Neverwinter (Neverwinter #2)(19)

Jestry glanced from the lich to Arunika and saw on her kind face that she didn’t share Valindra’s assessment. He suddenly found himself feeling much more comfortable.

“Why have you come?” Arunika asked.

“In friendship,” Valindra replied. “And you would rather have us as friends!” she shrieked suddenly, and began chirping “Arklem! Ark-lem!” every few beats.

Arunika seemed more amused than frightened. She sat back in her chair and looked at Jestry.

“The Spellplague,” he quietly mouthed.

“Valindra?” Arunika asked as the lich finally calmed.

“In friendship,” Valindra replied as if nothing had happened. “And in kinship.”

“I’m not your kin,” Arunika insisted.

Valindra flashed a wicked smile and held forth the scepter of Asmodeus.

Arunika nodded, her light eyes sparkling at the sight.

“It was given to Valindra by Sylora Salm of Thay,” Jestry dared interject, “who serves Szass Tam.”

“And so you are Ashmadai,” Arunika replied.

“As are you?” Jestry dared ask. Why, after all, were they here in the home of a simple woman, a comely and nondescript commoner by all appearances?

Arunika’s laughter mocked him, but she held out her hand as soon as he began to recoil from it.

“You could say that I am aligned with the Ashmadai, yes,” she admitted.

“And who else?” Valindra insisted sharply.

Now Arunika narrowed her bright eyes and scrutinized the lich. “You have come as emissaries of this Sylora Salm?”

“Yes,” Jestry answered even as Valindra launched into a birdlike squeal, “Greeth! Greeth!”

“I’m not alone, I assure you,” Arunika said then. “I have friends, very powerful friends, nearby.”

Valindra hissed and Jestry thought she might attack Arunika then and there. He resisted the urge to spring up to the woman’s defense, or to shout out in frustration against Sylora’s terrible decision to ever send Valindra on this mission. And why would Sylora have made such a wrong choice? Arunika was no threat. She was a friend, surely, and she didn’t need to be confronted by a powerful and insane lich.

“My friends will be sympathetic to your cause against the Netherese,” Arunika went on, calming Valindra before her agitation could truly bubble over. “Go and tell that to Sylora Salm. I’ll serve as go-between. She knows where to find me.”

As she finished, she glanced at Jestry and motioned to the door, clearly bidding him to be gone. He took no offense, but somehow he knew that Arunika wasn’t asking him to leave, she was telling him, and in no uncertain terms. He looked at Valindra then stumbled out into the night.

He dared pause at the door for just a moment, to hear Arunika talking softly to Valindra, assuring the lich that her friends would help—and Jestry got the distinct impression that Arunika spoke in personal, and not just general, terms.

Jestry rushed away, afraid of being caught eavesdropping, but he did catch one more word: “sovereignty.”

He didn’t know what it meant.






A long while passed before Valindra exited the house. From the porch, she directed the Ashmadai, then floated down behind them on their journey back to Sylora’s base. She clutched the skull gem and the scepter close to her heart, continually giving thanks to their magical powers. The scepter had sensed Arunika, and the skull gem had given her Dor’crae—and with him, the eyes to locate Arunika.

Arunika had hinted at that which Valindra most dearly wanted to find: a way to be rid of the demons of confusion haunting her mind.

Kimmuriel Oblodra had done much to help her, and he was but a mere drow psionicist. What was that against the power of one of the Sovereignty? If Kimmuriel’s powers could keep her from falling over the ledge, surely Arunika’s friend could bring her back from the brink.

Simply discussing the trouble with Arunika now allowed Valindra to keep her focus for a long, long time, all the way back to Sylora’s encampment.





All of the returning team walked those last strides with their mouths hanging open in awe. Sylora had been quite busy in the hours since they’d gone off to find Arunika. The treelike tower dominated the scene, sitting on the hill beside the cave opening, but that was only one part of the risen fortress. Two walls had been lifted from the ground, with several smaller towers and structures evident within.

It was a small city, created of black stone, and raised from the ground in a matter of hours.

Jestry had no reservations about the sight in front of him. He knew instinctively that it was Sylora’s creation. It carried the color, the texture, the smell of the Dread Ring, and was like some of the structures he’d left back in Thay.

As he neared the outer gate, he saw the guards—both Ashmadai and ash zombie servants. Up high and in the distance, he spotted Sylora herself, standing at the tall tower’s balcony, which, now that he considered it more closely, looked much like the stub of a broken branch.

“Go on, go on!” Valindra said, coming up past him.

“Sylora,” Jestry said, pointing up to the distant sorceress.

“Go on, go on!” Valindra said again, then muttered something along the lines of “how beautiful, how beautiful,” though Jestry wasn’t sure if she was speaking of the complex, the tower, or Sylora herself. Nor did it matter, he realized, and he shook all thought of the lich’s foolish rambling away and hurried to follow her into the compound and to the tower.