The Cure - I

[PepsiWhirda]

"Abyss below," Whirda had time to oath, as she scrambled for purchase on the loose shale at the edge of the outcropping. Of all the threats the Omniverse had seen fit to throw at her, the drow and their drider abberations struck the most fear in the young battle-mage. One of the only unifying factors between the mercenaries and bounty hunters roaming the Spine of the World, drow scouting parties frequently conducted raids on the outlying human and dwarf settlements in the foothills of the mountains. Whirda knew well their prowess with both with blades and with the fel sorcery of the Underdark, and she knew too the drow disposition: kill, or be killed.

The distraction caused by Blues afforded her a few moments to establish her footing. Below, she watched the boy bounce from enemy to enemy, sustaining as many blows as he dealt. He seemed predisposed to nonlethal combat, eschewing the fatal blasts from his arm cannon too often in favor of blunt strikes designed to incapacitate his foes without killing them.

Just in time to see Blues suffer a knee to the chest, tumbling over the edge of a narrow ravine, Whirda turned to meet the advance of a pair of driders and a single drow crossbowman. The driders skittered forward, each of their eight legs managing to find purchase in the avalanche of dust and shale. Just behind them, the drow's eyes flashed red in the descending darkness.

Whirda danced to her right, charging beneath the first drider headlong. The creature let out a savage howl, rearing onto its rearmost six legs. Its front legs cut wide swaths through the empty air as Whirda vanished with a crack, reappearing in midair above the creature's back, the shade's dagger trailing a veil of ash behind her to obscure the crossbowman's vision. Landing nimbly on the drider's bulbous abdomen, Whirda's ruse proved successful as the distant click and whistle of the drow's crossbow sent the quarrel wide right, missing her by more than a foot.

The drider twisted awkwardly, seemingly unsure of the new dimensions of its mutated body. Whirda brought her dagger to bear, scampering forward, her balance tenuous as the aberration writhed beneath her, trying to fling her away. With her free hand she grasped a handful of filthy, matted white hair, jerking the drider's head back to expose the fragile flesh of its neck. She dragged the dagger across its throat, blackish-red blood spraying forth in a cloud.

Whirda leaped back as the drider's preternatural, gurgling howl filled the night. The creature twisted, throwing an elbow back to strike Whirda firmly in the stomach. The blow blasted the air from her lungs and sent her hurtling into open space, the ground rising quickly to meet her. Gasping, Whirda craned her neck to see the crossbowman release a second quarrel, this one again finding empty air. She tried to focus on the area around him, but the spots dancing in front of her eyes prevented her from settling on a concrete point.

A split second before she hit the ground, Whirda vanished again, reappearing just above the drow but unable to conjure a spell to cancel out her momentum. She landed hard, the impact sending ripples of agony through her legs and back, right on top of the unfortunate drow. The two collapsed in a whirlwind of limbs, the crossbow tumbling across the ground to rest on the edge of the outcropping, teetering precariously.

The drow, pinned beneath her, shoved hard with both hands into the small of her back. The force flung Whirda to her feet, stumbling to keep her balance. She spun just in time to see him draw a pair of slender dirks and dart forward, offering a coordinated flurry of attacks.

The screech of steel on steel echoed through the clearing as Whirda fell back onto the balls of her feet before the onslaught. Her dagger was a blur as it met and neatly turned aside the drow's attacks, but she was hard-pressed. Her fighting style emphasized the use of two weapons, similar to her assailant. Without her kukris, she had no recourse but to give ground, being forced gradually toward the lip of the ravine.

A roar, followed closely by the scraping keen of the drider's eight colossal legs, gave away the creature's approach from behind her. A dirk stabbed forward toward her belly, but she brought her dagger across to parry, changing the angle of the attack without cancelling out the drow's momentum. Momentarily caught off guard, the drow stumbled, and Whirda's dagger stung the back of his hand, drawing an angry red line. The drow shrieked and the dirk hit the ground with a clatter.

Whirda sprinted past her attacked, diving into a forward roll as one of the drider's front legs split the air where she had stood a moment before. She rolled onto her feet, spinning as the creature approached. This one seemed smarter than its slaughtered companion, perhaps having spent more time in this mutated form. It approached cautiously, its jaundiced eyes searching for a weakness, a moment to strike. In its left hand it wielded a longsword, the sallow moonlight dancing along its edge. A round, wooden buckler was strapped to its right forearm.

Having regained its balance, the drow spun angrily to face her. "Die, human filth," he growled, scooping up its fallen dirk and advancing with both weapons raised.

"That's the best you can come up with?" Whirda laughed, holding her ground. Her back ached. She drew in ragged breaths. Sweat trickled down her face and beaded in her lanky hair.

Ten feet away, the drow's expression shifted from anger to fear as Whirda vanished.

She reappeared directly in front of him, conjuring a gust of wind that crashed into him with enough force to lift the unfortunate drow off his feet, sending him hurtling back to collide with the approaching drider. Whirda used the distraction to hurl her dagger end over end, sprinting after it.

The drow cursed and scrambled to regain its feet. It stood, panting, just in time for the dagger to embed itself in one eye socket, the length of the blade vanishing in an instant. Close behind, Whirda's fingers closed on the weapon's hilt and dragged it free.

The drow, slumping, offered no objection.

Her last remaining foe howled as Whirda ducked beneath it, deftly avoiding its massive limbs and emerging in a run. She found herself on the edge of the outcropping once more. Below, Blues heaved himself over the edge of the ravine and staggered to his feet. Whirda caught his eye, relieved to see the kid had persevered.

The look of shock on Blues's face, coupled with the shadow of the drider looming over her, clued Whirda in to the creature's approach. She turned, conjuring a second brutal gust of wind. It collided with the drider's armored torso, but the aberration shrugged off the attack, too huge to be turned away by a simple gust of wind, so unlike its unfortunate drow ally. Whirda pictured the area next to Blues, a dozen feet below. She closed her eyes as the drider's raised its sword, lunging forward to attack.

When Whirda opened her eyes, she hadn't teleported. Shocked, she swung her dagger in a feeble attempt to deflect the incoming blow. Longsword met dagger, the force of the impact sending waves of agony through the bones of Whirda's right arm. She allowed the momentum of the blow to force her to her knees. If she tried to match the drider's strength she would meet a swift end. A second attack like that would shatter the bones of her arm and leave her crippled for the battle with the archdemon yet to come.

Whirda took the dagger in her uninjured hand, uncomfortably aware of the sheer drop behind her. As the longsword swept in for the killing blow, she did the only thing she could.

The gust of wind flung her over the edge of the outcropping. The drider's longsword tasted empty air instead of blood as she hurtled backward, tumbling and twisting, trying desperately to regain her bearings and ensure a safe landing. She conjured a second gust, and a third, the wind whipping into her as it stabilized her descent. She landed hard on the toes of her feet, tucking forward into a roll to absorb her momentum. The unforgiving ground scraped the palms of her hand raw as she bounced and tumbled, landing in an unceremonious heap at the feet of her new ally.

Blues regarded her with a frown. "Get up, this isn't over."

"To the hells with you," Whirda growled, climbing sorely to her feet.

Above, on the edge of the outcropping, the drider roared. A pair of drow still stood, although they maintained their position now, wary of the powerful Primes who had encroached on their realm. In the gathering darkness, Whirda could see the silhouettes of more drow arriving, at least a dozen more. Not so far away, they heard the battle cries of additional driders, eager to join the fray.

Whirda cast a sidelong glance at her battered companion, smirking through her pain. "Is it over now?"