Dahlia sighed and settled back with closed eyes once more, and though she was in a stuffy and tight cave, she felt the wind on her face, felt as if she was standing atop a cliff, a baby in her arms.
Dahlia’s breathing came in rasps, and she opened her eyes and glared at Entreri, silently cursing him for reminding her of that dark past.
And yet, even that anger could not gain any lasting hold over her as she watched her quiet companion. Entreri scared her, rightly so, and Dahlia continually told herself to be wary of him.
But she couldn’t deny that he also intrigued her on several very deep and very personal levels.
He knew.
He knew, and he hadn’t turned away from her.
He knew, and instead of disgust, he had reached out to her.
Did she want that? Did she deserve that?
Dahlia couldn’t sort through the jarring contradictions in her thoughts and in her heart.
She thought of killing him.
She thought of making love to him.
Both seemed so sweet.
Drizzt’s hand snapped up to grab the small cage, but he grasped only air as the image of the woman faded to nothingness in the dimly lit cavern. He leaped around, eyes darting, and found her again to the other side.
“What trick is this?”
“No trick,” she answered. “In my hand, I have a magical cage, and in that cage is the companion you hold most dear.”
“Give her to me!” Drizzt demanded, but as he took a single step toward the woman, she disappeared again, only to reappear farther down the corridor.
“The panther came through the shadowgate with Lord Alegni,” the woman explained. “Lord Alegni does not yet know that we have the cat, but he will surely make her pay dearly for the scars she dug into his body.”
So entranced was Drizzt with the possibility of getting Guen back, with the idea that she might not be lost to him after all, that it took him many heartbeats to even register the reality that Herzgo Alegni might not be dead. His expression grew curious and he stared at the woman, at this latest image of the woman.
“Alegni is dead.”
The woman shrugged. “He should be, perhaps,” she replied. “And surely would be had he not arrived back to loving, clerical arms.”
Drizzt didn’t know how to respond.
“You will learn the truth of my words soon enough, I expect,” the woman added. “He will find you, if you remain with your companions. Did you think your battle out in the forest a mere coincidence?”
“Why are you here? Why are you telling me this? Are you Alegni’s enemy?”
She shook her head. “I am neither enemy nor friend. I am merely employed, by another.”
“Another Netherese?”
She smiled as if that should be obvious.
“Who sent you here to taunt me?”
“Taunt? I have done no such thing.”
“You dangle before me that which I most desire.”
“Such a companion is quite desirable, indeed, and by more than you.”
“I have the figurine,” the drow argued. “You cannot have her. You cannot control her! Even were you to kill me and take the statuette which summons Guenhwyvar, she would not serve you.”
“The Netherese are not impotent in the way of magic, even ancient magic, nor in the ways of planar travel,” she replied. “We don’t need your magical item to summon Guenhwyvar, nor will you, for all of your efforts, recall her to your side from out of the cage we have built for her. Do not doubt that.”
“So you taunt me.”
“No.”
“But you hold her before me, with me helpless to free her.”
“Helpless? Nay, Drizzt Do’Urden, you can have her.”
Drizzt swallowed hard at that remark. “What do you want?”
“It is quite simple,” she replied. And the drow wasn’t surprised when she added, “As I already told you, you have something that belongs to us.”
Drizzt rubbed his hand over his face.
“Give me the sword and I will free your feline companion,” the woman promised. “A fair deal, from an honorable broker.”
“You would claim such.”
“Why would I lie? We do know the truth of your words. The cat, beautiful as she is, is useless to us. She will never serve us. Her heart is yours. So take her back and return to us, to me, the Netherese sword you carry on your back.”
“So you can use it to kill me?” Drizzt blurted, and he thought the words ridiculous as they left his mouth, for he was merely lashing out in frustration.
“The Empire of Netheril cares nothing about you, Drizzt Do’Urden.”
“Herzgo Alegni might not agree.”
She shrugged as if that hardly mattered. “You were a pawn in a wider game. Do not think yourself so important in this battle, to him or to us.” She reached her free hand forward and beckoned to him. “Give me the sword and take your cat, and be gone from here. These events do not concern you.”
Drizzt licked his lips as he stared at that cage, its glowing bars shimmering with energy. His gaze focused more clearly and he made out those familiar eyes from behind the bars, and noted the pacing of the miniaturized panther. It was Guenhwyvar. He knew it in his heart that this was no deception.
His hand went over his shoulder and hovered near the hilt of Charon’s Claw. What did he care about this sword or about Artemis Entreri, after all? Wasn’t the life of Guenhwyvar worth those of a thousand Entreris? He owed the man nothing! Could he say the same about Guenhwyvar?
“Give her back to me and I will be gone from the fight,” he started to respond, as his hand started to close around the wrapped hilt of Charon’s Claw, but the words choked him up as he tried to speak them. He thought of Dahlia. He would have to extricate her from this battle as well, of course.
But would she even go? Would she leave Artemis Entreri?
Drizzt winced as he thought of a goblin he had met so long ago, in a place so far removed from here. A runaway slave, a goblin not of typical weal, a goblin akin to himself, in truth, in its desire to be away from its dishonorable people. He had failed that goblin, and that goblin had been hanged.
A slave.
Artemis Entreri had been a slave to Alegni, a slave to Charon’s Claw. Could Drizzt really offer him back to that circumstance, whatever his desires and whatever his gain?
And yet, did Guenhwyvar deserve this, deserve to pace in tight circles in a tiny cage?
“I warn you that my masters are not benevolent,” the woman said, noting his hesitation. “Your precious Guenhwyvar is not immortal in her current state, chained in a pit in the Shadowfell, surrounded by shadow mastiffs eager to tear her apart. Will they get to her before Herzgo Alegni, who is fast recovering from his wounds?”
Drizzt tried to respond. A large part of him wanted to draw out Charon’s Claw and throw it on the ground before him. What did he owe Artemis Entreri?
And yet, he could not do it. He could not return the man to slavery. He could not offer one life in exchange for another.
He stood there, motionless, except that he slowly shook his head.
“You play the part of the fool,” the woman said quietly. “You hold to a moral standard that Barrabus the Gray does not deserve, and at the expense of your precious Guenhwyvar. What a miserable friend is Drizzt Do’Urden!”
“Just give her to me,” Drizzt heard himself saying, quietly.
“Consider your decision,” the woman replied. “Sleep with it, if you can. Sleep with dreams of Guenhwyvar, staked in a pit, hungry hounds tearing her flesh and pulling her limbs off. Will you hear her shrieks of agony, Drizzt Do’Urden? Will the tortured death of Guenhwyvar haunt you for the rest of your miserable life? I think it will.”
Drizzt felt as if he was shrinking, as if he was diminishing, the floor rushing up all around him to swallow him-and in that awful moment, he wished that it would!
“We will speak again, perhaps,” the woman said. “I will return to you, if I find the opportunity before your Guenhwyvar is destroyed. Or perhaps Lord Alegni will find you three and take back his sword. I am sure that he will not kill you until he allows you to witness the death of Guenhwyvar.”