Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3)(143)

“You always wanted to kill me, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Entreri said, and he nodded toward the pit. “This is your chance.”

Drizzt eyed Entreri every step as he walked near to the primordial pit. He quickly pulled the sword off his back and tossed it to the stone nearer the pit, for he didn’t want to hold it long enough to have to battle its intrusions again. He was on edge after witnessing that kiss, after all, and he feared that Charon’s Claw might convince him to take a more conventional route to be rid of Artemis Entreri.

“No!” Dahlia cried frantically.

“Yes,” Entreri answered.

Drizzt stared at his lover, but no stabs of jealousy assailed him. He was glad of that realization, glad of the confirmation that his insecurity had been an exploitation of the sword—at least, for the most part. Many other things assailed him at that moment. Dahlia had a child? This twisted tiefling was her offspring? He considered her visceral hatred of Herzgo Alegni then, and so much came clear to him.

He had to run to her, to hug her and comfort her, but he found that he could not. They hadn’t the time! Too much was yet to do, and quickly, if they ever hoped to be away from this place alive.

He and Dahlia, at least, he thought, as he looked at Entreri.

“It’s all right,” Entreri said to the elf woman gently, and he grasped her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “It’s time.” He turned to Drizzt and started walking for the pit. “Long past time.”

“You do it,” Drizzt said to him, and the drow stepped back from the sword.

Entreri looked at it, then back at Drizzt. “That was cruel.”

Drizzt swallowed hard, unable to deny the charge. He knew that Entreri could not approach the sword and throw it in, or even kick it in. If he neared the redbladed sword, Charon’s Claw would likely enthrall him again.

“You owe me nothing,” Entreri admitted. “I cannot ask this as a friend. Mutual respect, then? Or might I simply appeal to your sense of honor, and remind you that the world would be a far better place without the likes of me in it?” He gave a helpless little laugh, but sobered quickly, raised his empty hands, and begged, “Please.”

“Often have I entertained the thoughts of a redeemed Artemis Entreri,” Drizzt admitted. “A man of your skills could contribute—”

“Spare me your idiocy,” Entreri said, jolting Drizzt.

So be it.

Drizzt moved to kick the sword, but bent low and picked it up again. Immediately, Claw’s powers assaulted him. He could feel the swirl of desperation, of rage, of threats and tantalizing promises mingled together in a confused and confusing jumble.

“Idiocy?” Drizzt echoed with a shrug. “Hardly. You never understood it, Artemis Entreri. Alas! Idiocy, you say, but hope is never that.”

With a resigned shrug, Drizzt tossed the sword over the rim.

“I have forever envied you, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Entreri cried out quickly, knowing that he had but a heartbeat left. “Envied you, and not for your skill with your blades!”

Artemis Entreri closed his eyes and leaned his head back, accepting the cool blackness, the sweet release, of death.





EXPECTATIONS





Effron staggered around the Shadowfell, tears clouding his vision. He had been caught quite off guard by his reaction to the fall of Herzgo Alegni, his father, for he had profoundly hated the tiefling. Never in his life had he measured up to Alegni’s expectations, not from the moment of his rescue at the base of a wind-blown cliff to the moment of Herzgo Alegni’s crushing death. Herzgo Alegni prized strength of arm, and his broken son hardly fit that description. And indeed, the warlord had made his feelings quite clear to Effron. How many times had Effron entertained the fantasy of killing the brutish tiefling? Yet, now that Alegni had been killed, right before him, the twisted warlock could experience nothing but grief and the most profound pain.

And the most profound hatred.

Dahlia had done this. The elf who had borne him, the witch who had cast him from the cliff, had done this.

Gradually the shaken warlock made his way to Draygo Quick, who seemed unsurprised to see him.

“The sword?” the Netherese lord asked immediately.

“Herzgo Alegni is dead,” Effron said, and the pain of speaking the words had him blubbering again, his legs going weak beneath him so he had to put his hand to the wall to stop himself from toppling over.

“The sword?” Draygo Quick demanded again.

“Doomed,” Effron whispered. “Destroyed, certainly, for they gained the primordial chamber.”

“They? Dahlia and her companions?”

The twisted warlock nodded.

“And they killed Lord Alegni?”

Effron just stared at him.

“Impressive,” the withered old lord whispered. “Twice now he faced them, and twice he lost. Few who knew Herzgo Alegni would have wagered on such an outcome.” Effron winced with every callous word.

Draygo Quick grinned at him with yellow teeth. “Callous, yes,” he admitted, reading Effron’s expression. “Forgive me, broken one.”

“I will kill her for this,” Effron vowed.

“Dahlia?”

“Dahlia, and any who stand beside her. You must afford me an army, that I . . .”