Night of the Hunter by Salvatore R. A

Author:Salvatore, R. A. [Salvatore, R. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Adventure, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780786965502
Amazon: B00F1W08CC
Goodreads: 18886618
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2014-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

He wasn’t strong enough to stand by the time his captors collected him from his cage. They dragged him from the Forge to a side chamber bedecked in tapestries, rugs, and plush pillows. High Priestess Berellip Xorlarrin lounged there in luxury.

The two drow males unceremoniously dropped Entreri face-down on the floor, bowed to the priestess, and quickly departed, closing the door behind them.

When he realized that he was alone with the priestess, Artemis Entreri wondered if he could summon just enough strength to get his fingers around her throat.

“So we meet again, and again in my city,” Berellip said to him.

He just lay there, unmoving.

“Get up!’ she ordered, and when he did not move, the priestess threw a jug of water his way. It hit the floor before him and shattered, showering him with ceramic shards and splashing him with magically cold water. Despite his stubbornness, Entreri couldn’t help but lick up a bit of that nourishing liquid. How good it felt on his parched lips and throat! His captors had been giving him food and water, but just enough to keep him alive.

The drow were so good at this cruel game.

Berellip’s next move came as more of a surprise to the assassin, as she walked over to him and put her hand on his head, chanting quietly. A wave of magical energy rolled over him, bringing warmth and nourishment. He felt the strength returning to his limbs and the clarity returning to his mind.

“Get up,” she said again, quietly and more threateningly this time.

Entreri propped himself on his elbows, then rolled back to a kneeling position, his joints stiff from standing motionless while propped in the metal cage, aching with every movement.

“A clever lie you told when last we met,” Berellip said.

Entreri stared at her unblinking.

“Bregan D’aerthe, you said,” she reminded him. “But it was not true.”

“I spent many years beside Jarlaxle,” Entreri said, his voice cracking and barely getting past his broken lips.

“Jarlaxle is irrelevant,” Berellip said, and with a tone of authority that had Entreri thinking she knew something he did not.

“You remain alive for one reason—or perhaps for two,” she went on. “The choice is yours.”

“I am teeming with options,” he whispered with sarcasm.

“One of your band was missing,” Berellip said. “Where is he?”

“The dwarf is a woman, not a man,” Entreri answered innocently.

“Not her!” the priestess snapped back, and she slapped Entreri across the face. “Where is he?”

Entreri held up his hands and wore a puzzled expression. “Two dead, two in cages, the dwarf absent.”

“The sixth of your troupe.”

“We are five.”

“The drow,” Berellip said. “Where is Drizzt Do’Urden?”

“Him again?” Entreri quipped.

“It is the last time I will ask you, while you live, I assure you,” she replied. “But do not doubt that I can inquire of your corpse!”

“He is long dead,” Entreri answered, “in a crevice in a glacier, far to the north. A decade and more now …”

The way he had answered, so casually and without any hesitation, clearly put the priestess off her guard.

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