out or near the glow of a fire, the magical circlet often only added to the woman's confusion, distorting distances, particularly on heat-neutral surfaces such as broken stones.
Catti-brie paused and stood perfectly still, her eyes unblinking as they adjusted to the dim light. She had already picked a route that would take her down to the orc and had confirmed that route with the magical circlet, intending to go down and capture or slay the creature.
But now there were two.
Catti-brie reached instinctively for Taulmaril as she considered the new odds, but her hand stopped short of grabbing the bow that was strapped across her back. Her fingers remained swollen and bruised, with at least one broken. After practicing earlier that day, she knew she could hardly hope to hit the orcs from that distance.
She went to Khazid'hea instead. Her fabulous sword, nicknamed Cutter because of its fine and deadly blade, could shear through armor as easily as it could cut through cloth. She felt the energy, the eagerness, of the sentient, hungry sword as soon as her hand closed around the hilt. Khazid'hea wanted this fight, as it wanted any fight.
That pull only strengthened as she slowly and silently slid the sword out of its scabbard, holding it low behind the rocky barricade. Its fine edge could catch the slightest glimmer of light and reflect it clearly.
The sword's hunger called out to her, bade her to start moving down the trail and toward the first victim.
Catti-brie almost started away, but she paused and glanced back over her shoulder. She should go and get some of the others, she realized. Drizzt had gone off" earlier, but her other friends could not be far away.
it is only a pair of orcs after all, and if you strike first and fast, it will be one against one, she thought-or perhaps it was her sword suggesting that thought to her.
Either way, it seemed a logical argument to Cattie-brie. She had never met an orc that could match her in swordplay.
Before she could further second-guess herself, Catti-brie slipped out from behind the rocky lip and started slowly and quietly down the nearest trail that would get her to the plateau and the encampment.
Soon she was at the orc's level and barely ten feet away. The oblivious creature remained huddled over the embers, stirring them occasionally, while its equally-oblivious companion continued its whittling far to the side. She moved a half step closer, then another. Barely five feet separated her from the orc then. Apparently sensing her, the creature looked up, gave a cry and fell over backward, rolling and scrambling as Catti-brie stuck it, once and again, before having to turn back to face its charging companion.
The second orc skidded to a stop when Khazid'hea flashed up before it in perfect balance. The orc stabbed viciously with its crude spear, but Catti-brie easily turned her hips aside. It struck again, to similar non-effect, then came forward, retracted suddenly, and thrust again, this time to the anticipated side.
The wrong side.
Catti-brie dodged the second thrust, then started to dodge the third, but stopped as the orc retracted, and dodged out the other way as the spear charged ahead.
She had her chance, and it was one she didn't miss. Across went Khazid'hea, the fabulous blade cleanly shearing the last fool off the orc's spear. The creature howled and jumped back, throwing the remaining shaft at the woman as it did, but a flick of Catti-brie's wrist had that spear shaft spinning off into the darkness.
She rushed ahead, sword leading, ready to thrust the blade into the orc's chest.
And she stopped, abruptly, as a stone whistled across, right before her.
And as she turned to face this newest attacker, she got hit in the back by a second stone, thrown hard.
And a third skipped by, and a fourth hit her square in the shoulder, and her arm, suddenly gone numb, slipped down.
Ores crawled over the strewn rocks all around the encampment, waving their weapons and throwing more rocks to keep her dancing and off-balance.
Catti-brie's mind raced. She could hardly believe that she had so foolishly walked into a trap. She felt Khazid'hea's continuing urging to her to jump into battle, to slay them all, and wondered for a moment how much control she actually held over the ever-hungry sword.
But no, she realized, this was her mistake and not the weapon's. Normally in this position, she'd play defensively, letting her enemy come to her, but the orcs showed little sign of