Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3)(138)

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.”