Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3)(58)

With a wicked little laugh, Berellip signaled Saribel and Ravel back to their private meeting.

Ravel was the last of the three out of the room. He paused at the door to regard Brack’thal, to regard Brack’thal’s elemental. This day had been the pinnacle of his achievement to date, even greater than the initial discovery of Gauntlgrym. The promise of those forges, he knew, would stand as the cornerstone of House Xorlarrin’s plans, for they needed more than an empty dwarven complex if they truly wished to break free of the stifling ruling Houses of Menzoberranzan. They needed the magic of Gauntlgrym, the promise of magnificent arms and armor and implements. They needed Tiago to return to Menzoberranzan armed with swords that would make every drow warrior drool with envy.

But they were playing with fire, and so this day had also been the scariest of the journey thus far.

Much as he had done when the main forge had fired, Ravel licked his lips and went to his sister’s command.





THE WALK OF BARRABUS





He is down there,” the imp told Arunika.

“You’re certain?”

The petulant little creature gave a great harrumph and crossed its deceptively skinny arms over its scrawny chest, its barbed tail whipping back and forth behind it like a cat waiting for a cornered mouse to emerge from under a bureau.

“I know him,” the imp answered. “I smell him.”

“Drizzt Do’Urden?”

“In the sewers, moving to the bridge. Hunting Alegni, as I was hunting him, and where else, where else?”

“With his two companions?”

“The two the warlock hates, yes.”

“And have you told Effron that Dahlia and Barrabus have returned to Neverwinter, my dear little untrusted slave?” The succubus saw a look of curiosity on the little one’s face then that comforted her greatly. Effron had compromised Invidoo, she knew for certain—the wretched little fellow had even admitted it to her. But this was not Invidoo, after all, despite the remarkable physical similarities.

“I speak to you,” the imp said at length. “To you only in this world. I would be gone soon—poof! Now, I be gone, if you will let me.”

“Not yet, but perhaps indeed soon, my little pet,” Arunika promised. Her thoughts were spinning then. The trio had come for Alegni, as expected, and quite cleverly and efficiently, it would seem. And if they were heading for the bridge, they would probably find the tiefling warlord. He went there every morning, after all, and the sun was beginning to rise. Dare she hope that they would, perhaps, kill him?

Then what? She, they, had to be quick.

“Hide,” she instructed her minion. “Do not leave this room. I will return presently.” With that, Arunika grabbed her night coat and rushed out of her small cabin. She didn’t even worry about her disguise, spreading her devil wings and flying away with all speed, only folding them and taking her human disguise when she landed before the side doorway to the room of Brother Anthus’s in the large temple.

She pushed through and roughly woke the man, blabbered out her plans immediately, and sent him on his way.

And she went on hers, again taking to the night sky, and this time landing before the house of Jelvus Grinch.

They had to be ready. This would be their one chance to break free, and Jelvus Grinch had to understand that. She paused before entering, though, and weighed again the possibilities, both if Alegni remained as lord of Neverwinter and if he was thrown down.

The latter scenario proved more promising, and certainly would afford her more power.

She had to warn Jelvus Grinch, and from him, to spread the word.

He was the key.





“What do you know?” Effron asked Alegni, his voice thick with suspicion as the hulking warlord drew his red-bladed sword and lifted it before his eyes, the glow of the face making Alegni appear even more diabolical than usual.

“They are here,” Alegni informed him.

Effron glanced all around, in near panic, as if he expected Barrabus and Drizzt and that most-hated Dahlia to spring from the shadows and throttle him at that very moment.

“Clever,” Alegni remarked, and Effron realized that he was talking to the sword.

Effron almost said something, but thought better of it. Eventually, Alegni turned back to him.

“They saw our reinforcements, it would seem,” Alegni informed him. “And so our sneaky enemies evaded the wall entirely.” As he finished, he flipped the sword in his hand and plunged it down into the floorboards. Alegni was on the second story of the inn on the hill, and the mighty sword drove right through, cracking through the ceiling of the room below him, and drawing a gasp and cry from the occupants.

“They could not come over the wall without being spied,” Alegni explained. “So they went under the wall.”

Effron looked down at the floor, not quite sure of what the hulking tiefling was implying.

“Under the city, where the waste drains to the river.”

“The sewers?” Effron asked, and crinkled his face.

“A fitting place for that traitor Barrabus, wouldn’t you say? And more fitting indeed for Dahlia; I cannot think of a better road for her to walk.”

“Or a better place for her to die,” Effron replied, but Alegni shook his head.

“No need. They have come for me. Barrabus knows where to find me.”