Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3)(91)

He crossed through a pair of large, half-buried boulders, like stone sentinels framing the entrance to a great building, that structure being a grassy ridge line. A great leap brought him atop that ridge, where he at last spotted his quarry.

He leveled the Heartseeker, his arms turning slowly to just lead her movement as she scrambled along, running and falling and crawling on all fours until she could regain her footing. She moved up the side of a hill and when Drizzt let his gaze move out to anticipate her course, he understood her route, for there sat a shimmering black sphere, lined in magical purple—a gate, he knew, and he could guess easily enough where it would lead.

Drizzt lowered Taulmaril, forgetting about the shade woman and staring at that portal.

Guenhwyvar had traveled through such a gate, and had then been lost to him. Might he go through? And if he did, would that re-establish the connection between the panther and the figurine?

Could he do it? Enemies would await him, in droves, likely. But might he rush through, summon Guen, and return at once with her at his side?

He was startled from his contemplations as the shade woman rushed into view, then was gone, diving through the shadow gate.

It was worth a chance, Drizzt decided, and he dropped a hand reflexively to the pouch that held the figurine and sprinted off for the hill. He had barely gone ten strides, though, when he pulled up, for he had lost sight of the gate. He stood there and glanced all around, wondering if the angle had changed.

But no, he recognized the tree beneath which the shadow gate had been.

He ran to the side to change his viewpoint, but there was nothing to be seen. He was too late—the gate had closed.

With a resigned groan, Drizzt closed his eyes and steadied himself, then started back the way he had come, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. His resolve to go through such a gate if one could be found again only grew as he continued on his way.

If Guenhwyvar couldn’t come to him, he would go to her. Would she do any less for him if the situation was reversed?

The words of Arunika rang in his ear, though. The red-haired clairvoyant had thought Guenhwyvar dead.

Drizzt glanced back one last time, staring up to where he had seen the magical gate. If he went through and there remained no connection to Guenhwyvar, then what?

Perhaps he wouldn’t go through.

Drizzt stopped and paused at that errant thought, and wound up laughing at himself. He had played such a fool’s game once before, when he was out in the wilds around Mithral Hall, not daring to return to the dwarf homeland because he was nearly certain that his friends had been killed in the collapse of a tower.

He would not make such a mistake ever again.

He picked up his pace, returning back near the tree where he had been perched. Smoke still poured from several spots along its blackened trunk, and orange embers glowed in more than one recess.

He heard voices and moved slowly through the fake encampment, and silently through the first bit of brush.

He recognized Entreri’s voice, speaking quietly, and he moved up beside a tree and peered around.

There stood the assassin, his back to Drizzt, Dahlia beyond him and to the side.

Drizzt clutched Taulmaril, his other hand going to an arrow in the magical quiver.

An easy shot, and one he could explain. All he need do was draw out that arrow and aim true. One shot, and Artemis Entreri would be no more, and the world would be a better place, and Dahlia . . .

Drizzt shook it all away, surprised by how his mind had wandered—yet again. If he meant to kill Entreri, then would it not be more honorable to challenge the man openly and be done with it?

He imagined that—and it was not an unpleasant thought—but as the battle played out in his mind’s eye, Dahlia intervened . . . on behalf of Entreri.

Drizzt grabbed an arrow and nearly drew it.

“Drizzt!” Dahlia called, noting him.

Artemis Entreri turned around and motioned to him, and the assassin and Dahlia walked over.

“A few less Shadovar to trouble the world,” Dahlia said with grim satisfaction.

“And a few more will follow,” Entreri added. “They will return. They want the sword.”

“Perhaps next time, we will see them before they see us,” said Drizzt, and that brought a puzzled look to both his companions.

“We did,” Entreri said.

“I mean, before they are even on our trail,” Drizzt said. “That we might learn their point of entry.”

Still the two looked confused.

“A shadow gate,” the drow explained. “I almost got to it, but it dissipated.”

“A door to the Shadowfell?” Entreri asked skeptically. “Why would . . . ?”

Drizzt held up his hand, in no mood to explain.

Dahlia came over to him, then, and gently touched the wound in his side. “Come,” she said, taking his hand. “Let’s tend to those.”

“Wizards,” Entreri muttered, shaking his head.

They set their camp not far from that point. Drizzt and Dahlia sat off to the side, across the low-burning, shielded fire from Entreri, and behind some brush as well. The drow was stripped to the waist, Dahlia tending his several wounds with a cloth dampened with water and a healing salve.

Soon enough, the stars glittering above them, Entreri snoring from across the way, her touches became more intimate and suggestive.

Drizzt looked into her pretty eyes, trying to measure her emotions. She still wore her hair in the soft shoulder cut, her face still clear of the woad. Even in the fight, she had remained in this guise.