Gauntlgrym (Neverwinter #1)(115)

And off they went. It did Drizzt’s heart good to see his old friend so animated and boisterous and full of fire, and he watched Bruenor for a long while. Gradually, though, his gaze slipped back to Dahlia, who walked quietly at his side. He noticed then three marks in her right ear, just above the single diamond stud set there.

Three missing earrings?

There was a story there, Drizzt knew, and he was surprised once again by the enigmatic woman, and by his own reaction to her, when he realized how much he wanted to hear that tale.



The sound of water rushing over their heads had all the Ashmadai looking up with alarm.

“The magic returns!” Valindra cried. “The Hosttower answers the call of our enemies!”

“What does it mean?” the Ashmadai commander begged.

“It means that you will fail, and your Dread Ring will not sing the praise of Asmodeus,” Beealtimatuche the pit fiend growled, and all save Valindra shrank back from the sheer power in the devil’s angry voice.

“Nay,” Valindra corrected, and she held forth her scepter to silence any further dissent from the fiend. “It means that we must press on with more speed.”

“Straight to the Forge,” offered the Ashmadai leader, who had been there those years before when Sylora had arrived to bolster the faltering Dahlia.

A huge bat came rushing up the corridor at them then, and flipped over itself in the air right before Valindra and Beealtimatuche, elongating as it came around to assume the human form of Dor’crae once more, his face a mask of concern.

“The water …” Valindra warned, but Dor’crae shook his head.

“Our enemies block the way,” he explained. “The primordial’s minions—not Dahlia’s troupe.”

“Then they die!” Beealtimatuche roared, and all the zealots cheered.

But Dor’crae was still shaking his head.

“They have a dragon,” he explained. “A red dragon.”

With a stomp of his clawed foot that gouged the floor and shook the walls of the corridor, the pit fiend stormed away, and how the cultists scrambled to get out of his path. And when one was too slow, the devil swatted her aside with his great fiery mace, mulching her shoulder, igniting her leathers and hair, and throwing her into the wall with a sickening crunch of her every bone.

She slumped into an almost formless mass of blood and burning flesh.

And the Ashmadai cheered.





JOSI … JOSI PUDDLES


DAHLIA GRIPPED HER TRI-STAFF TIGHTLY, READY TO SPRING OUT AND throttle whomever or whatever approached the small room in which she waited with the dwarves.

She relaxed when Drizzt came through the archway.

“Our enemies are close,” he warned her. “Ahead of us in every corridor and chamber.”

From just outside the room’s other door, the one through which the five had entered, Jarlaxle replied, “And they’re not far behind, as well.”

“We’re to be fighting again, then,” said Dahlia, and she didn’t show a hint of regret or fear at that thought. She nodded to Drizzt, who returned her confident look.

“All the way to the Forge o’ Gauntlgrym,” Athrogate agreed. “If a hunnerd lizard boys stand in me way, a hunnerd lizard boys’ll die! Eh, King Bruenor?” he added, and he turned and slapped Bruenor on the shoulder.

Bruenor, busy inspecting the wall, just grunted.

“We should move on swiftly,” Drizzt said. “We’ll not want those behind catching us while we’re fighting those ahead.”

He moved back to the archway, Dahlia right behind him. Jarlaxle entered from across the way and moved to join them, then Athrogate joined as well, after another clap on Bruenor’s shoulder.

But Bruenor didn’t even grunt in response, one hand lifted to feel the texture of the carved relief on the chamber’s stone wall.

“Bruenor,” Drizzt called. “We must move.”

The dwarf waved his hand at them dismissively, and studied the wall more intently. His mind drifted back across the centuries, to the revelations of the magical throne.

This is the room, he thought. It has to be the room. If I can only find the catch!

Noise from the tunnel they had just descended entered the hall.

“Bruenor,” Drizzt said, but more quietly. He rushed over to join the dwarf. “Come,” he bade his friend, and he put his hand on Bruenor’s strong shoulder. “Our enemies near. We must be gone.”

“Aye, be gone,” the irritated dwarf grumbled back. He pressed his hand more strongly on the wall, hoping he wasn’t about to spring a deadly trap.

Was it possible that the centuries of idleness had ruined the mechanisms? The thought rattled Bruenor. It was Gauntlgrym, after all, the pinnacle of dwarven civilization.

“Dwarves build things to last,” he said aloud.

“Build what?”

Finally Bruenor did look up at Drizzt, and he motioned his chin back to the wall and stepped aside. Drizzt moved in quickly. He wasn’t exactly sure what he might be looking for. Bruenor had revealed nothing of the reasons for his interest in that particular bas relief, and Gauntlgrym teemed with such carvings.

The drow stared at the carving for a few heartbeats. The others soon came over, pleading with the pair to lead the way out of the small chamber, which was seeming more and more like a trap—or a tomb—than anything else.