The Last Threshold (Neverwinter #4)(116)

It made no sense—none of this did—to Drizzt.

But whether he accepted Draygo Quick’s premise or not seemed a moot point, for in either case, he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, absent Draygo Quick’s blessing. There was no escape.

And even if there were, where might Drizzt escape to?





“You come well regarded by my associate in Shade Enclave,” Lord Draygo told the curious visitor to his castle that typically-gloomy and rainy Shadowfell afternoon.

“I do appreciate your granting me this audience,” Jarlaxle replied, and he tipped his great hat.

“I would admit that I’m surprised. I had thought that you and Lord Ulfbinder had concluded the trade contract.”

“Indeed we did, and it was easy to find a place of mutual benefit,” Jarlaxle replied. “That is not why I’ve come.”

“Do tell.” There was more than a little skepticism in Lord Draygo’s tone, Jarlaxle recognized, and he knew that he had to be careful.

“I have knowledge regarding one who has become your … guest,” Jarlaxle explained, and he watched the Netherese warlock carefully, hoping that his information, now quite dated, would still hold true and that Drizzt was still alive. After hearing the tale of Ambergris, Jarlaxle had spared little expense in trying to gain information regarding the fate of her companions, but even for Bregan D’aerthe, the castle of Lord Draygo Quick remained quite a mystery. Rumors in Gloomwrought whispered of Effron Alegni and another prisoner, and given Ambergris’s tale, that other had to be Drizzt.

“Do tell,” Lord Draygo prompted again.

“I have known Drizzt Do’Urden for more than a century,” Jarlaxle explained.

“Friends?”

“Hardly!”

“Comrades?”

“Hardly! I am from Menzoberranzan, after all, and survive at the suffrage of the ruling council, particularly the fancies of House Baenre. Drizzt Do’Urden is no friend to House Baenre.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Your inquiry,” Jarlaxle explained. “You wish to determine if Drizzt is in the service of the Spider Queen.” The drow mercenary was taking quite a leap, he knew, but from what Ambergris had relayed regarding Effron’s claim and their journey here, and those things he had gleaned from his time with Parise Ulfbinder, it seemed a reasonable jump.

And Jarlaxle’s suspicions were confirmed by Draygo Quick, unintentionally and reflexively, as the Netherese warlock eagerly leaned forward in his chair, before quickly collecting himself and settling back comfortably.

“Your Lady Lolth?” Draygo Quick innocently replied. “Is there not a drow goddess more clearly aligned with the actions of the goodly ranger?”

“Drizzt professes allegiance to the tenets of Mielikki, who is no drow deity,” Jarlaxle replied. “The question, however, has ever been, to which, Mielikki or Lolth, does he truly serve—in action if not in heart?”

Draygo Quick assumed a pensive pose and nodded several times. “That is interesting,” he admitted, though still feigning a removed posture, as if he hadn’t considered it before.

Jarlaxle smiled at him to let him know without doubt that the drow saw through the ruse.

“You can find no answer in your inquiries,” Jarlaxle stated bluntly. “Not from Drizzt, nor from any priestess or druid. Unless you can directly speak to a goddess, you will find yourself in the same dilemma as the rest of us who have long pondered the truth of this curious rogue.”

“Do tell,” Draygo Quick prompted, dropping his fa?ade.

“You are familiar with Lolth’s handmaidens?”

The warlock shook his head.

“The yochlols?” Jarlaxle clarified.

“I have heard of them, but I am not familiar with them in any detail.”

“May I?” Jarlaxle asked, removing his great hat and turning it over, reaching his hand inside.

Draygo Quick looked at him curiously, and skeptically.

“I assure you that the creature is fully under my control at this time,” Jarlaxle explained, and he pulled forth a circlet of black cloth, then tossed it to the side. It elongated as it went, widening into a hole ten feet in diameter as it set down on Draygo Quick’s floor. Jarlaxle bade the warlock to follow him to the rim of this portable hole.

The two peered in, to see what looked very much like a small stalagmite of oozing mud, but with two branch-like appendages waving menacingly and a large central eye staring back up at them.

“A handmaiden,” Jarlaxle explained.

“You would bring such a powerful creature of the lower planes into my residence without permission?” Draygo Quick asked angrily.

“There is no danger, nor any implications to you, I assure you, Lord Draygo,” Jarlaxle replied. “The handmaiden is my guest and not my captive.”

“And pray tell, what does the handmaiden say?”

Jarlaxle looked down into the hole and nodded.

“Tiago!” the yochlol shouted in a bubbling voice, watery and stony at the same time, which seemed quite apropos given its apparent physical composition. It raised one limb and shook it fiercely as it spoke.

“Drizzt!” it said with the same timbre, lifting its other limb and similarly shaking it.

“Relax, dear lady,” Jarlaxle cooed, patting his hands in the air above the creature, which seemed to be growing quite agitated.