Even without that confirmation, Ravel knew the feeling of elemental magic, and such was the tingling energy he felt in the floors and walls now, a deep resonance of the purest energy.
Along the wall to the left came Tiago Baenre, charging his lizard above the heads of the many drow crowding the area.
“The goblinkin will be of little effect,” he told Ravel and the others. “These ghostly defenders are quite beyond them.”
“Shall you throw a lightning net upon them, dear brother?” Berellip remarked, and behind her, Saribel giggled.
“It might prove quite potent,” Ravel replied, ignoring the sarcasm.
Berellip gave an exasperated sigh and moved past him, Saribel and the other priestesses of Lolth in tow.
As soon as they had moved past Tiago, the young Baenre signaled to Ravel, Shall I gather your wizards that you can enact a second lightning net?
The question caught Ravel off guard, so much so that he balked and even moved back a step. He stared at Tiago for a few moments, ensuring that the warrior was serious. He glanced down the corridor; the sounds alone convinced him that his goblinkin fodder were indeed being slaughtered.
Ravel nodded. He wouldn’t give his sisters the satisfaction of being saviors.
“They are a stubborn bunch,” Berellip admitted to Saribel. They had hit the dwarves with a vast repertoire of spells, from shining beams of unholy light to waves of biting flames. They had used their allegiance to Lolth to compel the ghosts away and had even tried to harness the spirits to their will, to dominate them and turn some against the others.
But this was a stubborn group indeed, much more so than typical for such undead creatures.
“They are fighting for their most ancient homeland,” Berellip continued, reasoning it out as she went along. “They are bound here as guardians, singular in their devotion.”
“They will not be easily turned, nor easily destroyed,” Saribel agreed.
“Fight on,” Berellip instructed Saribel and the others, and she fell into her next spellcasting but stopped abruptly, startled when Tiago Baenre, Jearth Xorlarrin, and a host of lizard riders charged past her.
The cavalry swept into the cavern, veering to the right as they extended their line.
In came Yerrininae and the driders on their heels, reinforcing that line as it began to sweep back to the left, effectively clearing the nearest right hand corner of the cavern.
Into that void went Ravel and his spellspinners. Berellip spat on the stone and urged her priestesses on with more powerful spells. She began casting her own bursts of brilliant devastation, focused lines of unholy light, as Ravel and his wizards took their places and began their web-spinning.
Now it was a competition as priestess and wizard vied for the top honors in the ghostly slaughter.
“Damn you,” Berellip cursed Tiago when he called for a retreat at precisely the right moment, drow rider and drider alike running back to the opposite flank just in time for the spinning lightning net to cross above them harmlessly.
The dwarf ghosts did not flee as the orcs had back in the cavern city, and a host of them fell under that net. The sparking, biting filaments crackled as it battered them.
Berellip and many other drow averted their sensitive eyes from the bright white energy.
When all finally settled, the number of ghosts was greatly diminished. The few remaining drifted back to narrower halls, moaning all the way.
“Secure the cavern!” Jearth’s voice rang out above the din. “Huzzah for Ravel!”
A great cheer went up, and Berellip seethed.
Her visage did not soften as Tiago Baenre rode up beside her and Saribel.
“You chose sides,” Berellip warned. “You chose wrongly.”
“Not so,” Tiago flippantly replied. “It was a coordinated effort and you and your priestesses played no small role. It would seem that I was wrong, and that priestesses have a place, after all. Other than in the bedroom, I mean.”
“Blasphemy,” Saribel mouthed, and Berellip stared at the upstart male incredulously.
“It was quite a beating you put on your brother over such an innocuous, and indeed a worthwhile, slight,” said the confident young Baenre, who was ever so full of surprises.
“Are the Baenre sisters so used to you speaking in such a manner?” Berellip warned.
“Of course not!” Tiago said with a laugh.
“You dare?” Saribel said.
“My dear Berellip,” Tiago said, unwilling to even acknowledge Saribel, other than to toss her a lewd wink, “you are a priestess of Lolth.” He gave a shallow bow, hindered as he was by sitting astride his lizard mount. “And I am the son of House Baenre.”
“You are a male,” Berellip said, as if that alone should humble Tiago. But he only sat straighter and laughed at her.
“I understand,” Tiago said with a nod. “By all conventions, you are my superior, and so you believe that to be the case. But consider, upon whose side in our battle would Matron Mother Quenthel stand? In customary terms, you are correct in your indignation, but in practical terms?”
“You’re a long way from House Baenre,” Berellip warned.
“Do you believe that I was selected to go along with you at random?”
That gave Berellip pause.
“Selected,” Tiago said again, emphatically. “House Baenre knows your every movement, and every intention. Understand now that I alone will determine if House Baenre will allow Xorlarrin the room you desire to found your city. I alone. A bad word from me will doom Xorlarrin to a noble-excepting perhaps some spellspinners, as their powers have intrigued Matron Mother Quenthel of late. Since Gromph has retired mostly to his room at Sorcere and meddles little in Baenre business, Quenthel has come to see a growing gap in the armada of House Baenre, one that would be nicely filled by absorbing some of Xorlarrin’s skilled spellspinners.”
“Then she would want them obedient!” Berellip argued, and her tone made her sound desperate, and so clearly revealed that she had lost the initiative in this argument.
Tiago had easily gained the upper hand, and he wasn’t about to let it go. “She will want what I tell her to want,” the brash young warrior replied. “And to dispel any secret hopes you now harbor, understand that if I am killed out here beyond Menzoberranzan, Matron Mother Quenthel will hold Zeerith Q’Xorlarrin personally responsible. And of course, her daughters as well.”
Berellip stared at him, not blinking, not backing down, not willing to give him the satisfaction.
“You would doom Xorlarrin to a noble,” Tiago quietly reiterated, and then he smiled and signed so that only Berellip could see, I do anticipate our next coupling, and he rode away, as if nothing was amiss.
Not so far behind that encounter, Brack’thal Xorlarrin leaned against the corridor’s stone wall, his sensitive fingers feeling the stone, his thoughts permeating the stone. Ravel had felt the tingling of elemental energy here, but that paled compared to the understanding Brack’thal had for such magic. In his day, he had been one of the strongest evokers in Menzoberranzan, a drow who could reach to the elemental planes, so it seemed, to bring forth fire and lightning and other primordial powers. Once he had commanded an entire company of earth elementals, for no better reason than to impress the masters of Sorcere.
Now he felt it, the fiery beast, the god of flaming destruction. This was why Matron Zeerith had included him in his hated brother’s expedition, and now, suddenly, feeling that power, experiencing the clarity of mind which could only be brought through such a close communion with an old and basic power, Brack’thal held his curses back, and even thanked Zeerith for allowing him this journey.
He did not even watch the battle at hand before him. His sisters would win out, he fully expected, and he could no sooner turn from this stone, from the deep sensations and vibrations of the primordial beast of fire than he could from a tryst with Lady Lolth herself.
For the promise was no less.
The promise of
power.
The promise of magical strength as it had been those many years ago.
COMRADES IN COMMON CAUSE
Dahlia fought hard against the stubborn webbing to turn her head. She didn’t want to miss the demise of her tormentor, and was quite pleased when Entreri’s sword split open the shade’s skull.
She wriggled some more and managed to free her head almost completely, though the rest of her remained tightly bound. As she glanced around, she came to understand that she was alone-alone with this man Entreri, Alegni’s champion. After a moment to catch his breath and retrieve his thrown knife, he started toward her, sword leveled her way.
Dahlia twisted and strained, struggling to free up one arm. But then she settled, knowing she could not hope to defend herself.
The sword was close.
Dahlia stared the small, cold man in the eye, trying to discern his intent.
The sword came in at the side of her neck and she stiffened and held her breath. But Entreri began to cut the webbing away.
“I am truly touched,” she said sarcastically after she had recovered from the shock.
“Shut up,” Entreri said as he continued freeing her.
“Are you embarrassed by your concern for me?” the elf woman quipped.
“Concern?”
“You’re here, against your master’s allies,” Dahlia reasoned.
“Because I hate him more than I hate you,” Entreri was quick to reply. “Do not presume that such thoughts shine brightly upon you.”
His last words were lost in the rumble of a low and threatening growl, and Entreri froze, and Dahlia smiled-she could see six hundred pounds of musclerippled panther crouching right behind him.
“You have met my friend Guenhwyvar, no doubt?” she asked with a grin.
Artemis Entreri didn’t move.
“Hold!” came a call from the side, as Drizzt Do’Urden, limping only slightly, came over the ridge. Whether he was speaking to Entreri or Guenhwyvar, neither Dahlia nor Entreri could be sure.
Both, likely.
Entreri dismissed the drow with a snicker and drove his sword down halfway to the ground, greatly loosening the bindings on Dahlia.
“A change of heart?” Drizzt asked when he came beside the pair. Dahlia extracted herself from the webs. Behind Entreri, Guenhwyvar remained poised to leap upon the small man.
“Easy, Guen,” Drizzt prompted the cat, and her ears came up.
“Why have you returned?” Dahlia asked Entreri as she continued to pull strands from her clothing. She wasn’t feeling particularly generous, and didn’t much like being rescued. She intended to push Artemis Entreri, and hopefully to push him far away.
When he didn’t immediately answer her question, Dahlia stopped plucking the webs. Her question had struck him hard, obviously. She was caught by surprise, for she had never expected to see him in such a pensive pose.
“Why?” she asked again, sharply and loudly, but only to pull the man from his apparent introspection.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Dahlia felt Drizzt’s gaze upon her and glanced his way. His visage was cold, as if chastising her for going after Entreri so bluntly. The man had just saved her life, after all. She offered a shrug.
“Well, why did you leave us, then?” Dahlia asked, a bit more cordially.
“Herzgo Alegni carries my old sword,” Entreri replied. “My old sword, sentient and telepathic, can learn things from me. Being with you endangered you, and while I care not a whit for the lives of either of you, I do not wish for you to fail in your quest.”
“And yet, despite your words, here you are, endangering us.”
“I know your intent,” Entreri replied. “Being closer to Alegni makes it more likely that he will learn of your intentions from me.”
“So we should just kill you,” said Dahlia, and she kept any hint of humor out of her voice.
“You will die first,” Entreri promised.
Drizzt stepped between them. Only then did Dahlia realize that she and Entreri had begun drifting together, face to face, unblinking.
“I thought to simply go away, though I could not escape Alegni if I fled Faerun itself,” Entreri explained.
“And you just happened upon us?” Drizzt asked.
Entreri shook his head. “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help you before Alegni-before my old sword-lays me low on the street,” he admitted. “And yet, here I am,” he added, looking around at the dead Shadovar, “helping you on your way. Alegni and Charon’s Claw did not hinder my blade as I struck at your enemies, whom I would have to presume serve as his allies.”
He looked Drizzt directly in the eye, and Dahlia noted that they shared something, some long and deep bond and obvious respect.
“I’m not going back to serve him,” Entreri stated flatly. “There is no amount of pain, no amount of torture, that will put me beside Herzgo Alegni.”
To her surprise, Dahlia realized that she believed him-not only that he intended as he said, but also that this grayish man was possessed of inner power great enough to do as he had just claimed.
She stepped back and let Drizzt and Entreri have their conversation, and caught only a few snips of the dialogue, as Entreri admitted that his mere presence with them might well have compromised any hope of secrecy they might harbor, or that this attack might have been directed to this place and against them because of his previous proximity to them.
Dahlia knew from his responses and body language that Drizzt would accept Entreri as a companion on this mission, and when she let down her own stubbornness, she realized that if Drizzt did not, she would insist. She focused mostly on Entreri then, staring at him, understanding him.
She saw the pain.
She knew that pain.
“An interesting dilemma,” Drizzt said to Dahlia a short while later. In the distance, they could see Entreri gathering firewood, as they had agreed.
“You doubt his sincerity?”
“Strangely, no,” said Drizzt. “I have known this man for many years-”
“Yet, you have not known of him for many years,” Dahlia was quick to point out.
“True enough.” Drizzt nodded in deference to her obvious logic. “But in our time together, I came to know who he truly was. I saw him emotionally stripped naked in Menzoberranzan, raw and unprotected. He is many things-including many heinous traits that I cannot abide-but in a strange way, there is honor in Artemis Entreri, and there always has been.” As he spoke the words, Drizzt thought about that first encounter with the assassin, when Entreri had held Catti-brie captive for days. Helpless and at his mercy-and yet the assassin had shown her great mercy in that time.
But there were other times, when Entreri had not been so kind, Drizzt thought, and he remembered a halfling’s finger…
He looked away from Dahlia, to Entreri-a confusing link to a distant past.
“He won’t willingly betray us,” Dahlia said, and Drizzt spun back on her. “He hates Herzgo Alegni as I do.”
“Why?” Drizzt asked.
Dahlia looked at him curiously.
“Why do you hate Herzgo Alegni?” Drizzt almost fell back a step as Dahlia’s face tightened. She spat on the ground at Drizzt’s feet.
“So you believe Entreri will not willingly betray us, and I agree,” Drizzt said quickly, thinking it wise to change the subject. “But what about unwillingly? He has already admitted that his mere presence with us might well have tipped Alegni off to our intentions. The sword holds him, and seems to know his every thought.”
Dahlia turned her gaze to the distant Entreri, and slowly shook her head. “It cannot,” she said, and she seemed to be speaking more to herself than to Drizzt. “Sentient weapons do not hold such power.”
“It enslaves him.”
“It feels his intentions, his anger, his move to action,” Dahlia replied. “That is a different matter. The sword reacts to his impulses, as Kozah’s Needle heeds my call, and it is powerful
enough because of their long history to overrule his demands.”
“You cannot know that."
“As you cannot know that your fear is well founded,” Dahlia said. “Artemis Entreri did not lead those Shadovar to us, as he was near Neverwinter while they were out on the hunt. Perhaps his presence with us allowed his sword to understand the general course of our intent, but perhaps not nearly as specifically as you believe-else why would he have been allowed to get so near to Neverwinter without a host of Alegni’s guards falling over him? The sword does not know his every thought and every move. I cannot believe that, particularly when he and the sword are not near each other. It’s a sword, not a god!”
“But we will get near, and so Entreri will be near to the sword, and there remains the possibility,” Drizzt reasoned.
“So you would abandon this potentially powerful ally out of that fear?”
The drow thought about that for a long while, and realized that he really didn’t want to walk a separate road from Entreri. Once again, this man tied him to a past for which he longed, a time when the world seemed simpler to him, and far more comfortable. Still, despite all of that, he heard himself saying, “Yes.”
“Then he will seek out Alegni on his own-he won’t turn from that. I saw the pain in his eyes, and he will not turn from that! So we each will strike at Neverwinter, and weaker will we both be-”
“There is a third option,” Drizzt interrupted.
Dahlia eyed him curiously.
“There are ways to block such telepathic intrusions,” Drizzt explained, the idea just coming to him-and it seemed one that solved many of his current problems and addressed many of his current fears. “Jarlaxle’s eye patch-do you recall it? It was so enchanted. With it, the mercenary rendered himself invisible from magical and telepathic spying, and such dominance as the sword has shown over Entreri.”
“So we’ll go and find Jarlaxle and he’ll help us?”
“He has ties to Entreri, as well-”
“He is dead,” Dahlia stated flatly. “You saw him die. You saw him go over the rim of the primordial pit only heartbeats before the creature vomited its killing spew. Accept it, you fool!”
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