Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3)(86)

“Magnificent,” she whispered.

“You cannot have her.”

“Better her than the sword, I expect!”

“Except that she is untamable,” Effron explained.

“You are quite young and inexperienced to be proclaiming that so definitively.”

“So said Draygo Quick.”

The mention of the great warlock lord had the Shifter standing straight immediately, and staring hard, not at Guenhwyvar, but back at Effron.

“You come to me with the imprimatur of Draygo Quick?”

“At his insistence, and with his coin.”

The Shifter swallowed hard, all semblance of that confident trickster flown away. “Why didn’t you tell me that when first you contacted me?”

“Five hundred pieces of gold,” Effron stated.

The Shifter disappeared, then reappeared beside him—only it was again an illusion, he suspected, as was confirmed when she answered from the other side as he turned to face her image.

“To trade the panther back to the drow in exchange for the sword?”

Effron nodded.

“Herzgo Alegni has already taken his hunters after the blade,” the Shifter explained.

Again Effron nodded, for he knew of Alegni’s departure for Neverwinter Wood, a posse of Shadovar beside him. He wasn’t too concerned about that, however, for Alegni had told him that they were merely going to pick up the trail. Herzgo Alegni was no fool, and after the beating he had received on his coveted bridge, one given despite his trickery with Artemis Entreri, he would not soon again take such a risk where Dahlia and her cohorts were involved—particularly not while they held Charon’s Claw. For more than a few, Draygo Quick included, had warned Alegni that the weapon might not so easily forgive his failure, and might even go over to the side of Artemis Entreri against him.

Could Claw control Alegni the way it had tormented the man known as Barrabus the Gray?

The thought proved not as amusing to Effron as he had suspected and so he pushed it away quickly, returning to the situation at hand.

“The drow’s friends might not appreciate such an exchange, particularly Lord Alegni’s former slave,” the Shifter remarked.

“If I thought they would, I would go to them myself,” Effron replied. “You are clever enough to find a way, and to get away if the need arises.”

The Shifter, her image at least, seemed intrigued. Effron and others always thought that the current image’s expressions and posture matched that of the host, though, of course, none knew for certain. As she considered the information, a long while passed before she said, “One thousand gold if I return with the sword.”

“Draygo Quick . . .” Effron started to reply.

“Five hundred from him and five hundred from Herzgo Alegni,” the Shifter interrupted. “It’s worth at least that to him, is it not?”

Effron didn’t blink.

“Or did you think to exact that sum from him for yourself?” the Shifter asked slyly.

“I have no desire for the coins.”

“Then you are indeed a fool.”

“So be it.”

“So be it? That you are a fool, or that you agree to my terms?”

“One thousand pieces of gold.”

“And five hundred if I return without it, for my troubles.”

“No.”

The image of the Shifter faded away to nothingness.

“One hundred,” Effron quickly said, trying hard, but futilely, to keep the desperation out of his voice. “If you return with the panther.”

The image of the Shifter reappeared.

“If you lose the panther, but do not regain the sword, then you will find no gold, but surely the wrath of Draygo Quick.”

“And if I bring back both?” she asked.

“The wrath of Draygo Quick, who desires no conflict with this or any other drow,” Effron said. “Make the deal.”

“Ah, the ever-present wrath of Draygo Quick,” the Shifter said. “It seems that you have added a measure of danger to the bargain.” Her image suddenly grabbed the cage from Effron’s hand, but it did not appear in that image’s hand, but rather, seemed to simply disappear. “How, then, can I say no?”

Effron nodded and watched the image melt away again to nothingness, and then he knew that he was alone.

He collected his wits, always so scattered after dealing with this annoying creature, and started away, hoping that Herzgo Alegni would not claim the prize first.

Because to Effron, Charon’s Claw was not the prize. He would procure it and use it to prompt Herzgo Alegni to the true victory, the one he and the tiefling warlord both badly wanted: Lady Dahlia, helpless before them, in all her shame, to answer for her crimes.





Drizzt Do’Urden sat in the crook of a thick branch, tight against the trunk of a large tree, trying to make himself as small as possible. He pulled his ragged forest green cloak around him as tightly as possible, and told himself that he would need to replace this garment soon enough, perhaps with some elven cloak, or another drow piwafwi if he could find some way to procure one.

That thought, of course, led him back to the last time he had seen Jarlaxle, when the drow had gone over the lip of the primordial’s pit after Athrogate, only to be obliterated, so it seemed, by the primordial’s subsequent eruption.