Returned from the sub-chamber, Tiago Baenre came up beside the mesmerized spellspinner, Gol’fanin close behind.
“Is it what you expected?” Ravel managed to ask Gol’fanin.
“Beyond,” the old blacksmith breathed.
“My weapons will be the envy of Menzoberranzan,” Tiago remarked, and Ravel glanced at him, then at Gol’fanin, whose awe-stricken expression showed that he did not disagree with that statement.
Ravel instinctively glanced across the way, to Jearth, and wondered what price he might have to pay for his bargain with Tiago.
“This is working as designed,” Gol’fanin said, drawing him back. “Quite ingenious and perfect in its simplicity. The primordial hungers to be free, and so it embraces these channels, these little specks of freedom. It gives a bit of its life to those pieces that escape to the forge oven, and look how they dance!”
“And the lines are holding?” Ravel asked.
Gol’fanin gave a noncommittal shrug. “The valves are open, though not fully. If the primordial could break free, it would do so-would likely have already done so.”
“And the other forges,” Ravel prompted. “We must fire them.”
“One at a time until we are certain of their integrity,” the blacksmith advised.
“See to it,” Ravel answered. He waved Jearth over to join them. Brack’thal came, too, which Ravel did not question. Indeed, at that time and with what was before them, perhaps even his idiot brother might prove of some worth.
“Explain to them what they might need do if any of the forges fail,” Ravel instructed Tiago, though both knew he was really addressing Gol’fanin, who seemed to understand what was going on better than anyone.
Most of the drow and all of the driders were dismissed then, back to their work in the other halls, exploring, flushing out ghosts and other unwanted creatures, and fortifying the defenses, and throughout the rest of that long day, the forges of Gauntlgrym flickered to life, one after another. Only one of the two-score in the room had any problems initially, and a host of tiny elementals found their way into the room and caused quite a commotion, spitting stinging fireballs at any who ventured near and lighting lines of flame with sudden bursts as they ran this way and that.
But the drow wizards controlled it quickly, and particularly effective was Brack’thal, once a master of elemental summoning and control. While Tiago and Jearth and their charges destroyed the nasty little creatures, Brack’thal brought them to himself, and controlled them, and willed them to merge, and by the time Ravel, Berellip, and Saribel came back into the forge room, their planning session interrupted by shouts of the commotion echoing down the halls, Brack’thal had quite a formidable fire elemental standing beside him.
As expected, the stares of the two Xorlarrin spellspinners locked, and it occurred to Ravel that Brack’thal had gained a significant upper hand over him in that moment, just in that one moment. He pried his gaze away and noted particularly the wry grin on Berellip’s face, and knew that she agreed with that assessment, and seemed a bit too pleased with it for Ravel’s liking.
“Destroy it,” Ravel ordered his brother.
Brack’thal looked back at him skeptically.
“Put it in the main forge, then!” Ravel demanded.
“Yes, the main forge,” Brack’thal answered, and he turned to regard it. “I wonder what pets I might pull from there.”
“Brother,” Berellip warned.
Brack’thal turned back at the sound of Berellip’s voice. “It is an intriguing thought, you must admit,” he said, and he started to wave away his pet elemental, which stood as tall and twice as wide as he.
But he stopped short. “No,” he said, looking back to Ravel. “I think I will keep this one for now. It will be of great service in my duties in the outer halls.”
“Your duties are here now,” Ravel replied. “We have many more forges yet to light.”
“Then perhaps when I am done, I will have an even larger escort to the outer halls,” Brack’thal said slyly, and he walked off toward the as yet unlit forges. “Do tell your lackey to continue, young Baenre,” he said. “All is under control.”
Ravel’s eyes narrowed and he began whispering, as if in spellcasting, as if he meant to punish his obstinate brother then and there.
But a look from Berellip dispelled that foolish notion.
She wasn’t any more comfortable with Brack’thal playing with fire than Ravel was, the spellspinner understood, but he recognized, too, that Berellip was truly enjoying his discomfort.
With a wicked little laugh, Berellip signaled Saribel and Ravel back to their private meeting.
Ravel was the last of the three out of the room. He paused at the door to regard Brack’thal, to regard Brack’thal’s elemental. This day had been the pinnacle of his achievement to date, even greater than the initial discovery of Gauntlgrym. The promise of those forges, he knew, would stand as the cornerstone of House Xorlarrin’s plans, for they needed more than an empty dwarven complex if they truly wished to break free of the stifling ruling Houses of Menzoberranzan. They needed the magic of Gauntlgrym, the promise of magnificent arms and armor and implements. They needed Tiago to return to Menzoberranzan armed with swords that would make every drow warrior drool with envy.
But they were playing with fire, and so this day had also been the scariest of the journey thus far.
Much as he had done when the main forge had fired, Ravel licked his lips and went to his sister’s command.
THE WALK OF BARRABUS
He is down there,” the imp told Arunika.
“You’re certain?”
The petulant little creature gave a great harrumph and crossed its deceptively skinny arms over its scrawny chest, its barbed tail whipping back and forth behind it like a cat waiting for a cornered mouse to emerge from under a bureau.
“I know him,” the imp answered. “I smell him.”
“Drizzt Do’Urden?”
“In the sewers, moving to the bridge. Hunting Alegni, as I was hunting him, and where else, where else?”
“With his two companions?”
“The two the warlock hates, yes.”
“And have you told Effron that Dahlia and Barrabus have returned to Neverwinter, my dear little untrusted slave?” The succubus saw a look of curiosity on the little one’s face then that comforted her greatly. Effron had compromised Invidoo, she knew for certain-the wretched little fellow had even admitted it to her. But this was not Invidoo, after all, despite the remarkable physical similarities.
“I speak to you,” the imp said at length. “To you only in this world. I would be gone soon-poof! Now, I be gone, if you will let me.”
“Not yet, but perhaps indeed soon, my little pet,” Arunika promised. Her thoughts were spinning then. The trio had come for Alegni, as expected, and quite cleverly and efficiently, it would seem. And if they were heading for the bridge, they would probably find the tiefling warlord. He went there every morning, after all, and the sun was beginning to rise. Dare she hope that they would, perhaps, kill him?
Then what? She, they, had to be quick.
“Hide,” she instructed her minion. “Do not leave this room. I will return presently.” With that, Arunika grabbed her night coat and rushed out of her small cabin. She didn’t even worry about her disguise, spreading her devil wings and flying away with all speed, only folding them and taking her human disguise when she landed before the side doorway to the room of Brother Anthus’s in the large temple.
She pushed through and roughly woke the man, blabbered out her plans immediately, and sent him on his way.
And she went on hers, again taking to the night sky, and this time landing before the house of Jelvus Grinch.
They had to be ready. This would be their one chance to break free, and Jelvus Grinch had to understand that. She paused before entering, though, and weighed again the possibilities, both if Alegni remained as lord of Neverwinter and if he was thrown down.
&
nbsp; The latter scenario proved more promising, and certainly would afford her more power.
She had to warn Jelvus Grinch, and from him, to spread the word.
He was the key.
“What do you know?” Effron asked Alegni, his voice thick with suspicion as the hulking warlord drew his red-bladed sword and lifted it before his eyes, the glow of the face making Alegni appear even more diabolical than usual.
“They are here,” Alegni informed him.
Effron glanced all around, in near panic, as if he expected Barrabus and Drizzt and that most-hated Dahlia to spring from the shadows and throttle him at that very moment.
“Clever,” Alegni remarked, and Effron realized that he was talking to the sword.
Effron almost said something, but thought better of it. Eventually, Alegni turned back to him.
“They saw our reinforcements, it would seem,” Alegni informed him. “And so our sneaky enemies evaded the wall entirely.” As he finished, he flipped the sword in his hand and plunged it down into the floorboards. Alegni was on the second story of the inn on the hill, and the mighty sword drove right through, cracking through the ceiling of the room below him, and drawing a gasp and cry from the occupants.
“They could not come over the wall without being spied,” Alegni explained. “So they went under the wall.”
Effron looked down at the floor, not quite sure of what the hulking tiefling was implying.
“Under the city, where the waste drains to the river.”
“The sewers?” Effron asked, and crinkled his face.
“A fitting place for that traitor Barrabus, wouldn’t you say? And more fitting indeed for Dahlia; I cannot think of a better road for her to walk.”
“Or a better place for her to die,” Effron replied, but Alegni shook his head.
“No need. They have come for me. Barrabus knows where to find me.”
“Here?”
Alegni shook his head again. “They’ll not escape the sewers before dawn’s light,” he explained.
“The bridge,” Effron breathed.
“Go to our minions,” the tiefling warlord instructed. “Block every escape route from the bridge.”
“You intend to meet them?” Effron asked.
“I intend to enjoy this spectacle to the fullest,” Alegni replied.
“They are three to one against you,” the warlock warned.
“Are they?” Alegni asked with a wry grin as he pulled his sword out of the floor. “Are they indeed?”
“I would help you kill Dahlia!” Effron demanded, and even he was a bit surprised at the stridency in his tone.
“I suppose that you have earned that,” Alegni replied, and Effron held his stern gaze, but was truly relieved, having feared that his outburst would get him punished yet again by the merciless brute. “But first, you will help me to get her companions under control. If we are careful, we might get Dahlia alive.”
“She dies!” Effron insisted. The words surprised him, though, particularly the conviction he heard in his own voice. For a long time, he had been telling himself that he wanted to speak with this elf woman, wanted to ask her questions that only she could answer. But then, in the moment of truth, he had felt no sense of mercy.
“Eventually,” Alegni replied.
That thought, so obviously pleasant to Alegni, strangely had Effron off his guard. He wanted Dahlia to die-more than anything in the world, Effron wanted to be the one to deliver that killing blow-but now the notion of something more than simply killing her, of capturing her and torturing her…
It should have been a pleasant thought to him, and yet, surprisingly, it was not.
“Go!” Alegni said to him, and when he looked at the tiefling and considered the explosive tone, Effron realized that Alegni had repeated that command, likely several times.
Effron ran from the room, almost tripping down the stairs and almost running over a trio on the first landing, a man and woman dressed in nightclothes and the owner of the inn.
“Here now, is there trouble?” the innkeeper demanded.
Effron glanced back up the stairs to Alegni’s door. “Go ask him,” he said, and he laughed.
For he understood Alegni’s agitated state, for he shared Alegni’s agitated state, and he knew that if the innkeeper and these other two fools went up there to complain about the broken ceiling, Herzgo Alegni would cut them into pieces.
The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten, but already it was promising to be a lovely and memorable day.
“The sun is soon to rise,” Drizzt remarked from around the corner of the crawl tunnel he had entered. The others could barely hear him, for the sound of the rushing water echoed all around them.
“He will be at his bridge, then,” Entreri said. “He is always at the bridge at sunrise. He faces the sea to the west and casts a long shadow upon the river. It probably makes him feel dominant over the city, or some other foolish symbolism.”
Dahlia didn’t reply, didn’t even look at him, just started up to the tunnel, whose entrance was chest-high to her. To her obvious dismay, she had to back out immediately as Drizzt slid back to them. He came out feet-first, settling on the wider corridor beside them.
“Do you think you can get him through?” the drow asked the three former aboleth slaves.
The two bearing their badly-wounded companion looked doubtfully at each other.
“They don’t need to,” Entreri interjected. “I remember this region now. If they just follow this wider tunnel, they will find an easy exit, farther along and near the city’s northern wall.”
Drizzt looked at the assassin curiously, but Entreri didn’t wait to return that gaze and slipped up into the crawl tunnel.
“We go with them, then,” the drow said. “There are other dangers down here-”
“You go with them if you so choose,” said Entreri, who sat on the lip of the crawl tunnel, looking back. He offered his hand to Dahlia, who took it without a second thought, and sprang up without hesitation as Entreri pulled her into the small entrance beside him, even let her into the crawl tunnel before him.
“This is our chance at Alegni,” he said. “Likely our only chance to find him without a powerful escort.”
“We cannot leave them on their own.”
“I can,” Entreri replied. “Dawn is coming.” He glanced down the tunnel, and indeed, even though he wasn’t around the bend, it was clearly lighter in there. “And coming fast. Alegni will wait for it and then he will leave. We haven’t the time to travel underground all the way to the north wall and double back to catch him, nor could we exit up there and not draw the attention of a dozen Shadovar sentries.”
“They have no weapons,” Drizzt complained.
“Then give them yours,” Entreri growled back, and he started down the crawl tunnel after Dahlia.
Drizzt looked to the three humans.
“Go,” the man bade him. “Do what you must. You have done enough for us already, and know that we are grateful and will not forget.”
“We’ll make it out,” Genevieve added.
The drow rubbed his face and looked deep inside, seeking some alternative. Ultimately, though, he jumped up into the crawl tunnel and rushed along.
Had he known that Entreri was lying, that the assassin had no idea of the layout of this region, including the wider tunnel along which he had just directed the three, Drizzt might have chosen differently.
The crawl tunnel led to an old iron grate, with several of its bars torn out or twisted wide.
“I came through this very grate,” Entreri whispered to the others, but loudly enough so that he was heard over the melodic and continual song of the river beyond, “on my escape from the volcano.” He tapped one of the bars with his long sword, pulled it free at the bottom, and yanked wide out to one side. “My doing.”
“Apparently, the lava did more behind you,” Drizzt noted, for only a pair of the eight bars on the grate remained intact, and the one Entreri had
indicated as his handiwork would not now allow the easiest passage. Black stone lay where once had been clear ground, narrowing the vertical height of the opening, and the river channel was tighter now because of that cooling lava rock, like natural levies, forcing the water up nearer the grate than in years past.
Still, it was not hard for Drizzt to slip though, using the grate itself as a hand hold as he came onto the riverbank.
The winged wyvern that marked Alegni’s bridge loomed above him and to his immediate right as he exited, the path to its entrance clear to see. A bit of brush along the bank provided ample cover for him to get to the base of the bridge unseen.
Though she was the most anxious to get on with this confrontation, Dahlia was also the last out of the tunnel and onto the riverbank, and she did not press the others to move more quickly toward the bridge.
This was the fight she had wanted for all of her adult life, the chance to truly repay this rapist and murderer. But now she found herself strangely ill at the mere thought of it, caught somewhere between the bile of hatred and the tears of memory, the longing to exact revenge and her unspoken fear, one she had barely admitted to herself, that the taste might not be sweet.
And if that taste did not heal her broken heart, what might be left for Dahlia? It took all the elf warrior’s focus to carefully position herself as she hunched and crawled along the brush. It was not until Entreri tapped her on the shoulder and nodded his chin to direct her gaze that she even noticed the solitary hulking form standing at the center of the winged wyvern’s long expanse.
Dahlia recoiled. Suddenly, she was once more a helpless child so easily pinned beneath the great bulk Herzgo Alegni.
Her mother fell dead again before her mind’s eye.
She held a baby in her arms, the wind in her face as the ravine opened wide before her…
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