Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3)(85)

“Must we always play this game?” Effron asked, and though he tried to resist, he found himself spinning around to see the latest incarnation of this strange illusionist—or perhaps it was really her this time, he dared to hope.

But the Shifter’s voice replied to him from behind, yet again.

“It’s no game,” she assured him. “Many are my enemies.”

“And many are your allies.”

“Not so.”

“Perhaps you would find more allies if you were not so cursedly annoying,”

Effron offered.

“Allies among people like yourself, who wish to employ my services?”

“Is that so outrageous?”

“But are these allies not also soon to be my enemies when I am employed by one opposed to them?” the Shifter asked, and as Effron turned, her voice turned with him, always remaining behind the flustered young tiefling.

Effron lowered his gaze. “Perhaps both, then.”

“Better neither,” the Shifter replied. “Now tell me why you have come.”

“You cannot surmise?”

“If you’re expecting that I will return to Faer?n to steal back Herzgo Alegni’s lost sword, then you are a fool. That realization would sadden me, for always have I thought your foolishness because of your age, and not a defect in your reasoning powers.”

“You know of the sword?”

“Everyone knows of the sword,” the Shifter replied casually, her tone almost mocking Effron’s seriousness. “Everyone who pays attention to such things, I mean. Herzgo Alegni lost it to those whom you hired Cavus Dun to hunt. Your failure led to his failure, so it would seem.”

“My failure?” Effron asked incredulously. “Did I not send you, along with Cavus Dun—”

“Your failure,” the Shifter interrupted. “It was your mission, designed by you, and with the hunting party selected by you. That you did not properly prepare us, or did not send enough of us, rests heavily on the broken shoulders of Effron.”

“You cannot—”

“You would do well to simply acknowledge your mistake and move on, young tiefling. Cavus Dun lost valued members to this unusual trio. They have ordered no vengeance or recriminations upon you . . . yet.”

Effron surely needed no trouble with the likes of Cavus Dun! He doubted the Shifter’s description of the ramifications, doubted that any among Cavus Dun’s hierarchy were holding him responsible—they had given their blessing for the hunt, after all, and had assured him that his money, no small amount, had been well spent. More likely, he knew, the Shifter was bargaining for a better position in whatever deal Effron might offer her, and was also acting under orders from Cavus Dun to keep him back on his heels, as she had done, so that no blame for the failures in Neverwinter, from the disastrous battle against Dahlia and her cohorts to the loss of Charon’s Claw to the near-death of Lord Alegni himself, could ever be whispered in their direction.

“Let’s talk about future gains instead of past losses,” the tiefling offered.

The Shifter’s laughter echoed all around him, as if without a point of origin. Just floating freely in the air—or was it even audible, he wondered? Might she be imparting the chortles telepathically?

Effron looked down again, trying to find his sense of balance against this interminably aggravating associate.

Many heartbeats passed before the laughter subsided, and many more in silence.

“Talk of them, then,” the Shifter finally prompted.

“What glory might we find if we regain the sword?” Effron asked slyly.

“I don’t desire glory. Glory brings fame, and fame brings jealousy, and jealousy brings danger. What glory might you find, you mean.”

“So be it,” Effron said. “And what treasures might you find?”

“That’s a more interesting question.”

“Five hundred pieces of gold,” Effron announced.

The Shifter—the image of the Shifter—did not appear intrigued. “For a Netherese blade as powerful as Claw?” she scoffed.

“You are not creating it, merely retrieving it.”

“You forget that I have dealt with this trio of warriors before,” she said. “With powerful allies beside me, some of whom are dead, and none of whom would wish to return to face those three again. Yet you expect me to do so alone, and for a paltry sum.”

“Not to face the three,” Effron corrected. “Just one.”

“They are all formidable!”

“While it pleases me to see you afraid, I am not asking you to do battle. Not against three, not against one.”

“To simply steal a sentient sword?” Again her tone was incredulous, which made sense, of course, given such a proposed task as that!

“To simply make a deal,” Effron corrected. He reached into his pouch and produced a small glowing cage of magical energy, one that fit in his palm, one that contained a tiny likeness of a panther the Shifter had seen before, right before she had fled the fight in the forest.

“No, not a likeness,” the Shifter said aloud, and she leaned in to better inspect the living creature trapped within the force cage—and it was indeed her, Effron realized at that moment, and not an image.