Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3)(70)

As she watched the ranks of shades crumbling, the succubus knew that she had played this perfectly.

The Thayan threat had been defeated, and now the Shadovar had been run off.

It would not be long before the Sovereignty returned, or even if they did not, Arunika knew that she could find a place of dominance.

Shaking, and surprisingly free of bloodstains, Brother Anthus stumbled up to her, tears streaking his cheeks. For a moment, Arunika looked him over, wondering if he had sustained some grievous wound.

But no, these were tears of joy, she realized.

“I was a fool to doubt you,” the monk sputtered.

Arunika flashed him a cute smile, then knocked him from his feet with a heavy punch.

“Never make that mistake again,” she warned.

“Hear now, woman, haven’t we enough enemies to battle?” came a voice behind, and Arunika turned to see the approach of Jelvus Grinch. Unlike Anthus, this one had indeed seen battle this day—quite a bit of it, judging from the spattering of blood all around his form.

“Neverwinter is free,” he said. “Because of you.”

“Hardly,” Arunika answered, and she truly did not wish to be seen as the instigator of this revolt, or as a major player in the defeat of Alegni at all. The Netherese, after all, might well return in force!

She glanced over toward the bridge, directing Jelvus Grinch’s gaze, to see Alegni’s former champion standing near the edge, with the drow ranger moving toward him and carrying Alegni’s mighty sword. As they watched, a giant crow swept down, reverting to the form of Dahlia.

“Because of them,” Arunika corrected.

In his right hand, Drizzt held the red-bladed sword by one neck of its decorative crosspiece, the metal thickly wrapped with bandages. In his other hand, the drow held the onyx panther figurine. He was still calling to Guenhwyvar when Entreri rode his hellish steed over to join him.

Calling futilely for Guenhwyvar, the drow knew, for he could sense that the panther was beyond his reach, beyond the call of the figurine.

Dahlia swooped down beside them and reverted to her elf form. She was not happy, clearly. Drizzt didn’t need to ask her why, for he understood that she had not seen the actual death of Herzgo Alegni. Worse, Drizzt wondered, Herzgo Alegni might have escaped their attack with his dematerialization. If that thought unsettled him, and it did, what might it be doing to Dahlia, whose hatred of Alegni was more profound than anything Drizzt had ever seen?

“You should have left that thing in the river,” Entreri said, and he was shaking his head, obviously torn and obviously afraid.

“Where a common citizen of Neverwinter might have happened upon it?” Drizzt asked.

“The blade would be beyond him.”

“The blade would eat him,” Drizzt said. “Or it would enslave him . . .” The drow cast a stern gaze at Entreri, letting his disappointment show. “You would so sacrifice an unwitting person?”

“I would be free of that wretched sword, however I could!”

“It wouldn’t let you go,” Drizzt countered. “Whatever other slaves Claw might find, it would come back to you, and would force you back to it.”

“Then I should take it now and wield it?”

Drizzt looked at him, but instinctively pulled the blade farther from him. He knew a bit about sentient weapons, artifacts of great power and great ego, and he understood that Entreri, after decades of enslavement, could not begin to control Charon’s Claw, whether he held the blade or not.

Entreri knew it, too, Drizzt realized when the assassin laughed at his own absurd question.

“Destroy it, then,” Dahlia offered.

“And then I will be dust,” said Entreri, and with conviction. He gave another laugh, sad and resigned. “As I should have been half a century ago.”

Dahlia looked alarmed at that, and her expression stung at Drizzt more than it should have.

“Destroy it,” Entreri agreed. “You could not do me a greater service than to release me from the bondage of Charon’s Claw.”

“There must be another way,” Dahlia said, almost frantically.

“Destroy it,” said Entreri.

“You presume that we can,” Drizzt reminded him. Powerful artifacts were not so easily gotten rid of.

But even as he spoke the words, Drizzt found his answer. He looked at Dahlia and knew she understood it too.

For she, like Drizzt, had witnessed a force more powerful than Charon’s Claw, with a magic and energy older and more primal than even the dweomers imbued upon this magnificent, evil blade.





PART II




COMMONDESTINY





My thoughts slip past me, slithering snakes, winding and unwinding over each other, always just ahead, coiling and darting, just out of reach.

Diving down into dark waters where I cannot follow.

One of the most common truths of life is that we all take for granted things that simply are. Whether a spouse, a friend, a family, or a home, after enough time has passed, that person, place, or situation becomes the accepted norm of our lives.

It is not until we confront the unexpected, not until the normal is no more, that we truly come to appreciate what once we had.

I have said this, I have known this, I have felt this so many times . . .

But I find myself off-balance again, and the snakes slide past, teasing me. I cannot catch them, cannot sort through their intertwined bodies.