Neverwinter (Neverwinter #2)

They ran on for a long while, putting leagues behind them, Entreri’s nightmare and Drizzt’s unicorn gliding effortlessly through the forest night. Finally, in one moonlit clearing, Entreri pulled up his fire-breathing, fire-stomping mount and slipped down from the saddle.

“So, in the end battle, we didn’t need your help at all,” Dahlia pointed out, flipping down to the ground beside him. She grinned as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“You’d prefer to be dead outside Sylora’s tower?” Entreri asked. “I understand.”

Andahar trotted into the clearing then. Drizzt dropped from his mount and walked over to join the pair, leaving the unicorn a safe distance from Entreri’s nightmare. He wore a curious expression—jealousy perhaps?—as he scrutinized Dahlia and Entreri.

“We’re done here,” Dahlia announced to Drizzt.

“Valindra Shadowmantle remains—”

“I don’t care. Not for her, not for this war. This was a personal grudge between me and Sylora Salm, and Sylora Salm is dead.”

“And I don’t care about Sylora Salm, other than how killing her might benefit me,” Entreri replied.

He and Dahlia exchanged intense stares.

“And me?” Dahlia asked. “Would you still wish to bring my head to your master?”

“You just said you were leaving, so what would it matter?”

“It might matter to me,” Dahlia replied, and Entreri laughed. He never stopped staring into Dahlia’s blue eyes.

“What’s your next move?” Drizzt asked the assassin, abruptly and pointedly. “Where will you go?”

“Back to Neverwinter, as I am bound,” Entreri replied, and he gave a helpless shrug. This was a critical moment, he realized, and he knew he hadn’t thought any of it through quite thoroughly enough. He had no idea how to pivot now, how to coax Drizzt and Dahlia to go back with him and rid him of his burden.

“Perhaps with Sylora dead and Dahlia gone, Alegni will be done with me, and I can return to the south in peace,” he said.

“Who?”

Dahlia’s voice, like her expression, went stone cold. It caught Entreri by surprise.

“Who?” Entreri echoed.

“Who will be done with you?” Dahlia said.

“Alegni.”

“What is his name?” Dahlia demanded.

“Aleg—”

“His whole name.”

“He’s a Netherese lord, a tiefling Shadovar named Herzgo Alegni,” Entreri slowly replied, enunciating every syllable clearly, scrutinizing Dahlia as he spoke.

He saw it, then, the profound pain that flickered behind Dahlia’s eyes—primal, beyond anything any physical cut could ever inflict.

“What is it?” Drizzt asked, and Entreri glanced his way just long enough to realize that the drow didn’t recognize the depth of Dahlia’s profound agony.

Dahlia swayed and seemed as if she might fall over.

“What?” Drizzt asked again, coming up to support her.

“Apparently she’s acquainted with my master,” Entreri started to say, but Dahlia cut him short by spitting in his face.

Drizzt grabbed her by the shoulders and held her back. “Dahlia, what is it?” he insisted, keeping his face right in front of hers, trying to bring her back from whatever emotional ledge she’d walked out onto.

“Speak his name again,” Dahlia said to Entreri.

“Herzgo Alegni.”

“Your master, your friend.”

“Hardly. My slaver, my hated enemy,” Entreri assured her as she pressed against Drizzt, trying to get at Entreri.

That seemed to calm Dahlia, so much so that when Drizzt shook her and forced her to look at him again, she said, “Had I known that Aleg …” She stopped and swallowed hard, and seemed incapable of even speaking the name.

Entreri couldn’t believe his good luck. He did indeed recognize the profound pain in Dahlia’s eyes and knew that in simply speaking Alegni’s name, he’d inadvertently made the important pivot needed to lure these two into his personal battle.

“Had I known he led the Netherese, I would have remained at Sylora Salm’s side,” Dahlia said to Drizzt.

Drizzt glanced over his shoulder at Entreri with obvious concern.

Entreri hardly noticed, and didn’t return the look, for now it occurred to him that even being here at this time might well be aiding his hated master. Alegni had the sword, and the sword had Entreri. It could access his innermost thoughts and memories at any time.

Entreri leaped back up upon his nightmare steed. “I’m not your ally in this,” Entreri announced to them. “Though I would love to see Herzgo Alegni dead.”

Drizzt started to respond, but Entreri didn’t wait, kicking his nightmare into a leap and gallop, off into the forest night.

Drizzt spun to face Dahlia, who all but collapsed into his arms.

“I’ll kill him,” she said coldly, without emotion, but when Drizzt lifted her face to his, he saw tears flow down her delicate cheeks.

She was still alive. She couldn’t be! No one should have suffered this amount of pain without expiring.

So much pain, indeed, that Sylora Salm had not even realized that she was still alive for a long, long while. But now she realized the truth of it, and that alone made her realize her pain had subsided a bit.

Sylora gasped and coughed. The Dread Ring was healing her!

She moved her leg back under her, straightening once more, and as her body shifted, she saw her guardian, Valindra Shadowmantle, standing just to the side, holding Sylora’s crooked wand, aiming it Sylora’s way. Valindra called upon the powers of the Dread Ring to heal Sylora’s mortal wounds.

“Valindra,” she mouthed, barely audible, though the lich smiled and seemed to hear. “Thank you.”

Valindra cackled loudly. “Thank you?” she echoed. “I only keep my enemies from having the pleasure.”

Sylora looked at her curiously—more curiously when another form moved up beside Valindra.

The Thayan sorceress understood her doom, in Jestry’s eyes—or eye, for Artemis Entreri’s dagger remained deeply embedded in the other. That one visible eye socket, the orb gouged out by the knife the assassin had later retrieved, flickered with red flame, with the energy of undeath. Sylora had attuned him to the Dread Ring with the scepter she’d created for him, and now the ring had done its job, had brought him back into a state of powerful undeath.

And the creature wasn’t looking upon the broken sorceress fondly.

Valindra cackled louder and spun away, gliding into the dark and smoky night.

Jestry towered over Sylora, reaching down to grab her roughly. He easily lifted her into the air.

Then the powerful undead creature bent her in half backward, shattering her spine, folding her like a brittle parchment. She screamed with her last dying breath, before Jestry slammed her broken form down into the ground and began to stomp on her with his heavy wrapped feet, a thousand times.

The imp growled and twisted and pushed, but to no avail against the strong strands of the magical web that held it up high on the wall.

“You didn’t think I would allow a creature such as yourself to fly in and out of Neverwinter freely, did you?” Effron said, pacing in front of the diminutive devil.

“You err, warlock,” the imp insisted. “My mistress—”

“Arunika,” said Effron, and his recognition seemed to put the devil back on its clawed heels a bit.

“My mistress is powerful, and intolerant of—”

“Shut up,” Effron said quietly, but with such a threat in his voice that the imp complied.

“I don’t intend to hurt you,” Effron explained. “As long as you understand that you now work for me, and for Herzgo Alegni, as well as for your mistress.”

“I am of the Nine Hells, not the Abyss,” the imp said with a little snarl.

“And I can send you back there, in pieces.”

The two stared at each other for many heartbeats then Effron said simply, “Tell me of the events in Neverwinter Wood.”

Later on the next morning, Effron found Herzgo Alegni on his namesake bridge, as usual, and recounted the strange but promising news of the previous night’s events.

“Sylora Salm is no more,” Alegni said smugly when the warlock was finished. “Perhaps Draygo Quick will allow me to leave this place at long last.”

“Our enemies have been dealt a serious wound, but they are not gone,” Effron pointed out.

“Led by an insane lich,” said Alegni.

“More sane every day, from what I can determine, and she’s being aided, perhaps by Arunika.”

Herzgo Alegni looked at him curiously.

“I don’t know all of the details,” Effron admitted.

“Then learn them!”

Effron nodded.

“Now Barrabus rides with Sylora’s champion and her powerful drow ally,” Alegni mused.

“Artemis Entreri,” Effron corrected, and when Alegni looked at him with surprise, the twisted warlock clarified, “His name is Artemis Entreri.”

Herzgo Alegni laughed and walked to the bridge railing, staring out over the running river as it wound its way to the sea. “I’d forgotten that name,” Alegni admitted. “I’ve not heard it in decades. Nor had he, I would assume.” He glanced over his shoulder at Effron. “He’s still mine, you understand, and so his name remains Barrabus.”

“They’re unpredictable, and powerful,” Effron warned.

“Quite predictable,” Alegni corrected. “Barrabus will try to get his new friends to come after me.”

Effron grinned as he mouthed “Dahlia Syn’dalay” with open malice.