Charon's claw tns-3 Page 4

  “So what was to be a seventh-split will be a ninth,” Parbid grumbled.

  “Shouldn’t you and your brother be out scouting for Dahlia and the drow, as we agreed?” Ratsis replied. “And if you happen upon them, do feel free to take them, and in that event, you two may split Effron’s gold evenly between you.”

  Parbid and Afafrenfere exchanged looks, their expressions both doubtful and intrigued, as if they might just call Ratsis on his bluff.

  Jermander, meanwhile, cast a less-than-enthusiastic gaze Ratsis’s way and held the look as the two monks trotted off.

  “Let them try,” Ratsis explained. “Then we’ll be back to seventh shares, even considering the expensive services of the Shifter.”

  Jermander snorted and didn’t seem overly bothered by that possibility.

  Drizzt crouched a few steps away from the trunk of the large pine tree, beneath the bending thick branches that had served as his and Dahlia’s shelter for the night. He saw the coating of white between the pine needles, and he stood straighter, pulling apart a pair of the branches. The first snow had indeed fallen that night, coating the ground in glistening white under the rays of the morning sun.

  With the light peeking into their natural bedroom, the drow glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping Dahlia. A single ray touched her check, but no war woad shimmered there. Dahlia had worn her softer look again that night, after a long and uncomfortable silence had trailed the couple throughout the day on the heels of their earlier argument. Her hair was back in the soft shoulder bob, her face clear and smooth.

  It was the look Drizzt far preferred, and Dahlia knew that.

  Dahlia knew that.

  Was she manipulating him? he wondered yet again. He knew that Dahlia was a calculating woman, a clever warrior, a strategic opponent. But was it possible that she was also his opponent? Did she see him as a companion and a friend, or as merely a plaything and a tool for her greater designs?

  Drizzt tried to shake such dark thoughts away, but he could not. Standing there at the boughs of the tree, looking back at the beautiful elf, he could not help but be drawn to her. At the same time, though, Drizzt was reminded that he did not really know Dahlia, and that what he did know of her was not so innocent a lifestyle.

  Dahlia, after all, had lured Jarlaxle and Athrogate to Gauntlgrym with the intent of freeing the primordial. Even though she had changed from that malignant course in the critical moment, she still had to bear more than a little responsibility for the cataclysm that had devastated the region and buried the city of Neverwinter.

  She looked so young lying there in the morning light, and so innocent, almost childlike. Indeed she was young, Drizzt reminded himself. When he was Dahlia’s age back in Menzoberranzan, had he even left House Do’Urden for the warrior school of Melee-Magthere?

  Still, he knew, Dahlia was in many ways much older than he. She had served in the court of Szass Tam, the archlich of Thay. She had witnessed great battles and had known more lovers than he, surely. She was greatly traveled, and deeply experienced in life.

  Drizzt knew better than to allow any condescension to slip into his thoughts as he considered Dahlia. Spirited and dangerous, it would not do for anyone associated with her, friend, lover, or enemy, to underestimate her, in any way. So was she manipulating him with this soft look of hers, the alluring and more innocent cut of her hair and her unblemished face?

  The drow smiled as he considered the obvious answer in light of yesterday’s events. The hardened Dahlia, braid and woad, had argued with him and even invited him to leave her side. She would take care of Herzgo Alegni herself, she had proclaimed. But that would be no easy task, obviously, for Alegni was within the city, and likely surrounded by powerful allies, including Artemis Entreri.

  And as the day had worn on, and Drizzt had remained at her side, though still without committing to join her, Dahlia had morphed into this alluring and gentle creature, less warrior, more lover.

  Drizzt looked out at the snowy forest and chuckled at himself. It didn’t really matter if Dahlia was trying to manipulate him, he supposed. Wasn’t that simply the truth of relationships? Hadn’t Bruenor manipulated him and everyone else, facilitating his own “death” after the battle with Akar Kessell that they might abandon Icewind Dale and head out on the road in search of Mithral Hall? And hadn’t Drizzt, in truth, manipulated Bruenor into signing the Treaty of Garumn’s Gorge?

  The drow couldn’t help laughing as his memories spun back through the years. He recalled Bruenor’s deathbed drama back in Icewind Dale, when the dwarf had played out his greatest desires, so apparently lost to the winds of time. Coughing and sputtering and wheezing and obviously failing, clever Bruenor had shrunk before Drizzt’s eyes, as if entering the nether realm of death, until the moment Drizzt had pledged that they would head out and find Mithral Hall. Then Bruenor had hopped up, ready for the road.

  Oh, what a fine play that had been… but also, of course, a deep manipulation.

  That Dahlia was playing some games within the context of their relationship simply wasn’t that important, Drizzt told himself. He knew the truth of it, and within that truth crouched the hard fact that he could only be manipulated if he let her. It wasn’t simply lust, he knew, though surely Dahlia excited him. His intrigue with the elf went far beyond physical needs. He wanted to understand her. He felt that if he could learn about Dahlia, he would learn much of himself. Her way of looking at the world was foreign to him, a different perspective entirely, and that promised him an expansion of his own viewpoints. Perhaps he was drawn to Dahlia for the same reason he seemed forever drawn to Artemis Entreri-to consider the man, at least, if not to travel beside him. For both of them, Dahlia and Entreri, were possessed of a code of honor, albeit a stilted one in Drizzt’s eyes. Neither woke up in the morning with visions of creating chaos and suffering. Dahlia had shown as much with her inability to follow her master’s orders and release the primordial.

  So, did he want to fix them? Drizzt wondered. Did he, somewhere in his heart, believe that he could redeem Artemis Entreri and guide Dahlia to a brighter light?

  He glanced back at Dahlia again, just for a moment. He couldn’t deny his hubris. Likely, his desire to bring people out of darkness was part of the equation that had put Artemis Entreri in Drizzt’s thoughts so many times over the decades-nearly as often as he had wondered about Wulfgar.

  It was much more complicated with Dahlia, he knew. For he was indeed drawn to her in ways he could never be drawn to Entreri or Wulfgar. He couldn’t deny it. No matter how many times he might convince himself that he should not be with the dangerous elf, that conviction couldn’t hold against the mere sight of her, particularly when she wore her hair and face softly.

  He straightened up in surprise as he felt the elf ’s arm slide over his shoulder and wrap around his neck. Dahlia rested her chin on his other shoulder and kissed him on the ear. “A warm bed before a journey into the cold snow?”

  Drizzt smiled. His expression only widened as Dahlia added, “And then we will go and kill him.”

  Indeed.

  He thought of Bruenor on that deathbed in Icewind Dale again and reminded himself that his bond with the deceptive dwarf had lasted more than a hundred years.

  Indeed.

  THE LORD OF NEVERWINTER

  Captain of the White Guard,” Herzgo Alegni corrected, and many eyes turned upon the tiefling warlord in surprise. Alegni sat at a small table along the side wall of the inn that served as their meeting house. He was opposite the hearth, about as far from the source of warmth as he could be in the room, and he had pulled open the window beside him.

  Jelvus Grinch looked at him curiously. The city’s leaders had just been discussing Grinch’s place in Neverwinter's new ruling structure, and the Netherese lord had mentioned that Jelvus Grinch was a fine choice as the leader of the Neverwinter garrison, a role Grinch had handled for years by that point, in any case.

  “The White Guard?” another in the room chi
med in, voicing the question held by many in the room, obviously.

  Herzgo Alegni stood up slowly, flexing his obvious muscles as he went and rolling back his shoulders to let them all witness the powerful expanse of his broad and strong chest. Slowly, taking the time to let the heels of his boots resound against the wood floor with every distinctive step, he walked to the front of the room, and even the powerfully built Jelvus Grinch seemed a meager being next to the huge and dominating tiefling warrior. Alegni’s attire, black leather and metalstudded armor, and the flowing cape that reminded all of his noble station, only added to the imposing image, as did that large red blade openly hanging from his left hip. The blood red of the metal contrasted sharply with the black armor, and as Alegni dropped his naked left hand to rest atop the weapon’s pommel, the sword seemed more an extension of his red tiefling skin than a separate item. It accented perfectly the red fires in Alegni’s eyes, those orbs a shining reminder of his half-devil heritage. Yes, that red blade… a weapon that had cut through an umber hulk and left the creature writhing in its death throes on a Neverwinter street, to the amazement and cheers of so many of Neverwinter’s citizens, many of whom were in this very room.

  “What is the White Guard?” Jelvus Grinch dared to ask.

  “The city garrison,” explained the tiefling. “I think that an appropriate name.”

  “First Citizen…” Jelvus Grinch started to argue, for that was the title of honor they had bestowed upon Alegni.

  “Do not call me that,” Alegni interrupted, and his tone changed then, not so subtly, and more than a few in the room, Jelvus Grinch included, shifted uncomfortably.

  “The White Guard,” Alegni said more loudly, turning to face the larger gathering again. “It is fitting, for now Neverwinter has two garrisons, of course. The White Guard of your people,” he explained to Jelvus Grinch and the others, “and my own.”

  “Who are to be known as…?” Jelvus Grinch prompted.

  Alegni considered that for a moment, then replied, “The Shadow Guard. Yes, that will do. So you will coordinate the White Guard.”

  He wasn’t reasoning with them but rather dictating to them, something that was not lost on anyone in the room.

  “And you will command the Shadow Guard?”

  Alegni laughed at the notion. “I have my lieutenants in place to lead the guard.”

  “Freeing you up to…?” prompted a red-haired woman the townsfolk called the Forest Sentinel.

  Recognizing the voice, Alegni looked at her directly. “My dear Arunika,” he addressed her.

  “Freeing you up to assume lordship of the city,” Arunika stated, and when Alegni didn’t immediately disagree, the room erupted in whispered conversations, a few jeers, and several sharp complaints.

  “We have scored a great victory!” Alegni addressed them in a booming voice, one that silenced the whole of the place. “Sylora Salm is dead. The fortress she was raising in Neverwinter Wood is in disarray, its magic failing. The Dread Ring itself is diminished, and greatly so.”

  He ended abruptly and let that stunning news-for indeed, he had not revealed any of that until this very moment-hang in the air while he reveled in the blank expressions of the city leaders.

  “How can you know?” Jelvus Grinch finally managed to stammer.

  Herzgo Alegni looked at him as if he had to be a fool to even ask such a question.

  “The threat is diminished and will be driven forth in short order.” Alegni paused and grinned. “Because of me.”

  “And now you claim the lordship of Neverwinter,” Arunika surmised, and Herzgo Alegni smiled at her.

  “Ye can’t be doing that!” one man shouted from the back, and Alegni’s smile disappeared in the blink of an astonished eye, and more than one in the crowd, the speaker included, ducked low under that withering gaze.

  But another dared chime in, “You’ve not got the Crown of Neverwinter! You canno’ be Lord of Neverwinter without the Crown of Neverwinter!”

  “And pray tell, where is this crown?” Alegni answered in a booming, clearly threatening tone.

  The room filled with murmurs, and the person who had objected sheepishly replied, “None are knowing.”

  “It is lost, then,” Alegni declared. “And so it is time to start anew-as you all have done in coming to rebuild the ruined city.”

  “But if that’s the truth of it, then the lord’s to be one of them that’s been here the years, toiling!” another man protested, or started to, for as he spoke, Alegni moved toward him, and by the time he finished the thought, he was crouched over, covering up and cowering.

  “You can’t be doing that!” the first protestor repeated.

  “I just did it,” Alegni informed them all. “You needed me, and so you need me still. And I am here, at your service.”

  For a moment, the whole situation seemed to be teetering on the edge of a razor, acceptance on one side and open revolt on the other, and Alegni had no idea of which way this group would fall. His right arm dropped down by his side and he flexed his hand, encased in the magical gauntlet companion of his red-bladed sword. If any made a move, Alegni intended to swiftly draw that blade and cut Jelvus Grinch in half in a single, powerful movement.

  That would take the fight out of them.

  “We named a bridge after you, as you wished,” Jelvus Grinch replied, his voice thick with apprehension. “We granted you the title of First Citizen for your help in our struggles. Now you intend to repay us by subjugating us?”

  “That is a foolish way to view this,” said Alegni. “We are winning, but have not yet won. We have two forces in play. Your own, meager as it is, and mine, with resources and power far beyond your understanding. To complete the victory, we must be joined in purpose under a single voice. Do we agree on those points?”

  “Even if we do, who has determined that the singular voice would be that of Herzgo Alegni?” Jelvus Grinch pointed out.

  Alegni shrugged as if that hardly mattered. “Do you expect me to turn my army to your command?” he asked incredulously. “You, who cannot begin even to comprehend the power of that force, or of the Shadovar, or of the Empire of Netheril?”

  “We are being conquered from within!”One woman leaped to her feet, and several shouts of agreement erupted around her.

  “No!” Arunika shouted above them all. “No,” she said again, staring at Alegni and bravely walking right up to him.

  “Not conquered.” She turned as she spoke to encompass all in the room. “Until this threat is eradicated, until the Dread Ring is fully defeated and Sylora’s minions are all dead in the forest or fleeing back to Thay, Herzgo Alegni would claim the interim lordship of Neverwinter. For indeed we shall need one voice to speak out for us to those surrounding cities. It is a strong fist grabbing for power, of course.” She turned a sly look upon Alegni. “But a temporary one, is it not?”

  “Of course,” said Alegni. He managed a lewd smile as he looked into Arunika’s sparkling blue eyes. Let her believe that he desired her as a lover-what male would not, after all? But Herzgo Alegni knew the truth of this one. He had only just discovered that Arunika the Forest Sentinel was no mere human woman, that she was not human at all. And he knew much of the truth of her supposed allegiance to Neverwinter, though there was surely more to learn of this complicated creature. “Why would I deign to serve as lord of a meager city in the kingdoms of meager humans?”

  Someone in the crowd started to argue, but Alegni moved with a sudden and powerful stride, shoving Arunika out of the way. “You need me!” he shouted. “You begged me for help and received that help. Without me, without my army, your town would have been gutted like a fallen cow by the umber hulks. Or your walls would have been leveled by the thunderbolts of Sylora Salm. The enemy that came against you was quite beyond you. Don’t deny it! You needed me and you need me still, and I’ll not be cast aside because of victories that I’ve brought to you. I’m no mercenary to be bought with your coin. I’m no adventuring hero to rush
to your aid for the sake of my precious reputation, or for the good of all goodly men. You invited me into your home and so I came, and now I remain until I decide that it’s time to go.”

  If the spectacle of Alegni wasn’t enough to keep the city leaders in their seats, the room’s back doors swung wide at that moment and in strode Effron the Twisted, accompanied by a host of armed Shadovar. Alegni noted that among that troupe walked Jermander. Jermander? Alegni knew the mercenary and knew well Cavus Dun. He made a mental note to take up with Effron that one’s unexpected appearance.

  Herzgo Alegni scanned the room and let some tense moments slip past. When it became obvious that none of the Neverwinter settlers would dare make a move against him, he turned to Jelvus Grinch.

  “You will command the White Guard,” he instructed the man. “You, and one other of your choosing, will be granted a seat at my court table, and you alone among the humans of Neverwinter will have my ear to voice the concerns of the city garrison. Do you agree?”

  Jelvus Grinch couldn’t help himself as he glanced down at that devastating sword. He swallowed hard and Alegni flashed him that awful knowing grin. Jelvus Grinch knew, and Herzgo Alegni knew that he knew, that a wrong answer here would leave him on the floor in two pieces.

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “Yes?” Herzgo Alegni stated loudly.

  “Yes, Lord Alegni,” Jelvus Grinch dutifully clarified.

  Arunika left the meeting abruptly, not wanting to get caught in a private discussion with Lord Alegni and his band of powerful allies. The misshapen warlock had tormented her imp and had learned much of her-too much! — the red-haired succubus knew.

  She moved quickly through Neverwinter’s streets, constantly glancing back to ensure that she was not being followed. To create even more security, she turned down one dark, dead-end alleyway and moved swiftly to the end. There in the dark, she spread her batlike wings and flew up to the nearest rooftop, skipping along above the city.