The Last Threshold (Neverwinter #4)(14)

Surprised, relieved, shocked even, Effron collected his thoughts and closed the door behind him, then rushed into the adjoining room, Draygo Quick’s vaunted menagerie.

The cage was in place upon the pedestal, under the silken cloth, as he had expected, but the bars were not glowing with power and the cage was empty.

Effron bent low and peered around the bars, unable to comprehend the sight before him. Had the panther escaped? How could that be?

And who might have released the magical bindings of the cage?

Effron held his breath and stood up fast, spinning, his broken arm flying around him like a scarf in a gale. He expected to see a six-hundred-pound, angry black panther standing right behind him.

It took him many minutes of scanning the room, his gaze piercing the shadows, before he was able to relax in the confidence that he was indeed alone. He moved to one of the grand cabinets along the wall and gingerly opened it, brushing aside the mist and examining the many bottles on the shelves within. Each contained a tiny representation of some powerful monster, which were, in fact, the bodies of those actual creatures in miniaturized stasis. Effron himself had sorted these items and kept them cleaned, as per his duties for Draygo Quick, and so he recognized immediately that nothing was amiss and no new additions had been made.

He closed the cabinet and turned back to the empty cage, soberly now, and tried to wrap his thoughts around this unexpected turn. Where had the cat gone? A myriad of possibilities rushed through Effron’s mind, but only two seemed plausible: Either the panther had been handed back to Drizzt Do’Urden in some bargain concocted by Draygo Quick, or the cat had been slain, or had died of its own accord, perhaps due to the severance of the connection to the Astral Plane.

It took him many heartbeats to steel himself against the implications of both of those possibilities. Either way, he had likely forever lost a valuable tool in his quest to confront and kill his mother.

He thought back to the previous day, when he had watched the Shifter approach Draygo’s residence with an elderly Toril man in tow. He had thought then that the visit concerned the panther, and this seemed to confirm it.

“A druid,” he muttered under his breath, considering again the dress of the human accompanying the Shifter.

He looked at the empty cage. So what, exactly, had this druid done?

Effron realized then that he had to move quickly. Draygo Quick would learn of his visit, obviously, and the withered old warlock wasn’t known for his merciful tendencies. The tiefling was out of the castle in short order, not even bothering to hide from any of the other residents he passed along the way. When he crossed the courtyard and exited the great gates surrounding Castle Quick, Effron couldn’t deny the wave of relief that washed over him. He had called this place his home for many years, but now it brought him only dread.

But where to go? He thought that perhaps he should just head to Toril, out of the realm of shadows, and begin the hunt, though he had certainly counted upon having the panther as a bargaining tool. Should he just try anyway, without the cat, and pretend as if none of this mattered?

As with his choices regarding the two approaching warlocks in the hallway, and because of that very encounter, it came clear to him that the decision had already been made.

Draygo Quick would find him, wherever he chose to go.

Information alone would save him, Effron decided, so he set out with all speed to find that most elusive of Shadovar.

She was waiting for him, sitting on a bench set out in front of her modest home, amid her black-petal roses and dull flox. A small fountain sat off to the side of her, the water playing a rather entrancing tune.

Effron didn’t ever remember hearing the water song before and wondered if this was an added guard or deception put forth by the Shifter.

He looked at her—at the image of her that was probably not her—as he approached.

“It took you longer than I expected,” she greeted him. “Draygo Quick’s home is not so far, after all.”

“Draygo Quick’s home?”

“You just came from there,” the Shifter answered smugly.

Effron started to protest, but the woman’s smirk mocked him to silence.

“Were you going to steal her, or simply try to harm her that you might harm Lord Draygo by extension?”

“I do not know of what you speak.”

“And I am sure that you do. So where does that leave us? At the end of our conversation, I expect, so please leave.”

Effron felt as if the ground was rising up about him to swallow him where he stood. He desperately needed to speak to the Shifter, but her tone had left little room for debate.

“Where is the panther?” he pressed.

“I just told you to leave,” came her voice from the side, and the image before him shimmered to nothingness, a not-so-subtle reminder that she could strike at him from any angle she chose.

Effron brought his good hand to his face, feeling so very small and so very over his head at that terrible moment. He had thought himself clever, and daring even, for going into Draygo Quick’s private residence uninvited, and yet even this person watching from the side had him all figured out. If that was the case, how could he possibly avoid the falling axe of Draygo Quick’s judgment?

“You are still here,” the Shifter remarked, now from the other side.

“To steal her,” Effron admitted. A long silence ensued. Effron dared not speak further, and dared not move.