Drizzt’s eyes widened, particularly given the adventures he and Dahlia had already shared in their short time together. In addition to the assault on Sylora’s fortress, they had gone to Gauntlgrym side by side and battled a lich and a primordial.
He didn’t know how to respond, but Entreri did. It wasn’t often that Drizzt or anyone else had heard Artemis Entreri laugh aloud, but he was surely doing so then.
Drizzt stared hard at Dahlia. A part of him wanted to strike back at her, for he found that he didn’t much like being mocked, and found, to his surprise, that he truly did not like being mocked in front of Artemis Entreri. That last revelation did surprise him more than a little, but he couldn’t deny it.
“And you would throw yourself in front of any danger, because you foolishly believe yourself immortal,” he said, though it took him a long while to find his voice.
“Or she simply does not care,” Entreri replied before Dahlia could, and the assassin and Dahlia exchanged a look then that set Drizzt back on his heels.
Entreri understood something about her that he did not, Drizzt realized. Yes, he too had wondered about exactly what Entreri had just claimed, but even though he might recognize the possibility, Drizzt knew from the glance his two companions had shared that Entreri understood this part of Dahlia on a much deeper level than he ever could.
Again to his surprise, and there were many that morning on the high road, Drizzt found that the revelation bothered him more than a little.
“How would you have us get into Neverwinter, then?” the drow asked, bringing the conversation back to the point. “You know their defenses,” he said to Entreri. “Where are they weak?”
“I knew their defenses,” the assassin replied, glancing back down at the city. “It would seem they are much stronger now.”
“Too strong?” Drizzt asked.
“No,” Dahlia replied.
Entreri shrugged. “They have weaknesses. Jelvus Grinch, perhaps the leading citizen among the settlers, is no friend to Herzgo Alegni. Their alliance—one that I created—was wrought of mutual hatred of the Thayans, and from the beginning, the citizens of Neverwinter have been wary of the Netherese. They are much like the folk of Ten-Towns.”
Drizzt nodded eagerly, appreciating Entreri’s attempt to bring this to a better level of his own understanding, and indeed, his own limited experiences with the folk of the new Neverwinter somewhat confirmed the assassin’s comparison. “They intend to pick their own rulers,” Entreri finished.
“And they wouldn’t choose the Netherese,” Dahlia reasoned.
“Would you?”
Dahlia spat on the ground.
“How can we exploit this?” Drizzt asked. “I know Jelvus Grinch—how might I meet with him and enlist his aid?” Even as he spoke the words, though, Drizzt began entertaining doubts regarding that course. As he looked down at Neverwinter, the deep pockets of shadow gave him pause. If he enlisted Grinch and others in this personal vendetta of Dahlia’s, would he not, perhaps, be creating a possible massacre within Neverwinter?
Even as Entreri began laying out some manner in which he might arrange such a liaison, Drizzt was shaking his head.
“If your old sword notices one instant of our plotting, and that plotting includes Jelvus Grinch, many in Neverwinter will be killed,” Drizzt interrupted.
“Then how?” Dahlia demanded. “If I must fight my way through that garrison, then so be it, but I will not turn aside.”
Entreri began to smile immediately, as a thought obviously came over him.
“What do you know?” Drizzt prompted.
“When the river flowed as lava and the hot ash piled deep on Neverwinter, I was trapped under that bridge,” he explained, pointing to a distant structure, one that had been known as the Winged Wyvern Bridge. “I had no idea how I would ever get out of there, and yet I could not stay. The heat from the river . . .” His voice trailed off and he shook his head.
Drizzt recalled his own experiences when the volcano blew, when he watched from afar as the mountain crumbled into a river of roiling stone and ash, when the shock wave rushed across the forests, leveling ancient trees as if they were insignificant strands of grass. The power of the spectacle had brought Drizzt to his knees. What must it have been like to be in Neverwinter that awful day, to see the devastation up close, to hear the screams of men, women, and children as they were burned and buried alive?
“How did you survive?” the drow prompted somberly.
“I crawled off the bridge,” Entreri replied, “and to the street, but it was too deep in ash—hot ash—for me to plow along it. And the stones were falling thick. I saw more than one person crushed under a fiery boulder. The buildings, strong as they seemed, provided no shelter. Those who hid inside were buried under rubble or chased out by the fires—everywhere were fires. The air was too thick to breathe.”
“So you died and the sword brought you back,” Dahlia reasoned, but Entreri shook his head.
Drizzt solved the riddle by remembering the layout of Neverwinter, whose streets he had walked several times. He, too, had often been drawn to the bridges, to the river that served as the city’s heart.
“You couldn’t pass along the street, so you went back to the river, near the bridge,” he said.
“To swim in the lava?” Dahlia mocked.
But Drizzt just shook his head and kept looking at Entreri.
“There was an opening along the bank, above the level of the river,” the assassin explained. “And the water flowing from it was relatively cool.”
“You crawled out of Neverwinter through her sewers,” Drizzt reasoned. “Do you think they remain open?” He watched Dahlia as he spoke, and noted that her smirk disappeared.
Entreri pointed down to the south of the city, to where the great river meandered into the Sword Coast. “It’s possible.”