true mummy—had him beaten, I’m certain,” said Effron.
“And you left him?”
The warlock shrugged crookedly. “I had used the majority of my repertoire, since it was left alone to me to defeat the entire Ashmadai force, save that one.”
The assassin stepped out of the brush then, pacing steadily across at Effron and drawing his sword. “Good, then,” he said. “Just what I was hoping to hear.”
“Barrabus,” Alegni remarked, but the assassin paid him no heed.
“Far enough!” the tiefling warrior ordered, but the assassin again paid him no heed.
He did hear Alegni then, however, and in no small way, as that awful sword reached forth into him and twisted his guts into agonizing knots. Stubbornly Barrabus continued, one step, then after what seemed like many heartbeats, another.
“Barrabus.…” Herzgo Alegni warned.
“You hate him as much as I do,” the assassin managed to spit through his gritted teeth.
“That’s not the point.”
“Let … me … do … this,” Barrabus struggled to demand.
“Yes, do,” said Effron. “I have enough of my repertoire left to dispatch this lowly idiot.”
Herzgo Alegni shot the warlock a hateful glare then turned his attention fully back to Barrabus. He drew out Claw and stated, “Enough!” and such a wave of disjointing pain swept through Barrabus that he staggered to the side and fell over.
“Such a wonderful blade!” Effron said with exaggerated glee, and he clapped his one good hand against his chest. “Do let me borrow it, that I might play with Barrabus as well!”
Alegni silenced the warlock with a look, Barrabus noted, and he stubbornly pulled himself back to his feet.
“Enough of all of this,” Alegni warned them both, and he slid his sword away.
Barrabus closed his eyes and breathed easier, released from the grip of Claw. He knew the sword still watched him, though, in his thoughts, knowing his movements before he executed them. He wouldn’t get near that troublesome Effron.
So be it, Barrabus decided. He would find himself alone with the insufferable warlock soon enough. He’d make sure of that. He opened his eyes again and turned his attention back to the situation at hand, with Alegni poking around the bodies of four Shadovar.
“Sylora’s champion returns,” Alegni said to him when he arrived at the tiefling warrior’s side.
Barrabus considered the bodies, their positioning, and quickly concluded that more than one opponent had battled this group. He focused on one dead Shadovar particularly, noting six long cuts across the bloody torso, and he could visualize the brilliant maneuvers that had so fully torn the dead warrior.
He was quite sure he knew the attacker, and in this particular case, it couldn’t have been Dahlia and her blunt weapon, of course.
“She’s not alone,” he said to Alegni, and when the tiefling looked to him, he led Alegni’s gaze to the torn corpse, even prodded the body with his foot to accentuate the scimitar cuts. “No staff, not even Kozah’s Needle, did this.”
“Dahlia is a formidable one,” Alegni said, but Barrabus shook his head.
“I know this warrior, Drizzt Do’Urden by name, a drow ranger of great renown. He has sided with Sylora’s champion, it would seem, and that should be of no small concern to you.”
“I’ve heard the name,” said Alegni. “It’s spoken often in Neverwinter. This ranger is one of the great heroes of the North, so they say.”
Barrabus shrugged, conceding the point.
“And he would side with Sylora Salm?” the tiefling asked doubtfully. “He of goodly name and reputation would side with the unmitigated evil of Szass Tam?”
“He’s often misguided,” Barrabus dryly replied. “It’s his way.”
“And you think him as formidable as Dahlia?”
“More so, and I’ve battled both. And Drizzt is often accompanied by powerful friends—dwarf warriors and other drow, even more deadly than he.”
Alegni nodded grimly.
“Sylora surrounds herself with powerful allies, then,” Effron chimed in. “These two, and perhaps some friends, and the Ashmadai beast we battled in the forest, and this Valindra creature.”
Both Alegni and Barrabus looked at the warlock curiously, their expressions making no secret of the fact that they thought Effron to be rambling about things he didn’t understand.
“But I would say, Lord Alegni, that this returning elf warrior and her staff are the most dangerous to your cause,” Effron finished.
“You would say?” Alegni replied doubtfully.
The warlock didn’t back down from the claim.
“She’s a champion of no small accomplishment,” Effron insisted.
“I know of her,” Alegni replied.
“Dahlia Sin’felle.”
“Yes.”
“Except that’s not her name, Sin’felle,” said Effron, and even Barrabus’s interest was piqued by the confidence in the warlock’s tone. “Sin’felle is the name she gave herself, a mockery, a