Neverwinter

“I’m called Arunika,” the woman explained when she stood at Herzgo Alegni’s door.

Alegni had been granted a room at the finest inn in Neverwinter, one with a balcony that overlooked the bridge that had been named, yet again, in his honor. He wouldn’t be in the town often, perhaps, but a room, this room, would forever be waiting for him.

“They called you something else,” Alegni replied, his gaze roving up and down the human woman’s form.

“The Forest Sentinel,” she answered.

“You’re a ranger, then?”

“An observer,” she corrected.

“More than that, from what I’ve heard, for you live outside the city walls, and survive quite well, it seems.”

“I have my ways … my knowledge,” she coyly replied. “Knowledge is power, they say.”

“I recall you hinted I was the one destined to save Neverwinter.”

Arunika’s continuing smile put him strangely off balance. “I said that we hoped for one who would step forward and lead us to defeat the Thayan menace,” she corrected him. “Even with the Thayans driven from the wood, there’s no guarantee, no mention at all, that Neverwinter will be saved, is there?”

The tiefling narrowed his eyes as the woman widened her smile. Was there a hint in that knowing grin that this creature believed Alegni and his minions might subsequently destroy Neverwinter after defeating Sylora Salm?

“Are you going to invite me in?” Arunika asked.

“Why would I?”

“Would you have my words of insight and wisdom spread wide throughout Neverwinter, then, by keeping me out in the hallway?” Arunika asked innocently. “Where any passersby might overhear?”

Herzgo Alegni leaned out the doorway and glanced left and right. Then he stepped aside.

Arunika moved in comfortably, the ease in her step conveying that she was not the least bit intimidated. That struck Alegni profoundly. What young human woman wouldn’t be intimidated walking into the private den of a hulking Netherese tiefling?

“Did your ‘knowledge’ assure you that I wouldn’t hurt you?” he asked, only half joking.

“Why would I bother wondering such a thing, and why would you think to?” Arunika sat, comfortably draping her arm over the arm of a divan set near the balcony door, half turning to gain a better view of the city below. “You’re ambitious, and you desire great power.” She swung around to regard Alegni as he closed the door. “Surely that’s no secret. And you’re no fool—that much is obvious as well. You understand that knowledge is indeed power, and there’s no one who knows more of the situation in Neverwinter than I. Not even Jelvus Grinch, who often seeks my counsel.”

Herzgo Alegni spent a long while lingering by the door, looking across the room at the woman. She didn’t appear exotic in any way, hardly the look he would expect from one playing at such dangerous games. Surely she understood that Jelvus Grinch would consider her his personal trough of information, working for him above all others. How might he view her unannounced, uninvited visit to Alegni’s private room?

Did this unremarkable human female wish to get in between a possible power struggle involving Grinch and Alegni?

And if so, Alegni wondered, was her appearance here confirmation that she intended to throw in with the Netherese lord? Or was it, perhaps, a choreographed deception orchestrated by Jelvus Grinch?

Alegni approached her, his every step resonating with intimidation. “Who sent you?”

“I came of my own accord,” she replied casually, and she looked out through the glass doors once more.

“Grinch?” Alegni demanded.

When Arunika didn’t immediately reply, he grabbed her tightly by the arm, turning her around to face him, then roughly lifted her to her feet and glared down at her. The woman barely reached his mid-chest, the discrepancy in their relative sizes and strength so glaringly obvious that Arunika should have been thoroughly flustered.

But her smile appeared sincere.

“Understand this, Herzgo Alegni,” she calmly replied, “I don’t answer to Jelvus Grinch. He doesn’t tell me what to do or where to go, and he knows well not even to try. I answer to myself alone.”

“Because you use your knowledge to chart the way to the future you desire,” Alegni reasoned. He tightened his grip until the woman showed a hint of a grimace.

But she didn’t stop smiling.

“Are you a sorceress or priest, then?” Alegni demanded.

“Not the first, and certainly not the second,” she replied with a carefree laugh. “Though I admit I’m not unaware of the ways of magic. What I am,” she added as Alegni began to bend over her, “is one who understands the nature of things, the ways of people. Most of all, I observe.”

Alegni backed off a bit. “And you know more of the Neverwinter region than anyone else?” he asked, echoing her boasts.

“I do.”

“Your claims of my role here were predicated on more than observation.”

Arunika shrugged. “If the Thayans, the old evil, prove victorious, then what matter what I told Jelvus Grinch and the others?”

Now Alegni put his hands to his hips.

“If they don’t win out, then of course someone will take the lead against them,” Arunika explained. “Why not Herzgo Alegni? I see no one around more capable or prominent.”

“Are you saying you made your claim for my sake?”

“There’s more to it than that,” Arunika replied. “But it seemed prudent to bolster your cause, for your sake, as you said, but also for the benefit of Neverwinter. Our enemies are formidable.”

Herzgo Alegni really had no answer. He stepped to the side and looked out through the door to the carved image of the wyvern that marked the Herzgo Alegni Bridge.

To his surprise, Arunika rose and moved right beside him, putting her arm on the small of his back.

“What do you think of the bridge?” Alegni asked.

“It’s the most beautiful and impressive structure in Neverwinter,” she replied. “It’s hard to believe it carried any name other than your own.”

Alegni turned on the woman, towering over her.

She didn’t back away, but tilted her head back, slightly parted her lips, and closed her eyes, inviting him.

It was an invitation Herzgo Alegni did not resist.

Arunika left Alegni’s room much later that evening. She didn’t reveal her true form to the tiefling during their lovemaking.

Nor did she tell him of the Abolethic Sovereignty, or of her relationship with Sylora Salm, or a million other little details that might have given the Netherese lord pause in his decision to couple with her.

Or in his decision not to kill her.


“A new pet?” Valindra asked when she caught up to Sylora just outside the perimeter of the Dread Ring. Beside the sorceress, flipping somersaults in the air and waggling its arms stupidly, was a small imp, a bat-winged little hellion whose smile might have been meant as disarming, but seemed more of a warning, somehow.

“A messenger from Arunika,” Sylora explained. “I assume that your meeting with the Sovereignty ambassador went well.”

“You assume? Or you already know?” Valindra asked, looking to the imp, who grinned wider still, that pointy-toothed smile almost taking in its batlike ears. It flapped its leathery wings and flipped over backward, landing easily back in place.

“I’ve been told that my champion is well prepared for the trials ahead.”

Valindra nodded. “And you have heard that the ambassador plans to support our cause with a strike at Neverwinter?”

“It pleases Arunika greatly,” Sylora explained with a wry smile. “Apparently the Netherese have now claimed a leadership role in the city. They’ll fill the role as the great protectors of Neverwinter, so they say. The new citizens are even naming landmarks after them.”

Valindra smiled at the delicious irony. Right after these Netherese proclaim themselves as protectors, the city would be battered to its core.

“They will find their city is built upon less than solid ground,” Sylora said.

“Will we join in this attack?”

“Only as a diversion,” Sylora replied, “to lure the Netherese from within the city.”

She turned away from Valindra then and back to the Dread Ring. She whispered a few words, then bent low, reaching into the ashen circle. When she turned back around, she held one of the Ashmadai scepters, a spear-staff, except that this one was more black than red, coal-colored and shot through with red steaks that appeared like living veins.

“An enchanted weapon?” Valindra asked.

“It draws power from the ring,” Sylora answered.

“For your champion.”

“Of course. A little added pain for Jestry’s opponents.”

Jestry appeared, hulking toward her. He wore a cape and a kilt, but his mummy wrappings were all too clear to see. He wasn’t moving as awkwardly as before. The wrappings had melded more fully with his skin, and the tightness and stiffness of the treated hide gave way to a more normal gait. He walked right up to Sylora and stared at her, unblinking, those parts of his face that were visible betraying no emotion.

“Does it hurt?” Sylora asked him, and she sounded compassionate. Jestry shook his head.

“Do you understand how powerful you have become?” Sylora asked.

The mummified champion smiled.

“You will kill her,” Sylora assured him. “You will serve as my great champion. All will fall before us—the Netherese will be driven from the forest. Szass Tam will know of your exploits, I assure you.”

“When we are done, will you restore me?” Jestry asked, struggling with each word as if the wrappings on his face had not loosened enough for him to properly formulate the words.

“I’m told that it won’t be necessary,” Sylora reached out and gently stroked Jestry’s face. “You will grow fully into your new skin. All of the sensations will return.”

Jestry’s hand snapped up to catch Sylora by the wrist, and he held her hand against his face for a long while.

“I have another gift for you.” Sylora held up the enchanted staff-spear.

Jestry’s eyes gleamed with hunger. He let go of Sylora’s arm and stepped back, taking the weapon in both hands.

“Go and practice with it,” Sylora bade him. “Learn of its new powers.”

Jestry looked at her curiously.

“Go,” she repeated. “Valindra and I have much to discuss.”

Jestry nodded obediently, turned, and ran off.

“You know his wrappings will not become like his old skin, of course,” Valindra said when he was gone. “The process is lethal. Jestry has barely months to live, if he’s fortunate. A year or so if he’s unfortunate.”

“He will serve me well long after that,” Sylora assured her.

Valindra looked at her, then at the Dread Ring. “The scepter,” she reasoned. “You’re attuning him to be fully raised into undeath.”

Sylora looked to the forest into which Jestry had disappeared. “I already have,” she replied.


Barrabus the Gray didn’t scream out, and that was a victory. The wracking pains had him doubled over. Only his white-knuckled grip on the bridge’s railing kept him from falling onto the cobblestones and writhing uncontrollably.

“The Walk of Barrabus,” Herzgo Alegni said for the twentieth time, and he twanged his fork against the blade of Claw, heightening the sword’s punishing waves of retributive energy. The large tiefling walked over and tugged Barrabus’s hand from the railing, then threw the man to the ground.

“Crawl!” he demanded. “Crawl the length of the bridge, and perhaps I’ll rename it again—no, another one, perhaps. Yes, we’ll call it the Grovel of Barrabus. How much more fitting that will be!”

Barrabus could only look hatefully at his master, and couldn’t respond because he simply couldn’t pry his own teeth apart.

“How dare you?” Alegni asked, and he kicked Barrabus in the ribs.

The man hardly reacted to that impact, though, for the pain of the blow was nothing compared to the vibrations of that awful sword.

Alegni stepped back, sighed, and grabbed the tines of the fork, silencing it and halting the waves. The pain immediately ceased. Sweating, Barrabus crumbled lower to the bridge, gasping for breath, his face pressed against the stones.

“What am I to do with you?” Alegni said, his voice full of regret and sadness—and how Barrabus wanted to cut out his heart for that phony empathy! “I bring you glory and power, and you repay me with this treachery.”

Barrabus growled and forced himself over onto his back.

“Ah, yes, I know,” Alegni went on. “Don’t bother repeating your excuse that the citizens insisted. You knew, and you allowed it. You knew my designs on this magnificent bridge. You were the agent who first facilitated the name change I desired. No, deny not the truth. You wanted to wound me. You knew your barb wouldn’t stand, but you decided to play the game anyway.”

All signs of empathy gone, the angry tiefling kicked Barrabus hard in the ribs once more. The man grunted in reply, rolled up to his side, and curled defensively.

“Was it worth it?” Alegni asked him.

Yes, Barrabus thought.

“Was it?” Alegni asked again, and when no reply came, the tiefling turned and started away. “Come along,” he ordered coldly.

Barrabus rolled onto his back and took a few deep breaths. Then, before he could think it through—to do that would have been to warn the awful red-bladed sword—he threw himself over backward, tucking and rolling, coming to his feet and launching himself after Alegni.

He flipped his belt buckle free, the magical implement instantly transforming into a dagger, and moved to throw. He thought himself successful, thought his rash actions had eluded Claw just long enough to allow him one strike at that wretched Alegni.

But the wall of agony came on like a charging bull, stopping him in his tracks, freezing his muscles in place—and he realized he hadn’t come close to letting fly the knife.

Claw caught him, inside and out, and mocked him with its power. All strength flew from his every muscle and he simply crumpled where he stood. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t roll over, he couldn’t breathe. Nothing worked—he couldn’t even blink. It was as if all that was Barrabus mentally had been decoupled from all that was Barrabus physically.

This is death! he hoped. Oh, how he hoped.

But it wasn’t, and Barrabus gradually felt himself becoming whole again. He rolled onto his back and looked up to see Herzgo Alegni staring down at him. Before he knew what he was doing, Barrabus’s knife hand went up to hover above his own face. He felt the compulsion, and couldn’t deny it.

He brought the blade down to stab at his cheek, and when the blade slipped into his skin, he dragged it down to his chin.

Images of cutting off his fingers, his toes, his genitals, flitted through his thoughts, and he knew he couldn’t deny Alegni’s sword if it had ordered him to do any of those things.

His hand inched down toward his crotch, his bloody blade moving with purpose. He lifted his arm, blade pointed down, as if to plunge it home.

Under command of the sword, Barrabus held that humiliating and terrifying pose for many, many heartbeats.

Herzgo Alegni laughed and walked away.

The tiefling had barely gone a couple of strides when an explosion rocked Neverwinter. As the noise dissipated, cries from the wall told them that the city was once again under attack.

“Come along!” Alegni demanded.

The man pulled himself up from the ground. He felt drained, as if much of his life force had been stolen from him, and in his thoughts, he heard the voice of Herzgo Alegni’s sword, You are alive at my suffrage alone.

Barrabus instinctively countered that it was not a blessing, but a torment, but sarcasm was wasted on Claw.

He should have died many years before. He’d lived two lifetimes, but he hadn’t died. He remained vibrant, strong, and quick as ever.

The sword wouldn’t let him die. That weapon, which could steal a life force with the slightest cut, which could drive a spirit into oblivion, denying an afterlife, could reverse its murderous tendencies. He was alive at the suffrage of that sentient magical weapon.

But the cost!

He staggered along after Alegni, gradually regaining his agile gait. He caught up with the tiefling in sight of the wall, and another fiery explosion ignited just in front of that barrier, showing the dark silhouettes of ducking guardsmen.

“It would seem that our friends have returned,” Alegni muttered to Barrabus and the others who had gathered near him.

“Out by the trees!” one woman on the wall called out. “The zombies have returned!”

“Along with the lich,” said a quieter voice, and Effron appeared then as if materializing out of the shadows. “Valindra Shadowmantle,” he explained.

“How many?” Alegni asked.

“A veritable horde of the zombies,” Effron explained. “And Valindra and Sylora Salm and a handful of Ashmadai.”

“Sylora has come to face me?” Alegni grinned wickedly at that thought. “Does she really believe her magic can withstand the power of Herzgo Alegni?”

“I don’t know she knows who Herzgo Alegni is,” said Effron, drawing a scowl from the tiefling.

Alegni reached into his pouch and produced a gauntlet, black and red, and slid it onto his sword hand. This was Claw’s matching piece, designed to dull magic to protect the wielder of the powerful sword from the weapon’s telepathic intrusions. Alegni preferred not to wear it, for it dulled his mental connection with the magical Claw, and he believed that his closeness with his weapon helped to keep him alive, particularly when the dangerous Barrabus was around.

But the gauntlet also worked to minimize external magic, and the sorceress Sylora would be hard-pressed indeed to truly wound Alegni while he wore such an artifact.

The tiefling looked to Barrabus, his face showing his eagerness for battle.

“It’s a ruse,” the battered and bleeding Barrabus said.

Alegni scowled in reply.

Barrabus shook his head. “They want us to come out after them, to be sure,” he said. He called up to the wall, “Do the zombies approach?”

“At the trees!” came the shout back.

“They’re luring us out there,” Barrabus said to Alegni.

“What do we care?” the tiefling replied. “More likely, they’re trying to lure the feeble citizens of Neverwinter, who wouldn’t be able to win if not for their strong walls. Sylora Salm doesn’t understand the power that’s arrayed against her.”

Neither do you, Barrabus thought, but wisely didn’t say.

“Let’s go and slaughter some zealots,” Alegni called, and he started for the gate, Effron beside him. Barrabus and the handful of Shadovar who had accompanied them to Neverwinter followed in close order.

“Go out to the camp,” Alegni bade Effron. “Tell our warriors to come on in full. Swing them wide of Sylora’s position, so she will not escape.”

Effron nodded and melted back into the shadows.

“I do not wish to send my forces outside our walls,” Jelvus Grinch said to Alegni, hustling to catch up to the tiefling.

“No one asked you,” Alegni snapped back at him. “Stay within and cower. I’ll rid you of this menace.”

The men at the gate worked fast at Alegni’s approach, swinging one of the two doors wide, and Alegni and his entourage went through without fanfare.

“They’ll throw their magic at us all the way,” the tiefling leader explained to his forces. “Do not waver, do not falter.”

He’d barely finished speaking when the ground beneath them rolled suddenly and black tentacles sprang forth, grabbing at their ankles and legs.

Alegni swept them aside with his mighty sword. Barrabus took a different tactic and pulled forth his obsidian figurine, tossing it to the ground at his feet. The statue became a steed, a nightmare, and Barrabus wasted no time in vaulting atop the skeletal horse’s back. Knowing that Effron and the others would come in from the south, his right, Barrabus ran the nightmare off to the left in a wide circuit.

Alegni just kept walking, his foot soldiers in his wake. Claw swept aside the tentacles with ease. When eldritch missiles came soaring out of the tree line at him, the tiefling just held up his gauntleted hand and absorbed the magic with no more than a slight sting, as if he’d caught and crushed a bee.

“Come out, Sylora,” he taunted as he approached the tree line.

Instead of Sylora, Barrabus, riding his nightmare, burst out of the trees, bidding him to turn around.

Alegni looked at his slave curiously for just a moment then realized Barrabus had figured something out.

A ruse.


The umber hulks came through the dirt and cobblestones of Neverwinter as easily as if they moved through water. One burst through the floor of a home, its shoulders pressed tightly against the low ceiling.

Both the husband and wife in that home already had their weapons in hand, ready to go out and join in the defense of the town. To their credit, both attacked the umber hulk before it even registered their presence.

A sword banged against the creature’s side, an axe dived into its shoulder, actually cutting through the thick hide just a bit.

For a moment, despite their shock at finding a ten-foot tall, monstrous creature in the middle of their home, the settlers dared believe that the close quarters would work in their favor against the lumbering beast.

But the umber hulk swung its powerful arms, filling the room with its sweeping bulk. It drove the husband and wife aside, tossing them like dry leaves in an autumn wind, and worse, when those mighty arms connected, they broke the house’s stone walls apart.

The ceiling came down, and the collapse didn’t bother the umber hulk at all.

It had the couple scrambling, though, blocks of stone and wooden beams tumbling all around, and in their distraction, the beast caught them and crushed them.

Out into the city it went, where three of its brethren were already causing havoc. Screams echoed from all around as the hardy settlers tried to organize some defense against the hulking beasts. Several men and women did manage to come at one of the umber hulks in a coordinated manner, and managed some stabs and chops at the brute.

But the umber hulk broke apart the nearest building, hurling heavy stones at its adversaries, destroying their coordinated defense. Cleverly, the beast focused its throws, driving one woman out to the side, too far from her comrades.

A giant claw caught her and lifted her into the air, crushing her chest then sending her flying, a human missile, right into the next defender in line. That man tried to catch her instead of simply dodging, and went tumbling to the ground with her. Only then did he realize his efforts were all for naught. The woman was already dead, her chest thoroughly crushed.

He pushed her aside and scrambled to his feet, just in time to meet the attack of a second umber hulk.

Their line defeated and depleted, the defenders were washed away.


Barrabus guided his nightmare at a full gallop back through Neverwinter’s gate, carrying Herzgo Alegni behind him. They quickly recognized the threat that had materialized within the walls, and Barrabus sent his mount charging to the nearest area of battle, and the obvious, huge, monstrous centerpiece of that fight.

Following Alegni’s command, Barrabus brought the nightmare right past an umber hulk, just a few feet to the side—enough for Alegni to leap from the mount, fall into a forward roll, and come around to his feet with a mighty sidelong strike of Claw.

The umber hulk, which took the blows of other defenders with hardly a shrug, didn’t even try to block.

But Alegni wasn’t any defender, and Claw wasn’t any ordinary weapon. Alegni’s strike drove hard into the side of the beast, crushing and tearing through skin and bone, and the beast let out a mighty roar of pain, surprise, and rage.

Alegni’s weapon grabbed its victim even more profoundly, the devious magic of Claw biting at the very life force of the umber hulk.

Horrified, the creature thrashed and swung, and Alegni agilely leaped back, taking his sword with him and bringing a moment of relief to the beast. Just a moment, however, for Alegni leaped right back in, thrusting his sword behind a swinging arm, plunging the blade squarely into the umber hulk’s chest. Alegni twisted it around and the sword attacked the beast’s life force with renewed hunger.

In drove Alegni, ignoring the beast’s arms as they swung back at him, accepting the heavy blows while he reached for the umber hulk’s heart.

A moment later, the umber hulk stood transfixed, its arms out wide, its great mandibles clacking together as if trying to form some sounds to explain this unimaginable turn of events. Soon the whole of the great beast trembled and shook violently in its helpless death throes.

Herzgo Alegni went hunting for another victim.