The Last Threshold

“We are caught,” Effron assured him. “New pets for Draygo Quick.”

“Use your wraithform, then!” Drizzt told him through chattering, gritted teeth, but Effron, still sitting, shook his head.

“None of my magic will work in this cage. We are caught.” He gave a helpless chuckle and added, “Like Guenhwyvar.”

Drizzt wasn’t listening, rushing around and inspecting every seam, every plank, every glowing bar of the magical cage. He shouted out for Entreri and the others, unwilling to admit defeat.

When he finally noted Effron again, the young tiefling was sitting on the floor, head down and despondent.

Drizzt didn’t know if that defeated posture reflected immaturity or reality.

“Beware your feet!” Afafrenfere yelled, an obvious warning since they had all just seen the abrupt departure of Drizzt and Effron.

The monk moved quickly, running along the seams in the floor, so that if another tile fell out, he’d be able to dive one way or the other. He met the nearest charging armored creature with a flying kick that rattled the bones of the house defender, an animated skeleton, and sent it flying backward and to the floor.

Afafrenfere landed nimbly and spun right back to his feet, his right arm flying across to take aside the stabbing sword of the next attacker, his left palm snapping forward to ring against the chest plate with stunning force.

In rushed the armored attacker, another skeleton, stubbornly, but Afafrenfere dived past it, ahead of the stabbing sword, and he came up powerfully right beside the monster, hooking his arm under the skeleton’s breast plate as he did and planting his foot firmly behind. Up and over went the armored skeleton, thrown into backward flight.

A third came charging in even as the first tried to stand once more, and again Afafrenfere was ready, executing a heavy double strike between its upraising arms. His goal was to shove the attacker back, to buy some room.

But this was no skeleton and it hardly budged, and those upraised arms did not reach out for Afafrenfere, but rather to reveal the monster’s primary weapon.

The medusa removed her helmet.

Artemis Entreri went into a spinning assault, stabbing and thrashing to drive the ground attackers back, while Dahlia, staying carefully within the assassin’s defensive perimeter, put her long staff to brilliant use, swatting the dragonettes and stabbing at the swooping gargoyles, each strike against the stone-like monsters filling Kozah’s Needle with lightning energy.

She brought her staff down and in a horizontal swing at one skeleton that had slipped past Entreri’s defensive spins to come at her, and her aim proved perfect, catching the monster against the side of its helm and launching it sideways—where Entreri’s sword and dagger waited. Following through with the spin, Dahlia stabbed up into a diving gargoyle, and now let loose the building charge, the air above her exploding with crackling lightning, the gargoyle exploding into several pieces. Out arced the bolt, and several of the tiny dragons dropped like dead birds.

They had an opening now, and so they could find a more defensible spot, but when Dahlia looked ahead, she saw Ambergris running her way, staggering her way, head down and arms up shielding the dwarf’s face. She saw Afafrenfere beyond the dwarf, standing absolute still in perfect defensive posture, hands raised before him.

And she saw past Afafrenfere, to his opponent …

“No!” Entreri cried out, and he leaped against Dahlia, trying to knock her to the ground, trying to do something, anything to turn her gaze.

But too late. He crashed against solid stone. The Dahlia statue slid only a bit, and Entreri crashed down hard to one knee and reflexively glanced where he should not glance, and this time, the medusa’s magic found him.

He too became a statue, his flesh turning to stone, and he knelt and leaned there, joined with Dahlia, the last desperate try of a friend.

Ambergris wailed and stumbled past the pair, still ducking and covering, not daring to slow to swing up at the gargoyle assaulting her from above. She had resisted the medusa’s devastating gaze in those first moments, but she knew that such an assault would reach out at her again, and she might not be so lucky the next time!

So she didn’t dare slow, and surely didn’t dare turn, accepting the clawing strikes of the gargoyle all the way back to the door from which she had come.

She went through, and the gargoyle went through right behind her, and the dwarf went for the door most of all, and took several more brutal hits for her efforts, one opening her skin from her shoulder to her ear.

She kept her back to the door, but put up her heavy mace, trading blow for multiple blows against the well-armed creature. The gargoyle hopped, its wide wings holding it aloft, as clawed hands and clawed feet raked in at the dwarf.

Ambergris accepted the gouging hits and focused instead on a single, heavy, two-handed down-strike.

Skullbreaker once more lived up to its name.

Blood dripping from multiple wounds, the dwarf had no time to pause and cast any healing, for the door at her back rattled with the press of castle defenders.

She darted away, through another door, then crashed through a third, again retracing her route. This door had a locking bar, which she promptly dropped in place, but she held no illusions that it would hold for long, or that the castle’s defenders wouldn’t have other routes to get at her.

Where had Drizzt and Effron gone? She couldn’t do anything for the three turned to stone—there were spells of restoration to counter such magic, but they were far beyond Ambergris’s power!

So she fled—not just the castle, for where might she go?—but fled the plane of Shadowfell itself. Ambergris couldn’t shadowstep, and creating a gate as Effron had done was also beyond her experience, but she had her enchanted brooch, her Word of Recall, and she had set her sanctuary far, far away.

In the blink of an eye, the dwarf stumbled from Draygo Quick’s castle into the room reserved for her at Sailor’s Solace in Port Llast.

She spent many heartbeats just trying to even out her breath, and then many more trying to figure out her course. She reflexively turned east, toward the Silver Marches, her home and Mithral Hall. Perhaps she could go to Clan Battlehammer with news of Drizzt Do’Urden, who had once been their favored guest. Perhaps she could rally them to assault the castle in another plane, to launch a daring rescue.

The dwarf laughed at the absurdity of it. Three of her companions, including Afafrenfere, were gone, and the other two …

Ambergris thought of Draygo Quick; she knew much of his reputation. In that reflection, it seemed to her that Entreri, Dahlia, and Afafrenfere had been the fortunate ones.

A page in her book had turned, Ambergris realized, and with that, she took a deep and steadying breath and left the past behind, ready to find a new road.

But her old escapades might not so quickly let her go. Cavus Dun wanted her, and had the resources to find her and kill her.

Sometime later, after expending all of her magical energies to close the worst of her many wounds, she looked out her window at the small seaport opening below her balcony.

Cavus Dun would find her here, and easily, for she would surely stand out among the lesser folk of this small community. And here, she would find no allies powerful enough to ward such attacks.

She thought of Luskan, of Beniago and Ship Kurth. He would welcome her back. Perhaps he would put her aboard another of Kurth’s merchant ships, out to sea. She found herself nodding. What better place for a fugitive dwarf to be?

The next day, Ambergris secured a pony and supplies and started out from Port Llast, traveling north.

Beginning the next chapter in a life gone mad.

Chapter 19: Curioser and Curioser

WHY’RE YE WALKIN’?” ATHROGATE ASKED. “BACK AND FORTH AND BACK again. If ye’re meaning to dig a trench in the floor, get me a pick!”

“There’s something afoot,” Jarlaxle answered Athrogate.

“Well, have out with it, then,” Athrogate replied, waggling his fat toes as he placed his feet comfortably on the ottoman, grinning as if that movement was directly in response to Jarlaxle’s terminology.

“It will not much concern us,” Jarlaxle replied. “Other than the trade agreement, which seems secured now.”

“Eh?” Athrogate clearly hadn’t expected that answer.

“It is an interesting time,” Jarlaxle clarified. “I envy these Netherese lords in their endeavors and grand searches. Would that I had the time to join them!”

“Eh?” an even more confused Athrogate asked.

“Indeed,” said Jarlaxle. “And I know that if we remain here any longer, I will surely be drawn into Parise Ulfbinder’s work far more than I can afford. We will take our leave this very night.”

“Eh?” Athrogate asked again, now seeming alarmed and not very happy.

“Indeed,” was all that Jarlaxle would answer.

And that very night, Jarlaxle and Athrogate rode across the rolling ground of the region that had once been the great desert of Anauroch, Jarlaxle on his nightmare, Athrogate on his hellboar. Jarlaxle rejected Athrogate’s desire to find a proper shelter, and instead camped out on the open plain. The two sat across an open fire, Athrogate cooking some fine stew, their magical mounts standing around as sentries.

“Could’ve stayed,” Athrogate mumbled. He had been silent, but clearly annoyed, throughout the ride.

“There is something afoot,” Jarlaxle replied. “Something important.”

“Yeah, yeah, and it’d keep ye too busy and all that rot ye already said.”

“You understand that Parise Ulfbinder was watching us in our room, of course,” the drow replied.

“Eh?”

“That again? Yes, I assure you,” Jarlaxle said, and he tapped his eyepatch to reinforce the strength of his claim, for that magical item was well-known to protect against telepathic or clairvoyant intrusions. “Something important is afoot. Something connected to the Spellplague and the fall of the Weave.”

“Spellplague,” Athrogate muttered. “I keep hearing that name, but I ain’t much knowing what ye’re talkin’ about.”

“As subtle as the darkness,” the drow explained. “As quiet as the shadow. For some reason, with the fall of the Weave, we are bound to the Shadowfell and her dark minions.”

“Aye, seen too many o’ the damn shadow things. So what’re ye thinking’s happening, then?”

Jarlaxle shook his head. “Our friends of Shade Enclave might be making a move at domination.”

“Of?”

“Everything?” Jarlaxle asked as much as stated. “They are spending great energy in examining the old gods. Parise asked me if Drizzt might perhaps be a Chosen of Lolth.”

“Aye, he asked me a few things about that one, as well.”

That news surprised Jarlaxle. “When did you speak—?” he started to ask.

“When yerself went to him th’other day,” Athrogate answered. “He come to me right before yerself returned, wantin’ to know about that damned ranger.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Unicorn lady, Mylickin’ or something—”