Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [20]
Another bullywug clambered over the nearby rail. Liriel faked a stumble, drawing the monster's attention. It leaped to the deck and waddled toward her with astonishing speed, its spear poised for what appeared to be an easy kill.
The "crab" burst free of the first monster's gullet, tearing through flesh and bone and continuing its interrupted flight. The magical weapon whirled over Liriel's head and spun directly toward the charging bullywug. Barbed legs bit deep into the sharkskin armor covering the creature's rounded gut. For a moment the monster stared down in surprise, then the animated weapon began to burrow. The bullywug tore at the weapon with frantic fingers only to have its entangled hands follow the "crab" in its inexorable path through armor and flesh.
A bullywug distinguished by a weirdly patterned black and green hide charged the drow. Liriel sent her daggers spinning toward this new foe in two quick tosses. The creature slapped aside the first weapon. The second dagger caught the huge, webbed hand and pinned it with deadly precision to its throat.
The drow kicked the feet out from under the dying monster and leaped onto its large, prone form. From there she could reach the web of rat lines. She climbed these and hung there, silhouetted against the rising moon, as she took in the battle.
At least a dozen monsters were still standing, fighting with distressing tenacity. She sought out Fyodor. With his black hair and light skin, he was easy to spot among the roiling melee of giant frogs and fair-haired, sun-browned Northmen. He stood with his back to the mast, his black sword tangled with the many-notched spear of a monster standing nearly seven feet tall.
With relief Liriel noted that her friend seemed to be holding his own and that he had not summoned his berserker frenzy. Fyodor was no longer prisoner to unpredictable bouts of battle fever, but she'd seen his berserker transformation rage out of control too often to welcome its return.
The drow worked her way across the web of lines toward Fyodor, planning to drop to the deck behind his monstrous opponent. As she fell, she saw yet another bullywug launch itself toward Fyodor in a powerful, deck-spanning leap.
Two things happened in one instant: Liriel's boots touched the wooden planking, and a long black tongue slapped onto her face.
The drow recoiled, but not before she felt the wet, muscular thing curl around her neck. She reached for her sword, knowing that a quick jerk would break her neck-knowing, too, that she would not be fast enough to stop it.
Another "crab" whirled past, severing the bullywug's tongue. Liriel stumbled away. She ripped the twitching thing off and handed it to the stunned monster. While the bullywug stared in bemusement at the object in its hand, she slammed her sword between the laces of its sharkskin armor.
Before the monster could move, she leaped up and planted both feet on its chest. Pushing off with all her strength, she described a half flip and landed lightly on her feet, sword in hand. The bullywug staggered back, stumbling toward the waiting cutlass of the pale but grim-lipped boy who stood, once again, supported by two fellow sailors.
Liriel sent the wounded lad and his comrades a curt nod and a fierce smile. These Northmen understood something of retribution and knew much of courage.
She whirled in her rescuer's direction. A slender male sea-elf stood a few paces away, his green eyes taking in the chaos of battle with a warrior's measured gaze. Xzorsh, her erstwhile apprentice and Hrolf's self-appointed guardian, had returned-if indeed he had ever left her.
Another throwing spider, one of several magical weapons Liriel had given him, was ready in his webbed hand. Seeing no immediate threat, he shifted his gaze to the troubled waters. His head bobbed slightly, as if he were taking a tally.
"More?" she demanded.
"Thirty,