Charon's Claw (Neverwinter #3)(12)

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 chimed 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.”