Gauntlgrym (Neverwinter #1)(36)

“This is my charge?”

“It is.”

“And my credit?” the wizard pressed.

“In your rivalry with Dahlia?” Szass Tam responded with a sly cackle, one that ended abruptly as he continued, his tone much more severe. “Dahlia suspected the link between the rising catastrophe and the fall of the Hosttower of the Arcane, not you. She has performed wonderfully, though it pains you to admit that. My suggestion to you is that you perform equally as wonderfully, for our greater purpose and for your own well-being. I have granted you this opening for redemption and excellence because of your history with Dahlia—if anyone in Faer?n will watch over that one’s every movement, it is you.

“But you serve me, Sylora,” Szass Tam reminded. “You serve my ends and not your own, or your own will come quickly, I assure you. My desire is that Dahlia succeeds, and you will work toward that end. Our enemies are the Shadovar.”

His tone left no room for debate.

“Yes, Your Omnipotence,” Sylora replied, dipping her head in a scant bow.

Sylora’s only comfort then was her deep-rooted belief that Dahlia was far too young and inexperienced, and far too dedicated, to succeed in the facilitation of the needed catastrophe. The wizard horded the very real possibility, indeed the probability, that she would have to rescue Szass Tam’s victory in the west. Then, she hoped, the archlich would come to see the true limitations of that wretched elf.



“Borboy, really?” Athrogate asked with a snicker for the tenth time since he and Jarlaxle had watched Dahlia enter High Captain Borlann’s keep. The slim stone tower, known as Crow’s Nest, had been only recently erected on Luskan’s Closeguard Island where the River Mirar spilled out into the Trackless Sea.

Jarlaxle continued his amusement at the dwarf’s use of the derogatory nickname so many in Luskan had tagged on High Captain Borlann. He possessed his father’s title, and the magical Cloak of the Raven, handed down to him from his grandfather Kensidan. But there, at least according to the old seadogs haunting Luskan’s allies, the resemblance ended.

“Skinny little runt,” Athrogate remarked.

“As was Kensidan,” Jarlaxle replied. “But possessed of a presence that could fill a room.”

“Yeah, I’m remembering that one. Tough old bird. Bwahaha! Bird, eh?”

“I understood you.”

“Then why ain’t ye laughing?”

“Figure it out.”

The dwarf shook his head and muttered something about finding a companion with a sense of humor.

“Ye think she’s layin’ down for him?” Athrogate asked after a while.

“Dahlia uses every weapon to her advantage, of that I am certain.”

“But for that one? Borboy?”

“Surely you’re not jealous over an elf,” Jarlaxle remarked with eyebrows raised.

“Bah!” the dwarf snorted. “Ain’t nothing like that, ye fool.” He paused and put his hands on his hips as he looked at a candlelit window high up the moss-covered walls of Crow’s Nest. Athrogate gave a little sigh. “Though I’d have to be a dead dwarf not to see the fight’n’fun in that one.”

Jarlaxle gave a wry little grin but let it go at that. Like the dwarf, he stood staring at the keep. Nothing seemed amiss for a long while, but then from the window came a shriek that sounded like the excited screech of a giant crow. Both dwarf and drow came forward a step, peering more intently at that lone window—and the candlelight was snuffed all at once. Men began rushing around the compound, and another pair of shrieks sounded along with a blue-white flicker from behind the window, like the sudden flash of a lightning bolt.

Then came a still louder screech, a brighter flash, and a report of thunder that shook the ground beneath their feet. The window exploded outward, glass shattering and flying, and along with it … black feathers.

Athrogate emitted a strange, gulping sound then blew it out with a “Bwahaha!” Across the way, a giant black bird dived out the window, opened wide its wings, and floated across the compound, over the water, and dived to the ground right in front of Jarlaxle and Athrogate.

Before either dwarf or drow could say a word, the crow disguise flipped back into a fine, glossy cloak, to reveal its new owner.

“Let us be quick,” Dahlia said to the pair, walking past and fiddling with one of the two earrings in her right ear as she did. “Borlann was a minor nuisance, but the murderous arms of his House are long.”

“Be quick for … where?” Athrogate asked, but Dahlia didn’t slow.

“Illusk,” Jarlaxle answered before she could, and with one glance back at the compound, the drow started away, sweeping the dwarf along beside him. “And the undercity.”

The stunned Athrogate mumbled and muttered, chortled and giggled, before finally remarking, “Bet Borboy wishes ye’d left last night!”



Korvin Dor’crae paced about Valindra Shadowmantle’s decorated chamber. He stopped and stared into a large mirror and imagined the reflection he once saw in such a glass, trying to use those memories of his past life as a distraction.

It didn’t work.

He thought of Dahlia again soon enough, waiting for her to return with Jarlaxle and the dwarf. She had gone to see Borlann the Crow—her newest diamond, her newest lover. Surely Dor’crae wasn’t jealous of that. He cared not at all for such petty issues as sex, but there remained implications for him in the elf’s promiscuity.