Read Online Sojourn: The Legend of Drizzt by R. A. Salvatore - Free Book Online
Authors: R. A. Salvatore
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try to tire the enraged human, or at least make the man reconsider his brutal attack. McGristle’s ire did not lessen, though. He charged right after Drizzt, snarling and swinging with every step.
Drizzt now saw the shortcomings of his plan. While he might keep away from the large human’s bulky body in the tightly packed trees, McGristle’s axe could dive between them quite deftly.
The mighty weapon came in from the side at shoulder level. Drizzt dropped flat down on the ground desperately, narrowly avoiding death. McGristle couldn’t slow his swing in time, and the heavy—and heavily enscorceled—weapon smashed into the four-inch trunk of a young maple, felling the tree.
The tightening angle of the buckling trunk held Roddy’s axe fast. Roddy grunted and tried to tear the weapon free, and did not realize his peril until the last minute. He managed to jump away from the main weight of the trunk but was buried under the maple’s canopy. Branches ripped across his face and the side of his head forming a web around him and pinning him tightly to the ground. “Damn ye, drow!” McGristle roared, shaking futilely at his natural prison.
Drizzt crawled away, still clutching his wounded wrist. He found his remaining scimitar, buried to the hilt in the unfortunate dog. The sight pained Drizzt; he knew the value of animal companions. It took him several heartsick moments to pull the blade free, moments made even more dramatic by the other dog, which, merely stunned, was beginning to stir once again.
“Damn ye, drow!” McGristle roared again.
Drizzt understood the reference to his heritage, and he could guess the rest. He wanted to help the fallen man, thinking that he might make some inroads on opening some more civilized communication, but he didn’t think that the awakening dog would be so ready to lend a paw. With a final glance around for the sprite that had started this whole thing, Drizzt dragged himself out of the grove and fled into the mountains.
“We should’ve got the thing!” Bartholemew Thistledown grumbled as the troupe returned to the blueberry patch. “If McGristle had come in where he said he would, we’d’ve gotten the cat for sure! Where is that dog pack leader, anyhow?”
An ensuing roar of “Drow! Drow!” from the maple grove answered Bartholemew’s question. The farmers rushed over to find Roddy still helplessly pinned by the felled maple tree.
“Damned drow!” Roddy bellowed. “Killed my dog! Damneddrow!” He reached for his left ear when his arm was free but found that the ear was no longer attached. “Damned drow!” he roared again.
Connor Thistledown let everyone see the return of his pride at the confirmation of his oft-doubted tale, but the eldest Thistledown child was the only one pleased at Roddy’s unexpected proclamation. The other farmers were older than Connor; they realized the grim implications of having a dark elf haunting the region.
Benson Delmo, wiping sweat from his forehead, made little secret of how he stood on the news. He turned immediately to the farmer by his side, a younger man known for his prowess in raising and riding horses. “Get to Sundabar,” the mayor ordered. “Find us a ranger straightaway!”
In a few minutes, Roddy was pulled free. By this time, his wounded dog had rejoined him, but the knowledge that one of his prized pets had survived did little to calm the rough man.
“Damned drow!” Roddy roared for perhaps the thousandth time, wiping the blood from his cheek. “I’m gonna get me a damned drow!” He emphasized his point by slamming Bleeder, one-handed, into the trunk of another nearby maple, nearly felling that one as well.
he goblin guards dived to the side as mighty Ulgulu tore through the curtain and exited the cave complex. The open, crisp air of the chill mountain night felt good to the barghest, better still when Ulgulu thought of the task before him. He looked to the scimitar that Tephanis had delivered, the crafted
Drizzt now saw the shortcomings of his plan. While he might keep away from the large human’s bulky body in the tightly packed trees, McGristle’s axe could dive between them quite deftly.
The mighty weapon came in from the side at shoulder level. Drizzt dropped flat down on the ground desperately, narrowly avoiding death. McGristle couldn’t slow his swing in time, and the heavy—and heavily enscorceled—weapon smashed into the four-inch trunk of a young maple, felling the tree.
The tightening angle of the buckling trunk held Roddy’s axe fast. Roddy grunted and tried to tear the weapon free, and did not realize his peril until the last minute. He managed to jump away from the main weight of the trunk but was buried under the maple’s canopy. Branches ripped across his face and the side of his head forming a web around him and pinning him tightly to the ground. “Damn ye, drow!” McGristle roared, shaking futilely at his natural prison.
Drizzt crawled away, still clutching his wounded wrist. He found his remaining scimitar, buried to the hilt in the unfortunate dog. The sight pained Drizzt; he knew the value of animal companions. It took him several heartsick moments to pull the blade free, moments made even more dramatic by the other dog, which, merely stunned, was beginning to stir once again.
“Damn ye, drow!” McGristle roared again.
Drizzt understood the reference to his heritage, and he could guess the rest. He wanted to help the fallen man, thinking that he might make some inroads on opening some more civilized communication, but he didn’t think that the awakening dog would be so ready to lend a paw. With a final glance around for the sprite that had started this whole thing, Drizzt dragged himself out of the grove and fled into the mountains.
“We should’ve got the thing!” Bartholemew Thistledown grumbled as the troupe returned to the blueberry patch. “If McGristle had come in where he said he would, we’d’ve gotten the cat for sure! Where is that dog pack leader, anyhow?”
An ensuing roar of “Drow! Drow!” from the maple grove answered Bartholemew’s question. The farmers rushed over to find Roddy still helplessly pinned by the felled maple tree.
“Damned drow!” Roddy bellowed. “Killed my dog! Damneddrow!” He reached for his left ear when his arm was free but found that the ear was no longer attached. “Damned drow!” he roared again.
Connor Thistledown let everyone see the return of his pride at the confirmation of his oft-doubted tale, but the eldest Thistledown child was the only one pleased at Roddy’s unexpected proclamation. The other farmers were older than Connor; they realized the grim implications of having a dark elf haunting the region.
Benson Delmo, wiping sweat from his forehead, made little secret of how he stood on the news. He turned immediately to the farmer by his side, a younger man known for his prowess in raising and riding horses. “Get to Sundabar,” the mayor ordered. “Find us a ranger straightaway!”
In a few minutes, Roddy was pulled free. By this time, his wounded dog had rejoined him, but the knowledge that one of his prized pets had survived did little to calm the rough man.
“Damned drow!” Roddy roared for perhaps the thousandth time, wiping the blood from his cheek. “I’m gonna get me a damned drow!” He emphasized his point by slamming Bleeder, one-handed, into the trunk of another nearby maple, nearly felling that one as well.
he goblin guards dived to the side as mighty Ulgulu tore through the curtain and exited the cave complex. The open, crisp air of the chill mountain night felt good to the barghest, better still when Ulgulu thought of the task before him. He looked to the scimitar that Tephanis had delivered, the crafted
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