Charon's claw tns-3

by R. A. Salvatore

  Drizzt had no way to answer. He wasn’t sure that his hopes for Jarlaxle were simply a matter of refusing to accept the obvious. He had seen Jarlaxle dodge too many arrows. By all indications, Jarlaxle had died in Gauntlgrym. Who could have survived the power of the primordial erupting from inside that rim of fire, after all?

  But Drizzt had once made the mistake of thinking some dear friends dead without conclusive proof, and he didn’t intend to travel that fool’s road again. Maybe Jarlaxle’s charred remains lay on the side of the primordial’s pit, or perhaps he had fallen into the fiery maw of the lava beast and nothing at all remained of him.

  Or maybe not.

  “So you’d use Entreri’s dilemma to once again take me far from this place,” Dahlia said. “To once again turn me from my quest.”

  Her anger was clear for Drizzt to see. “If Jarlaxle is to be found, then wonderful, for he, too, would prove a valuable ally,” he said. “But the point stands even if Jarlaxle does not. There are items, or enchantments, which we might procure to protect Entreri from the prying sword.”

  “Do you think he has not already looked for such things?”

  Drizzt wasn’t sure what to say. At the very least, Dahlia’s point showed that they might spend months in search of their answer. In his many decades of adventuring, had Drizzt ever encountered anything other than Jarlaxle’s eye patch that might provide the needed shield, after all? And even that eye patch had failed Jarlaxle against the mind-bending manipulation of Crenshinibon, the drow reminded himself. He looked back at Entreri, who was approaching now, and gave a resigned sigh.

  “So will you send me away or accept my help?” Entreri asked when he got to them, and he dropped an armful of kindling on the ground beside the small fire pit the drow had dug.

  “Are we that obvious?” Drizzt asked.

  “It’s the discussion I would be having were our situations reversed,” said Entreri.

  “And you would send us away.”

  “No, I would cut out your heart,” the assassin quipped, and he went to sorting the firewood. “Makes things simpler, you see.”

  “Would you settle for having your skull crushed?” Dahlia asked, and if she was joking at all, her voice didn’t reflect it.

  Entreri dropped a piece of kindling and rose, turning slowly to face the woman. “If it were that easy, I would have been killed already,” he said, expressionless. “And you will not turn me away. I’ve made my choice now, and my road is for Neverwinter, beside you or not.”

  “We fear the sword,” Drizzt explained. “Should we not?”

  Perhaps it was the simple honesty of that statement, Drizzt thought, or maybe it was because he wasn’t questioning Entreri’s word, but simply addressing influences that might prove beyond the assassin’s control, but Entreri seemed to relax then.

  “Is there a way we can protect you from the intrusions? Do you even know when you are being scoured?”

  “Idalia’s Flute,” Entreri replied, and it seemed as if he was looking far, far away then. He snorted and shook his head.

  “A magical item?” Dahlia asked.

  “One I possessed for some time,” Entreri explained. “If I had it now, I’m sure that I could defeat the call of Charon’s Claw, or at least offer some resistance.”

  He looked into Drizzt’s questioning expression.

  “Jarlaxle has it,” Entreri explained. “He repaired it, used it to lure me back to his side, then took it from me when he sold me into slavery to the Netherese.”

  “Ah, then we should find Jarlaxle and seek his help,” said Dahlia, and Drizzt felt the bite of her sarcasm keenly.

  Entreri stared at her incredulously, obviously not appreciating her sarcasm.

  “How complete is Claw’s understanding of your thoughts?” Dahlia asked, her tone changing suddenly then, as if she were truly interested, as if she had an idea.

  “You assume that I know when Claw is in my thoughts,” Entreri replied.

  “Tell us everything you know about Neverwinter’s defenses,” Dahlia said with a wry grin, as if her desire to learn of those defenses-surely authentic-was only part of her reasoning.

  Entreri looked to Drizzt, who, after studying Dahlia, recognized her plan and matched her smile. He looked back at Entreri and nodded.

  With a shrug, Entreri explained the layout of the city, and detailed the wall’s strong points and its weaknesses. He knew where Alegni slept, and where the tiefling could usually be found. He told of the various Shadovar encampments around the city, as well, and as he moved along in his recounting, he too began to smile.

  Drizzt nodded again, this time at Dahlia and her clever ploy to determine if Claw was then within Entreri’s thoughts, which, given the level and detail of the information he was providing-information that could prove fatal to Herzgo Alegni-the sword likely was not.

  “Neither of you are schooled in the ways of wizards,” Dahlia said when Entreri was done.

  “Enough so to kill them when they annoy me,” said Entreri.

  “I have studied the magical arts,” the elf explained. She held up Kozah’s Needle. “Particularly those aspects that affect the creation of magical items. I am no novice to such weapons-to be so ignorant while wielding this weapon would be dangerous.”

  “And your point?”

  “It is not likely that this sword, Charon’s Claw, remains in your thoughts,” Dahlia explained. “More likely, the sword reacts to those forceful commands you make to your muscles.”

  Entreri screwed up his face, clearly skeptical of the reasoning, or not understanding it.

  “Kozah’s Needle knows when I need it to release its energy,” Dahlia said.

  “Because you dominate the staff, as I once dominated Charon’s Claw,” Entreri replied.

  But Dahlia was shaking her head. “Sentient weapons, all but the very greatest, are not separate beings. They have pride and demand of their wielder-such is part of the magic imbued within their metal or wood. But they aren’t conscious beings, plotting and conniving for personal gain. Charon’s Claw has come to dominate you through your long affiliation. All that truly means is that Charon’s Claw recognizes your action cues. It knows when you mean to strike and how you mean to strike, and what you wish its role to be in that strike, were you wielding it. Now, it retains that clear recognition of your action cues, and so it can react to them faster than you can counter the reaction.”

  Entreri’s expression showed him to be less than convinced.

  “What properties does the sword possess?”

  “The ability to trail an opaque veil of ash,” Entreri replied hesitantly, not sure where this was going.

  “And how quickly can the sword create this trail if called upon by its wielder?”

  “Instantly,” said Entreri, and he suddenly seemed more intrigued.

  “And would the sword ever put forth this ashen trail without your call?”

  The assassin thought on that for a moment, then shook his head, but without much conviction.

  “Your bond with it was so strong that you are not even sure if you consciously had to call upon it any longer,” Drizzt reasoned. “And so now you presume, logically, that the sword is reading your thoughts.”

  “You don’t understand the pain this sword can inflict upon me,” Entreri answered.

  Dahlia shrugged.

  “The sword can dominate him,” Drizzt reminded her.

  Entreri added, “And so just having me with you might compromise your mission, as I said.”

  “And if Charon’s Claw was in your mind,” Dahlia asked the assassin, “would it have allowed you to kill that shade warrior and free me from the web? For surely Herzgo Alegni would have me brought to him in bindings.”

  “So it is not a constant intrusion,” Drizzt said. “But how will we know?”

  Dahlia broke Kozah’s Needle into two four-foot lengths, then. She regarded them for a few moments-and it seemed to Drizzt that she was communicating with the weapon-then tossed o
ne length to Entreri.

  “Certainly Kozah’s Needle will recognize the intrusion of a different sentience,” she explained.

  Entreri stared at the length of metal, then put it up as if testing its balance.

  “Do not even think to wield it as a weapon,” Dahlia said. “And at the first signs of any battle, return it immediately! But as we travel, let this serve as our sentry. If your sword attempts to infiltrate your mind, that bo stick you carry will know of it, and the one I carry will inform me.”

  Drizzt and Entreri exchanged looks then, and both could only nod in admiration of the resourceful elf woman.

  On a high turn along the southern coastal road, Drizzt and his two companions looked down upon Neverwinter. Nestled within the wider ruins of the old city, the newer construction and wall were clear to see-at least, those parts of the wall that were not obscured in shadow.

  It wasn’t the shadow from any trees, or the angle of the sun behind any of the nearby hills in the region, that hid the wall, but a dull haze-a magical shadow, a fog brought forth from the Shadowfell itself.

  “The Netherese have reinforced,” Dahlia stated, her tone aptly expressing what all three realized as they looked down upon Alegni’s stronghold. She turned a suspicious eye upon Entreri and remarked, “Perhaps the wretch does know of our plans.”

  “If every setback is to be pinned to my cloak, then tell me now,” Entreri replied. Drizzt couldn’t help but smile at the perfect timbre in Entreri’s voice, conveying the man’s apparent boredom and just a bit of a threat. He was ever calm, and so there was always that threat, Drizzt understood. He looked at Dahlia to see if she had caught it, and her expression, a mixture of anger and only slightly-hidden surprise, confirmed the drow’s suspicion.

  “How many, do you think?” Drizzt asked, thinking it wise to deflect this conversation.

  “Perhaps he fears that we’re coming for him-surely he knows of Sylora Salm’s fate,” Entreri reasoned. He dropped down from his nightmare steed and climbed atop a large stone to get a better vantage point. Drizzt and Dahlia slipped down from Andahar and moved to join him.

  “Several score, at least,” Entreri explained when they arrived. He pointed out a handful of Shadovar encampments just outside the city wall. “Alegni has tightened his defensive ring, as well.”

  “If he knows of Sylora, then perhaps he believes that the Thayans will strike out recklessly, at least initially,” Drizzt said.

  Entreri nodded his agreement. “Whether against our threat or that of the Thayans, Herzgo Alegni has prepared his city for defense.”

  “Perhaps, then, we would do well to shrink back into the forest and let the time of potential crisis pass,” Drizzt offered, and no sooner had he gotten the words out of his mouth when Dahlia joined right in.

  “Your advice on every development is to wait and hide,” she retorted sharply. “How you ever earned a reputation for being anything more than a coward eludes me, Drizzt Do’Urden.”

  Drizzt’s eyes widened, particularly given the adventures he and Dahlia had already shared in their short time together. In addition to the assault on Sylora’s fortress, they had gone to Gauntlgrym side by side and battled a lich and a primordial.

  He didn’t know how to respond, but Entreri did. It wasn’t often that Drizzt or anyone else had heard Artemis Entreri laugh aloud, but he was surely doing so then.

  Drizzt stared hard at Dahlia. A part of him wanted to strike back at her, for he found that he didn’t much like being mocked, and found, to his surprise, that he truly did not like being mocked in front of Artemis Entreri. That last revelation did surprise him more than a little, but he couldn’t deny it.

  “And you would throw yourself in front of any danger, because you foolishly believe yourself immortal,” he said, though it took him a long while to find his voice.

  “Or she simply does not care,” Entreri replied before Dahlia could, and the assassin and Dahlia exchanged a look then that set Drizzt back on his heels.

  Entreri understood something about her that he did not, Drizzt realized. Yes, he too had wondered about exactly what Entreri had just claimed, but even though he might recognize the possibility, Drizzt knew from the glance his two companions had shared that Entreri understood this part of Dahlia on a much deeper level than he ever could.

  Again to his surprise, and there were many that morning on the high road, Drizzt found that the revelation bothered him more than a little.

  “How would you have us get into Neverwinter, then?” the drow asked, bringing the conversation back to the point. “You know their defenses,” he said to Entreri. “Where are they weak?”

  “I knew their defenses,” the assassin replied, glancing back down at the city. “It would seem they are much stronger now.”

  “Too strong?” Drizzt asked.

  “No,” Dahlia replied.

  Entreri shrugged. “They have weaknesses. Jelvus Grinch, perhaps the leading citizen among the settlers, is no friend to Herzgo Alegni. Their alliance-one that I created-was wrought of mutual hatred of the Thayans, and from the beginning, the citizens of Neverwinter have been wary of the Netherese. They are much like the folk of Ten-Towns.”

  Drizzt nodded eagerly, appreciating Entreri’s attempt to bring this to a better level of his own understanding, and indeed, his own limited experiences with the folk of the new Neverwinter somewhat confirmed the assassin’s comparison. “They intend to pick their own rulers,” Entreri finished.

  “And they wouldn’t choose the Netherese,” Dahlia reasoned.

  “Would you?”

  Dahlia spat on the ground.

  “How can we exploit this?” Drizzt asked. “I know Jelvus Grinch-how might I meet with him and enlist his aid?” Even as he spoke the words, though, Drizzt began entertaining doubts regarding that course. As he looked down at Neverwinter, the deep pockets of shadow gave him pause. If he enlisted Grinch and others in this personal vendetta of Dahlia’s, would he not, perhaps, be creating a possible massacre within Neverwinter?

  Even as Entreri began laying out some manner in which he might arrange such a liaison, Drizzt was shaking his head.

  “If your old sword notices one instant of our plotting, and that plotting includes Jelvus Grinch, many in Neverwinter will be killed,” Drizzt interrupted.

  “Then how?” Dahlia demanded. “If I must fight my way through that garrison, then so be it, but I will not turn aside.”

  Entreri began to smile immediately, as a thought obviously came over him.

  “What do you know?” Drizzt prompted.

  “When the river flowed as lava and the hot ash piled deep on Neverwinter, I was trapped under that bridge,” he explained, pointing to a distant structure, one that had been known as the Winged Wyvern Bridge. “I had no idea how I would ever get out of there, and yet I could not stay. The heat from the river…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head.

  Drizzt recalled his own experiences when the volcano blew, when he watched from afar as the mountain crumbled into a river of roiling stone and ash, when the shock wave rushed across the forests, leveling ancient trees as if they were insignificant strands of grass. The power of the spectacle had brought Drizzt to his knees. What must it have been like to be in Neverwinter that awful day, to see the devastation up close, to hear the screams of men, women, and children as they were burned and buried alive?

  “How did you survive?” the drow prompted somberly.

  “I crawled off the bridge,” Entreri replied, “and to the street, but it was too deep in ash-hot ash-for me to plow along it. And the stones were falling thick. I saw more than one person crushed under a fiery boulder. The buildings, strong as they seemed, provided no shelter. Those who hid inside were buried under rubble or chased out by the fires-everywhere were fires. The air was too thick to breathe.”

  “So you died and the sword brought you back,” Dahlia reasoned, but Entreri shook his head.

  Drizzt solved the riddle by remembering the layout of Nev
erwinter, whose streets he had walked several times. He, too, had often been drawn to the bridges, to the river that served as the city’s heart.

  “You couldn’t pass along the street, so you went back to the river, near the bridge,” he said.

  “To swim in the lava?” Dahlia mocked.

  But Drizzt just shook his head and kept looking at Entreri.

  “There was an opening along the bank, above the level of the river,” the assassin explained. “And the water flowing from it was relatively cool.”

  “You crawled out of Neverwinter through her sewers,” Drizzt reasoned. “Do you think they remain open?” He watched Dahlia as he spoke, and noted that her smirk disappeared.

  Entreri pointed down to the south of the city, to where the great river meandered into the Sword Coast. “It’s possible.”

  SHADOWS, ALWAYS SHADOWS

  Effron continually looked over his shoulder, peering through the ashen mists and endless shadows of the Shadowfell. He wasn’t supposed to be there, and Draygo Quick would punish him severely if the weathered old battle mage discovered his breach of etiquette and station.

  But he had to know.

  This involved Dahlia. He had to know!

  Despite his desperation, Effron didn’t dare travel anywhere near the Cavus Dun guildhouse, nor did he dare speak with any of the leaders of that organization. Nay, they would rush straight to Draygo, he knew, for they would not protect the confidentiality of a mere ascendant noble like Effron when weighed against the potential ire of Draygo Quick.

  He knew that he had only a matter of hours, however, and when he could not locate Jermander or Ratsis at their usual haunts-and more troubling, when he learned that Ratsis had indeed been spotted that very day in the Shadowfell-he went to a secluded boulder tumble, set with a small cottage that never seemed to stay in the same place for more than a moment or two.

  Effron waited for a shift, then sprinted for the door and reached out to grasp… nothing.

  Smiling, appreciating the cleverness of the home’s owner, the twisted warlock waited and watched, trying to discern some pattern to the illusionary games. When he thought he had it figured out, he quietly began a spell, timing it for another house jump.