Barrabus, diving into the zealot—and the mummified creature staggered just a bit.
“More!” Barrabus yelled, and he took the opportunity to come forward and crack his sword atop the zealot’s forehead just for good measure.
“Oh, I’m quite depleted,” Effron replied. His voice came from farther away and continued to diminish as he spoke.
A wave of panic nearly swept over Barrabus. The good news was that at last his leg spasms seemed to have ended, though his left arm continued to jolt and jerk wildly.
He needed another diversion, something so he could break away and flee …
Even as he thought of that, the zealot in front of him exploded, or seemed to, with black and purple energy flying forth from every orifice. That energy slammed Barrabus, hurting him far more than it hurt the zealot. But at least the magic had blinded the Ashmadai, albeit briefly, but enough for Barrabus to break off and flee.
The zealot came in pursuit, and Barrabus glanced back just in time to see the contagion Effron had put in the warrior explode yet again, and once more the Ashmadai warrior had to pause and take a moment for his sight to clear.
By that time, Barrabus the Gray had melted into the forest, and few were as adept at hiding as he.
Particularly when his life depended on it.
Barrabus was still limping when he finally returned to the Shadovar encampment on the western side of Neverwinter, just an hour before dawn. He stormed past the guards, ignoring their confused expressions, and moved right up to the small home Herzgo Alegni had taken as his own. The assassin didn’t even bother knocking, but just pushed through the door—or started to.
“He’s not in there,” a guard called to him.
Barrabus spun on the man, and nearly toppled over from the shooting pain caused by the sudden movement of his hip. He twisted his grimace into a scowl and forced himself forward to confront the man.
“Where is he?”
“Gone north,” said a second guard, coming fast around the corner. “We found a patrol, one of our own, slain in the forest.”
Barrabus looked at him skeptically. Shadovar were dying almost every day in the continuing battle with the Thayans, so why would Alegni go out personally to investigate?
“This is different,” the first said.
Barrabus looked from one to the other. “Where is that miserable Effron?” he asked.
“With Herzgo Alegni,” the first replied. “He arrived two hours ago, and claimed that you had been lost in battle.”
“That was his hope,” Barrabus muttered.
“He arrived just as the first report of the deaths in the north came back to us,” the other explained.
“Where?” Barrabus demanded.
“The fourth patrol route, near the northern road,” replied the guard, referring to a location that Barrabus knew well, since it had been Barrabus, after all, who had determined the most appropriate positions for the patrols.
The assassin set off, but he wasn’t walking this time. He had suffered the pain and trekked back to the city on foot because he expected that it would loosen up his injured hip and also in the hopes that he might find Effron along the way.
Yes, finding Effron before the fool had returned to Alegni’s side had been his deepest desire, Claw’s magic and certain punishment notwithstanding.
He dropped his obsidian figurine to the ground and called forth his hellish steed. The black nightmare materialized in front of him, angry as always, pawing the ground with its fiery hooves. Still favoring his left arm, Barrabus climbed into the saddle and thundered away, following the cobblestones around the city to the northern road. The sun was just peeking over the horizon to his left when he found the small trail and turned back to the west, his long shadow standing out in front of him.
Among the trees on the smaller path, he dismissed the nightmare and began to track—an easy enough task given the heavy-footed Alegni.
“Sylora Salm’s champion returns,” he heard Alegni say a short while later.
“She has two champions, then,” came the reply from a raspy, whispering voice Barrabus surely knew. “The one who killed the fool Barrabus was quite formidable.”
Barrabus crept up in sight of the pair.
“Barrabus is not dead,” Alegni insisted. “I would know of such an occurrence—indeed, I would summon him back to life.”
“The sword has the power to do even that?” Effron asked with a wide smile.
“He will not so easily escape his eternal indenture,” was all that Herzgo Alegni would admit, but Barrabus knew the truth of it anyway.