The Last Threshold (Neverwinter #4)(45)

“That only means that they were clever, not that they were telling the truth,” Jarlaxle replied. “But wait, are you saying that among the trio was the rogue Do’Urden?”

Tiago stared at him hard, and Jarlaxle recognized that this one was no fool.

“Interesting,” Jarlaxle added, feigning surprise. “The rogue Do’Urden is still alive?”

“And of Bregan D’aerthe,” Tiago said dryly.

“A clever lie.”

“So you say, and so you would have to say. The human with the drow once accompanied you to Menzoberranzan,” Tiago argued.

“Long before you were born, if it even is the same human.”

“Berellip Xorlarrin attested to it. Would you doubt a priestess of the Spider Queen?”

That, too, brought some laughter from Jarlaxle. When in his life had he not doubted those priestesses?

“That would make him a very, very old human,” Jarlaxle said. “And I assure you, I have not seen this man of whom you speak in half a century or more. Nor is he a member of Bregan D’aerthe. Nor is Drizzt Do’Urden a member—if that is your suspicion regarding the drow’s true identity—nor has he ever been. Nor would he ever desire to be, as you would understand if you knew anything at all about the heart of Drizzt Do’Urden.”

Tiago eyed him with clear suspicion. “I will ask such of Drizzt Do’Urden himself,” Tiago remarked, “right before I kill him.”

He meant it, Jarlaxle knew from looking at him. This one was brash, and brimming with confidence, and apparently very well armed and armored, even beyond what one might expect from a Baenre. Jarlaxle made a mental note to look more deeply into the growing reputation of this Tiago Baenre—and of Ravel Xorlarrin, he silently added when he noted the spellspinner coming his way.

From his recent visits to Menzoberranzan, Jarlaxle knew that those two were among the most prominent of the new generation of the city. Gromph had spoken highly of Tiago, and had hinted that Tiago would likely soon supplant Andzrel as weapons master of the First House. Through his eyepatch, Jarlaxle had detected quite a bit of magic on Tiago, and the overwhelming glow from that shield and sword went a long way toward confirming Gromph’s suspicions, for truly Andzrel would not be pleased to find Tiago wielding such wondrous items, and truly, Matron Mother Quenthel would not have allowed Gol’fanin to craft this paired sword and shield for Tiago if she meant to keep him behind Andzrel in the house hierarchy.

Of course, if Tiago went after Drizzt, as he had declared, whatever his arms and armaments, then Andzrel would likely have a long and quiet reign in his position as weapons master, with no living heir apparent.

Jarlaxle managed a slight smile at that notion, but only a slight one, for there was something unsettling about this young one—and his allies, Jarlaxle thought, when Ravel, equally confident and brash, joined them.

He was Jarlaxle, long-time leader of Bregan D’aerthe, feared and respected throughout Menzoberranzan for centuries. That respect was not so apparent in the expressions and words of these two. Was he becoming old and irrelevant?

Were these two rising? Was this their hour?

Would Drizzt be quick enough this time against the descendant of Dantrag?





“Ye thinkin’ o’ tellin’ me?” Athrogate asked, long after he and Jarlaxle had left Gauntlgrym. The two were upon their mounts, Jarlaxle on his hell horse and Athrogate astride his hell boar.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ye been full o’ glum since ye came back from them drow.”

“They are not a pleasant group.”

“More than that,” Athrogate said. “Ye ain’t even telled me about the fired forges!”

Jarlaxle slowed his mount and considered his dwarf companion. “Truly it is a wondrous place and already creating extraordinary weapons.”

“For damned drow elfs!” Athrogate said. He spat upon the ground, drawing a wide-eyed expression from Jarlaxle. “Not yerself. Them other ones.”

“Indeed.”

“It’s Entreri, ain’t it?”

“Might be, given their description.”

“Nah, I’m meanin’ that it’s Entreri what’s got ye all glummed up. Ye ain’t thought much on him in a lot o’ years, but now it’s in yer face again.”

“I did what I had to do, for his sake as well as our own.”

“So ye keep tellin’ yerself, for fifty years now.”

“You disagree?”

“Nah, not me place in doing that. I weren’t there, but I’m knowin’ what ye was facin’, both from them Netheril dogs and from yer own kin and kind.” He nodded ahead to the side of the road, where a darker patch of shadow loomed, a familiar drow standing beside it. “And speakin’ o’ yer kin and kind …”

The two dismissed their magical mounts and walked over to join Kimmuriel. They didn’t have to deliver any report, of course, for Kimmuriel had been in on the trip to Gauntlgrym, telepathically linked with Jarlaxle throughout his meeting with the Xorlarrins and their entourage.

“Their progress has been considerable and laudable,” Kimmuriel started the conversation. “Matron Mother Quenthel was wise in allowing the Xorlarrins to make this journey. The bowels of Gauntlgrym will prove valuable and profitable to us all, I am sure.”