Gauntlgrym (Neverwinter #1)(23)

Barrabus the Gray stared at the tiefling hatefully for a few heartbeats, his posture easy, his thumbs looped under his thin belt. With a disgusted shake of his head, he turned and started away.

As soon as the small man took his first steps, Herzgo Alegni reached under the edge of his open leather vest to a hidden sheath and drew forth a peculiar two-pronged implement. He reached back and tapped it against the side of his powerful, sentient sword, and it began to hum with residual vibrations and offered magic. Grinning wickedly, he waved it beside the hilt of his sword, as if awakening the beast within the blade.

Barrabus the Gray cringed and lurched to the side. His hands went out wide, folding into tight, white-knuckled fists. His jaw clenched so hard he was fortunate not to have bitten off part of his tongue.

The hum continued, the song of Claw, rolling through him like little waves of lava, boiling his blood.

Grimacing, trembling, he sank down to one knee.

Presenting the humming fork in front of him, Alegni walked around the man. He locked eyes with the dangerous killer for a short while then grasped the fork’s tines with his free hand, ceasing the hum, the conduit of the sword’s call, and the agony.

“Ah, Gray, why do you force me to keep reminding you of your place here?” the tiefling asked, his voice thick with regret, though thin with sincerity. “Can you not just accept your lot in life, and show gratitude for the gifts the Netherese have given you?”

Barrabus hung his hairy head low, trying to regain his sensibilities. When Alegni brought his hand under the man’s lowered face, Barrabus took it, and allowed the tiefling to help him back to his feet.

“There,” Alegni said. “I am not your enemy, I am your companion. And I am your superior. If you would commit that truth to memory, I would not have to continually remind you.”

Barrabus the Gray glanced at the tiefling only briefly then started away at a determined stride.

“Shave your beard and trim your hair!” Herzgo Alegni called behind him, a clear command, and a clear threat. “You look the part of a vagabond, and that will not do for one who serves the great Herzgo Alegni!”



“Elf, I got something!” Bruenor yelled, his voice echoing off the uneven stones of the cave complex’s walls. So that by the time it reached Drizzt’s ears, it sounded only as “Elf elf elf elf elf elf elf …”

The drow ranger lowered his torch and looked to the main corridor just outside the small side chamber in which he was working. He stepped out into the corridor as the dwarf called to him again. Drizzt smiled, recognizing from the tone that his friend wasn’t in any trouble. But looking at the catacombs in front of him, he realized he had no idea how to even begin looking for Bruenor.

He smiled again, thinking that maybe he did have a way. He pulled an onyx figurine from his belt pouch and called out, “Guenhwyvar.”

There was no insistence nor urgency, and barely any volume to his call, but he knew it had been heard even before gray mist began to swirl around him and take the shape of a great feline. It coagulated even more distinctly and darkened in hue, then Guenhwyvar stood beside him, as she had for more than a century.

“Bruenor’s in the caves, Guen,” the drow explained. “Go and find him.”

The black panther looked back at him, gave a little growl, and padded away.

“And sit on him when you do,” Drizzt called after her as he followed. “Make sure he doesn’t wander away before I arrive.”

Guenhwyvar’s next growl came a bit louder, and she picked up her pace, apparently more eager in her hunt because of the added instructions.

Down the main tunnel, Guenhwyvar froze in place, ears twitching as Bruenor’s next shout echoed. The panther moved to one side passage, sniffed the air, and darted to a different one. After only a brief pause, she leaped away.

Drizzt tried to keep up, but Guenhwyvar moved swiftly and sure-footedly, darting under overhangs the drow had to crouch to pass through and springing down side passages with confidence. The lagging Drizzt was left to guess at her choices.

They moved deeper into the narrow, crisscrossing tunnels, and when Drizzt next heard Bruenor’s yell, so full of outrage, he knew that Guenhwyvar had caught her prey.

“Ye durned elf!” Bruenor griped when Drizzt entered a sizable though low-ceilinged chamber, roughly square in shape and showing signs of some workmanship, as opposed to the natural cave tunnels that dominated the complex.

In the far corner, beside a dropped, low-burning torch, lay Guenhwyvar, calmly licking her paw, and Drizzt could just make out a pair of dwarven boots protruding from under her.

“A hunnerd years and ye still think it’s funny,” Bruenor said from the other side of the cat, and Drizzt could only guess that the dwarf’s head was wedged into a corner somewhere over there.

“I haven’t been able to keep up with you since the Tribe of Fifty Spears directed us to this place,” Drizzt replied.

“Ye think ye might send the cat away?”

“I welcome her company.”

“Then ye think ye might get the damn thing off o’ me?”

Drizzt motioned to Guenhwyvar, who stood up at once and headed his way, growling with every stride.

“Ye pointy-eared devil,” Bruenor grumbled, pulling himself to his knees.

He gathered up his one-horned helm and hopped to his feet, his horn nearly scraping the ceiling. Hands on hips, he turned and glared at the drow then muttered some more curses as he retrieved his torch.