The Last Threshold (Neverwinter #4)(121)

The poor shade trembled so badly that the arrow slipped off the bow.

“Just give it over,” Jarlaxle said, holding out his hand. He noted, then, that the Shadovar wore, too, a fabulous mithral shirt he had seen before. “Oh, and my friend’s shirt, as well.”

To emphasize his point, Jarlaxle turned to meet the swoop of a gargoyle, and released all of the stored kinetic energy into the creature, which verily exploded under the weight of the blow, leaving no more than a burst of tiny stones flying around to shower the balcony and the room below.

“Truly?” he again asked the shade, who desperately tried to set another arrow.

The fool finally caught on, and handed over the bow with a hand shaking so badly that Jarlaxle had to work hard to suppress a laugh.

“And the mithral shirt,” he instructed. “And anything else you might possess that belonged to my imprisoned friends! Indeed, strip yourself naked then run around and collect all of their items, and I warn you that if any are missing, you will follow the fate of the gargoyle!”

The shade let out a little whimper, tossed a ring and some bracers atop the pile of clothing, then shuffled away, bowing with every step.

“All of them!” Jarlaxle shouted after him.





“Well met, Lord Draygo,” the drow said to the startled warlock after he materialized in Draygo Quick’s private room, right near where the illithids had been standing.

Draygo Quick eyed him both studiously and incredulously. The warlock considered his options, wondering mostly if those dangerous illithids were still around. There weren’t many creatures in the known multiverse that could unnerve Draygo Quick, but he counted the octopus-headed mind flayers among that group, to be sure.

The door behind him opened and one of his students gasped.

Draygo Quick held up his hand to keep the young warlock at bay.

“Bid her to close the door and be gone,” the drow instructed. “My associates and I have little time, and I would speak with you alone.”

“Speak?” Draygo Quick replied suspiciously.

“Lord Draygo, be reasonable here,” said the drow. “We are both businessmen, in the end.”

“Kimmuriel,” Draygo Quick breathed, and it all made sense to him. Kimmuriel Oblodra of Bregan D’aerthe was rumored to be a psionicist of considerable power, and that would explain his association with the mind flayers, the most psionically-gifted creatures of all.

“At your service,” Kimmuriel confirmed.

“At your service, you mean,” Lord Draygo replied. “You dare attack a lord of Netheril with such impudence? You dare enter my private quarters and steal from me, before my very eyes?”

“Your minion,” Kimmuriel prompted, motioning to the door.

“And if I choose to allow her to stay, perhaps to call in others?”

“Then I will fade away from here, and you will have nothing to show for the losses you have suffered this day,” Kimmuriel answered, and he held up the onyx figurine of the now-freed Guenhwyvar. “Alas, the considerable losses.”

The implication that there might be some gain to be found here was hard to ignore. “Be gone!” Draygo Quick snapped at his acolyte after mulling it over. Should it come to a fight, that one wouldn’t be of much help against this drow of such reputation, or against the illithids in any case, Draygo Quick knew.

“My lord!”

“Be gone!” Draygo Quick cried again.

“But the dark elves have taken the whole of the castle beyond this tower!” the woman cried. “And we are trapped here, blocked by an adamantine wall!”

Draygo Quick leaped up from his chair and spun angrily on the young female shade, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Rare were such outbursts from the composed and powerful lord, and this one had the desired effect, as the younger shade gave a squeal of terror and fled, slamming the door.

Draygo Quick took a few breaths to compose himself, then turned back to face Kimmuriel.

“How dare you?” he asked quietly.

“We have done you a favor, and the rewards will prove greater than the inconveniences we have caused,” Kimmuriel replied.

“By attacking my castle?”

“Indeed, to provide you proper cover to the lord of Gloomwrought and your peers for the loss of Drizzt and the others, for of course, that is why we have come. The damage to your abode is no doubt considerable—that is Jarlaxle’s way, I fear. His belief is that the best way to end any battle is to win it quickly, with overwhelming force, and so, as usual, he has.”

“If you think me defeated, you know little of Draygo Quick.”

“Please, Lord Draygo, remain reasonable,” Kimmuriel replied with clear condescension—or perhaps it was just supreme confidence, Draygo thought.

“Your castle can be repaired, and we will kill as few of the fools you employ as possible. So yes, there is a bit of inconvenience to you—but it need not be more than that, and surely not as tragic as it might become if you place your pride before your pragmatism.

“We have come at the behest of … well, let us just say that Lady Lolth will not be denied that which is hers. I doubt that you wish such a war as you might find if you follow the path of your pride.”

“Lady Lolth?” Draygo Quick asked, and he didn’t hide his intrigue. “For Drizzt?”