Neverwinter (Neverwinter #2)(20)

The entrance to the tower lay inside the cave, where a short stone stairwell in the side wall went up just a few steps to a black stone door.

The door opened magically for Valindra and Jestry, who entered the ground floor of the tower to find it complete with a stocked hearth, obsidian chairs, and a small table covered in furs and set with utensils.

Jestry and Valindra continued up the sweeping stair along the far wall of the circular room, climbing up above the hearth to another black stone door. He pushed through the door to find another chamber, this one only partially furnished, but clearly intended as Sylora’s workshop. The stair continued to wind around the room, going between the outer and an inner wall. The stairs turned here, crossing high above the room, leading to an open trapdoor. The door fed into a low chamber not quite at the third level of the tower, a room that opened out onto the balcony.

Sylora nodded down at the pair through the trapdoor, and motioned for Valindra to go up and join her and for Jestry to follow the other stairwell to the third level, Sylora’s private quarters.

“Well done, Lady,” Valindra greeted, her tone wistful. “So much like the Hosttower, it seems!”

“That was not my intent,” Sylora assured her. She motioned to the scepter. “Did it lead you well?”

“Oh, well!” Valindra exclaimed. “By Greeth … Ark-lem! Ark-lem!”

“Do tell,” Sylora prompted, and she heaved a great sigh, understanding well the meandering direction Valindra’s story would surely take.

It took some time, but Valindra did at last recount Arunika’s words. Then, dismissed by Sylora, the lich wandered the ten feet out along the broken branch balcony to the railing. With a mischievous glance back at Sylora, Valindra lifted herself over the railing and leaped out, floating down to the courtyard below.

“And what did you think of our new friend, Arunika?” Sylora asked when Valindra had gone.

Jestry, crouched in a small hollow just above her, was not surprised at the confirmation that Sylora was aware of his presence. The top entrance of the hollow had been left open, after all, presumably so that he could eavesdrop on Sylora’s conversation with Valindra.

Jestry pushed aside a black cloth, which appeared as part of the balcony wall, and dropped down beside the sorceress.

“An interesting woman,” he said, trying hard to keep the true level of his fascination out of his voice.

Sylora’s grin told Jestry that she recognized his true feelings all too well.

“She is not beautiful,” Jestry blurted, and thought himself incredibly inane.

“Seduced by a smile and a word,” Sylora replied in a mocking tone that showed she was hardly upset. “Young men are such easy prey.”

“No, my lady, my love …”

“Hold your tongue, Jestry,” the sorceress interrupted. “Or I’ll tear it out and hold it for you.” Despite the threat, and the fact that Sylora certainly could carry through with it, the timbre of her voice once more conveyed that she was more amused, even pitying, than upset. She walked out to the balcony rail. “You’re fond of her, then?”

“No, I mean, I did not—”

“Afraid of her?”

“Surely not!” he protested.

“Good, because you might well be in Arunika’s company quite a bit in the coming days,” Sylora explained. “That’s suitable to you?”

“I do as Sylora asks,” the Ashmadai obediently replied. “I do not question Sylora Salm.”

“Good, because I tell you this now and do not disappoint me in it: When you’re with Arunika, you’re to do her bidding. If she tells you to kill yourself, do so.”

Jestry swallowed hard, but nodded. Such was his duty as an Ashmadai.

“And if she wishes to couple with you, do so,” Sylora added.

Jestry swallowed harder, and tried not to nod too eagerly.

“Do you understand?”

“I do …” he started to say, but he couldn’t quite get past the words and wound up shaking his head and admitting, “No.”

Sylora laughed and reached up to gently stroke his face. “My poor, innocent warrior,” she said. “Do you fear that such an act with the likes of Arunika would make me jealous?”

Jestry thought he should say no, and thought he should say he feared to do exactly that, and thought he should blurt out that Arunika was nowhere near as beautiful as Sylora, of course, and that he could only truly love Sylora.

He thought a lot of things.

He said nothing.

She danced away from him then, to the edge of the balcony, where she leaped over, her magical cloak transforming her into the likeness of a giant crow, and she glided down to the courtyard on widespread wings.

Jestry found himself drawn to the railing, watching the woman alight, watching her transform again into the woman he had come to adore.






This was not going well. Evidently Barrabus had underestimated the scouting network of the Neverwinter enclave.

“I have friends in the region,” Barrabus said.

“Shadovar?” Jelvus Grinch asked.

Barrabus smiled innocently. He knew the question to be rhetorical. “My friends are enemies of the zealots who have infiltrated Neverwinter Wood. Is that not enough for you?”

Around him, the crowd stirred.