and a third, and more creatures charged up with shields as if they meant to bull rush him back toward the room.
“Over! Bow!” Dahlia yelled, and Drizzt didn’t quite understand how that might work out. He didn’t question her, though, and simply fell back in a roll as Dahlia planted the end of her staff beside him and went up high.
He angled his tumble for the alcove, and sheathed his blades and scooped up Taulmaril as he came around, immediately setting an arrow.
Dahlia had not come down. She remained up high, hand grasping the top end of the planted eight-foot staff, feet kicking out repeatedly, unpredictably, and wildly at her enemies. Even when they managed to get a shield in her path, she merely stomped her foot on it and used it to maintain the high ground.
And Drizzt started shooting under her, his arrows clipping under the upraised shield of one, tearing through the creature’s torso, and blasting clean through the shield of the one beside it.
Dahlia let out a cry and kicked hard against a shield, throwing herself backward as spears arced up at her from behind the nearest row of creatures. She came down in a controlled roll beside Drizzt, her eyes wide.
“Just run!” she told him, and before he could ask her why, she scampered away toward the room.
Another arrow flashed away, and another, and Drizzt had to fall into the alcove to avoid a wall of thrown spears. He came right back to shoot some more, though, thinking to cover Dahlia’s retreat, but when he popped back out, he saw the ranks of his enemies thinned, salamanders diving aside and pressing against the wall to clear a path.
And Drizzt saw what Dahlia had seen from up high, and the same thought, just run, came screaming to mind.
“Two!” Bruenor announced, sliding the second bowl deep into its alcove and shutting the placard after it. From behind the metal door they heard the rush of water as the elemental tapped into the tendrils of the Hosttower. The dwarf nodded in satisfaction, and declared, “Two o’ ten!”
“Be quick, and lead on,” Jarlaxle bade him, words that hardly seemed necessary given the ruckus in the corridor just beyond the broken door. All three—Bruenor, Jarlaxle, and Athrogate—turned and looked that way, then, to see Dahlia diving into the room in a soaring somersault. She planted her staff just to the side as she rolled farther in, and pushed off, throwing herself out the other way, away from the three onlookers.
“What—?” was all Bruenor managed to say before a great rush of flames poured through the door with a dark form, Drizzt, within them, being carried along by the sheer force of the blast.
The drow landed in a short run as the flames dissipated, and looked to his friends, wisps of smoke rising from his cloak, Taulmaril in one hand, Icingdeath in the other, glowing fiercely.
“Oh, joy,” Drizzt deadpanned. “They have a dragon.”
Bruenor’s eyes went wide, as did his mouth, as did Athrogate’s features as well, and both let out a howl and ran off for the back side of the room, Dahlia angling to join them.
Jarlaxle put another lightning bolt into the open doorway for good measure, and wisely launched another magical glob into the opening as well, thinking to slow the pursuit. That sticky substance caught a trio of flying spears as an added benefit.
“Two elementals in place,” Jarlaxle assured Drizzt when the pair came together, bringing up the rear of the retreat. “Eight more and we’re nearly done!”
Drizzt didn’t glance back, focusing instead on Bruenor, who stood in the exit at the far end of the room, ready to slam the heavy door.
“You heard me when I told you they have a dragon,” the drow replied, and he shook his head and glanced back.
“Not a large one!” the other drow replied.
Drizzt was still shaking his head as they passed by Bruenor, who slammed the heavy stone door behind them. Nearby stood Athrogate, a heavy iron locking bar in hand, and the two dwarves had the portal quickly secured.
“I seen cooked cow, I seen cooked sow,” Athrogate sang, “Now thinking for sure that I’d be seein’ cooked drow! But ye don’t smell roasted and ye don’t look toasted, and it’s making me ask meself, ‘How, now, drow?’ Bwahaha!”
“A fine question, if asked stupidly,” Jarlaxle concurred as the troupe started swiftly away.
Drizzt didn’t answer. He sprinted out in front of the other four, taking up the point, slinging Taulmaril over his