Charon's claw

THE LORD OF NEVERWINTER

Captain of the White Guard,” Herzgo Alegni corrected, and many eyes turned upon the tiefling warlord in surprise. Alegni sat at a small table along the side wall of the inn that served as their meeting house. He was opposite the hearth, about as far from the source of warmth as he could be in the room, and he had pulled open the window beside him.

Jelvus Grinch looked at him curiously. The city’s leaders had just been discussing Grinch’s place in Neverwinter's new ruling structure, and the Netherese lord had mentioned that Jelvus Grinch was a fine choice as the leader of the Neverwinter garrison, a role Grinch had handled for years by that point, in any case.

“The White Guard?” another in the room chimed in, voicing the question held by many in the room, obviously.

Herzgo Alegni stood up slowly, flexing his obvious muscles as he went and rolling back his shoulders to let them all witness the powerful expanse of his broad and strong chest. Slowly, taking the time to let the heels of his boots resound against the wood floor with every distinctive step, he walked to the front of the room, and even the powerfully built Jelvus Grinch seemed a meager being next to the huge and dominating tiefling warrior. Alegni’s attire, black leather and metalstudded armor, and the flowing cape that reminded all of his noble station, only added to the imposing image, as did that large red blade openly hanging from his left hip. The blood red of the metal contrasted sharply with the black armor, and as Alegni dropped his naked left hand to rest atop the weapon’s pommel, the sword seemed more an extension of his red tiefling skin than a separate item. It accented perfectly the red fires in Alegni’s eyes, those orbs a shining reminder of his half-devil heritage. Yes, that red blade… a weapon that had cut through an umber hulk and left the creature writhing in its death throes on a Neverwinter street, to the amazement and cheers of so many of Neverwinter’s citizens, many of whom were in this very room.

“What is the White Guard?” Jelvus Grinch dared to ask.

“The city garrison,” explained the tiefling. “I think that an appropriate name.”

“First Citizen…” Jelvus Grinch started to argue, for that was the title of honor they had bestowed upon Alegni.

“Do not call me that,” Alegni interrupted, and his tone changed then, not so subtly, and more than a few in the room, Jelvus Grinch included, shifted uncomfortably.

“The White Guard,” Alegni said more loudly, turning to face the larger gathering again. “It is fitting, for now Neverwinter has two garrisons, of course. The White Guard of your people,” he explained to Jelvus Grinch and the others, “and my own.”

“Who are to be known as…?” Jelvus Grinch prompted.

Alegni considered that for a moment, then replied, “The Shadow Guard. Yes, that will do. So you will coordinate the White Guard.”

He wasn’t reasoning with them but rather dictating to them, something that was not lost on anyone in the room.

“And you will command the Shadow Guard?”

Alegni laughed at the notion. “I have my lieutenants in place to lead the guard.”

“Freeing you up to…?” prompted a red-haired woman the townsfolk called the Forest Sentinel.

Recognizing the voice, Alegni looked at her directly. “My dear Arunika,” he addressed her.

“Freeing you up to assume lordship of the city,” Arunika stated, and when Alegni didn’t immediately disagree, the room erupted in whispered conversations, a few jeers, and several sharp complaints.

“We have scored a great victory!” Alegni addressed them in a booming voice, one that silenced the whole of the place. “Sylora Salm is dead. The fortress she was raising in Neverwinter Wood is in disarray, its magic failing. The Dread Ring itself is diminished, and greatly so.”

He ended abruptly and let that stunning news-for indeed, he had not revealed any of that until this very moment-hang in the air while he reveled in the blank expressions of the city leaders.

“How can you know?” Jelvus Grinch finally managed to stammer.

Herzgo Alegni looked at him as if he had to be a fool to even ask such a question.

“The threat is diminished and will be driven forth in short order.” Alegni paused and grinned. “Because of me.”

“And now you claim the lordship of Neverwinter,” Arunika surmised, and Herzgo Alegni smiled at her.

“Ye can’t be doing that!” one man shouted from the back, and Alegni’s smile disappeared in the blink of an astonished eye, and more than one in the crowd, the speaker included, ducked low under that withering gaze.

But another dared chime in, “You’ve not got the Crown of Neverwinter! You canno’ be Lord of Neverwinter without the Crown of Neverwinter!”

“And pray tell, where is this crown?” Alegni answered in a booming, clearly threatening tone.

The room filled with murmurs, and the person who had objected sheepishly replied, “None are knowing.”

“It is lost, then,” Alegni declared. “And so it is time to start anew-as you all have done in coming to rebuild the ruined city.”

“But if that’s the truth of it, then the lord’s to be one of them that’s been here the years, toiling!” another man protested, or started to, for as he spoke, Alegni moved toward him, and by the time he finished the thought, he was crouched over, covering up and cowering.

“You can’t be doing that!” the first protestor repeated.

“I just did it,” Alegni informed them all. “You needed me, and so you need me still. And I am here, at your service.”

For a moment, the whole situation seemed to be teetering on the edge of a razor, acceptance on one side and open revolt on the other, and Alegni had no idea of which way this group would fall. His right arm dropped down by his side and he flexed his hand, encased in the magical gauntlet companion of his red-bladed sword. If any made a move, Alegni intended to swiftly draw that blade and cut Jelvus Grinch in half in a single, powerful movement.

That would take the fight out of them.

“We named a bridge after you, as you wished,” Jelvus Grinch replied, his voice thick with apprehension. “We granted you the title of First Citizen for your help in our struggles. Now you intend to repay us by subjugating us?”

“That is a foolish way to view this,” said Alegni. “We are winning, but have not yet won. We have two forces in play. Your own, meager as it is, and mine, with resources and power far beyond your understanding. To complete the victory, we must be joined in purpose under a single voice. Do we agree on those points?”

“Even if we do, who has determined that the singular voice would be that of Herzgo Alegni?” Jelvus Grinch pointed out.

Alegni shrugged as if that hardly mattered. “Do you expect me to turn my army to your command?” he asked incredulously. “You, who cannot begin even to comprehend the power of that force, or of the Shadovar, or of the Empire of Netheril?”

“We are being conquered from within!”One woman leaped to her feet, and several shouts of agreement erupted around her.

“No!” Arunika shouted above them all. “No,” she said again, staring at Alegni and bravely walking right up to him.

“Not conquered.” She turned as she spoke to encompass all in the room. “Until this threat is eradicated, until the Dread Ring is fully defeated and Sylora’s minions are all dead in the forest or fleeing back to Thay, Herzgo Alegni would claim the interim lordship of Neverwinter. For indeed we shall need one voice to speak out for us to those surrounding cities. It is a strong fist grabbing for power, of course.” She turned a sly look upon Alegni. “But a temporary one, is it not?”

“Of course,” said Alegni. He managed a lewd smile as he looked into Arunika’s sparkling blue eyes. Let her believe that he desired her as a lover-what male would not, after all? But Herzgo Alegni knew the truth of this one. He had only just discovered that Arunika the Forest Sentinel was no mere human woman, that she was not human at all. And he knew much of the truth of her supposed allegiance to Neverwinter, though there was surely more to learn of this complicated creature. “Why would I deign to serve as lord of a meager city in the kingdoms of meager humans?”

Someone in the crowd started to argue, but Alegni moved with a sudden and powerful stride, shoving Arunika out of the way. “You need me!” he shouted. “You begged me for help and received that help. Without me, without my army, your town would have been gutted like a fallen cow by the umber hulks. Or your walls would have been leveled by the thunderbolts of Sylora Salm. The enemy that came against you was quite beyond you. Don’t deny it! You needed me and you need me still, and I’ll not be cast aside because of victories that I’ve brought to you. I’m no mercenary to be bought with your coin. I’m no adventuring hero to rush to your aid for the sake of my precious reputation, or for the good of all goodly men. You invited me into your home and so I came, and now I remain until I decide that it’s time to go.”

If the spectacle of Alegni wasn’t enough to keep the city leaders in their seats, the room’s back doors swung wide at that moment and in strode Effron the Twisted, accompanied by a host of armed Shadovar. Alegni noted that among that troupe walked Jermander. Jermander? Alegni knew the mercenary and knew well Cavus Dun. He made a mental note to take up with Effron that one’s unexpected appearance.

Herzgo Alegni scanned the room and let some tense moments slip past. When it became obvious that none of the Neverwinter settlers would dare make a move against him, he turned to Jelvus Grinch.

“You will command the White Guard,” he instructed the man. “You, and one other of your choosing, will be granted a seat at my court table, and you alone among the humans of Neverwinter will have my ear to voice the concerns of the city garrison. Do you agree?”

Jelvus Grinch couldn’t help himself as he glanced down at that devastating sword. He swallowed hard and Alegni flashed him that awful knowing grin. Jelvus Grinch knew, and Herzgo Alegni knew that he knew, that a wrong answer here would leave him on the floor in two pieces.

“Yes,” he said softly.

“Yes?” Herzgo Alegni stated loudly.

“Yes, Lord Alegni,” Jelvus Grinch dutifully clarified.

Arunika left the meeting abruptly, not wanting to get caught in a private discussion with Lord Alegni and his band of powerful allies. The misshapen warlock had tormented her imp and had learned much of her-too much! — the red-haired succubus knew.

She moved quickly through Neverwinter’s streets, constantly glancing back to ensure that she was not being followed. To create even more security, she turned down one dark, dead-end alleyway and moved swiftly to the end. There in the dark, she spread her batlike wings and flew up to the nearest rooftop, skipping along above the city.

She came down into the darkness beside a large building at the northeastern end of Neverwinter’s wall. The House of Knowledge had been a thriving temple to Oghma and a flourishing repository of books and artifacts detailing the rich history of the Sword Coast. The cataclysm had changed all of that in a burst of lava and ash, reducing what had once been a holy library to a virtual refugee camp. The transition had not gone well, and the person at the tip of those decisions, Brother Anthus, had not done well. Rarely was he even at this structure any longer, preferring a secluded and abandoned ramshackle cottage across town whenever his duties allowed him a private reprieve.

With a glance around, Arunika entered through a little-used side door. Then she waited, in the dark room.

A short while later, Brother Anthus entered. He carried a single burning candle and moved toward the large candelabra near the altar at the front of the room.

“Had I known you meant to walk the city avenues backward to get home from the meeting, I would have eaten my dinner before coming here,” Arunika said.

Brother Anthus barely halted in his walk, as if to prove that he was not surprised to find her here-and why would he be, given the gravity of that particular meeting? He took his time in lighting all the arms of the candelabra, bathing the room in a soft glow, then turned to regard Arunika.

“You knew this would happen,” he said.

“I did not expect that Herzgo Alegni would help the city of Neverwinter out of any sense of charity or beneficence, true.”

“He moved quickly,” Brother Anthus replied. “Quicker than I had expected.”

“He believes that the Thayans are in disarray. Given that possibility, their threat will fast diminish. By moving to secure his power now, he can continue to use the threat of Szass Tam as a bludgeon against those who would disagree.” She paused and tilted her head, a wry grin on her face, and asked, “Are the Thayans in disarray?”

“Sylora Salm is dead.”

“I know that!”

Brother Anthus took a deep breath and moved to sit on the bench opposite Arunika. “Valindra Shadowmantle is no minor power,” he explained.

“When the insane lich is not confusing herself with her own babbling,” said Arunika, and Brother Anthus nodded and shifted… uncomfortably, Arunika noted.

“The ambassador has helped her tremendously,” Arunika prompted, referring to their contact emissary within the Abolethic Sovereignty, itself an aboleth, a fishlike mind-bending creature of great psionic power. She paused for a few heartbeats and continued to read Brother Anthus’s discomfort. “But then,” she added, “anything the ambassador bestows, the ambassador can take back, no doubt.”

“I had thought that the Sovereignty wished to use the Thayans as foil to the Netherese, and the other way around,” Brother Anthus said.

“Reasonable,” Arunika agreed. “That, too, was my understanding. But who can tell with these strange creatures?”

“Brilliant creatures!” Brother Anthus corrected.

Arunika nodded, conceding the point. She wasn’t in a mood to argue with the zealot.

“Do you think the ambassador will allow the Thayan threat to unravel now that Sylora Salm is dead?” Brother Anthus asked. “Will the creature bring Valindra Shadowmantle back into a state of confusion?”

“Or will the ambassador continue to twist Valindra’s thoughts to the benefit of the Sovereignty?” Arunika wondered aloud, and she nodded, as that sounded plausible to her. “As long as Herzgo Alegni remains a threat, I would expect that the ambassador will keep Valindra lucid enough that her forces will cause him trouble.”

“But the aboleths will never allow her the degree of lucidity to break free of their power,” Brother Anthus said, completing the thought.

“Go to our fishlike friend,” Arunika bade the monk. “Inform the Sovereignty of Herzgo Alegni’s claim of lordship over Neverwinter. The ambassador will know how to best use Valindra to counter Alegni.”

“Should the Thayans attack again?” Brother Anthus asked. “Is that your recommendation?”

Arunika considered it for a moment, then shook her head. “Alegni’s forces are not so strong,” she explained. “With Sylora Salm dead, I expect that he will have little leverage to garner more soldiers from his Netherese masters in the Shadowfell. Let us keep it that way. There is more afoot than the Thayans or the Netherese, and it will be interesting to see how it plays out.”

Brother Anthus looked at her curiously, but Arunika let the tease stand, deciding not to tell him about the trio who had killed Sylora, and about where that dangerous group was likely to turn their blades next.

“Promise the ambassador that we will inform the Sovereignty as events unfold,” she said.

“Perhaps you should travel with me.”

“Nay. Herzgo Alegni suspects that I am compromised,” she replied, not mentioning that Alegni knew her true devilish identity, of course, since Anthus remained oblivious to that little detail. “I would not risk leading him to the ambassador. Besides, I have other issues pressing.” It occurred to Arunika that a visit to Valindra Shadowmantle might be overdue.

The light snow continued to fall, though it seemed as if it could not touch the brooding and hulking dark figure that was Herzgo Alegni as he stood on his namesake bridge in the heart of darkened Neverwinter. This was his favorite place now, a symbol of his successes, and here he believed he was invincible. Here, he was truly Lord Alegni.

“I would express surprise in seeing you,” he said as a tall and broad tiefling warrior approached. “Of course, it would be feigned, for you always seem to appear where you are least wanted.”

“You have not seen me in more than a decade,” came a sarcastic reply. “Not long enough.”

“My Lord Alegni, I never go where I’m not invited,” Jermander replied. “Indeed,

I never go where I’m not paid to go.”

Alegni looked past him, to the smaller form, that of Effron.

“You know why they have come,” Effron answered his questioning look.

“The Bounty Hirelings of Cavus Dun are more effective in dealing with such… problems as those which we seem to now have before us.”

Alegni had been asking for more soldiers for a long while, but this group was surely not what he had in mind. For this mercenary band owed fealty to the person with the purse, and since Alegni had not invited them or hired them, that meant someone other than himself. It wasn’t hard for him to figure out who that person might be.

“I am here in support of your mission,” Effron said with a bow, conceding the point before Alegni could even make it.

“But not to follow my commands, it would seem.”

“Draygo Quick suggested Cavus Dun,” Effron retorted, once more pulling rank by invoking his powerful mentor, who was one of the few Netherese lords Herzgo Alegni feared.

Alegni moved to the rail, his customary spot, and stared out at the dark river and the distant sea. “If you get in my way, I will kill you, Jermander,” he said matter-of-factly. “Do not doubt that.”

“I would expect…” Effron started to interject, but Alegni fixed him with a threatening stare.

“You do not hate her more than I do,” the twisted warlock remarked, then he spun on his heel and shuffled away.

Alegni shifted his gaze to Jermander, who did not shy from it.

“There are many moving parts,” the mercenary said. “Neverwinter is akin to a gnomish contraption.”

“Too many moving parts, perhaps,” Alegni agreed. “And you are but one more.”

With that, Jermander grinned, bowed, and walked off after Effron.

Alegni stayed on the bridge for quite a while longer, wondering how he could parlay all of this to an even greater advantage. He didn’t like having Cavus Dun around, for they were too much of a wild card, but he had to admit-to himself, of course, for he would never speak aloud any such thing! — that there were indeed a very troubling number of moving parts. Dahlia was formidable, and much more so, apparently, with this drow companion fighting beside her. And Barrabus?

He put his hand on the pommel of his great blade, taking comfort in its obvious energy. Claw reassured him. The sword remained alert. Barrabus the Gray remained Claw’s to command.

Still, too many moving parts spun like a giant gear works above him.

He thought of the clever Arunika, his lover, his ally with the foolish settlers, and likely his enemy. Whenever he thought of the night he had spent with the woman, and the many more he intended to spend lying beside her, he had to remind himself that she was much more than she seemed, that she, this supposedly innocent woman, was also friend to Valindra Shadowmantle, and was actually helping the lich clear her jumbled mind.

With Sylora dead, Valindra seemed to stand as Alegni’s greatest rival.

What did that make Arunika?

The tiefling grinned as he considered the possibilities.

He was Herzgo Alegni, after all, Lord of Neverwinter. He would take them, any of them, as he wished, and kill any of them as needed, Effron included.

“Greeth, Greeth,” Arunika muttered as she walked through the forest, and she shook her head in disgust. She had hoped that the Sovereignty ambassador had used its influence with Valindra to prepare the lich to take over where Sylora Salm had left off. The Thayans might again serve as foil to the Netherese threat, but this time with a leader who was, ultimately, under control of the ambassador.

Thus, Arunika’s disappointment had been paramount upon meeting up with Valindra at the remains of Ashenglade, Sylora’s fortress created out of the magical coalescing ash of the Dread Ring. As Ashenglade had diminished, its binding forces dissipating, its ashen walls crumbling, so, too, had Valindra’s clarity diminished. Just a short meeting with the confused lich had shown Arunika the truth: The aboleth had abandoned Valindra, had perhaps even thrown in an added bit of jumble to the lich’s already-scrambled brains for good measure. Certainly Valindra had regressed. She seemed less lucid than when Arunika had first met her, and that was before Arunika had arranged the introduction between the lich and the aboleth.

“Ark-lem! Greeth! Greeth!” Valindra had shouted, the name of her mentor, Arunika believed, or a long-lost lover, or both, perhaps.

The succubus let the thoughts of Valindra melt away as she came to her destination. Standing on the edge of Sylora’s Dread Ring, Arunika found herself surprised and disappointed yet again. She knew that the Dread Ring had been injured-its weakness was apparent in the diminishment of Sylora’s fortress construct-but never had she imagined so dramatic a change as this. Where once had been a field of death, a black ashen scar tingling with nether energy, now seemed more a place that had, perhaps, been witness to a recent fire. The blackness remained, the stench of ash hung thick in the air, but nothing like before, with nowhere near the intensity that promised power to challenge Herzgo Alegni’s forces.

Arunika strode onto the scarred ground, something she would not have dared just a couple of days previous. For then the ring had teemed with palpable necromancy, and then the ring had served Sylora and Szass Tam. Arunika was schooled enough in the Thayan manipulation of the thin veil between life and death to understand that such a functional Dread Ring could accomplish many tasks for its masters, not just in granted power to raise a fortress or raise and control undead, or even to create implements of channeling energy to draw the life force of enemies, but the power of scrying and manipulation. For Arunika to enter Sylora Salm’s functional Dread Ring was to grant Sylora and Szass Tam true knowledge of Arunika, perhaps even to strike forcefully into Arunika’s mind in a manner similar to the intrusions the aboleth had waged on Valindra.

But not now, the succubus knew with confidence. There was residual power, but it posed no threat to a being as powerful as she. She continued her walk through the blackened patch until a scrabbling sound caught her attention. On her guard, Arunika cautiously approached.

It took her a moment to decipher the curious sight, for before her lay a female, dressed in torn but once-magnificent robes. Arunika gasped as she recognized Sylora Salm, or what was left of the sorceress. Several brutal wounds showed on the corpse, burns and blasted holes, but even those mortal injuries paled compared to the greater image. For Sylora had been bent in half backward, folded at the waist in reverse! It seemed as if some powerful creature, a giant or major devil, perhaps, had simply folded the woman’s body over backward.

Arunika couldn’t contain a giggle as Sylora moved, trying ridiculously to crawl. She got only a few inches before toppling over onto her side once more, and so the scrabbling began anew as the zombie-a pathetic undead thing animated by the residual power of the Dread Ring-tried to prepare itself for another short dash.

Arunika nodded and considered Valindra’s present mental state in light of this new information.

She thought to destroy the undead Sylora, out of mercy, but then scoffed at the notion and simply walked off, shaking her head. As a creature of the lower planes, Arunika had little sense of, or care for, the concept of justice, but she did have a soft spot for the notion of cosmic karma. To see Sylora Salm, who had raised so many dead into a state of undead slavery, scrabbling so pathetically on the ground, pleased the succubus. Whatever the greater implications to the succubus’s overall designs, good or bad, Sylora’s demise, this part of it… pleased her.

The devil walked from the grotesque crablike zombie and turned reflexively toward Neverwinter, considering the now-dominant Herzgo Alegni. Perhaps the Thayans would return in force. Perhaps Szass Tam would appoint another powerful sorcerer, or even oversee the rebuilding of his Dread Ring personally.

Arunika shook her head, thinking that doubtful, and realizing that even if such an event were to come to fruition, it would not be in any timely manner, considering how fast things were moving in Neverwinter.

The foil for Alegni was no more.

What did that mean? What did it mean for her? She thought of the many possibilities and potential roads before her.

“It is weaker,” came a raspy and familiar voice behind her.

“Invidoo,” Arunika replied, speaking the true name of the imp, a name that gave her great power over the nasty little creature. She turned to face the imp and shook her head, smiling knowingly, as she considered the open sores and torn flaps of skin that still covered the diminutive devil’s form, wounds suffered at the hand of Sylora Salm.

“She is defeated.”

“She’s dead,” Arunika corrected.

“Yesss!” Invidoo replied with a satisfied hiss. “Sylora Salm is defeated and dead and gone, and Invidoo killed her.”

Arunika stared at the imp doubtfully.

“I took her wand!” Invidoo insisted. The imp began to gulp in air then, manipulating its torso, rolling its thin belly under its rib cage. Then with a cough and some gagging, Invidoo vomited into its own hand, and as the acidic bile flowed through, only a small discolored digit remained. Grinning widely, showing a grate of yellow, bile-soaked pointed teeth, Invidoo held up that trophy.

“Took her wand, took her fingers!” the imp said triumphantly. “Have more, have another!” Invidoo assured Arunika, and it began to undulate and gag once more, until the succubus patted her hand in the air and bade Invidoo to stop.

“Invidoo killed Sylora!” the imp announced proudly.

Arunika didn’t know what to make of the seemingly absurd claim, and didn’t really care anyway. It mattered not at all to her how Sylora Salm had died, only that Sylora was dead.

“You said when Sylora dead, Invidoo go home,” the imp reminded her. “Invidoo go home?”

The question reminded Arunika of her suspicions regarding some of the imp’s other recent exploits, and her pretty face grew very tight as she stared hard at Invidoo.

“Had you come to me directly upon Sylora’s death, I would have granted you leave,” she said slyly.

Invidoo hopped into a back flip, then landed rocking back and forth from clawed foot to foot. “Had to heal.”

The imp’s voice trailed off and it began to upchuck again, a panicked expression coming over the little creature’s face as Invidoo realized the telepathic intrusion of the succubus.

For Arunika was not without some mind-reading powers of her own, particularly regarding an imp she had taken as her familiar.

“Let me go!” Invidoo implored her. “Home! Home! Away from him!”

“Him?” Arunika asked, and she moved nearer, towering over the imp.

“The broken tiefling.”

There it was, Arunika knew, her suspicions confirmed. She had guessed that Effron had played a role in informing Alegni of the recent dramatic events in Neverwinter Wood, and Invidoo’s admission had just clarified for her where Effron had gotten the information.

“I should utterly destroy you,” the succubus warned.

“Everyone say that!”

Arunika laughed, and almost fell murderously over Invidoo. Almost, but she reminded herself that this one might still be of use to her, particularly since she now knew that Effron might utilize the imp for his own information-or misinformation, if she played it correctly.

“You will go home,” Arunika said, and Invidoo leaped into another back flip, this time spinning over twice in mid-air with barely a flap of its small batlike wings before alighting dexterously on clawed feet. But the wretched little creature’s glee proved short-lived.

“Without prejudice,” Arunika added matter-of-factly.

Invidoo’s eyes popped open wide and his jaw hung slack, his small wings drooping. “No!” he cried. “No, no, no, no, no!” For “without prejudice” meant that it was not being dismissed from this duty, that it had not completed the terms of its indenture, and that Arunika retained the right to recall it to her side at her whim.

“You say…”

“And you will return to me when I call,” Arunika informed it.

“No fair!” Invidoo argued. “Appeal to Glasya!”

Arunika narrowed her eyes at the threat. She knew it to be a hollow one, for Glasya, Lord of the Sixth Layer, would never side with the likes of Invidoo against her. But still, in devil society, a breach of contract was no minor issue, and even though Glasya wouldn’t overrule her, likely, she might not look favorably on being bothered over so minor a detail as the indenture of an imp.

“Do you truly wish to play this game against me?” the succubus asked quietly, her tone revealing an overt threat.

“A summary task!” Invidoo insisted, meaning that Arunika should give it a way to complete its indenture without having to return to the Prime Material Plane and her side. “Invidoo demands a summary-”

“Done,” Arunika agreed, smiling once more now that any thought of Invidoo going with its complaint to Glasya was off the table. All she had to do now was be a bit cleverer than the imp, and that seemed no difficult task. “Find me a replacement.”

“Easy!” Invidoo said without hesitation, and with a snap of skinny, clawed fingers.

“A replacement who knows of this new force,” Arunika finished.

Invidoo seemed to deflate once again, and stood staring at her. “Who knows of…?”

“Drizzt Do’Urden,” Arunika remarked, nodding as she formulated the plan. “Find me a replacement familiar with…” She paused and looked at Invidoo suspiciously, knowing full well where it would take that edict. “Nay,” she corrected. “Find me a replacement intimately familiar with Drizzt Do’Urden, and you may transfer your binding to it.”

Invidoo shook its catlike face so furiously that it nearly threw itself from its feet-indeed, only a last-moment flap of wings prevented it from toppling right over! “Cannot! Intimately? How possible?”

Arunika shrugged as if that hardly mattered to her, which it did not. “That is your summary task. You asked for one and I complied.”

“Glasya will hear of this!” the imp warned.

“Do tell,” Arunika replied, calling the impotent bluff.

Invidoo growled and stamped its clawed foot.

“Intimately,” Arunika repeated. “Now be gone before I destroy you for betraying me, for even speaking to that wretched Effron creature.”

Arunika thrust her arm out to the side and a bolt of fire flew from her hand, striking the ground and catching hold, a sizzling, wildly dancing flame gate. “Be gone!”

Invidoo squealed in fear and half-ran, half-flew to the fire, then dived in head first.

As if expecting the imp to deceive her and slip back out, Arunika was fast with her next invocation, blowing out the flames with a ferocious wave of her hand. She considered the spot on the ground, a second dark scar atop the wider carnage of the Dread Ring.

She would have to concoct some elaborate ruse for when Invidoo returned to her side, she knew, for of course she expected that the imp would fail in its task. She would have to be ready to match wits with this Effron creature, and he was one she would not underestimate.

But that plotting had to wait, she told herself, for more immediate concerns pressed in on her, not the least of which was the obvious damage done to her relationship with the dangerous Alegni.

She started for home but moved slowly, letting her thoughts carry her along every avenue of possibility.

Even though she meandered for half the night, Arunika was still quite surprised to find Brother Anthus waiting for her at her small house south of the city. His visits with the ambassador usually lasted much longer.

More surprising was the expression on Anthus’s face, a look of complete confusion and even fear, as if something had truly unnerved the young man.

“They’re gone,” he said, barely getting the words out, before Arunika could begin to question him.

“Gone?”

“The Sovereignty,” the monk explained. He rubbed his face red.

“The ambassador is gone? Has it been replaced?”

“All of them,” Brother Anthus replied. “The ambassador and all of its minions. All of them have gone.”

“Relocated, then,” Arunika reasoned. “Perhaps they believed themselves vulnerable since Sylora’s fall, and so moved to-”

“Gone!” Brother Anthus shouted, and Brother Anthus rarely raised his voice. He was frantic, though, thoroughly flustered and agitated. “They have departed the region. The ambassador left this behind.” He pulled a small cloth off a vial beside him and held it aloft. Arunika looked at it curiously.

“A thought bottle,” Brother Anthus explained. He held the opened vial up before his nose, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply, then shook his head as if listening to a sad song, finally ending again with a simple, “Gone.”

Arunika took the vial from him and similarly inhaled. She didn’t exactly hear a voice in her head, but the message left behind was clear enough. The situation was too unstable, the Sovereignty had decided. The fall of Sylora Salm might well introduce more powerful minions of Szass Tam, or even Szass Tam himself, into the region, and that might bring a corresponding response from the Netheril Empire. Most prominent of all of the thoughts imparted was the notion that this was not the time for the Sovereignty to move on the region.

“They are not mortal in the sense that you are,” Arunika explained to Brother Anthus.

“They play the long game,” the monk agreed.

“They can afford to.”

“As can you,” the monk retorted rather harshly, and Arunika found herself surprised by his declaration. “What does it matter to you?” he asked rather flippantly, and the succubus feared then that the monk had figured it out and knew of her true identity. Had the aboleths informed him?

“Or to them?” he quickly added, seeing the devil’s dangerous scowl. “What is a score of years to beings who measure their lifetime in centuries, or even millennia? What is a century?”

“Aboleths are not eternal.”

“But their thoughts are. Their collective understanding, their meld, will continue through generations yet unborn.”

“And you will be dead,” Arunika said, somewhat callously.

Brother Anthus looked at her plaintively. “I gave them everything,” he whined. “I let them into my every thought. I stood naked before them as never before, even to myself.”

“Could you have stopped them from so stripping you, had you tried?” Arunika tossed out, but Anthus, wound up in his tirade, seemed to not hear.

“I believed in them!” the monk roared on. “I forsook my own order, my kin and kind. I made few inroads among the citizens of Neverwinter, gave not a thought to Sylora Salm, and have not even spoken directly with the new Netherese Lord of Neverwinter. And now they have abandoned me! And I am left with… what?”

“And myself?” Arunika asked, trying to get a full admission from the man.

“What do you care?” he shot back. “You did not throw in with the Sovereignty as I did. Arunika will thrive, whichever lord claims stewardship of Neverwinter.”

Arunika quietly breathed a sigh of relief, now thinking that Anthus’s comments referred to the little she had to lose, and not the millennia she had to live.

“Szass Tam will not come,” she assured him. “I have visited his Dread Ring, and there is little left of it worth his troubles. With the Netherese strong in the region, the cost would prove too great. He’ll keep his Ashmadai fools here, likely, and there remains Valindra-though believe me when I tell you that she is missing the Sovereignty more than you ever could. But Szass Tam will make no further concerted move against the region.”

“There remain the Shadovar.”

“With the fall of the Thayans, Alegni will get no further help from Netheril.”

“He will not need it.”

Arunika smiled at him slyly. “That remains to be seen.”

“What do you know?” the monk asked hopefully.

“If Herzgo Alegni is to be Lord of Neverwinter, then who will come to join the settlers? What man or elf or dwarf or halfling or any other race will come in to join the glorious rebuilding of Neverwinter when it is under the domination of the likes of a Netherese tiefling barbarian like Lord Alegni?”

“What Shadovar, then?” the suddenly-cynical Brother Anthus said. “Or orcs. He will attract orcs, no doubt!”

“And invite the Lords of Waterdeep to turn their eyes and arms to the north?” Arunika replied with a laugh. “Alegni thinks he achieved a great victory with the death of Sylora Salm, but in truth, his power came from the fear of an enemy. As that enemy diminishes, so will he, do not doubt. Soon enough, he will grow bored and fly away. Or his Netherese masters will send him back into the forest in search of the artifacts, as was his original mission. Or he will overstep and invite war with Waterdeep, and he will lose.”

She nodded solemnly at Brother Anthus, even rubbed the forlorn monk on the shoulder. “The Sovereignty will return in a decade or two, fear not. Few understand them, but their pattern is not to abandon a place once they have laid the base of a new home. Use these years wisely, my young friend,” she advised. “Make of Brother Anthus a great name in Neverwinter, so that when the aboleths return, they will see in you a powerful ally.”

The monk looked up at her and tried to nod, albeit unsuccessfully.

“I will help you,” Arunika promised.

“You are staying?”

“To watch the downfall of Alegni? Surely!” She laughed, uncomfortably perhaps, but she was indeed feeling quite jovial at that moment, for in trying to bolster Anthus, Arunika had herself found a new way to view the recent dramatic developments. She wasn’t sure that everything, or anything, of what she had predicted would come to pass-perhaps Alegni would remain as Lord of Neverwinter for fifty years.

But her hopes of his demise were quite plausible, even probable, she had come to realize.

And there remained an even more immediate solution, a powerful group allayed against Alegni, the same trio who had defeated Sylora, who seemed every bit the Netherese lord’s equal. Perhaps they would rid Arunika of the troublesome shade.

Perhaps Arunika would find a way to help facilitate that.

As she considered the delicious possibilities, the succubus found herself feeling even more jubilant. She would survive this, as Anthus had predicted. She would survive and she would thrive, whoever proved victorious in the struggles for Neverwinter. She looked Brother Anthus in the eye, her grin from ear to ear.

“What?” he managed to ask in the heartbeat before Arunika fell over him passionately.

Not long after, Arunika walked the quiet and dark streets of Neverwinter, her edginess hardly smoothed, her passion hardly sated.

Arunika hailed from the Nine Hells, not the Abyss, and though a place no less evil, the distinction between demon and devil rested mostly in the contrast between chaos and order. Arunika liked an orderly society. Lawful by heritage, by nurture, by the very essence that gave her form and substance, uncertainty unsettled her.

It made her edgy. It made her itchy.

Poor Brother Anthus. For all of his youthful enthusiasm, he could not match or sate the passionate succubus.

She had thought the Sovereignty would give her the pleasure of order here in Neverwinter. Perfect order, demanded internally and externally. But now they were gone and so many roads had opened. Too many roads for Arunika’s comfort, but she knew that it would pass as she came to better command the ultimate destination.

The agitated devil shook her head repeatedly as she followed every potential turn to its logical conclusion. What of Valindra? What of Szass Tam? What of the trio now hunting Alegni?

And most of all, what of Alegni and the Netheril Empire? Even with the potential pitfalls opening all around him, it seemed to Arunika that Alegni held the upper hand. Despite her assurances to Brother Anthus, Arunika understood that if Alegni survived the near future, he would become Lord of Neverwinter, perhaps for many years. Her meeting with Valindra had shown her the truth of the Thayans, and they would not threaten the power of Alegni and his Shadovar.

This likely outcome was not to Arunika’s taste, of course, but she was of the Nine Hells. The strong imposed the rule, and the rule was more important than the ruler.

Her preference, thus, seemed irrelevant.

She glanced back to the south, where Anthus lay on her floor, exhausted beyond consciousness, then shifted her gaze just a bit to the west, to an inn on a small hill, and a room looking back toward the river and the Herzgo Alegni Bridge.

Arunika did not like the uncertainty, but she knew what she must do if she wished to remain in the region, and more importantly, if she wished to help shape those rules that would govern this tumultuous area.

Now she walked with purpose, along the boulevards running south and west.

She could battle uncertainty by situating herself properly for all potential outcomes.

That was her litany, and it did help to calm her a bit as she passed by the darkened windows of sleeping Neverwinter. Emotionally, at least, though there remained the physical agitation, which Brother Anthus could not calm.

As she neared the inn, Arunika glanced around to ensure that there were no witnesses. Leathery wings appeared on her back as she willfully minimized her disguise, and then her wings spread wide.

As much a hop as flight put the succubus on the balcony of a particular room at that fine inn, and there she folded her wings once more and leaned on the railing, her back to the darkened city, her eyes watching the darkened room beyond the wood and glass door before her.

A long while passed, but she did not mind, as she worked even harder to clarify the possibilities and her potential within each.

Finally, she heard the lock click and a few moments later, the balcony door swung open and Herzgo Alegni stood before her, his expression a mixture of sly anticipation and hardened resolve.

Most of all, Arunika recognized, he was not surprised to see her. She stood on a balcony some thirty feet from the ground, with no stairway and only a locked door providing access, and yet, he was not surprised to see her.

His twisted warlock minion had extracted much from Invidoo, Arunika knew then more clearly, as she had suspected.

She answered Alegni’s hard look with a disarming smile.

“Keep your enemies closer,” Alegni remarked, the second half of a common warrior litany.

“Enemy?” Arunika asked innocently-so much so that she made it obvious to Alegni that she was denying nothing.

Alegni couldn’t resist her expression, her posture, her playful retort, and a grin spread on his broad face.

“You have won, Herzgo Alegni,” Arunika stated flatly. “What enemies remain?”

“Indeed,” he replied unconvincingly.

Arunika smiled all the wider, coyly, and let her wings spread wide once more as she walked deliberately toward the hulking tiefling. “How close would you like your enemies?” she asked quietly, her voice husky and promising, and her devil wings embraced him.

“Close enough to kill,” Alegni answered.

Arunika couldn’t resist that tease. Where Brother Anthus failed, Herzgo Alegni excelled.