Realms of Magic - Brian Thomsen King [139]
"Stand aside, runecasting vermin, if you value your life," she ordered, placing a hand on the hilt of her broadsword.
Because drow knew illithids like cheese knows rats, Liriel saw what was coming, and she pushed back from the table with a cry of warning. Too late: the mind flayer let out a blast of power that sent Vasha's auburn braids streaming backward. The swordwoman stood helpless- her eyes wide with shock and her powerful muscles locked in place-as the illithid closed in to feed. One purple tentacle snaked upward and flicked aside the woman's horned helmet. In the silence of the tavern, the clatter of bronze hitting the stone floor resounded like a thunderclap.
But the noise was promptly overwhelmed by Vasha's battle shriek. With sheer force of will, the warrior tore herself free from the mind flayer's grasp. Her sword slashed up from its scabbard, smashing through the mental assault and lopping off the probing tentacle. The purple appendage went flying in a spray of ichor, and the illithid staggered back, its vacant eyes bulging weirdly.
Not one to be content with mere dismemberment, Vasha leapt at the creature and wrestled it to the floor. She quickly pinned the writhing mind flayer, and, sitting astride its chest, neatly braided the three remaining tentacles.
The utter absurdity of this act jarred the dumbfounded drow into action. Liriel darted over to the barbarian and dragged her off the fallen illithid before either combatant could enact further revenge. She shoved the much larger woman toward the exit, eager to escape before any of the stunned patrons thought to summon what passed for law in Skullport.
At the doorway Liriel paused and glanced back into the still-silent tavern. "She's new in town," the drow announced to the room at large, by way of explanation and apology, and then she slipped into the darkness beyond.
Dripping with ichor but smiling triumphantly, Vasha followed her dark-elven guide out into the streets of Skullport.
*****
The underground port city was located in an L-shaped cavern that lay many feet below sea level and curved around the deeply hidden Sea Caves. As one might suspect, it was damp, dark, and exceedingly murky. Much of the cavern's light came from the eerily glowing fungi and lichens that grew on the stone walls and the water-stained wood of buildings huddled haphazardly together. Some of these glowing fungi were mobile, and viscous globs of the stuff inched along the stone-ledge walkways until they were booted out of the way or squashed underfoot into luminous green puddles. Clouds of mist clung to the lanterns that dotted the narrow, twisting streets with feeble light, and everywhere the air was heavy with the smell of sea salt and the stench of the city. Travelers and merchants from some three dozen races-few of which were welcomed in most other cities-sloshed through puddles and streams whose contents were best left unex-amined.
With each step, Vasha's fur boots became more bedraggled, her visage more dangerously grim. Yet she strode steadfastly along, clutching the stone coin in her hand and choosing her path by the heat it gave off.
Liriel might have admired the woman's single-minded fervor, except for the fact that it was likely to get them both killed. The drow jogged along behind Vasha, her eyes scanning the crowded streets and dark side passages for dangers that the barbarian would not perceive. That was no small challenge, for if Liriel had sat down and devoted serious thought to the task, she could not have conceived of a person less suited for life in Skullport than Vasha the Red.
The warrior woman met Skullport's challenges head-on, sword in hand. This was not good. The city's multilay-ered intrigues-although