THE LORD OF NEVERWINTER
Captain of the White Guard,” Herzgo Alegni corrected, and many eyes turned upon the tiefling warlord in surprise. Alegni sat at a small table along the side wall of the inn that served as their meeting house. He was opposite the hearth, about as far from the source of warmth as he could be in the room, and he had pulled open the window beside him.
Jelvus Grinch looked at him curiously. The city’s leaders had just been discussing Grinch’s place in Neverwinter's new ruling structure, and the Netherese lord had mentioned that Jelvus Grinch was a fine choice as the leader of the Neverwinter garrison, a role Grinch had handled for years by that point, in any case.
“The White Guard?” another in the room chimed in, voicing the question held by many in the room, obviously.
Herzgo Alegni stood up slowly, flexing his obvious muscles as he went and rolling back his shoulders to let them all witness the powerful expanse of his broad and strong chest. Slowly, taking the time to let the heels of his boots resound against the wood floor with every distinctive step, he walked to the front of the room, and even the powerfully built Jelvus Grinch seemed a meager being next to the huge and dominating tiefling warrior. Alegni’s attire, black leather and metalstudded armor, and the flowing cape that reminded all of his noble station, only added to the imposing image, as did that large red blade openly hanging from his left hip. The blood red of the metal contrasted sharply with the black armor, and as Alegni dropped his naked left hand to rest atop the weapon’s pommel, the sword seemed more an extension of his red tiefling skin than a separate item. It accented perfectly the red fires in Alegni’s eyes, those orbs a shining reminder of his half-devil heritage. Yes, that red blade . . . a weapon that had cut through an umber hulk and left the creature writhing in its death throes on a Neverwinter street, to the amazement and cheers of so many of Neverwinter’s citizens, many of whom were in this very room.
“What is the White Guard?” Jelvus Grinch dared to ask.
“The city garrison,” explained the tiefling. “I think that an appropriate name.”
“First Citizen . . .” Jelvus Grinch started to argue, for that was the title of honor they had bestowed upon Alegni.
“Do not call me that,” Alegni interrupted, and his tone changed then, not so subtly, and more than a few in the room, Jelvus Grinch included, shifted uncomfortably.
“The White Guard,” Alegni said more loudly, turning to face the larger gathering again. “It is fitting, for now Neverwinter has two garrisons, of course. The White Guard of your people,” he explained to Jelvus Grinch and the others, “and my own.”
“Who are to be known as . . . ?” Jelvus Grinch prompted.
Alegni considered that for a moment, then replied, “The Shadow Guard. Yes, that will do. So you will coordinate the White Guard.”
He wasn’t reasoning with them but rather dictating to them, something that was not lost on anyone in the room.
“And you will command the Shadow Guard?”
Alegni laughed at the notion. “I have my lieutenants in place to lead the guard.”
“Freeing you up to . . . ?” prompted a red-haired woman the townsfolk called the Forest Sentinel.
Recognizing the voice, Alegni looked at her directly. “My dear Arunika,” he addressed her.
“Freeing you up to assume lordship of the city,” Arunika stated, and when Alegni didn’t immediately disagree, the room erupted in whispered conversations, a few jeers, and several sharp complaints.
“We have scored a great victory!” Alegni addressed them in a booming voice, one that silenced the whole of the place. “Sylora Salm is dead. The fortress she was raising in Neverwinter Wood is in disarray, its magic failing. The Dread Ring itself is diminished, and greatly so.”
He ended abruptly and let that stunning news—for indeed, he had not revealed any of that until this very moment—hang in the air while he reveled in the blank expressions of the city leaders.
“How can you know?” Jelvus Grinch finally managed to stammer.
Herzgo Alegni looked at him as if he had to be a fool to even ask such a question.
“The threat is diminished and will be driven forth in short order.” Alegni paused and grinned. “Because of me.”
“And now you claim the lordship of Neverwinter,” Arunika surmised, and Herzgo Alegni smiled at her.
“Ye can’t be doing that!” one man shouted from the back, and Alegni’s smile disappeared in the blink of an astonished eye, and more than one in the crowd, the speaker included, ducked low under that withering gaze.
But another dared chime in, “You’ve not got the Crown of Neverwinter! You canno’ be Lord of Neverwinter without the Crown of Neverwinter!”
“And pray tell, where is this crown?” Alegni answered in a booming, clearly threatening tone.
The room filled with murmurs, and the person who had objected sheepishly replied, “None are knowing.”
“It is lost, then,” Alegni declared. “And so it is time to start anew—as you all have done in coming to rebuild the ruined city.”
“But if that’s the truth of it, then the lord’s to be one of them that’s been here the years, toiling!” another man protested, or started to, for as he spoke, Alegni moved toward him, and by the time he finished the thought, he was crouched over, covering up and cowering.
“You can’t be doing that!” the first protestor repeated.
“I just did it,” Alegni informed them all. “You needed me, and so you need me still. And I am here, at your service.”
For a moment, the whole situation seemed to be teetering on the edge of a razor, acceptance on one side and open revolt on the other, and Alegni had no idea of which way this group would fall. His right arm dropped down by his side and he flexed his hand, encased in the magical gauntlet companion of his red-bladed sword. If any made a move, Alegni intended to swiftly draw that blade and cut Jelvus Grinch in half in a single, powerful movement.
That would take the fight out of them.
“We named a bridge after you, as you wished,” Jelvus Grinch replied, his voice thick with apprehension. “We granted you the title of First Citizen for your help in our struggles. Now you intend to repay us by subjugating us?”
“That is a foolish way to view this,” said Alegni. “We are winning, but have not yet won. We have two forces in play. Your own, meager as it is, and mine, with resources and power far beyond your understanding. To complete the victory, we must be joined in purpose under a single voice. Do we agree on those points?”
“Even if we do, who has determined that the singular voice would be that of Herzgo Alegni?” Jelvus Grinch pointed out.
Alegni shrugged as if that hardly mattered. “Do you expect me to turn my army to your command?” he asked incredulously. “You, who cannot begin even to comprehend the power of that force, or of the Shadovar, or of the Empire of Netheril?”
“We are being conquered from within!”One woman leaped to her feet, and several shouts of agreement erupted around her.
“No!” Arunika shouted above them all. “No,” she said again, staring at Alegni and bravely walking right up to him.
“Not conquered.” She turned as she spoke to encompass all in the room. “Until this threat is eradicated, until the Dread Ring is fully defeated and Sylora’s minions are all dead in the forest or fleeing back to Thay, Herzgo Alegni would claim the interim lordship of Neverwinter. For indeed we shall need one voice to speak out for us to those surrounding cities. It is a strong fist grabbing for power, of course.” She turned a sly look upon Alegni. “But a temporary one, is it not?”
“Of course,” said Alegni. He managed a lewd smile as he looked into Arunika’s sparkling blue eyes. Let her believe that he desired her as a lover—what male would not, after all? But Herzgo Alegni knew the truth of this one. He had only just discovered that Arunika the Forest Sentinel was no mere human woman, that she was not human at all. And he knew much of the truth of her supposed allegiance to Neverwinter, though there was surely more to learn of this complicated creature. “Why would I deign to serve as lord of a meager city in the kingdoms of meager humans?”
Someone in the crowd started to argue, but Alegni moved with a sudden and powerful stride, shoving Arunika out of the way. “You need me!” he shouted. “You begged me for help and received that help. Without me, without my army, your town would have been gutted like a fallen cow by the umber hulks. Or your walls would have been leveled by the thunderbolts of Sylora Salm. The enemy that came against you was quite beyond you. Don’t deny it! You needed me and you need me still, and I’ll not be cast aside because of victories that I’ve brought to you. I’m no mercenary to be bought with your coin. I’m no adventuring hero to rush to your aid for the sake of my precious reputation, or for the good of all goodly men. You invited me into your home and so I came, and now I remain until I decide that it’s time to go.”
If the spectacle of Alegni wasn’t enough to keep the city leaders in their seats, the room’s back doors swung wide at that moment and in strode Effron the Twisted, accompanied by a host of armed Shadovar. Alegni noted that among that troupe walked Jermander. Jermander? Alegni knew the mercenary and knew well Cavus Dun. He made a mental note to take up with Effron that one’s unexpected appearance.
Herzgo Alegni scanned the room and let some tense moments slip past. When it became obvious that none of the Neverwinter settlers would dare make a move against him, he turned to Jelvus Grinch.
“You will command the White Guard,” he instructed the man. “You, and one other of your choosing, will be granted a seat at my court table, and you alone among the humans of Neverwinter will have my ear to voice the concerns of the city garrison. Do you agree?”
Jelvus Grinch couldn’t help himself as he glanced down at that devastating sword. He swallowed hard and Alegni flashed him that awful knowing grin. Jelvus Grinch knew, and Herzgo Alegni knew that he knew, that a wrong answer here would leave him on the floor in two pieces.
“Yes,” he said softly.
“Yes?” Herzgo Alegni stated loudly.
“Yes, Lord Alegni,” Jelvus Grinch dutifully clarified.
Arunika left the meeting abruptly, not wanting to get caught in a private discussion with Lord Alegni and his band of powerful allies. The misshapen warlock had tormented her imp and had learned much of her—too much!—the red-haired succubus knew.
She moved quickly through Neverwinter’s streets, constantly glancing back to ensure that she was not being followed. To create even more security, she turned down one dark, dead-end alleyway and moved swiftly to the end. There in the dark, she spread her batlike wings and flew up to the nearest rooftop, skipping along above the city.
She came down into the darkness beside a large building at the northeastern end of Neverwinter’s wall. The House of Knowledge had been a thriving temple to Oghma and a flourishing repository of books and artifacts detailing the rich history of the Sword Coast. The cataclysm had changed all of that in a burst of lava and ash, reducing what had once been a holy library to a virtual refugee camp. The transition had not gone well, and the person at the tip of those decisions, Brother Anthus, had not done well. Rarely was he even at this structure any longer, preferring a secluded and abandoned ramshackle cottage across town whenever his duties allowed him a private reprieve.
With a glance around, Arunika entered through a little-used side door. Then she waited, in the dark room.
A short while later, Brother Anthus entered. He carried a single burning candle and moved toward the large candelabra near the altar at the front of the room.
“Had I known you meant to walk the city avenues backward to get home from the meeting, I would have eaten my dinner before coming here,” Arunika said.
Brother Anthus barely halted in his walk, as if to prove that he was not surprised to find her here—and why would he be, given the gravity of that particular meeting? He took his time in lighting all the arms of the candelabra, bathing the room in a soft glow, then turned to regard Arunika.
“You knew this would happen,” he said.
“I did not expect that Herzgo Alegni would help the city of Neverwinter out of any sense of charity or beneficence, true.”
“He moved quickly,” Brother Anthus replied. “Quicker than I had expected.”
“He believes that the Thayans are in disarray. Given that possibility, their threat will fast diminish. By moving to secure his power now, he can continue to use the threat of Szass Tam as a bludgeon against those who would disagree.” She paused and tilted her head, a wry grin on her face, and asked, “Are the Thayans in disarray?”
“Sylora Salm is dead.”
“I know that!”
Brother Anthus took a deep breath and moved to sit on the bench opposite Arunika. “Valindra Shadowmantle is no minor power,” he explained.
“When the insane lich is not confusing herself with her own babbling,” said Arunika, and Brother Anthus nodded and shifted . . . uncomfortably, Arunika noted.
“The ambassador has helped her tremendously,” Arunika prompted, referring to their contact emissary within the Abolethic Sovereignty, itself an aboleth, a fishlike mind-bending creature of great psionic power. She paused for a few heartbeats and continued to read Brother Anthus’s discomfort. “But then,” she added, “anything the ambassador bestows, the ambassador can take back, no doubt.”
“I had thought that the Sovereignty wished to use the Thayans as foil to the Netherese, and the other way around,” Brother Anthus said.
“Reasonable,” Arunika agreed. “That, too, was my understanding. But who can tell with these strange creatures?”
“Brilliant creatures!” Brother Anthus corrected.
Arunika nodded, conceding the point. She wasn’t in a mood to argue with the zealot.
“Do you think the ambassador will allow the Thayan threat to unravel now that Sylora Salm is dead?” Brother Anthus asked. “Will the creature bring Valindra Shadowmantle back into a state of confusion?”
“Or will the ambassador continue to twist Valindra’s thoughts to the benefit of the Sovereignty?” Arunika wondered aloud, and she nodded, as that sounded plausible to her. “As long as Herzgo Alegni remains a threat, I would expect that the ambassador will keep Valindra lucid enough that her forces will cause him trouble.”
“But the aboleths will never allow her the degree of lucidity to break free of their power,” Brother Anthus said, completing the thought.
“Go to our fishlike friend,” Arunika bade the monk. “Inform the Sovereignty of Herzgo Alegni’s claim of lordship over Neverwinter. The ambassador will know how to best use Valindra to counter Alegni.”
“Should the Thayans attack again?” Brother Anthus asked. “Is that your recommendation?”
Arunika considered it for a moment, then shook her head. “Alegni’s forces are not so strong,” she explained. “With Sylora Salm dead, I expect that he will have little leverage to garner more soldiers from his Netherese masters in the Shadowfell. Let us keep it that way. There is more afoot than the Thayans or the Netherese, and it will be interesting to see how it plays out.”
Brother Anthus looked at her curiously, but Arunika let the tease stand, deciding not to tell him about the trio who had killed Sylora, and about where that dangerous group was likely to turn their blades next.