Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3)(96)

He composed himself quickly, but kept shaking his head, for the level of power that had flowed through him in that spellcasting reminded him of a time long lost. Was it his work with the ring, he wondered?

As his eyes readjusted to the darkness, Brack’thal noted the image of the corridor before him, and mostly, the stillness of that hallway. More than a dozen kobolds lay dead before him, not a writhe or whimper to be found among them. He had thrown a lightning bolt that would have made him proud in the days before the Spellplague, a burst of magic that had fully overwhelmed the kobolds, taking their lives instantly.

Another pair of the creatures came out into the hall, and a quick glance had them fleeing the other way down the corridor. A third emerged and similarly ran away.

Brack’thal, too intrigued by his surprising show of magical strength, paid them no heed. It wasn’t until the fire elemental returned, until he sensed the beast’s wild and unsatisfied hunger, that the mage realized he would do well to put his thoughts aside and focus on the situation at hand. Indeed, the beast was advancing toward him, ill intent clear in its brightening, excited flaming coat.

Brack’thal reached through the ring, calmly reminding the beast that it was better served with him as its ally, and when that line of thought showed only a moderate slowing of the charging fiery humanoid, the mage got more insistent and demanding, willing the creature to stop, willing it to turn around that they could resume their hunt.

The mage constantly reminded himself to focus on the task at hand, to keep a tight hold on his dangerous companion as they moved deeper into the unexplored reaches of the vast complex.

The fire elemental demanded no less than that level of attention, even with the powerful ring aiding him.

It proved a difficult task, though, for Brack’thal could not ignore the implications of his lightning bolt, perhaps the most powerful evocation of magic he had achieved since the Spellplague a century before.

He tempered his elation, rightly so. He had thrown lightning bolts, magic of the old and diminished schools, in the last decades, of course, and had sometimes surprised himself by the intensity of other dweomers he had achieved. The fall of magic as they had known it was not complete, nor was it consistent. This lightning bolt in this corridor might well be no more than a result of Brack’thal’s elevated state of urgency, or of his repeated usage of the ring, itself an artifact from another time.

How grand would it be if that were not the case. How wonderful if the mage’s lost powers returned to him.

In that event, Brack’thal would be rid of his troublesome little brother in short order.





HE KNEW





Three of the shades did not return through the portal with Herzgo Alegni. From a hilltop not so far away, Glorfathel stood before a scrying pool, the dwarf Ambergris and the monk Afafrenfere flanking him on either side. Neither dwarf nor monk looked much like denizens of the Shadowfell at that time, though, due to the magical dweomers of Ambergris’s black pearl necklace. “They are formidable,” Glorfathel remarked.

“Aye, I telled ye as much,” said the dwarf.

“I will kill the drow,” Afafrenfere vowed.

“I’m thinkin’ ye better find him sleeping,” Ambergris replied, and Glorfathel joined the dwarf in a bit of laughter at the monk’s expense.

“You were right,” Glorfathel admitted to the dwarf. “I would have expected them to remain in Neverwinter, or travel the open road, were they headed north or south.”

“The drow is a ranger,” Afafrenfere offered. “He likely thinks himself safer in the forest.”

“Still, they could be all the way to Port Llast by now, if that is their destination.”

“It ain’t,” Ambergris assured them both, and with seeming certainty. With stares from both of her companions upon her, Ambergris added, “And why’d anyone be wantin’ to go to that pit of Umberlee monsters? They’re makin’ for Gauntlgrym.”

“For what?” Afafrenfere asked, but Glorfathel, more familiar with the recent history of the region, spoke over him.

“Why would you believe that?” the elf asked.

“Because I’m knowin’ o’ this Drizzt the ranger,” Ambergris said. “He’s got a problem. His friends’ got a bigger problem. Sword’s the problem, so he’s off to be rid o’ the sword.”

“To hide it in this place, Gauntlgrym?” Afafrenfere asked.

But Ambergris turned to face Glorfathel as she answered. “To hide it, yeah,” the dwarf said, her sarcasm showing that she had a different understanding of what that might mean. “To hide it where it canno’ be found.”

“Follow them,” Glorfathel commanded, his tone turning grim as he caught on to Ambergris’s meaning. “I will check in with you often.” He stepped to the side, where another black portal to the Shadowfell lingered. “Herzgo Alegni will pay well to know their location. No doubt he is even angrier now, and Draygo Quick will grant him all that he needs to finish this task and retrieve the sword.”

He started into the portal, but paused and looked back one last time, focusing his gaze on Afafrenfere. “Make no move against them,” he warned. “Not now,” Ambergris agreed. “But ye make sure that when Alegni’s catching them, me and me monk friend here’ll be beside him.”