Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [26]
The door burst open, and from some invisible place beyond rushed tall, dog-headed warriors clad only in their own furry hides. Gnolls, for such they were, were natural enemies of elves, and they fell upon the dark-elven thieves with fierce howls and slashing swords. On and on came the gnolls, pouring through the magical portal as if they were angry bees erupting from a hive. Fyodor counted twenty before the crush and turmoil of battle made further reckoning impossible.
Fyodor's heart hammered as he watched the battle, and despite everything he had heard told of the drow he found himself hoping the elves might prevail. There were but six drow against creatures twice their size and four times their number, but how they fought! Fyodor was a warrior from a nation of renowned fighters, and never had he seen such swordcraft. He watched in awe as elven steel twirled and slashed, as the drow danced and thrust. He studied the dark elves, how they fought, how they moved. How they killed.
The gnolls fell quickly, and for a moment it seemed the drow would win the day. Then Fyodor heard a familiar, dreaded sound: the dry, thumping whoosh of giant wings and an eerie, wavering cry too harsh to have come from a living throat. The drow heard it, too, and they looked up into the sky. Their red eyes widened at the sight of the horror hurtling toward them.
There were simply no words to describe darkenbeasts. The monsters flew, but they were not like birds. They had been living creatures once, but transformed by a Red Wizard's magic they became twisted, deformed abominations. Fyodor had no idea what sort of animal this darken-beast had been, but it must have been large. As the creature swept down like a swooping hawk, its outstretched wings blotted out the moon.
The darkenbeast swooped toward the tallest drow, a male who fought with two slender swords. At the moment this elf'sflashing blades held off three gnolls, and as he fought he danced on a pile of gnoll bodies, whether to intimidate his enemies or to face the much taller gnolls eye-to-eye, Fyodor could not say.
Enormous talons flexed wide as the darkenbeast closed in. At the last moment, the drow dove aside with incredible agility, and the monstrous claws closed around the three gnolls. The darkenbeast lumbered into the sky with its burden. An angry cry rang out when it realized it had been cheated, and it simply dropped the gnolls. Flailing and howling, the dog-men fell to the ground. They hit hard and lay silent and broken. Huge wings beat wildly, filling the air with their thumping rhythm as the darkenbeast climbed for another attacking stoop.
Nor was the darkenbeast the drow's only problem. A vortex of tiny, sparkling crystals rose from the snow, spinning wildly and gaining mass and power by the moment. With a sharp crack, the whirling ceased and a manlike creature, eight feet tall and stocky as a dwarf, waded toward the dark elves. Fyodor muttered an oath. Skilled though the drow might be, they could do little against an ice golem.
Sure enough, the dark elves' swords glanced ineffectually off the solid ice of their newest foe. A huge white fist closed around one warrior, and the ice golem raised the drow high. The golem regarded its captive stolidly, not flinching from the blows the drow struck again and again. The dark elf'sarm slowed and the blows came with less force as the unnatural cold of the golem's grip stole the drow's life-force. With a casual toss, the ice creature flung the dead drow aside and looked about for another victim.
Fyodor felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and a prickle ran down his arms. He glanced down. The snow beneath his feet had melted to slush.