Gauntlgrym (Neverwinter #1)(93)

“Because he is the one who escaped,” Jarlaxle answered.

Dahlia paused, nodding, then asked, “And his dwarf friend?”

“King Bruenor Battlehammer of Mithral Hall, though now he travels under an alias. He abdicated his throne to find that which we have already visited.”

“So you mean to use that to trick him to accompany you on your return to Gauntlgrym, for of course, you mean to return.”

“Yes … no, I mean, and yes to the end. I do not mean to trick them. I mean to tell them. I already have, in fact.”

“And they will run into the arms of an awakening primordial?”

“They are possessed of too much honor for their own sakes, I fear,” Jarlaxle said with a wry grin. That smile disappeared, though, replaced by a very serious expression as he added, “And you?”

“What of me?”

“You have betrayed Sylora Salm, Szass Tam, and Thay herself.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“You used the ring to run away. But the Dahlia I know relishes the thrill of the fight.”

“The Dahlia you know stays alive because she’s careful and smart.”

“But perhaps not so much where Sylora is concerned.”

“You fancy yourself as perceptive, I expect,” she replied.

“You accepted the ring, and you used it. You betrayed Sylora when it most counted. Perhaps the arrival of Dahlia—not the image of Dahlia, but the actual warrior—would have changed the outcome of the fight in the Cutlass. Yet you chose not to finish your mission.”

“What do you know of my mission?”

“That you were sent here to see if any would respond to the growing earthquakes,” Jarlaxle replied without hesitation. “To learn if I meant to return to Gauntlgrym.”

Dahlia grinned.

“Well, now you know,” the drow said. “I do, and I am not without allies.”

“Should I go tell Sylora as much?”

“I expect she will know soon enough, since some of your Ashmadai minions escaped the tavern.”

“You know of the Ashmadai?”

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth.

“The tunnels have collapsed,” Dahlia said, changing the subject. “There is no way back to Gauntlgrym.”

“I know a way,” Jarlaxle said.

Dahlia’s blue eyes flashed for just a moment before she fully suppressed her intrigue.

“And I will lead you there,” the drow said, revealing to her that he had seen her slip.

“You presume much.”

“And yet I presume correctly. What gain is there for you to pretend otherwise? In the end, and soon, you will be walking beside me and my friends to the halls of Gauntlgrym.”

Dahlia came out of her chair in a hurry, standing strong and taking up her eight-foot staff.

“You already gave me your answer when you used the ring,” Jarlaxle said.

Dahlia put on a pensive expression, but she was nodding.

“Why?” Jarlaxle asked. “This is hardly the easiest course for you.”

“If the primordial is contained and cannot spew its calamity, Sylora’s Dread Ring will fail,” Dahlia replied. “She will not gain the upper hand in her battle with the Netherese.”

“You are fond of the Netherese?”

Dahlia’s eyes flashed again, with obvious, unbridled fury.

“I share your contempt for them,” Jarlaxle was quick to add. He eyed Dahlia carefully. “But your contempt for Sylora is no less profound.”

“Szass Tam will blame her for the failure of the Dread Ring.”

“You would like that.”

“It would be among the greatest pleasures of my life.”

“So that you could return to Szass Tam in a position of power?”

Again Dahlia’s eyes flashed, and Jarlaxle realized he’d missed the mark badly with that line of reasoning. It was true, then, he knew. In using the ring, the out, he had given her, Dahlia had seized the opportunity to free herself of not only Sylora, but the lich lord of Thay himself. Perhaps their wretched fascination with death had offended her sensibilities, or perhaps she’d just come to rightly conclude that those who followed Szass Tam were destined to perpetual subjugation, always to be followers, never leaders.

Those were possibilities Jarlaxle intended to explore.

“We should leave soon for Gauntlgrym,” he said. “Before word has reached Sylora. Before she can rally her minions against us.”

“And when she does, we will kill them,” Dahlia replied. “Perhaps this drow, Drizzt, will show me that his reputation is well-earned.”

Jarlaxle smiled at that, not a doubt in his mind.



“We should leave at once,” Jarlaxle told the trio when he returned to them soon after. “Some of those who would stop us have fled the city, spreading word far and wide of our intentions, no doubt.”

“We’re not knowin’ enough, by yer own words!” Bruenor argued. “Where to put the durned bowls?”

“We will learn much when we arrive in Gauntlgrym, of that I hold faith,” Jarlaxle replied, and he privately recalled the words of Gromph, relayed from the dwarf ghost trapped in Arklem Greeth’s phylactery: Seat a king in the throne of Gauntlgrym. “Time will work against us now, my friend,” he went on. “There are many who would see the primordial awaken and explode once more, for their own nefarious gains.”