Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3)

Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3) Page 67

He spun around in front of the tunnel, leveling his bow. One shade lay on the ground, and a second joined him there as Entreri rolled his sword over the shade’s and plunged it through the creature’s throat.

The assassin fell back, giving Drizzt a clear view of the third of the group, who started sprinting back down the tunnel.

Heartseeker’s missile caught him in the back and lifted him into a short flight before he crashed face-down on the still-smoking black stone.

Beside the drow ranger, Dahlia swallowed hard, and when Drizzt turned to regard her, he noted with surprise that she was staring at Artemis Entreri, and with obvious appreciation of the man’s deadly skills. Drizzt, too, looked toward his old nemesis. A thought flashed in his mind to take out the man with a line of deadly arrows, but he dismissed it immediately, knowing it to be a desperate cry from the incessant sword.

But still . . .

“He’s good,” Dahlia muttered.

“I might not use that particular word,” Drizzt whispered back.

“I’m glad he’s on our side.”

Drizzt wanted to argue, but he didn’t.

“Quickly now,” Entreri said to them, motioning them along.

“Why, Lord Alegni, here they come,” Glorfathel remarked.

Alegni’s smile widened, his eyes sparkled, and he clenched his fists eagerly. They hadn’t begun to properly prepare for this, having just secured the forge room, but that didn’t matter to the tiefling. He just wanted his revenge.

“Go,” Effron called to the few others in the room. “To the forge and gather a great force! Send others through the tunnels to prevent any escape. Go!”

“On me way!” Ambergris replied, yanking back a pair of shades who had started for the tunnel to the forge room and rambling past them. Afafrenfere sprinted to catch up, but the dwarf slugged him in the gut as he started past her.

“Go protect the lord, ye dolt!” she scolded, and she disappeared into the small corridor.

“Which of them carries the sword?” Glorfathel asked.

“The drow had it in the forest,” Effron answered. “Strapped across his back.”

“I will stop that person, then,” Glorfathel declared. “We cannot allow him to get anywhere near the primordial’s pit.”

“You have magic to counter such an attempt?” Alegni asked, his voice betraying his anxiety, for to lose that sword to the primordial would be disastrous indeed. He felt a sting of regret that he hadn’t properly prepared his defenses, but the simple fact that they had managed to get between those who would destroy Claw and this fiery beast was no small thing.

The tiefling warlord surveyed his forces, and looked to the forge room tunnel. He had only a pair of magic-users, Glorfathel and Effron, and a handful of warriors. It should be enough, he figured, even without Claw to dominate Barrabus.

“Five ranks!” he ordered. He motioned to a pair of rogues and sent them away. “Find them and strike them down.” He signaled for a pair of warriors to go off right behind them, then pointed to a second group of Shadovar warriors. “You four in next—meet them twenty strides inside the tunnel if they get past the first line.” As that second line hustled into place, Alegni turned his gaze on the remaining two warriors. “Each of you with me, third rank!”

“Effron and you, monk”—he waved absently at Afafrenfere—“behind me, but within the chamber. Destroy any who manage to slip past and get near the chamber.”

“And I in the back, near the rim,” Glorfathel agreed, moving into position opposite the tunnel, before the primordial pit. “Though expect that I will not await their entrance and will strike at them from here.”

“Do not kill the female elf,” Effron said.

Alegni glanced at the twisted warlock, then nodded to Glorfathel to signal his agreement with that command. Indeed, he wanted Dahlia alive. Alegni reviewed the positioning, then moved toward the tunnel entrance flanked by the two shades. He looked again at the corridor to the forge room, hoping the reinforcements to this room and those circling the approaching trio would be quick. He couldn’t take any chances, nor would he tolerate another escape.

Out of the tunnel came Ambergris, huffing and puffing, and nodding Alegni’s way as if to signal that reinforcements were close behind.

Artemis Entreri led the way. The corridor was mostly cooled, the floor solid, but enough glowing lava along the walls and floors remained to provide ample light.

So the assassin moved stealthily, in perfect silence, shifting from shadow to shadow. Still, even with all of his considerable skill, the shade rogues were no novices and it was good fortune alone that allowed Entreri to see them before they noticed him. He went flat against the wall in an advantageous spot, and held his breath.

As they neared, he noticed other forms coming along as well.

Entreri clenched his jaw tightly. He was so close! But the way was blocked. He could smell his freedom in the brine and smoke of the distant chamber, yet he could not get there.

“No!” he growled as he leaped from the wall, sword leading, dagger slashing as he turned past the first shade.

The first fell. The second managed to shrug enough so that the dagger cut at her shoulder and not her throat, as Entreri had intended. She fell away with a cry and broke off into a run back the way she had come.

“Come on!” Entreri called to his companions, and he started after her, then fell back with a cry of surprise of his own as a lightning missile streaked past him, taking the shade rogue in the back and laying her low.

On came the shade warriors, but on came Dahlia and Drizzt in support.

Another arrow flew off . . . and disappeared.

“Will you stop doing that!” Drizzt scolded, but Dahlia laughed at him and sprinted on, right past Entreri and into the pair of enemies. She led with a stab of her staff, into the ceiling just before the enemies, and the shocking burst of lightning halted them and blinded them momentarily—just long enough so that when they came out of the blindness, they were met by a pair of whipping and spinning flails, a fierce barrage that had them back on their heels before they could begin to formulate any coordinated movements.

And so they were still on their heels when Dahlia’s companions rushed past her to engage them. These two could not have matched Drizzt Do’Urden and Artemis Entreri on even turns, but now, caught so abruptly, they were quickly doomed.

A scimitar stabbed straight out, driving the one before Drizzt back. The drow’s second blade went across at the other, distracting him as Drizzt cut across to confront him.

Entreri rolled behind the drow and sprang forward, and the first shade, busy trying to gather some understanding of the darting ranger, never saw the sword coming.

Drizzt turned his blades over and over before him, driving back the remaining shade, keeping the poor fool completely focused in a desperate attempt to block the rolling barrage.

So when Entreri rushed past on his flank, that shade was helpless against the dagger thrust. That alone would have proven a mortal wound, but Dahlia, close behind Entreri, only sped the process with a tremendous pair of heavy flail swings, cracking his skull.

He fell into the wall and slumped, and Drizzt, too, rushed past.

“Many more!” Dahlia cried, spotting the next four in line.

“Turn back!” Drizzt said, but Entreri lowered his head and ran on, determined to be done with this wicked business.

Dahlia hesitated, thinking to turn, but only until she looked past the next line of shades, to see the familiar hulking tiefling coming behind them.

By the time Entreri had engaged, she was right there beside him.

Determined to be done with this wicked business.

And so was Drizzt, for he would not abandon his companions. As he joined them in their line of attack, he saw the others behind, and still more in the steamy chamber beyond that.

“So be it,” he said aloud.

Ambergris ran across the floor toward Glorfathel. The elf wizard shifted all around, head moving as if he was a hunting bird waiting for a mouse to appear among the many cracks in a woodpile.

“Whatd’ye know?” the dwarf asked, sliding into place beside the wizard. Ambergris looked to the tunnel as she did this, and could understand easily enough why Glorfathel was having so much trouble picking out a clear shot. Just before them, but still in the room, Effron similarly bobbed, every now and again launching some black bolt into the tumult of the darker corridor. Beside him, Afafrenfere danced around nervously, air-boxing and glancing back at Ambergris, nodding eagerly and rather stupidly.

Ambergris sighed.

“The narrower corridor aids our enemy,” Glorfathel said. “We cannot flank them or overwhelm them.”

“And yerself can’t find a clear lightning line,” the dwarf said.

Glorfathel didn’t seem to be listening to her at that moment, though, his face brightening.

“The drow has the sword,” he said, and he stopped bobbing, and stopped blinking. “Aye, we were knowin’ that,” the dwarf replied.

Again Glorfathel didn’t seem to hear her. He seemed locked in his focus, pinpointing Drizzt, holding perfectly still as he waited for the drow to show himself more fully. So much like a hunting animal did Glorfathel seem that Ambergris almost expected him to start tamping his feet as if readying to spring.

He brought one hand out before him, lining up his angle, and rolled his fingers to reveal a small metal bar. Smiling, eyes glittering in the glow of the room, Glorfathel started casting.

He chanted slowly, softly, and his voice began to rise in volume, his words coming faster and more forcefully as he rose to a towering crescendo.

Ambergris grabbed him by the arm. “Hey, wizard . . .”

Glorfathel nearly choked on his words. He pulled away roughly, staring incredulously at the stupidly grinning dwarf. He went right back to focus on the hallway, arm and magical component out before him. He seemed quite flustered and quite intent all at once, obviously trying to find his target and his composure before he lost the moment.

“Hey, wizard,” Ambergris said again, just as Glorfathel settled once more.

Glorfathel gasped angrily and snapped his gaze over her.

“Ye got a spell o’ levitation for yerself or meself?” the dwarf asked.

Glorfathel stared at her as if she had lost her mind, then turned back to the situation before him and as he began moving his arms into spellcasting position again, he answered emphatically, “No!”

He started chanting for his lightning bolts once more, and hardly caught the significance when Ambergris quietly replied, “Good.”

Glorfathel did feel the dwarf ’s strong hand slap hard against his back, though, and felt it more keenly as the dwarf ’s other hand slapped up between his legs to grab him by the crotch.

He managed to say, “What?” but that was all, as Ambergris lifted him over her head and pitched him back over her shoulder and over the ledge, into the primordial pit.

Not even bothering to turn around and admire her handiwork, the dwarf fell right into her own spellcasting, waggling her fingers.

Before her, Afafrenfere stared blankly, for he had seen the throw, and apparently he had not yet figured out that he was the target of the dwarf ’s coming dweomer.