was, before disappearing behind a carefully neutral mask. Clearly, she was doing an even worse job of keeping up with her loyal servant's multifaceted plans than she'd realized. "Well, yes and no..." she then replied, her voice completely free of even the slightest hint that she was disappointed that her Mistress hadn't picked up on what she was doing. "Certainly, his skills are worthy of their legend, and they will come in handy when dealing with Asdrubael Vect's elites. But the important thing is that our other allies see him - and the slaves he recruit - fight alongside us. Strong bonds are often baptized in bloodshed."

And bloodshed there would be. Two weeks after Drizzt Do'urden's dramatic arrival, a small but determined force of armed and battle-ready ex-slaves had coalesced behind him, ready to fight for their freedom. Needless to say, they still viewed their drow 'allies' with suspicion and barely-restrained hatred, but the name and reputation of Drizzt was enough to make them accept Direza's promises as, at least,possibly not a bundle of filthy lies. Meanwhile, the rest of the Reclaimers' forces had prepared themselves for the long-awaited offensive - learning the simple yet difficult art of working_together._

Mobs of poorly-trained street-toughs from the slums formed up behind elite Wyches, training with blunted weapons as they learned to provide their designated Gladiatrix with the support she needed to shine, keeping enemies from surrounding and overwhelming her. Wych Beastmasters practiced air-to-ground coordination with Hellion hellbat-riders, drilling flanking-maneuvers and hunting down enemy scouts for sport. Haemonculi corpsmen reluctantly practiced their triage-skills on those who suffered injuries during training, with some even going so far as to admit that it actually wasn't _quite_as simple and dull a task as they'd expected, while others learned how to accept a 'no' as they offered Drizzt's Freemen - who, being in quite a hurry to get into fighting shape, were their most frequent 'visitors' - various handy 'modifications' that could help them in the battles ahead.

Of course, no amount of scout-hunting could really conceal what they were planning. So when finally this force surged north, V-shaped formations of hellbats flying beside Blake and Cerulea, the soldiers of the New Truth were more than ready to meet them - the buildings of the northern, commercial district having been converted into intimidating fortifications, with solid stone walls and steel-banded gates covering once-open avenues, while every rooftop bristled with archers, sorcerers and javeliners.

They were not, however, prepared for the two Rakshasa who had infiltrated their numbers weeks ago. Throughout their entire stay, the trio of Rakshasa agents they had brought along from the Utopia had remained entirely passive - collecting intelligence and funneling it back to Direza, ensuring that she had a comprehensive picture of everything her enemies were up to, but engaging in no acts of sabotage or other risky endeavors that might have tipped their targets off to their existence. The source of her excellent information had also been kept even from her allies, with cryptic references to the scrying-abilities of dragons when someone asked too keenly. In other words, Asdrubael Vect's forces were caught completely flat-footed when two perfectly unremarkable soldiers from within their ranks pulled small packages of oilskin-wrapped meat from their belt-pouches, and swiftly devoured the contents.

'Emergency Rations', the alchemists had dubbed them. Artificial, vat-grown human flesh - or at least, something that was close enough for the Rakshasa's strange metabolism. They wouldn't last for very long, but while they did, the recipients were everything the Ganarãjyan legends had made them out to be... terrifying monsters who wielded illusions of every stripe with deadly skill, capable of moving like the wind, flying through the air, turning invisible, and filling the minds of all around them with whatever deceptions they saw fit.

It were Asha and Ranjit who had infiltrated the New Truth - Pranav was embedded among the Loyalists in the Temple-Citadel, his superlative mastery of illusion-disguises allowing him to slip past even the potent magical defenses of that place. Each of them wrought untold havoc during the brief span of time their Emergency Rations provided them. Asha made the rounds to several of the barred gates that lined the New Truth's fortifications, setting the defenders of each against one another as they fought illusory invaders, while he moved about, all invisible, and opened each door from the inside. Meanwhile, Ranjit spread terror across the rooftops, ripping through arches and magic-wielders alike - tearing out throats and hearts with bestial strength while blinding his foes with terrifying visions, before leaping to the next group of foes to do it all over again.

Just like that, the defenses that had been so carefully prepared to meet the Reclaimer offensive crumbled - and the forces that poured into the New Truth's fortress met scattered, confused and often panicked soldiers whose lines of command and communication had already begun to collapse. Even Drizzt's Freemen could give good accounting of themselves against such a foe - as could the lightly-armored Hellion skirmishers. The two groups tore into the broken ranks of the enemy soldiers with near-equal hatred, while hungry-eyed Wyches stalked towards the trouble-spots where baying officers desperately sought to restore order and rally scattered soldiers to their sides.

The Emergency Rations lasted little more than ten minutes and, once they wore off, the two exhausted Rakshasa were forced to fall back behind their own lines, with even their basic illusion-disguises rather shaky - but the damage had been done. Ranjit's rampage across the rooftops, in particular, had left a bleeding rend in the fortified complex's defenses, opening the door for Blake, Cerulea and the Hellions to tear into whatever anti-air defenses remained - and then rain fire and destruction on any larger knots of resistance they could find, with Blake's might in particular crushing entire buildings when the beleaguered defenders tried to turn them into strongholds.

Anitra, however, had a different task. She was dancing through the carnage, hot on Lelith Hesperax's heels, glad to finally have something before her she knew how to handle. Sure, she couldn't keep up with Direza's stratagems, but she could fight, especially with a fresh Quickening burning like a bonfire in her stomach, courtesy of her beloved Blake - making her blood pump faster and her pupils dilate hugely, taking in every detail of the bloodied battlefield, while liquid mercury seemed to course through her nerves. Of course, she_needed_ all of that in order to keep up with Lelith, who seemed to dance through the carnage like she'd done it a million times before, twirling between arrows, spears, and hurled spells with dismissive ease, casually slicing open the veins of whoever was fool enough to draw near to her, leaving them screaming and crying on the ground as they fought to still the flow of life-juice from their opened blood vessels.

This was part of the bargain that Direza had struck with Lelith Hesperax and, by extension, the Wyches - a chance for Lelith to claim Asdrubael Vect's head. Commorragh's first 'patriarch', however, would not be an easy target - he'd be surrounded by elite bodyguards, and likely decked out with enchanted gear of every stripe. Direza, of course, had given her Mistress no orders for the coming battle... but she had made it clear that it was vital for her plans that Lelith survived it. Playing bodyguard to someone as swift and deadly as the star of the Commorragh Arena was no mean feat, however, and with one possible exception, Anitra was the only one who could hope to pull it off. So, there she was - right behind the dancing, twirling Queen of Knives, adding the limb-severing sharpness of BlackFire to the twin razors of Lelith's blades.

Their target was obvious - the central command-center of the fortified complex, the glorious estates of the House of Baenre. There, Asdrubael had held court with his followers, planned his moves and given his orders. Like most noble estates, it had its own walls, lined with archers and guards - but on Anitra's prompting, Blake had already swept across those walls with his fiery breath, scouring these sentinels from their post and leaving the gates hanging loosely from half-melted hinges. There were still some left inside, though - leaping up when Lelith barged through the front door, and just as quickly falling back down again as her knives flashed and blood-mist filled the air.

Past them, however, the mansion proved... ominously empty. The great map-room, its central table filled with small, colored soldier-figures meant to indicate the concentration of forces, was empty - ashen remnants in a brazier suggesting that some sensitive documents had just been burned. Asdrubael's own luxurious chambers on the second floor proved likewise abandoned, save for a handful of concubines, both human and drow, who whimpered and hid themselves as Lelith stalked through them, swearing up a storm, body and blades spattered with blood. Personally, Anitra figured they were probably lucky - if Asdrubael hadn't been in such a hurry to leave, he'd probably have cut all their pretty throats first just to tidy up.

By the time Lelith and Anitra returned to the ground floor, they found a familiar face waiting for them - Drizzt Do'urden, scimitars in hand, looking around with his keen, lavender eyes. "What are you_doing here?" Lelith spat in his direction, grimacing with frustration that had little to do with him, but clearly needed _some_kind of outlet. "Don't you have some slaves to babysit?" Drizzt met her ire calmly, however, shrugging his shoulders underneath the faded green cloak he worse. "The Freemen are doing quite well, actually, and I believe the best way to help them at this point is to secure a swift end to this battle. Which means taking out the _commander. I take it you haven't found him?"

Lelith just cursed, stalking over to kick in another door, peering into what turned out to be the kitchens, and finding nothing but cowering cooks and kitchen-slaves - spared, presumably, by the same circumstances as the concubines above. "Whole house seems abandoned..." Anitra replied in her stead, sliding her sword back in its wing-leather sheath. "Nothing but servants and burned documents. Barely any guards." Drizzt nodded firmly, and set off through the mansion with purpose to his steps. "He's running - and very quickly at that, if he left so many people alive to potentially carry tales of him." A simple conclusion that Anitra had already reached herself. Clearly, Asdrubael Vect was smart enough to know a hopeless battle when he saw one. But running _where?_This house was in the middle of a fortress that had, by now, become a pit of fire and blood. Dashing through that with all his bodyguards and general officers in tow would make him a huge target - one that Blake, Cerulea or the numerous Hellbat-riders whirling in the skies above would have spotted by now.

Drizzt's steps led him towards the mansion's basement, however - down a broad stone stair, to a dank and dusty room filled with crates, barrels, and an impressive collection of wine. The legendary drow hero moved slowly but steadily through this maze of moldering supplies, his eyes glued to the floor, while Anitra followed curiously behind - as did, eventually, Lelith, teeth gritted as curses continued to whistle out from between them. Finally, Drizzt stepped up to a rack of large barrels, no different from several others they'd passed, grabbed the spout and experimentally tugged it in several different directions - before a click was heard, and the entire front of the barrel swung open, revealing a tunnel beyond.

"I grew up in a house much like this..." Drizzt explained with a slight smile as Anitra raised both eyebrows at him. "There's_always_ an escape-tunnel, just in case. I just had to follow the tracks in the dust to find it." Tracks in the dust... in this poorly-lit place? Anitra's eyes penetrated the murk better than most, and as she looked around, she saw lots of tracks - most of them no doubt from servants sent down here to fetch wine, food, or other goods. Drizzt had found the tracks of Asdrubael's escape and followed them unerringly through all that? Truly, a tracker of legendary skill...

Lelith, for her part, didn't waste any time on being impressed, or for that matter on gratitude - instead, she shouldered her way past the both of them, and took off down the tunnel at a blistering pace, with Anitra and Drizzt setting off on her tail after exchanging a momentary glance. Asdrubael had clearly planned his escape well, and he'd have a significant head start. Based on the state of the burned papers she'd found in the brazier in the map-room, he must've left almost as soon as the gates were breached - considering the time it'd taken them to reach the mansion and search it, followed by Drizzt's slow, deliberate tracking-exercise through the basement... it seemed depressingly likely that he'd be long gone by the time they reached the end of the tunnel.

However, as they rushed through that darkness, lit only by widely-spaced embersconces, an echo began to reach them - suggesting that their initial estimate might have been overly pessimistic. Shouts, screams, metal on metal... the sounds of battle. In unspoken agreement, she and Drizzt lengthened their strides, picking up speed in a bid to catch up to Lelith before she blundered into whatever waited ahead all by herself.

They just barely made it - apparently, Lelith wasn't _quite_bloody-minded enough to rush blindly into a pitched battle, and had slowed down to get a look at what was going on before she leaped into it. A battle, indeed, featuring an unfamiliar-yet-expected face, and one that was quite the opposite. Certainly, Anitra had never before seen the tall, haughty-looking drow male who stood at the back of the force in front of them, clad head-to-toe in night-black armor that glimmered with potent enchantments, commanding a cadre of similarly heavily-armored bodyguards with sharp words and gestures while a handful of richly-clad noble-looking fellows clustered around him, seemingly just shy of gibbering in terror. But it was clearly Asdrubael Vect, Patriarch of House Baenre, and prophet of the New Truth. The man whose sheer ambition had shattered the venerable matriarchy of the drow.

The creatures that his bodyguards were fighting, however, looked dreadfully familiar... shambling, groaning terrors, twisted mounds of stitched-together flesh, bone and muscle. Grotesques - the home-made enforcers of the Haemonculi. These specific ones, she'd seen before - sitting in an unlocked cage, being quietly terrifying during an important, diplomatic meeting. They were clearly far, far beyond feeling any kind of pain - several had swords and spears sticking out of them, entirely unnoticed, and one was clawing its way forwards with its arms alone, its legs having apparently been cut out from under it.

Through this wall of groaning, mindless horrors, a tall and spindly figure could sometimes be glimpsed - standing with his side turned, seemingly caring nothing for the ongoing battle that was happening mere strides away, holding up a heavily-armored corpse with four set of long, thin, bony spider-limbs that emerged from a pulsating hump on his back. A strange box carved with agony-twisted faces that seemed to twitch and shift in the wan light was in his hand, held before the face of the corpse, which had presumably been dragged over to him by one of his obedient Grotesques.

"Dammit, Urien!" Asdrubael shouted over the din of battle. "Why would you throw your lot in with the former High Priestess and her foolish allies? If they have their way, it'll be the end of you and all your kind - can you not see that?!" Urien Rakarth, the Master Haemonculus - who clearly knew a thing or two about the vast underbelly of Commorragh, including the location of certain escape-tunnels - deigned to throw a glance in the protesting patriarch's direction, his ill-fitting lips pulling back in a disdainful smile. He didn't raise his voice, but it nonetheless cut through the battle like a bonesaw. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Either way, I find her grand experiment far more intriguing than your_petty ambition. After everything that has happened, the best you can think of is 'business as usual, just flip the genders'? Dull, Asdrubael. Very dull. Perhaps Direza's crazed plan for this city will fail spectacularly, but even _that will be far more fun to watch than what you have in mind."

What retort Asdrubael Vect might have had in mind for this dismissal would be forever unknown - for Lelith Hesperax had apparently seen and heard enough. Her movements had slowed only just enough for Anitra and Drizzt to catch up, but she'd never actually stopped, and she quickly picked up speed again, dashing towards her mark. Anitra couldn't blame her, really. Asdrubael had his back turned, clearly not expecting his cleverly-hidden escape-route to be discovered so quickly, and other than a pair of hulking bodyguards he'd apparently held back from the general melee that blocked the tunnel in front of him, those who surrounded him seemed to largely be noncombatants - general staff and noble sponsors, most likely.

Unfortunately, it did not seem like simply ramming one of her daggers into her target's spine would satisfy the bloodthirsty Lelith - no surprise, really, considering that it was the thrill of the fight rather than simply its inevitable and gory end that seemed to appeal to her. As she dashed forwards, she cried out in a hungry voice, "Asdrubael! Your head is mine - face me!" Spinning around, his eyes widened as he took in the approaching trio - then he sent his two remaining bodyguards forwards with a gesture, and readied himself for combat with a look of narrow-eyed determination on his elfin face. More worryingly, two fist-sized orbs rose from his armor's shoulder-pads, where they'd previously seemed nothing more than adornments - hovering in the air beside him with a barely-perceivable hum. To Anitra's eyes, they seemed to churn with a sickening, black light - forbidden enchantments, heavily-steeped in the unique magic of the Underdark.

"Watch out for those orbs!" She cried while she stepped forwards along with Drizzt, moving towards one of the guards. "Whatever magic fills them, it is nasty! Don't let them touch you!" The only reply from Lelith was a snarl as she dove between the two bodyguards, as Anitra had known she would do, taking advantage of how much their heavy, enchanted armor slowed them down. She and Drizzt had apparently thought alike, too - he was moving towards the _other_guard, enabling the two of them to tie the pair down before they could turn around and catch Lelith between them and their master.

The bodyguard she now faced was no slouch, she concluded after a few quick jabs were expertly deflected by the bone-white shield he carried in his left hand - while his right wielded a long saber with a saw-toothed back, and wielded it well. The enchantments she saw glimmering on both the weapon, the shield, and the night-black armor he wore was enough to make her cautious - perhaps her own armor could stand up to that sword, but then again, perhaps not. He rather reminded her of Direza's old bodyguard, Drazhar, whom she'd fought and defeated during her previous visit to Commorragh - likely, he was a lesser member of the Order of the Living Sword, which Drazhar had apparently been the undisputed champion of. Direza had mentioned them when she explained the various threats they were likely to face on this trip - the order adopted, and sometimes_purchased_, male children from the lower castes, who often had little use for them, and then raised them under a ruthless regimen of martial training and mental conditioning. Those that survived were unyieldingly loyal to whatever master the Order sold them to, fought with fierce skill, and never uttered a word.

Much like the Mandrakes, these top-notch bodyguards had seen their numbers plummet as the Great Game gave way to open warfare, but apparently, Asdrubael Vect had managed to keep hold of a solid core of them. From what she could see past her hulking, armored opponent, his comrades in arms were even holding their own against Urien's Grotesques, creating a two-front deadlock - while Lelith danced alone with her target. The twin orbs darted at her again and again, from multiple angles, but she weaved her way between them every time with preternatural agility - leaping into the air, spinning horizontally to slip through a narrow space between them, then landing with perfect poise.

Even so, having to dodge both the orbs and the heavily-enchanted longsword in Asdrubael's hand was keeping her busy - every time she was about to get close enough to Asdrubael to get her knives into him, the whirling orbs forced her to dance back, flipping through the air. Asdrubael himself seemed content with this, standing calmly with his sword at the ready so that he could strike the moment she moved back into his range - seemingly waiting for her to tire herself out or make a fatal mistake. And, whether as part of a well thought-out plan to disturb Lelith's mental equilibrium, or just because that was the kind of man he was, he taunted her unrelentingly as she danced for him...

"So lovely to see you again, Lelith..." he said sweetly as his sword darted out, forcing her to spin aside as she charged and thus putting herself in the path of one of the swooping orbs. "Have you come to take your rightful place at my side, hmm? Certainly, I need a suitably spectacular consort on my arm when I am crowned as the First Emperor of the Drow." Despite her obvious focus, this was enough to make Lelith flip back out of his reach and gather enough breath that she could fire back even as she resumed her offensive. "You won't need a crown or a consort, you festering pile of garbage! I've got two knives waiting on you - one for your head, one for your cock!" The words whistled through clenched teeth, but Anitra heard them just fine - and they certainly confirmed her earlier suspicion that Lelith's eagerness to face Asdrubael was more_personal_ than just wanting a good fight. The combat-drugs that the Wyches so commonly used had aphrodisiac side-effects, particularly when they were wearing off... and younger Wyches often found the resulting desires difficult to deal with. Had Asdrubael, as Lelith had hinted at earlier, taken advantage of this fact when meeting a young Lelith, still in the early stages of her illustrious career?

A bone-white saber lashed out, forcing Anitra to return her attention fully to her immediate adversary. The golden buckler attached to her left bracer flashed as it absorbed the blow, its fan-like structure fully unfolded for the occasion - but the blow was too quick and well-aimed to let her snag his blade with the fangs that lined the buckler's edges. She tried to counterattack before he could regain his balance, curving BlackFire's jet-black edge around his larger shield, but he caught it with the back of his saber - wielding it as if it weighed no more than a rapier. The saw-toothed back edge was clearly meant to catch and even break an opponent's sword, but BlackFire was made of sterner stuff - and as she wrenched it loose, the vague glow of the bone-saber's enchantments flickered.

He was probably better than her, she had to admit. Perhaps not surprising - he'd been raised to be a fighter practically since infancy, and as a drow elf, he'd had centuries to perfect his craft. The only reason she was keeping up at all was the power and speed of her Quickening-empowered physiology, and the fact that however impressively enchanted his gear was, hers was much, much_better. Of course, she wasn't using that advantage _fully yet - she was waiting for the right moment. Maybe she wasn't a great strategist or a master of political plotting, but by now she'd acquired a working understanding of small-unit tactics.

She'd met Drizzt Do'urden little more than three times so far, but she knew his reputation - so she wasn't surprised when she heard a hollow gasp from off on her left, and glanced over to see the other armored bodyguard topple sideways, a fountain of blood emerging from beneath his right arm. Drizzt had apparently managed to work one of his scimitars into this inevitable crack in the heavy armor, necessary to allow a full range of motion for the all-important sword-arm, and had pierced his opponent's heart. The Living Blades were good._Drizzt was _better. Anitra, for her part, was forced to wonder if she actually could have taken him on in a straight-up one-on-one deathmatch, even with a full Quickening burning in her belly.

She also wasn't surprised to see him promptly step past the fallen guard, advancing to support Lelith. He'd heard the taunts, same as her, and even with less information available on the subject, he was probably swift-minded enough to draw the same conclusion from Asdrubael's sleazy comments and Lelith's white-knuckled fury. The fact that he'd be forcing him to send one of the deadly, floating orbs his way - as, indeed, happened a split second later - clearly did not concern Drizzt. After all, Anitra reflected, he was a real hero - and not just someone like her, who toyed with the title but ultimately found it too constricting.

Gritting her teeth, she jumped forwards, swinging her left arm towards her opponent - activating the enchantment bound into the slab of golden horn, discharging the energy that had accumulated within for every blow she had deflected with it. The buckler surged forwards, striking the bodyguard's lifted shield before her comparatively-squishy fist could - and in doing so, imparting it with the force of half a dozen blows all at once. The impact staggered him, and she swiftly followed up - thrusting her sword forwards while activating _its_enchantment with a thought. He intercepted the blade with his own, as she'd known he would - but as the saw-toothed back of the bone-saber trapped her blade, it caught on fire. Crimson flame seared its length, and as the Black Dragon's Flame obliterated the powerful enchantments of the weapon, it became nothing more than an instrument of brittle bone - ripping itself apart in the Living Blade's powerful hand. The burning tip of her sword pushed through the heavy breastplate like a knife through butter, melting metal and magic alike, and tore through his lungs and heart with deadly effect.

Before he'd even hit the ground, smoke welling from his mouth and his wound alike, she was jumping past him - eyes seeking, finding, and focusing on the small, floating orb that was heading straight for her. As she'd suspected, Asdrubael had sent both of his orbs out once he saw the first of his bodyguards fall, hoping to take out her, Drizzt or both of them quickly, so that he could once again focus his attention on the murderous Lelith Hesperax. He probably figured, quite accurately, that the two of them couldn't possibly be as agile and evasive as the Queen of Knives - out the corner of her eye, she could see Drizzt struggling with the orb that had come his way, deflecting its multi-angled attacks with his whirling scimitars. No doubt, he'd figured out Asdrubael's plan, same as her - and if one assumed that this plan was at all realistic, whatever dark enchantment those orbs contained had to be_nasty._

"Drizzt! Send it my way!" She barked, even as she swung her sword at the orb that was heading straight for her face. The edge of her sword bit into the sphere - and before her eyes, the churning, black energy within it flickered and died, leaving the sphere itself to crumble like the lump of stone it was as it met the starforged steel of her blade. Before Asdrubael had any chance to react to this surprising event, Drizzt responded to her call - spinning around and striking the orb that so stubbornly dogged him with a double-handed sideways blow that sent it careening towards her... where, a moment later, it suffered the same fate as its mate, shattering before her flaming blade.

It really wasn't fair, she reflected as she stepped past the obsidian fragments that now littered the tunnel's floor. Asdrubael might have been able to learn of her nature as a DragonRider, to figure out what kind of strength she possessed and how she could draw power from the Quickening. But he'd had no way to be ready for BlackFire - she knew, after all, that the Drow had failed to learn anything of use from studying her equipment during her captivity, probably because none of it was meant to function independently, but instead tap into the inherent bond between her and Blake. So he couldn't know just how devastating her weapon of choice could be against any kind of magic or enchantment - nor even its general once-per-day limitation. No doubt, he'd been confident in those orbs' ability to bounce off her sword just as easily as they'd bounced off Drizzt's scimitars.

She managed to intercept Drizzt before he could jump into the ongoing fight between Asdrubael and Lelith - grabbing his arm with her free hand and shaking her head when he glanced back at her in surprise. "We made a deal with her." She explained, over the cursing and the clang of metal on metal. "Don't interfere." Nodding in understanding, the legendary drow hero instead stepped past the two, casting a withering glance to the mob of unarmored officers and nobles who were hugging the tunnel's walls as they cowered, and leaped over to turn the ongoing fight between the Living Blades and Urien's Grotesques into a pincer-maneuver - quickly destroying the equilibrium that had persevered there until then.

Anitra, for her part, just lowered her sword and watched. Now that the orbs had been dealt with, after all, Lelith didn't need any help. Asdrubael was no slouch with a longsword, certainly, but he wasn't exactly on par with his bodyguards, and his magnificently decorated and enchanted armor couldn't cover everything. Lelith's knives shrieked as they carved through the air at blinding speed, and sweat covered the face of House Baenre's scion as he struggled to deflect attacks that seemed to come from every angle at once. Already, a bleeding line had been opened on his cheek, no doubt making him regret his decision not to include a visor on his helmet - wanting his soldiers to see his face, presumably. Not that she was one to talk, Anitra reflected as she glanced down on the vast reams of bare skin her armor showed off - though, of course, anyone who took a stab at this apparent weakness would discover, to their misfortune, that her flesh was covered by an arcane field that could stop a blade almost as effectively as the actual scale-armor.

A scream rose as one of Lelith's silvery knives found its way into the elbow-joint of Asdrubael's armor, severing muscles and tendons as it effectively destroyed his sword-arm. The scream rose several octaves as her other knife sliced down through the crack at the top of his codpiece. "Told you so, loverboy..." Anitra's sharp ears heard Lelith whisper seductively as she leaned against him, holding his body standing with just those two knives. The driving fury that had pushed her so far seemed to have cleared away in an instant, her revenge accomplished. Her only reply was a wheezing gasp. Blood was flowing from the cracks in his codpiece. He was basically dead already, in Anitra's estimation - the groin wasn't just a painful target, it also held some fairly major veins that, when opened, could cause someone to bleed out in a hurry.

That didn't get a chance to happen, though. Releasing the hilt of her knives, Lelith stepped out from in front of Asdrubael, letting him crumble to his knees - grabbing the top of his helmet to keep him from falling over altogether as he tottered there, no doubt close to falling unconscious from pain, exhaustion and blood-loss already. Lifting her gaze, the infamous Wych looked directly at Anitra for the first time, seeming to finally acknowledge her presence. "I usually prefer shorter blades, but I might need something heavier for this... lend me your sword, will you?" Glancing down on BlackFire - whose flames were already flickering out of existence, Anitra shrugged and threw it - sending it twirling end-over-end through the air.

It wasn't a very good throw, but then, it didn't need to be either - Lelith picked it out of the air with practiced ease, hefting the starforged sword... and setting to work. Away from Anitra's hand, it could not light on fire, and some of its antimagical potency was lost - but it was still a razor-sharp blade forged from a metal far harder than steel. With three powerful swings, it carved through the chain-mail guarding Asdrubael's neck, and the neck itself - severing muscles, ligaments, blood-vessels, the windpipe, and the spine. He might even have felt that first chop, Anitra judged - but he certainly didn't feel the third.

Grabbing the severed head in her free hand, Lelith walked back along the tunnel - pausing only to hand BlackFire back to its owner with a curt, yet grateful nod. She looked tired, Anitra thought - whether because the prolonged and highly-acrobatic battle that had gone before had exhausted her, or just from the sheer, emotional torque of finally obtaining a vengeance that had probably been centuries in the making. Once she presented her trophy to the forces that continued to fight somewhere above their heads right now, the battle would effectively be over.

For that matter, it was over down here, too. With Drizzt striking from behind, the rest of Asdrubael's squad had collapsed, falling prey to either the whirling scimitars or the unrelenting Grotesques. The shambling monsters were dragging their corpses away now, presumably to be used for some new experiment that Urien had thought up to keep busy now that the Drider-project had ended. Their creator, meanwhile, had already disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel, clearly uninterested in any expression of gratitude that his intervention might have earned. All that was left was to take Asdrubael's thoroughly-cowed hanger-ons prisoners along with Drizzt and lead them back down the tunnel after Lelith - something that proved remarkably easy, since the lot of them seemed equal parts surprised and relieved that 'being taken prisoner' was actually on the table. Perhaps it seemed an attractive option, even among the drow, when compared to 'being emasculated by Lelith Hesperax' or 'being dragged off to Urien Rakarth's laboratory'.

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