“Another benefit,” Kurth offered. “Go ahead, lady, take any one you wish.”
Dahlia looked at him with open suspicion.
“Free of any cost to you,” Kurth assured her.
“Free, other than my agreement to be indentured to Ship Kurth?”
Kurth laughed aloud. “Lady, please,” he said, motioning to the case, but then he paused and motioned again to the shopkeeper, who rushed over and reached under the case to shift a few unseen levers, no doubt incapacitating a trap or alarm of some sort.
Then he motioned again to Dahlia as he opened the hinged top of the case.
Dahlia looked at Drizzt, smiled, and shook her head. “No,” she replied. “But you have my gratitude for your offer.”
“You will not be indebted,” Kurth assured her.
“I’ll feel indebted, and that’s not so much of a different thing.”
“My lady,” Kurth said with exaggerated exasperation.
“Perhaps you would care to purchase an item instead,” the merchant remarked, and the poor man knew as soon as the words left his mouth that he should have remained quiet. Dahlia looked at him incredulously, but that was by far the most benign of the looks coming his way. Kurth and all of his soldiers stared hard at the diminutive man. Beniago even took a step closer to him. The merchant made a little mewling sound and seemed to shrink, appropriately hanging his head.
Dahlia’s gaze went to Drizzt, who moved slightly back and slid his hands to his weapon belt. She nodded.
“Perhaps I shall do so, good jeweler,” she said in a light tone to pierce the tension. “Sadly, however, I’m short of funds at the moment.” She tapped Kurth on the shoulder. “Though that situation might soon be remedied.”
Her teasing hint that she might be open to some employment took the high captain’s mind off the merchant quite readily, something that was not missed by his obedient soldiers.
“He’ll give you the finest deal possible,” Kurth said, casting one disconcerting glare at the small man for good measure.
“You have given me—us—much to consider,” Dahlia said to Kurth. “Will we find you on Closeguard Island tomorrow at midday?”
“This day is only just begun,” Kurth reminded her.
“And I have not rested at all through the night,” Dahlia replied. “Drizzt and I will take our leave here.”
“You may reside on Closeguard Island,” Kurth said. He looked past Dahlia to a pair of burly soldiers, who quickly shifted to block the exit. “I insist.”
“We have much to consider,” Dahlia replied. “You understand that we prefer to discuss our plans in private, of course.”
“You will not be safe anywhere in Luskan, outside of my protection, lady,” the high captain said. “Do you think one minor failure will put off Ship Rethnor?”
“But now we know of the threat,” Drizzt said. “And so we’re not worried.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
“Then why would you want me in your employ?”
That set Kurth back on his heels, and for many heartbeats he just stared at the drow, as if trying to decide whether to lash out or back off.
“Midday tomorrow, then, on Closeguard?” Dahlia asked, and she pressed the point by walking over to Drizzt, who stood closer to the door.
High Captain Kurth looked to Beniago, to his wizards, then to his soldiers, and finally nodded his agreement. The burly soldiers moved clear of the door.
“He’s used to having his way,” Drizzt whispered to Dahlia when they were back on the market square.
“And yet he allowed us to leave, not even knowing our course.”
“Do you think he’s punishing the poor merchant now for daring to speak up?”
Dahlia looked at Drizzt skeptically, as if the notion was ridiculous, which of course, she knew it was not. “Why would he? What would be his gain?”
“His pleasure, perhaps,” said Drizzt.
“Finding one with a good jeweler’s eye is no easy task, particularly this far north.”
“But were it to his gain, he would beat the man to death with nary a concern.”
Dahlia could only shrug.
“It matters,” Drizzt remarked as they walked away.
Drizzt was speaking as much to himself as to her—trying desperately to hold on to beliefs that had carried him through a century of fierce battle, beliefs that shielded him from the grief and pain of so much loss.
He saw the pity in Dahlia’s pretty eyes. But was there something else there, as well?
Envy?
They went to the Cutlass to get some food and drink, but didn’t remain there for their meal, taking Kurth’s warning to heart. Moving carefully through the shadows of Luskan, they went back to the scene of the fight, and stood in front of the wreckage of the porch, below the door of what had been Jarlaxle’s apartment.
“How strong and agile are you?” Dahlia asked with a wry grin. “You control your blades so well, but can you also control your body?”
“How so?”
“Beyond the practiced movements of swordplay, I mean?”
Drizzt stared at her as if he had no idea what she was getting at, so Dahlia moved through the broken boards to the base of the wall below the door and planted the end of her eight-foot metal staff on the ground. With a nod to Drizzt, the woman leaped up, hands climbing the staff to its top end as she rose, and there she caught a firm hold and rolled her body, inverting at the top of the staff. She pirouetted just a half turn, lining her legs up perfectly with the open portal, and rolled into the room, letting go of the staff as she did.
Drizzt caught it before it fell aside.
“Bring it up with you, if you would,” Dahlia said, poking her head out the door.
Drizzt tightened his belt and his backpack and took a firm hold of the staff. He looked up at Dahlia, thinking to go even higher in his leap, to get all the way into the room standing, perhaps.
Up he leaped, reaching higher on the pole, grabbing hold and inverting … almost.
Before he went over, the drow caught himself, his instincts fighting against his intentions, and he didn’t quite invert. He managed to break his fall by continuing his hold on the staff, and he landed with some measure of dignity back where he’d started.
Dahlia looked down at him from the doorway, obviously quite amused.
Drizzt frowned and leaped again, this time with a growl, throwing himself even higher and with more speed.
But once again, as he neared the break point of his inversion, his instinct resisted, and even though he fought through it this time and forced his upending, that slight break in his movement altered his momentum and his angle. He went upright, feet high in the air, but fell against the wall to the side of the door and failed miserably to grab on.
With great effort, Drizzt managed to catch enough of a hold to spin him back upright before he crashed down. The staff clanged down to the side.
“Do you intend to inform all the city of our whereabouts?” Dahlia teased.
Drizzt pulled himself up to his feet, rubbed a sore elbow, and glared at the smiling elf.
“It’s not unexpected,” Dahlia offered.
But to Drizzt, it surely was—unexpected and disconcerting. He was a warrior who had ridden an avalanche down from the top of a mountain by staying atop the tumbling stone, a warrior not unaccustomed to doing free somersaults in the air in battle, even to leaping over an opponent and turning around to strike as he landed.
This movement didn’t look difficult to him. Dahlia had executed it brilliantly and easily.
“With a running start, you’d have no trouble,” Dahlia remarked.
Drizzt looked around at the broken porch. “I would have to spend an hour clearing the way,” he replied, and with a shake of his head, he went to his pack. “I’ll throw up a rope for you to secure.”
“No,” Dahlia answered before Drizzt had even untied the backpack. He looked up at her curiously.
“You’re strong eno
ugh and more than agile enough,” Dahlia explained. “Only your fear holds you back from completing the movement.” She smiled even wider. “And what you fear is being embarrassed, and failing where I succeeded,” she added, and with a laugh, she disappeared into the room.
Drizzt grabbed the staff and leaped with all his strength, catching his high hold and spinning his legs up and over, so high he had but one hand on the very top of the staff, the other out beside him, controlling his balance. He balanced like that, inverted and eight feet above the ground, for several heartbeats before leaning toward the door and pushing off again to gain speed.
He landed on his feet, facing out from the door, the staff in his hand.
Behind him, Dahlia laughed again and slowly clapped her deceptively delicate hands.
“Not so difficult with a bit of practice,” Drizzt remarked, tossing Kozah’s Needle back to Dahlia. He walked past her, pulling off his gloves and undoing the neck tie of his cloak.
“I’ve never attempted anything like that maneuver before,” Dahlia stabbed at him as he walked by her. He stopped and slowly turned on her, unblinking, his violet eyes matched her blue orbs.
Dahlia smiled and shrugged.
Drizzt grabbed her and pulled her close, and she gasped in surprise, just for a moment before her smile returned, and this time, it was an inviting look.
Drizzt moved his lips toward hers, but he hesitated at the last moment. That didn’t stop Dahlia, however, and she fell over him, pressing him in a tight and passionate kiss. She brought her hands to the sides of his head, pulling him tighter, holding him closer. She moved her face back just a bit, just enough so that she could bite at his lower lip then, with a groan, went right back in tight against him, this time with her mouth opened just a bit, just enough for her tongue to tease him.
Finally, suddenly, Dahlia broke the clench and jumped back from Drizzt, moving to arms’ length. She stared at him, her breathing heavy.
Drizzt, hair tousled, stared back. He chewed his lip where Dahlia had nibbled it.
He glanced at the open door.
Dahlia reached out with her staff and used it to push the door closed—as tightly as the damaged threshold would allow. Then she tossed the staff expertly so that one end caught under a raised plank in the door while it fell diagonally, its nearer end settling on the floor. Staring at Drizzt once more, her grin returning, her blue eyes sparkling with anticipation, the elf took one step to her left and stomped down suddenly on the butt end of Kozah’s Needle, the weight of her stamp crunching the metal edge down into the floorboards, firmly securing the door.
She turned back and flicked off her cloak with a snap of her finger, then strode to one of the small beds in the room and sat down facing Drizzt.
She lifted one leg his way, inviting him to help her remove her high black boot.
Drizzt paused—for a moment, it seemed as if he would just fall over, but Dahlia didn’t laugh at him.
He came to her and took her boot in his strong hands, and Dahlia just lay back on the bed, inviting him.
“They’ll join us,” High Captain Kurth insisted to his gathered commanders.
“Lady Dahlia, perhaps,” replied one, a wizard named Furey, though he shook his head even in partial agreement. Furey served as Ship Kurth’s historian, which was no small role. “This other one, Drizzt Do’Urden …” He shook his head more forcefully.
“It’s true that he fought beside Deudermont?” Beniago asked.
“Indeed,” Furey answered. “Drizzt played no small role in the fall of the Hosttower of the Arcane.”
“Something for which we should be grateful, in the end,” Kurth said with a lighthearted chuckle.
“Indeed, in his own convoluted way he facilitated the rise of the five high captains unbridled,” Furey said. “And from what I’ve been able to garner in the old records and in the stories passed down through the decades, Drizzt tried to warn Deudermont against his course.”
“But not out of any favorability toward the high captains,” Kurth put in. “I’ve spoken with some of my elderly minions and they assure me that Drizzt Do’Urden has never been known as a friend to Ship Kurth or any other Luskan Ship.”
“Drizzt understands the power of what is,” Furey remarked, and Kurth looked at him curiously.
But Beniago caught on to the logic and added, “He realized that Deudermont would create instability, and that there were others ready to leap in and assume the power when the cloak of the Hosttower was cast aside.”
“But he hated the high captains,” said Furey.
Kurth sat back in his chair and lifted his glass of whiskey for a deep swallow as he tried to sort it all through. “Perhaps enough years have passed,” he remarked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“And we now are, after all, what is,” Beniago added.
“He’s an idealist, who served a goodly dwarf king,” Furey said. “He’s the enemy of thieves and rogues.”
“And yet he’s often seen in the company of Jarlaxle,” Beniago put in, and the others looked at him curiously. “I have friends at the Cutlass,” the assassin of Ship Kurth went on. “When Drizzt and King Bruenor were assailed in there a couple of months ago by some band of ruffians, Jarlaxle and his dwarf friend Athrogate intervened, and joined in the fray. When Drizzt and King Bruenor left Luskan soon after, Jarlaxle and Athrogate went with them.”
“You’re certain of this?” Kurth asked, and Beniago nodded. Kurth looked to Furey.
“It could be true,” the wizard admitted.
“If Drizzt will conspire with the likes of Bregan D’aerthe, what might his objections be to the practices of the high captains?”
“Because we’re not as vile as the drow?” Beniago asked with a laugh.
“Not for lack of trying, I hope,” Kurth replied, and joined in the jollity.
“And Lady Dahlia should welcome our protection,” Furey admitted.
“Then there is hope!” Kurth announced, and lifted his glass in toast. The others all did likewise, and with enthusiasm—except for Beniago, who remained caught by the improbability of Furey’s last proclamation. “Truly I would value their addition to my network.”
“We’ll be knowin’ in the morning,” remarked Klutarch, who had remained silent since their departure from the jeweler’s shop. Klutarch’s role was, after all, to be a second set of ears for Kurth.
“We’ll know their answer first,” Kurth said. “And if it’s not one we wish to hear, we’ll use Ship Rethnor’s designs on the pair to convince them further that our alliance is in their best interest—in fact, that it’s their only hope.”
“Easily enough accomplished,” Furey assured his high captain. “Though I fear we may lose a considerable number of potential recruits manning such a ruse against the drow’s blades and Dahlia’s deadly staff.”
Normally, such a lead would have prompted Beniago to offer similar assurances to Kurth, but the assassin was still caught up mulling Furey’s remark that Dahlia would welcome their protection, trying to figure out why that seemingly obvious conclusion rattled so clumsily in his thoughts. He looked up at long last to consider Kurth, Klutarch, and Furey, all plotting about where and when they might launch their phony ambush to further entice Dahlia and Drizzt.
No one in Ship Kurth knew the city better than Beniago. He should have taken the lead in the plans. He was, after all, the Ship’s assassin, the warrior who knew the shadows and the streets, the disposition of the rival ship forces, and the pulse of the City of Sails. But he couldn’t. Something bothered him. Something wasn’t quite right.
Dahlia looked down at the sleeping Drizzt Do’Urden, at the moonbeam playing on the sparkles of perspiration dotting his muscular back. She told herself that he was merely another in her long string of encounters—well-played, to be sure, but nothing extraordinary.
She told herself that, but she didn’t believe it.
There was something very different about that passionate night compared to the dozens D
ahlia had experienced before, and the distinction lay in the lead-up and not merely in the act itself.
She didn’t have the time to pause and consider all of that, however. Dahlia reminded herself that she had work to do, that she had alliances to smash to pieces, that she had a road to blaze before a different trail was forced upon her.
She dressed quietly, staring at Drizzt the whole time. She left her boots off, lacing them together and flipping them over her shoulder, then quietly padded to the door. She held it firmly in place as she gently lifted the staff out of its locking position. Then, with a last glance back at Drizzt, Dahlia eased the door open.
She stepped to the threshold, and seeing no one about—it was past midnight, after all—she bent low and set the end of her staff down to a spot amidst the rubble. Dahlia took a deep breath and swung herself out past the broken porch, landing lightly on the cobblestones of the empty street.
She quickly pulled her boots on, broke her staff into flails so she could more easily carry it, and ran on through the moonlit streets of sleeping Luskan.
She stood outside the small jewelry shop for quite a while, noting the sparse movements on the street, looking for any patterns she might exploit. There were a few city guards in the area, but of course, Dahlia could expect that most of them wouldn’t care at all about Ship Kurth’s jeweler. That was the way of Luskan: City guards were Ship guards, with loyalty to one high captain alone.
Using the same maneuver that had brought her into the second-story apartment above the broken porch, Dahlia was soon atop the shop’s roof. She picked her way to the apex and from there calculated the area that would be above the case of diamonds. Using her staff, she prodded the slate tiles and found, to her satisfaction, that more than a few had loosened in the harsh sea air of Luskan. Always wet, always windy, often icy, the City of Sails felt the cold ocean’s bluster keenly.
Dahlia tied off her coil of rope around the brick chimney and eased her way down to the spot. Using a two-foot section of her staff, she pried off tiles then poked at the rotten boards beneath them. Soon she’d removed enough of the roofing to poke her arms and head through the hole. She lit a candle and nodded in satisfaction when she noted that she was directly above the case. With the rope secured around her waist and looped through a metal eye-hole in her harness, she gradually released the rope and lowered herself into the room, head down.
Neverwinter: Neverwinter Saga, Book II Page 13
