“We have a great opportunity here,” Draygo Quick said.
“And a great risk,” the elf, Glorfathel, replied, his words carrying more weight in light of the recent losses Cavus Dun had realized.
“You are my hedge against that,” said the old and powerful necromancer.
The elf bowed low. “How will I know?”
“I trust your judgment,” Draygo Quick assured him. “This region of Toril, Neverwinter Wood particularly, is of importance to us, no doubt, but not with the urgency that drives Herzgo Alegni. And I will not be embarrassed by chasing that hot-humored tiefling on a fools’ errand.”
“I understand.”
“I knew you would.”
“Did you think it would be any different?” Arunika asked Jelvus Grinch when she found him with some other prominent citizens of Neverwinter, all standing with hands-on-hips, staring dumbfounded at various points along the city walls. Portions of the wall were cloaked in deeper gloom. For at those locations, shadowy magical gates had appeared, like doorways into the void, and Netherese soldiers, shades one and all, were coming through.
“Is it an invasion?” Jelvus Grinch asked the red-haired woman.
“If it is, then ye’d be wise to be thinkin’ o’ leaving,” answered a voice from the back, and a female dwarf, quite dirty from the road, stepped out into the open.
“And who might you be, good dwarf?” Jelvus Grinch asked.
“Amber Gristle O’Maul, at yer service,” she said with a low bow. “O’ the Adbar O’Mauls. Me and me friend just come in from the road to yer fine city.”
“Your friend?”
“Sleepin’, ” Amber explained.
“Came in from where?”
“Luskan, and what a mess that place’s become!”
“A paradise compared to Neverwinter,” another man remarked, and several laughed—but it was an uneasy bit of mirth, to be sure.
“Aye, ye got some problems, and I’m thinkin’ that me and me friend’ll be wandering on our way quick as can be done.”
“You should be on your way now,” Arunika said, rather coldly. “This is none of your affair.”
The dwarf eyed her curiously for a few heartbeats, then just bowed and walked off.
“Why would Herzgo Alegni invade that which he already owns?”
Grinch turned an angry look over Arunika. “You played no small role in his ascension,” he reminded. “Early on, when first he came to us, you teased with words that he might be our great hope.”
“We could not have foreseen the fall of Sylora Salm,” Arunika admitted. “Not in the manner in which it happened, at least. With the counterbalance of the Thayans removed—”
“There remain only Alegni and the Netherese,” Jelvus Grinch finished.
“That is not necessarily true,” said Arunika. “There is more to play out, I am confident.”
“When you decide that I am worthy to hear your information, do tell,” Jelvus Grinch sarcastically replied.
Arunika didn’t bother answering the man, and she really had nothing definitive to tell herself, never mind tell him. She believed that Dahlia and this drow ranger, Drizzt Do’Urden, were coming for Alegni, perhaps with Alegni’s own champion in tow, but she couldn’t be sure. And even if they did come after him, she mused as she watched the dozens of new Netherese recruits pacing the city walls, what might three do against this force? For unlike the overconfident Sylora in her forest fortress, Alegni was obviously on his guard now.
Patience, the succubus reminded herself. The Abolethic Sovereignty was gone for now, but they would likely return. Or would they?
Her own thoughts gave Arunika pause. She had assured Brother Anthus that the Sovereignty’s departure would prove a temporary thing, but how could she know anything for certain regarding those strange, otherworldly fishlike creatures? They would come and go as they pleased.
And did she even truly want them here? Arunika thought that she had figured out the Sovereignty, at least to the point of understanding their passion for order, one that even outdid her own. But there was something else here, something more, and the succubus couldn’t deny a bit of relief that the aboleths had apparently departed the region. For within their promise of order loomed the threat of enslavement—perhaps even for a being as powerful as Arunika.
The succubus considered the cityscape around her. She had invested much here, years of her time on the Material Plane. Glasya had only grudgingly allowed her to come to this place and remain for so long, and only because of Arunika’s passion and insistence that the desperate settlers of the ruins of Neverwinter could be subtly coerced toward the will of Glasya through the teachings of Glasya’s loyal Arunika.
But where was she now, with any of that? The changes in the region could prove quite dramatic, and after all, would she even be around to witness them? For while Arunika found the movements of soldiers and the shifting power of the region tantalizing, perhaps she was, after all, growing a bit bored with it all.
Why was she interested in opposing Herzgo Alegni in the first place? Jelvus Grinch’s claims were true, and she had teased this bold tiefling warrior into a more solid footing of power in Neverwinter. And though that had honestly been, as she insisted, more to provide a counterbalance to the threat of the Thayans, what benefit to Arunika if Jelvus Grinch and his fellows once more regained supremacy in Neverwinter at this time?
None of them could please her in the way Alegni did, after all. None of them could aspire to any real position of power and influence, within or without Neverwinter, as Alegni had and would no doubt continue.
She could become a consort to Alegni, perhaps, and help usher him to new heights of power and more brazen demands, on the city and the region. Perhaps she could use him to get the attention of Waterdeep, and thus unleash upon Neverwinter an even greater struggle, one that would pit the Netherese Empire directly against the Waterdhavian lords.
It could be perfectly delicious.
Still, the succubus couldn’t quite manage a smile. Such bold actions would bring powerful opposition. Too powerful, likely. Suppose she proceeded only to find that the Sovereignty had returned and were not pleased by her choices, by her helping Netheril to gain a strong foothold here?
But still. . . .
“The Thayan Dread Ring is continuing to animate corpses,” Alegni said to Effron late that night.
“Sylora Salm is dead and the ring’s power is greatly diminished,” Effron assured him, and the young warlock tried hard not to look too curiously at Alegni, though he suspected from the hulking tiefling’s tone that Alegni was hinting at something. “But still functioning.”
Effron shrugged and tried to look unconcerned. What did it matter, after all? “Including our own Shadovar fallen, who stand once more, this time in opposition to Netheril,” Alegni said.
“So it has been.”
“A curious zombie came against us this very day. I think you would know him.” Effron swallowed hard and when he looked at the hulking warrior, he knew the truth of Alegni’s implication: Jermander.
“You struck out against Dahlia without my permission,” Alegni bluntly accused. “T-to capture her only,” the tiefling warlock stammered. “She was not to be harmed.”
“Your Cavus Dun mercenaries were sophisticated enough to make such a distinction?”
Alegni said with obvious, mocking skepticism.
“They were!” Effron insisted, hardly taking a long enough breath to consider the words before he blurted them. “I employed Ratsis and his spiders. And the Shifter! Even the Shifter . . .”
He almost finished before Herzgo Alegni backhanded him, launching him across the room to crumple hard to the floor. The tiefling warlord stormed over and gathered Effron up by the collar, hoisting him to his feet before he could begin to recover from the swat.
“You are not an independent entity,” Alegni warned. “You are mine, to do with as I please.”
Effron managed to squeak out, “Draygo,” but that only got him a violent shake that had his limp arm flapping wildly and his teeth chattering. When it ended, Effron was gasping for breath, but he managed to say “The Shifter,” one more time, this time plaintively.
Alegni tossed him down into a chair.
“It was a powerful band,” Effron said as soon as he had composed himself. Alegni had gone to his balcony door by then and stood staring out over Neverwinter, toward the bridge that bore his name.
“It would have been a gift to you,” the young warlock added after several more silent moments passed.
Herzgo Alegni swung around on his heel, an incredulous glare aimed Effron’s way.
“Had my hirelings killed the drow and delivered Dahlia,” Effron tried to explain, his voice rising as he expected the angry Alegni to rush over and swat him, or likely worse.
“You sought to capture Dahlia for my benefit?” Alegni asked skeptically. “You wish her captured, surely!”
“You did it for yourself!” Alegni yelled at him, the warrior’s booming voice overwhelming any pathetic attempts to deny the obvious truth of the matter. “You seek vengeance on Dahlia—your craving for it outweighs my own!”
“I . . .I . . .” Effron shook his head and looked down, unable to deny any of it.
He knew that his eyes were moist and he didn’t know whether to simply squint or to reach up and wipe them to ensure that no tears rolled down his slim face. Herzgo Alegni would surely not accept tears.
The large tiefling didn’t advance, and Effron realized that Alegni’s posture had softened, as had his scowling visage. “I cannot blame you.”
“I thought the win assured,” Effron admitted. “The Shifter, Jermander, Ratsis the Spider Farmer—and with more warriors and monks beside them.” He took some heart that Alegni nodded in recognition, for most important Netherese from their region of the Shadowfell surely would know those names. “It was no meager band assembled, nor did they come cheaply. These are expert hunters.”
“And yet, Dahlia and her new companion defeated them,” Alegni replied. “Perhaps they had allies,” Effron reasoned, and he noted that Alegni put his hand to Claw’s hilt at that suggestion. Neither was saying it aloud, but they both knew that Barrabus the Gray had likely been involved.
“They won’t find enough allies to help them into the city,” the tiefling warrior proclaimed.
“You parlayed my actions into reinforcements,” Effron realized, and he dared smile. “You turned my error into gain in your continual bargaining against Draygo Quick.”
“You would do well to keep your reasoning to yourself,” Alegni interrupted, and that scowl returned tenfold. Effron’s eyes widened and he shut his mouth, realizing then that he was walking down a dangerous road, and remembering then that he was dealing with Herzgo Alegni, who, despite any understanding of Effron’s motivation, was not the forgiving type, nor particularly merciful. But Alegni seemed distracted.
Slowly the young warlock rose from the seat into which Alegni had dropped him, eyeing the hulking tiefling with every movement, and ready to drop back down in an instant if he thought he was angering the volatile warrior. Even after he got to his feet, Effron moved tentatively, but if Alegni had any residual desire to punish him, the tiefling wasn’t showing it.
