The Last Threshold (Neverwinter #4)(48)

“Aye, get done with our business so ye can find Drizzt and his companions, eh?”

Jarlaxle pulled up hard on the reins, halting his steed, and turned to glower at the dwarf. Athrogate had indeed struck a nerve with Jarlaxle. He knew there was little he could do to change the past, but for some reason, it was important for him to set the record straight with Artemis Entreri.

“Why do ye care, elf?” Athrogate asked him.

“I do not know,” came Jarlaxle’s honest response.





THE ARRANGED MARRIAGE



EFFRON DIDN’T MUCH LIKE THE SNOW, AND THE SWORD COAST WAS SEEING more than its share of the wintry precipitation as the turn to the Year of the Six-armed Elf neared. He had returned to check in on the progress or retreat of the Thayans, as his master had demanded. Lord Draygo had told him to be thorough and not anxious, and the old warlock’s insistence that this mission was important had resonated with Effron, all the more so because he knew that showing his loyalty to Draygo Quick and his competence in carrying out these demands would likely be rewarded.

For all of his desperation to pay back Dahlia, Effron understood that he couldn’t manage any such thing alone. She was surrounded by powerful allies, and he would need a powerful response. The resources and personal power of Lord Draygo Quick would more than suffice.

So Effron had faithfully gone into Neverwinter Wood once again, and had thoroughly scouted and spied upon the remnants of the Thayan force, particularly the lich known as Valindra Shadowmantle. The Ashmadai were scattered and leaderless, posing no threat at all to the city or to any of Draygo Quick’s ambitions in this area, if he held any. It didn’t take Effron very long to realize that his previous report to Lord Draygo had been correct, for he saw nothing of Valindra Shadowmantle to indicate anything other than sheer insanity. The lich wandered out from her treelike tower on occasion and meandered through the forest paths calling for Arklem Greeth or Dor’crae, and rarely speaking either name correctly and without some insane stutter, wailing and keening, and occasionally throwing a bolt of purplish-black necromantic energy at a tree or a bird for no reason whatsoever.

Effron figured that she would be caught by the citizen garrison of Neverwinter soon enough and properly dispatched.

He turned his eyes away from Valindra and the Thayans then, but lurked around the forest. Now he looked toward Neverwinter. Every time he noted activity near the city gates, he peered closely and anxiously, as if he expected Dahlia to walk into view. And what would he do if that came to pass, he had to ask himself?

Would he hold to his promise to Draygo Quick of restraint and patience?

He told himself that he would, that he had to be careful with his father Herzgo Alegni gone. More than once, though, he wondered if he was lying to himself.

On the morning he had determined to be his last day near the city, Effron walked a perimeter outside the wall, finding empty regions by which he could travel deeper into the place with his wraith form and other various methods of magical invisibility.

By late morning, he had covered most of the perimeter, and had ventured into the city four separate times, and with still a lot of wall yet to scout. He almost quit and simply took to the north road, growing convinced that Dahlia had indeed departed, as Lord Draygo had hinted.

“I would never have thought you foolish enough to return here, unless it was at the head of an army,” a voice whispered from behind him barely a few heartbeats after he had convinced himself to continue his last look around.

Effron froze in place, plotting spell combinations and contingencies, either to get away or to strike out hard, for he knew that voice, and more importantly, he knew the diabolical truth behind it.

“Come now, young tiefling, we need not be enemies,” the red-haired woman said.

“Yet I remember your presence in the ranks of my enemies in the square near the bridge that day,” Effron reminded her.

“Well, I didn’t say I would let you conquer my city,” the woman replied. “Have you returned with such intentions? If so, please do tell that I might be done with you now.”

“You underestimate my skills.”

“You know the truth of mine,” she replied.

Effron spun around to regard her. She seemed so plain and calm, nondescript, even. She exuded motherhood at that moment, and it occurred to Effron that he wished he had been blessed with such a mother. Warm and comforting, someone to hold him close and tell him that everything would turn out well …

The twisted warlock laughed at himself and shook that notion away. This was Arunika. Arunika was a devil, a succubus from the Nine Hells, wearing the mantle of a simple and gentle red-haired woman with a slightly freckled face. An ordinary citizen of Neverwinter, just going about her daily chores as any good human might.

“You are hunting Barrabus and that sword,” Arunika remarked.

It occurred to Effron that perhaps she didn’t know everything after all.

“What do you know of him?” Effron asked. “And of his companions?” he quickly added, trying not to sound too obvious.

“Why would I tell you?”

Effron ran his good hand between his horns and scratched at his purple hair. It was a good question, he had to admit.

“I have information you will wish to hear,” Effron offered a few moments later.

“Do tell.”

“Well, that is the whole point, isn’t it?”