Yelthium and Urenchick stood 30 feet apart, glaring at each other. All notions of friendship were gone. They had entered the arena with the explicit knowledge that only one of them would be leaving.

Yelthium held a long sword and shield. The sword was a moon blade and hummed with a green light that mirrored the fire in the elf's eyes. His shield was of standard design for an elf, tall with a tapered bottom. It could be held vertically or parallel with the ground on the arm. This was effective for horse riding, and a silver spike protruded from the top so the shield itself could turn into a punching weapon.

Urenchick was outfitted as was common among the drow with two-bladed weapons. The swords were twins and of drow make. Both fighters wore supple chain mail, gauntlets, and a look of hatred on their faces. The drow attacked first.

Urenchick spun his blades about in a memorized pattern, hoping that this surface elf hadn't fought against too many well-trained drow in his life. With the rigorous training each drow soldier received, there were many standard attack drills and corresponding defensive routines.

Yelthium did not recognize the attack pattern, nor did he need the defense routine. He swiveled his shield along his arm and met the charge. His sword parried one attack while his shield absorbed the other. Holding the guard as he was, he could block and jab simultaneously. This was new to the drow, and he backed off for a moment. His opponent took advantage.

The moon blade went on a furious attack. Yelthium's shield was vertical again, almost completely covering his left side while his right hand went on the offensive. Fighting without a shield meant you always had to stay somewhat defensive, for your only means to block a deadly attack was a thin piece of steel. Yelthium did not need to worry about that.

The drow back-pedaled now, trying to get his feet under him while the heavy attacks from the long sword rained down. The moon blade was a foot longer than either of his weapons and had a significant advantage. He finally reasoned that while the shield gave the surface elf a substantial defensive bonus, it had to have a negative as well, and that must be mobility.

The moon blade came in high, and Urenchick ducked, slapping both of his swords against the shield that covered Yelthium's legs. The drow used the block as leverage to roll to the side and get around the shield to find a more vulnerable area.

The moon elf was more than ready for the maneuver, for he knew better than anyone the limitations of his fighting style. He offered his left leg to the drow, and the eager weapon master took the bait, sending his blades toward the knee. Yelthium kicked out before the attacks could strike, aiming his steel-toed boot toward his opponent's chin. Urenchick had to pull back his attack to save his jaw, but the heel of the boot still struck him on his shoulder, sending him to the ground.

The drow lay flat on his back as Yelthium spun and jabbed down with his sword. Urenchick was quick and already rolling to the side. Yelthium wasn't stupid and had already compensated with his jab; he had just guessed the wrong direction. The sword stuck deep into the ground just to the right of Urenchick as the drow rolled to the left. The surface elf tried to compensate by slamming the bottom of his shield at the rolling drow, but Urenchick was already somersaulting backward to a crouched position.

Before the drow could get set, Yelthium charged him, continuing his vicious attack. This required him to leave his sword stuck in the ground for the time being. Urenchick barely noticed this as the large shield came swinging at him. He put his blades up to try and deflect the blow but still stumbled backward under the force of the massive weapon. The stumble saved him for the time being as Yelthium kicked up under his swinging shield to catch the drow in the groin but missed.

Instead, Yelthium sent his empty hand out to catch the trailing left arm of his opponent. As Urenchick felt the other elf's hand close on his wrist, he finally realized that the moon blade was still stuck in the ground, now some ten feet away. He allowed himself to be pulled back toward the surface elf, knowing what was coming.

Yelthium pulled with one hand and punched out with the other. Urenchick ran into a wall for all intents and purposes, the front of the shield catching him full in the face. He took the hit with a grimace and wrapped his free right arm around the shield, hugging it to his chest. Before Yelthium could try to pull it back, Urenchick freed his left wrist and cut down blindly at the shield arm. Yelthium had two choices: either let go of the shield or lose his arm. He let go.

Urenchick took a big step back as the shield came free, and he quickly tossed it aside, grinning under his bloody nose. He didn't give his opponent time to contemplate his unarmed position and charged hard with both blades high and chopping down.

He suddenly stopped. Both blades fell from his hands. He looked down. The moon blade was shoved into his chest up to the hilt. The look of shock on his face lasted only as long as it took for the last wisps of life to leave the drow. As he slowly looked up at his killer, his eyes found the slight crease in the arena floor where the blade that was now sheathed in his chest had been just a second before. His eyes met with Yeltium's for only a moment before they closed forever. He died without knowing how he had lost.

He died without knowing that an elven moon blade is explicitly fashioned for its user. The two are linked magically. The way the fire of the steel matched the fire in the elf's eyes should have been a clue, but Urenchick couldn't be expected to pick up on that. The drow couldn't have known that the blade had been forged with the elf's blood. That he was the only being that could hold the sword. That he could summon the blade to his hand with a thought. He died only knowing that hell was not going to be a fun place.

Drizzt watched the battle with interest, wondering how many other fighters saw what he did. The fight had not been about skill. It had been about understanding your opponent. Drow spent their whole life fighting against other drow. They all go to the same academy and are all taught the same fighting techniques. The successful drow are the ones who are stronger or faster than the others. Drizzt was unique in that he invented moves. He refused to follow the recommended style and improvised.

Urenchick didn't do that. Not only that, but he did not understand who he was fighting. He was not ready for everything. Yelthium had seen this early on and had set the fighter up. The drow do not teach their fighters to think on their feet. They are required to attack with fury and precision. That would not cut it in this tournament.

While Urenchick's body was being carried out of the arena and given to his sponsor so the glaberzu could do with it as he pleased, the rest of the fighters mingled with some level of agitation. It was always like this after the first battle. It's easy enough to say that only one will survive, and everyone there had been in a fight before with those types of stakes on the line, but before, they had always had the advantage. After all, they were the best fighters in the realm. Now each looked around, feeling very vulnerable. They got over it by talking.

"Drizzt Do'Urden." Drizzt turned to see Sir Toreance Willhiem standing behind him; the Thunder Blade propped on the ground. "It is an honor to meet you finally. I have heard of the great many battles you have fought, and I hold you in the highest regard." He bowed slightly.

"Then, if we should meet here, you would yield to me?" Drizzt asked.

"Huh?" the paladin stood suddenly with a confused look on his face.

"Deltrophan said that we have the opportunity to refuse a fight once it is scheduled. Would you back down so that I could advance?"

"I . . .uh . . . I thought that you would- . . . uh," Toreance didn't know what to say. He turned and walked quickly away.

Drizzt frowned as he watched the knight depart. He wished he had never agreed to come to this tournament.

"What's wrong with him?" it was Druia.

"He is learning a lesson in pride," Drizzt said, turning to regard the young woman. "One, I don't think he will live to apply. One that many of the fighters here need to learn."

"Is this another lecture?" Druia asked, starting to frown.

Drizzt's eyes locked on her. "Do you feel you need one?" Druia shook her head. "Good, because it looks like you are up next."

Druia turned around to see one of the mage apprentices standing behind her. "Druianalla?" he asked. She nodded. "Your presence is requested in the arena."

Druia nodded again, the weight of her situation suddenly dawning on her. She followed the mage as Drizzt looked on forlornly.

The arena was contained within a 50-foot iron ring with a dirt floor and located in a cavern about four times too large. It was set up to one side with an elevated observation platform carved into the near cave wall. This was where Deltrophan sat. He was positioned about ten feet above the arena floor and about 30 feet away. He had had an eternity to play with the dimensions of this setup, and he had settled on this. He felt the slightly elevated seating gave him a better view since looking down on the fight meant none of it was ever obscured.

The other three sides of the arena (though a ring doesn't really have sides) were open and clear of obstruction. The nearest cave wall was slightly less than 70 feet from the ring. The cavern walls had several tunnels leading away. Some went to taverns while others ascended back to the residential quarters in the main house. The ceiling of the cavern was 50 feet from the arena floor. All in all, the cavern gave plenty of room for fighters and sponsors alike to catch an unobstructed view of the action.

The action was just about to begin.

Druia took in her surroundings with a thoughtful eye. The dimensions of the cave mattered little for her immediate fight, for once inside the arena, it was self-contained. She could see the dim outline of the magical dome that surrounded the ring. The spell had been explained in detail by the apprentices before the fight. It allowed two fighters to enter. When that happened, the spell was charged, and nothing else would be allowed in or out until one of those fighters was killed.

Druia watched as her opponent stepped into the ring. It was Wrugib, the ogre. He stood nine feet tall. The spiked ball of his flail was three times the size of Druia's head. He was a phase shifter, and Druia wished he would phase out now, for he had stripped down to just a loincloth for the fight, and the muscles combined with the dozens of scars all over his body made for a hideous image. But he wasn't going to phase out. The mages had told him that invisibility was strictly prohibited.

This was Druia's chance to back out. And as Drizzt looked on, he sincerely hoped that she would. She did not. She stepped into the ring, appearing unarmed. She reached to her side under the halter top she wore and pulled out a short silver shaft. With a twist of her wrist, it telescoped to six feet in length. With another actuation of her hand, the blunt ends of the rod became pointed. It looked pathetically inadequate for fighting this creature.

That's what Wrugib was thinking as the ogre walked toward her, swinging his flail from side to side. Druia did not pay him any mind but composed herself meditatively and half-closed her eyes. She remained immobile as the ogre came within striking distance. Wrugib looked around for a moment to make sure this was not some kind of joke and then attacked, swinging his flail up and over to crush the prone female.

Suddenly, she was gone. The flail smashed to the ground, hitting nothing. "Hey," Wrugib protested, "if I'm not aloud to-" but his voice was cut short as he felt a searing pain flash across the back of his knees. He turned and swung with tremendous force, but again the flail flew through empty air. Instead, he got another deep gash under his arm.

In a cry of frustration and showing more flexibility than someone of his size should have, he dove to the side, rolled into a ball, and came up against the inside of the dome. Druia stood calmly in front of him, her eyes still half-closed. Wrugib felt now at his wounds and could see clearly the blood dripping from both ends of her silver pike. "Are you a sprite?"

She didn't answer but strolled toward him. While she couldn't get at his back with the dome in the way, neither could he move much. All the confidence Wrugib had going into the fight was gone, and he realized that size and strength only mattered if you could hit your opponent. He tried again without success.

Druia was not a blur of motion. It didn't even look like she was moving that fast. But she was never where Wrugib thought she would be. Her movements were just efficient. She did not bob back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting for the moment to dodge. She simply moved when she needed to. Her reactions were instantaneous, and it seemed to take no effort.

Wrugib had nearly ripped apart half of the arena floor with misses before changing his strategy. He crouched down and swung in a huge sweeping arch. Druia jumped up and seemed to hang there as if gravity had simply forgotten to pay attention for a moment. Her feet were a good five feet off the ground, her body coiled like a spring. Wrugib foolishly stood to regard her at eye level. Her body uncoiled. Her staff was like a sliver disk around her waist, slashing out for the ogre's throat.

Despite her speed, Wrugib did have a fraction of a second to dodge. He used that fraction to ram the back of his head into the dome, forgetting that it curved in as it went up. In addition, he took a vicious cut across his neck. His hands went up to the wound in shock, dropping his weapon and forgetting about Druia. That was his mistake – that and entering the arena in the first place.

As if gravity had finally noticed that it was being violated, it pulled hard and fast at the suspended female. She came down with her pike leading, driving it into the ogre's foot and nailing it to the floor. Wrugib's scream was tremendous.

Druia twisted the pike in the center, detaching it into two spikes and leaving one in the monster's foot. She hopped out of the way as Wrugib's fist came crashing in and then jumped back to open up his wrist with another swipe.

He tried to grab her with a backhand, but his movements had become slow, and he was losing a lot of blood. She dodged the grab and ran up his arm to leap onto his chest. He tried to back away, but his foot was still nailed down, and the dome had him trapped from behind.

Druia looked the creature in the eyes and drove her spike into his throat. He tried to grab her with both arms, but she backflipped off his chest and stood calmly in front of him, watching as he died. He was slumped up against the dome, one of his feet unable to slide away, so he fell to one side, gurgling blood as his huge hands tried to grab the thin spike. As his life energy faded, he flickered in and out of visibility.

Ten seconds later, the dome opened, and the ogre's upper body flopped backward out of the arena. Druia retrieved the spike from his neck and then joined it back with the half that was still in Wrugib's foot. With a twist of her wrist, the weapon telescoped back into a short rod, the blood magically falling off it. She stowed it back under her arm, secured against her side by the tight halter she wore. Without a word to anyone, she walked out of the arena, donned her cloak, and left the cavern.

Drizzt watched the battle with interest and some awe. When he saw Druia making her way out of the cavern, he started after her. A hand grabbed his arm. He turned to see Enrique. "What do you mean to do?"

"I want to talk to her."

"About what?" Enrique had a serious look on his face for the first time since they had met. "Are you going to congratulate her for not dying yet? Yes, I, too, was impressed and maybe a bit envious of her abilities. She has undergone some unique training, but do you think she will beat you? Do you think she could beat me? She will die. One of us will die. This is not the place to make friendships."

It was sound advice, Drizzt knew, but right now, the woman reminded him too much of Catti-brie, and he couldn't help having feelings for her. He started off again, but Enrique's hand was still attached to his arm. "Stay; watch the next fight. Don't worry; she won't get drunk." A smile finally broke across his face.

Drizzt shrugged his shoulders and turned around. Enrique let him go and turned to see the fight as well. With her incredibly long Feather Blade, the elf maiden was matched up against the diminutive tiefling. The half-breed danced around, just out of the long reach of the halberd for about 15 seconds before charging in a diving roll. Adenae cut him in half before he got close.

"Then again," Enrique said, "maybe following her would have been more interesting." He turned to look at Drizzt but saw that the drow was already halfway out of the cavern. Enrique started to follow, but one of the apprentices tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sir Cortez, you're next."

Enrique frowned at Drizzt as he disappeared into a side tunnel but smiled again as he saw his opponent. Drizzt wasn't going to miss much.

Drizzt walked into the tavern and saw an apprentice behind the bar and Druia sitting by herself at the center table. The rest of the room was empty.

"Go away," she said as Drizzt approached the table. "I'm not in the mood to talk." She was nursing a mug of ale, and from the fact that the bartender was wiping one down at the moment, he guessed it was already her second in about two minutes.

"Then I'll talk. You can listen."

Druia didn't say anything but swirled the amber liquid around in her mug and then downed half of it.

"You're good," Drizzt started. "You are very good."

This wasn't what Druia had expected, and she looked up.

"Your technique is flawless. Your strength is impressive, and not just for a woman. Your ability to move as you do is extraordinary. Your weapon, though limited, is powerful, and you understand its abilities. You can improvise on the spot." Drizzt paused. "But you will still lose."

Druia threw her mug across the room but was robbed of the satisfying crash when the bartender enacted a telekinetic spell on the projectile just before it hit the wall. Druia pretended not to notice as she stood, tossing her chair behind her. "Is that what you came here to tell me?! I'm good, but not good enough. I've spent my whole life being looked down upon, and I've spent my whole life proving everyone wrong."

"Your whole life?" Drizzt repeated. "And what has that been, 20 years?"

Druia leaned forward over the table, a hand on each edge. "I've seen 22 winters."

"You are a child," Drizzt replied.

Druia grabbed the right edge of the tabletop and heaved it to her left, finally getting the noise she wanted as it smashed a wooden chair. Drizzt didn't move as he sat in his chair with no table in front of him. Druia took a step forward and sent a left-handed hook at his head; Drizzt calmly blocked it but didn't notice her right foot lashing out low. She kicked the wooden chair leg, splintering it, and sending Drizzt tumbling with his chair.

The agile drow recovered instantly, rolling to his left and coming up quickly. She sent a right, left, right combination at him, but he dodged, blocked, dodged the punches. Her right foot started to come up in a kick, but his left countered the move, locking ankles with her. She accepted the block, landing forward, so their legs were intertwined, and then spun on her right heel.

Her left leg was bent as it came around, heel leading. Drizzt had no idea how this woman was that coordinated. He leaned back but knew he was in trouble as the bent leg sailed in front of him. It stopped, and the leg uncoiled. Though she wore moccasins, her foot felt like an anvil as it smashed into the side of his face. She released his leg just in time, so they both did not snap in half, and he went flying backward into a collection of chairs.

Druia slowly untwisted her body, keeping Drizzt in her sights the whole time. Drizzt didn't get up right away. He knew he had just been bested, and he knew why. It had nothing to do with skill. He had underestimated her. As he felt the sting on his face, he looked down to her feet. Despite what his eyes told him, those were not moccasins. He did not know enough about this woman to start making judgments.

"If I am going to lose," she said, "then you don't have a prayer."

"Excuse me, miss?" it was the apprentice. At first, Drizzt thought he would admonish her for tearing up the place, but he didn't. "The battle you asked about will begin in a few moments."

"Thank you," she said. Before leaving, she walked over to the wall where she had thrown her mug earlier. It still hung in the air. She snatched it from the spell and drained the rest. Then, looking at Drizzt the whole time, she hurled it again at the wall. The apprentice didn't have a chance with only five feet to travel.

Drizzt stayed on the floor, watching the infuriated woman walk quickly out of the bar. She might not lose, he thought, as he prepared to pick himself from the broken chairs. He was offered a hand.

Drizzt looked up and saw Thelania with her arm outstretched. He took the hand of his sponsor and stood. "Boy, she kicked your butt."

The drow didn't honor the comment with a reply right away. They both knew that the encounter, like so many things on this island, had nothing to do with skill. "She is good," he finally admitted.

"Then why do you feel you need to protect her?"

"She does not belong here."

The ghaele frowned, something her kind did not often do. "That is easy for you to say. In 250 years, you will not look a day older and will still be in your prime, likely twice the fighter you are now. In 250 years, she will be a pile of dust somewhere."

"You really think that is what this is about?" Drizzt asked, his eyes proclaiming that is not at all what he thought. He thought higher beings were supposed to be blessed with exceeding wisdom. "You really think the fighters are here to get eternal life?"

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"Don't start that. You know exactly why I am here."

"Do you know why you are here?"

Drizzt threw up his arms and turned away. He started to walk but stopped. "Are you without pride?" she asked his back. "If you have not yet sorted out why you are here, how can you so quickly judge others?" There was the wisdom. Drizzt just stood there, staring at the floor. "Enough of this talk," Thelania finally said. "Come," she walked up behind her fighter, "we have matches to watch." The two of them walked out of the tavern.

In the corner of the room, up in the rafters, a tiny invisible voice chuckled to itself, "Interesting." The imp waited for the apprentice who had stayed behind to turn his head and then winked into visibility only long enough to transport himself out of the tavern.

Entreri had been watching the fights thus far by himself. He had seen what Drizzt had when the two elves had fought. He smiled to himself when he realized that while they had both been excellent fighters, he would have beaten either of them. Yelthium had fought well and cleverly, but no more so than Entreri had been forced to fight growing up in the streets of Calimport. Druia had intrigued him as well. When he saw Drizzt go after her, he almost tailed them, but he stayed behind when he saw Enrique was the next to fight.

Deltrophan also seemed to liven up as Enrique stepped up and into the ring. There was no hesitation from him like there had been with the past fighters. He knew the rules and was willing to fight. Yeltriz rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he hovered behind his master. He enjoyed watching the flamboyant man fight. Deltrophan had other ideas, though.

The mage pointed off in the distance to where Druia and then Drizzt had left the cavern. "Keep an eye on them for me," he said.

"Yes, master," the imp replied, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. He popped out of the cavern.

"You look well," Enrique said as he positioned himself in the ring, "It's nice that you've cleaned up for your funeral." Quinn just grunted at him. Pulling his weapons and stepping into the ring. "Ah, ah, ah," Enrique said, holding up his finger, "proper etiquette is required." He turned toward Deltrophan and dropped to a knee, bowing gracefully. The mage acknowledged the show of respect and motioned him to stand.

Enrique's clothes were almost comical given the activity he was about to partake in. He wore dark-gray knickers gathered just below his knees and tucked into dark blue socks inside black boots. He wore a black vest with gray and blue trim over a white mid-sleeve shirt and a black bolero with a blue feather. It did not appear that he had the tiniest bit of armor on.

As Entreri looked on, he thought there might be a leather vest under the shirt, but he couldn't be sure. He did have two daggers strapped to his side and his ivory-handled nunchaku around his waist. He slowly removed his primary weapon, the 3-foot chain coming free from the custom clasps that held it in place. He held both handles in one hand and motioned with the other toward the pirate. "Now, we may begin."

Quinn walked in quickly, careful remembering how this fighter had bested him before without ever drawing a weapon. So this time, Enrique came on fast. He walked right up to him, lashing out with the looped chain of the nunchaku he still held in one hand. Quinn brought his right blade up to block it, but Enrique angled the chain up a bit, so it caught the edge of the machete in the loop. He tugged down hard, crossing the blade over the other, and then stepped alongside him, punching the pirate full in the face with his left hand.

The move was perfectly fluid, and with Enrique's left arm at shoulder height, the punch coming just as he walked beside him, he put his whole body into it. Quinn left his feet, blood flying from his crushed nose, and he hit the ground flat on his back, knocking the wind from him.

Enrique did not attack the prone fighter, for he could have easily finished him right there. But that was the point. He could finish him. He could kill him at any time he wanted. He didn't need an opening or a window. He didn't need to trick his opponent or devise a ruse. He could just beat him. Whenever.

Quinn got up, his eyes coming back into focus slowly. He had actually lost consciousness for a second or two. He struggled to a knee, still trying to remember where he was. He looked off into the crowd of fighters watching him and remembered suddenly. He sprang up, pain shooting through his temples and nose, but he ignored it for now. He spun around and saw Enrique waiting patiently for him.

The superior fighter stood placidly, an ivory handle in each hand. He altered his grip slightly, and a foot and a half blade sprang from the end of each of the nunchaku. "Now, let's fight."

Quinn stormed forward, slashing and hacking as he did. Enrique met the charge, his blades intercepting the attacks perfectly. The only limitation Enrique had was that the bottoms of his weapons were tied together with a chain. Quinn tried to exploit this by spreading his attacks apart, but Enrique still seemed to be able to block everything.

Then for show, Enrique let go of one of his handles, allowing it to swing free from the other end. He went on the offensive suddenly, attacking normally with his held weapon and letting the other swing in at exceedingly odd angles. The harder Quinn blocked the swinging blade, the harder it swung around and attacked him from a different angle. Plus, Enrique pulled a dagger with a 9-inch blade and began attacking with his other hand.

Quinn tried to slap away three attacks at once but couldn't keep up. Enrique's dagger made short work of the pirate, slashing at each wrist, and within two seconds, both his machetes were on the ground. The swinging blade sailed toward his head, but he dodged to the side. Enrique hadn't meant to hit him with the edge; instead, he altered the angle, and the chain hit the pirate in the neck, wrapping two loops around it. Enrique tugged hard and then punched out with his right hand, the one that held the remaining numb chuck.

Quinn stumbled forward and was skewered on the blade. Enrique let go and stepped back as the pirate stumbled away, wearing his macabre necklace. He stayed standing for only a few seconds and then fell dead.

Enrique calmly retrieved his weapon, wiped it clean on his victim, and stowed it back on his person. He then pulled out a small handkerchief from his back pants pocket, cleaned off the little blood that had gotten on his hands from his initial punch, and laid it neatly over the dead man's face. Finally, he removed a black rose from his vest and placed it on the pirate's chest.

Enrique turned and bowed once more toward Deltrophan and left the arena. Entreri watched with interest. There was a reason this man was the returning champion. Motion on the horizon caught his attention, and he saw Druia returning to the cavern. Shortly thereafter, Drizzt emerged from the tunnel. Entreri wanted to go and tell them what they had missed, but an apprentice tapped him on the shoulder.

"Artemis Entreri, you're next."