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. . . Just in time to see the scimitar entering its chest.
Drizzt answered the monster's puzzled expression with a question. "Where in
the nine hells did you ever find the notion that I would fight fair?"
The verbeeg lurched away. The blade hadn't found its heart, but it knew that
the wound would soon prove fatal if untended. Blood poured freely down the
monster's leather tunic, and it labored visibly as it tried to breath. Drizzt
alternated his attacks with Guenhwyvar, striking and ducking away from the
lumbering counter while his partner rushed in on the monster's other side. They
knew, and the giant did, too, that this fight would soon be over.
The giant fighting Wulfgar could no longer sustain a defensive posture with
its heavy club. Wulfgar was beginning to tire as well, so he started to sing an
old tundra war song, the Song of Tempos, its rousing notes inspiring him into
one final barrage. He waited for the verbeeg's club to inch inevitably downward
and then launched Aegis-fang once, twice, and then a third time. Wulfgar nearly
collapsed in exhaustion after the third swing, but the giant lay crumpled on the
floor. The barbarian leaned wearily on his weapon and watched his two friends
nip and scratch their verbeeg to pieces.
"Well done!" Wulfgar laughed when the last giant fell.
Drizzt walked over to the barbarian, his left arm hanging limply at his side.
His jacket and shirt were torn where the stone had struck, and the exposed skin
of his shoulder was swollen and bruised.
Wulfgar eyed the wound with genuine concern, but Drizzt answered his unspoken
question by raising the arm above him, though he grimaced in pain with the
effort. "It'll be quick to mend," he assured Wulfgar. "Just a nasty bump, and I
find that a small cost to weigh against the bodies of thirteen verbeeg!"
A low groan issued from the tunnel.
"Twelve as yet," Wulfgar corrected. "Apparently one is not quite done
kicking." With a deep breath, Wulfgar lifted Aegis-fang and turned to finish the
task.
"A moment, first," insisted Drizzt, a thought pressing on his mind. "When the
giants charged you in the tunnel, you yelled something in your home tongue, I
believe. What was it you said?"
Wulfgar laughed heartily. "An old Elk tribe battle cry," he explained.
"Strength to my friends, and death to my foes!"
Drizzt eyed the barbarian suspiciously and wondered just how deep ran
Wulfgar's ability to fabricate a lie on demand.
* * * * *
The injured verbeeg was still propped against the tunnel wall when the two
companions and Guenhwyvar came upon it. The drow's dagger remained deeply buried
in the giant's knee, its blade caught fast between two bones. The giant eyed the
men with hate-filled yet strangely calm eyes as they approached.
"Ye'll pay fer all o' this," it spat at Drizzt. "Biggrin'll play with ye
afore killin' ye, be sure o' that!"
"So it has a tongue," Drizzt said to Wulfgar. And then to the giant,
"Biggrin?"
"Laird o' the cave," answered the giant. "Biggrin'll be a wantin' to meet
ye."
"And we'll be wanting to meet Biggrin!" stormed Wulfgar. "We have a debt to
repay; a little matter concerning two dwarves!" As soon as Wulfgar mentioned the
dwarves., the giant spat again. Drizzt's scimitar flashed and poised an inch
