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What luck! The pile of rags turned out to be nothing more than a pile of rags, in which rats were rummaging; I poked it with my staff, and the little rodents scattered. I took a breath and thanked Elrath.
I felt much calmer, I relaxed, and began to examine the room I was in. First, I checked the closet - using a method I had learned from playing hide-and-seek - I poked it several times with my staff, keeping my sword ready at all times. Fortunately - for me, and for whoever might have been hiding there - the closet was empty; only a few clothes were hanging there. Perhaps searching them would have yielded something, but I wasn't in the mood and decided not to compromise my morals. My next step was to examine the shelves; I was just about to read the inscription, barely legible in the dim light, on some jar containing a root or something else, when a noise came from the street. I immediately remembered the danger of being discovered and quickly, but quietly, moved to the window. I closed the shutters and even, just in case, the curtains, then in the darkness I crept to the door and closed it as well; after that, I took out a torch and lit it, and then...
Part of the wall suddenly disappeared, turning into a black void - that's what it seemed like at first, but then I realized that there was a hidden door in the wall. The man in the purple cloak came out.
And before I could address him, he made an elusive movement, throwing off his cloak, revealing his well-built torso covered in tattoos, and drew two blades, holding one in an upper grip and the other in a lower grip. There was no doubt - I was facing a Death Dancer, and he wanted to attack me; strangely enough, he was barefoot - probably he wanted to take me by surprise, sneaking up on me unnoticed.
He raised the blade in his right hand and slashed it at eye level; without this ritual challenge, the Death Dancers did not begin the fight. I barely had time to put the torch on the floor when he jumped at me and began to slash with his swords at an unimaginable speed.
At first, I could still fend off his attacks, blocking them or, in a pinch, dodging, but he was pushing me back. I realized that if he pinned me against the wall, I was done, because he would step forward and be able to shorten the distance to the point where it would be convenient for him to slash with his short swords, and I wouldn't even be able to block.
I can fence decently, especially if I'm fighting against someone armed with only one weapon, but two swords, and in the hands of such a whirlwind - that's too much for me. I realized that the only salvation would be to switch to attack; in fact, I knew that from the very beginning, but how could I switch to attack? I could barely manage to block the blows!
And with his quick, sharp, and relentless attacks, the elf didn't give me a chance to cast a spell - if I relaxed for even a moment, I would be finished.
Realizing that there was no other way out, I decided to take a risk. And suddenly, unexpectedly for the elf, I missed the next blow and almost dodged (the villain grazed my side; -8 hit points), I thrust my sword randomly. The quick, short blade instantly nullified the attack, but the Death Dancer was confused, stopped, and for a moment took a defensive stance; and that moment was enough for me to cast the spell that had been on the tip of my tongue for a long time - Haste.
I felt an unprecedented lightness - in my hands, in my feet, in my waist, in my whole body; I felt that my perception was now noticeably ahead of time, that my reaction had sharpened; the elf's attacks, which seemed so elusive to me, became more like ordinary blows from some human swordsman. And I went on the offensive.
The long sword, gleaming in the uneven light of the torch, describing eights, making circles, striking from the right, from the left, from above, from below, thrusting, did not allow my opponent to shorten the distance and, on the contrary, forced him to retreat. Now we were already in the center of the room, very close to the torch, and the reddish light coming from below gave my tattooed enemy a kind of demonic appearance.
I felt that I was starting to get tired of this endless swinging of the sword; and my opponent, on the contrary, concentrated on the fight and deliberately, very clearly and confidently blocked all my attempts to hit him with the right blade, while simultaneously making some uncertain attempts to hit me with the left. My enemy was only watching the three blades flashing in the air; he was watching so attentively that I wondered if he would forget to breathe. I realized that if I didn't do something special, I would face defeat and - almost certainly - death. "And Urgash really did go into that hole!", I mentally scolded myself; and then it occurred to me. The associative chain - Urgash - Chaos/Demons/Dragons - Fire - suggested what I needed to do.
I made an absurd block with my left hand (in which I had re-gripped the sword) and paid for it with a serious cut to my wrist (another -6 hit points) and a damaged sleeve of my cloak, and I managed to throw my right dagger.
Of course, I didn't hit. I never could learn to throw daggers. But hitting the enemy wasn't my goal; I just confused him and forced him to take a defensive position again, which meant that he stepped on the torch with his bare foot... into the fire.
The pain, apparently, was very strong, because even the Death Dancer, who was used to pain, screamed and jumped back; and that's when I got even with him for everything that had happened today.
While he was still recovering, I struck him with all my might on his right hand, forcing him to drop his weapon, then, using my favorite technique, I slid the blade of my sword down the left blade held in a blocking position and wounded his left hand, and then quickly pressed the sword to the throat of the defeated Death Dancer.
Panting, angry, with a bloodied left hand and a reddish spot on his side, I stood over the elf lying on the floor and breathing heavily. His eyes looked at me with quiet and calm hatred, a hatred that I was used to seeing in the eyes of dark elves, but which was new to me in the eyes of a forest elf. Still holding the sword to his throat and not taking my eyes off him, I felt for the dagger with my left hand and, wincing from the pain that my wrist now caused with every movement, hung it on a string around his neck, where it usually hung. Only then did I turn to the elf, who had been silent until now:
- Well, Death Dancer, are you done dancing? Tell me who you are and why you attacked me, or, I swear by all the incarnations of Ash, I'll send you on a date with your partner!
The elf was silent for a couple of seconds, and I already thought that he was mute, and I was afraid that I would really have to send him to meet his dance partner in fulfillment of the oath, but then...
