Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3)(123)

“What is it?” Afafrenfere said, coming in through the room’s other door.

“Keep yerself back,” the dwarf warned, holding up one hand. “There be a powerful ward placed on this portal.”

By the time she rose and turned around, several others had entered, including the sorcerer who had been designated as the patrol’s leader.

“Glyphed,” Ambergris explained, moving toward them.

The shade wizard looked at her curiously. “This one, you check?” he asked suspiciously, for they had come through a dozen such doors.

“I been checking most,” Ambergris replied, to a doubtful look.

“Check for yerself then, fool,” the dwarf said. “Meself ’s looking for another way about.”

“Go to the door,” the wizard ordered Afafrenfere.

“Don’t ye move,” Ambergris remarked, drawing the wizard’s icy stare.

The dwarf returned that with a grin, and looked knowingly to Afafrenfere, who indeed was making no movement toward the portal. The others didn’t know about Ambergris and Afafrenfere’s allegiance to Cavus Dun, but Afafrenfere had not forgotten it, nor the fact that such affiliation superseded any orders he might be given here, other than those coming directly from Lord Alegni himself.

“Dwarf says it’s glyphed,” the monk replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Do not delay!” the wizard commanded, turning all around. He focused on another of the shades, a female standing beside him, and threw the woman forward. “Go! Go! Before they pass us by!”

The woman glanced at Ambergris only momentarily before easing toward the door. She neared tentatively, sliding one foot before the other.

She almost made it, and was even reaching for the door handle, when the glyph of lightning exploded, throwing the poor shade through the air, the thunderous retort shaking the floor and walls.

“Well done!” Ambergris congratulated the sorcerer, and the others fell back, except for the poor victim, of course, who went crashing aside, her hair dancing, her teeth chattering, blood running from her eyes.

The sorcerer stared at the dwarf hatefully.

“Our enemies know we’re here now, I’m guessing,” the dwarf taunted. “But if ye’re not sure, ye might want to set off another alarm or two.”

“Now we go through!” the sorcerer demanded.

Ambergris huffed at that. “Another glyph or two remaining,” she warned with a shake of her hairy head, and she walked past the sorcerer, muttering, “Idiot,” as she went.

That proved more than he could tolerate, and he reached out and shoved the dwarf . . . who didn’t budge. Ambergris did move, though, sweeping her large mace across and swatting the sorcerer aside. The shocked mage grunted as he slammed into the side wall, then groaned and slumped to the floor.

“Gather the idiot,” Ambergris instructed Afafrenfere and one other. “We got to backtrack and with all speed if we’re hoping to catch them three afore they get on much more.”

Ambergris, of course, was hoping for no such thing.

She turned to another pair of shades. “The two o’ ye bring her along,” she ordered, pointing to the lightning-wounded woman. “Might be that I can save her. Might not.”





The three companions heard the thunderous report and moved with as much caution as they could muster. They soon slipped past the lightning-scarred door, then rushed away, Drizzt in the back, the Heartseeker trained on the hallway in case any enemies might come forth behind them.

Soon after, though, the drow took up the lead once more. “This way,” Drizzt instructed, for he recognized the area clearly, and knew they were nearing the great stairwell to the lower levels.

Indeed, a short while later, they entered the last expanse, the door that would take them to the stairwell landing visible down the corridor before them. As they approached, the door swung open, and Drizzt almost let fly an arrow—until he recognized a fellow drow coming through.

At the same time, movement from behind had the trio looking back over their shoulders, to see more dark elves moving toward them. And not just any drow, Drizzt understood as he regarded the male leading the small cavalry patrol, for this one rode astride a powerful lizard, and it and he were armored in the finest of drow materials and craftsmanship. This was no commoner drow, but a House noble, and likely from one of the greater Houses.

A second rider followed close behind, and Drizzt recognized Jearth as Jearth called out to him.

“Where are your forces, Masoj?” Jearth demanded, riding up beside his mounted companion. “Where is Kimmuriel, or Jarlaxle, at least?”

“These are the agents of Bregan D’aerthe?” the other rider asked, and he looked doubtfully at Drizzt, and became even more skeptical as he regarded Entreri, and nearly spat on the floor when his gaze fell over Dahlia.

“They are,” Jearth replied.

The other rider could barely contain a laugh. He focused on Drizzt once more, and looked at the drow curiously—so much so that Drizzt lowered his gaze. “Tell Jarlaxle that House Baenre wishes to speak with him,” he said, and he walked his strong lizard through the trio, forcing them aside and nearly trampling Dahlia. And when Byok, his lizard, tried to bite at the woman, the Baenre noble only barely held it back.

Other riders rumbled past in his wake, some taking their sticky-footed mounts up on the walls.