“Bah, but we didn’t kill the dogs, and that’s got to matter for something,” Ambergris said when the wagons unloaded their cargoes, refugees, and ten prisoners back in Port Llast a few days later.
Drizzt and the others, including the leaders of Port Llast and Farmer Stuyles, looked on with trepidation.
“We cannot let them go,” Dorwyllan remarked. “They will run right to the high captains with news of our renewal.”
“Nay, but we won’t!” one of the captured Luskar insisted.
“Nor can we keep them against their will,” said Drizzt. “They have done nothing against us.”
“They attacked the caravan, or meant to,” Ambergris reminded him. “We’d’ve been justified by law in killin’ them out on the road, and not an honest magister’d argue!”
Drizzt had to nod at that, but he calmly put in, “But you didn’t, and that is a good thing,” to try to squelch some of the more impassioned shouts bubbling up around him.
“Still could,” Ambergris replied, but with a smile, a growl at the prisoners who stood together near a wagon, and a wink back at Drizzt.
He shook his head to cut her short. She wasn’t helping.
“Luskan knows anyway,” Artemis Entreri put in, and his contribution surprised those who knew him well. “Just let the fools go, or put them on a boat and float them out to feed the sea devils. It matters not at all.”
Whispers arguing both points rose up from the growing crowd.
“Keep them,” Drizzt spoke over those, demanding the attention of all. “Keep them safe and keep them well. These are not our enemies. Artemis and I will go to Luskan.”
“And I,” Dahlia remarked.
“You two alone, then, and leave me out of it,” a surprised and annoyed Entreri muttered.
“Not so,” Drizzt corrected him. “You and I have business there anyway.”
That surprised Entreri, and he returned a suspicious look.
Drizzt put a hand to his right hip, the same location where Artemis Entreri used to wear his jeweled dagger, and nodded.
“Lead on,” said the assassin.
“I have anticipated this day,” Drizzt said to Dorwyllan and a few others near to him. “I have contacts in Luskan. Artemis Entreri is correct. They know something is happening here in the south, though perhaps remain ignorant that it is Port Llast and not just Neverwinter that is growing strong once more. They understand that those farmers departed the fields around Luskan in an exodus to the south and they will learn the truth soon enough. You might well see Luskar sails outside your harbor any day now.”
“They’ll not cross the wall into the city as enemies,” Dorwyllan decreed.
“Not at first, with a ship or two. But if it comes to blows.…” Drizzt left that thought hanging in the open. All in attendance understood that mighty Luskan could crush Port Llast with little effort if the City of Sails so desired.
“I will go and serve as emissary.”
“And if that fails?” asked Dovos Dothwintyl, the city’s current lord, but one who had been all but invisible through the reclamation efforts.
“Then perhaps we all go to Neverwinter, and seek the suffrage of Jelvus Grinch, who I am confident will welcome us warmly.”
Some of the group began to grumble about that—hadn’t they held on to their town through all these years, after all?
Dorwyllan calmed them. “It had to come to a climax,” he said in a matter-of-fact, yet soothing voice. “Our stalemate with the sea devils was a slow death. Our victory over them grants us Port Llast returned or full retreat. If Drizzt is not successful in Luskan, we shall appeal to Neverwinter and Waterdeep for protection against Luskan.”
“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary,” Drizzt said, and he nodded and started away, motioning for Entreri to follow. In truth, Drizzt didn’t think it would come to blows. He had made inroads into the ascendant Ship Kurth, after all.
Dahlia moved off with Drizzt and Entreri, but the drow blocked her. “We have two mounts, and must ride with all speed to beat any armada Luskan might launch at Port Llast. And I need you here.”
“I will ride with you, hardly slowing mighty Andahar,” she argued.
But Drizzt shook his head and would not be swayed. “I would have all of Luskan agreeing to leave us in peace, including Ship Rethnor,” he said bluntly, emphasizing those last three words to remind Dahlia that she had more than a little history, and not all of it favorable, with the powers of Luskan.
Dahlia narrowed her eyes, her face a mask of contempt and a warning to Drizzt that this, and his other inattentiveness of late, was not strengthening their relationship.
Surprisingly to Drizzt, that didn’t bother him profoundly. Indeed, hardly at all.
No matter how hard he tried, Beniago couldn’t look quite as uncomfortable as grizzled old Advisor Klutarch, shifting from foot to foot. They were, after all, in a cellar in Luskan surrounded by a handful of drow mercenaries.
“Thus we return,” Kimmuriel said. “We have renewed interest in the area, to the benefit of Ship Kurth and the others.”
“And ye’ve met with the others, then?” Klutarch asked.
“Need I?” Kimmuriel replied.
Klutarch looked surprised, but Beniago, of course, knew the truth of it.
“Well, they’re—” Klutarch started.
“Irrelevant,” Beniago finished for him. “Our good friend Kimmuriel here has just informed us that Bregan D’aerthe’s return to Luskan will signal the ascent of Ship Kurth above the others. The other high captains will agree, or their successors will.”
It took a moment for Klutarch to digest that, judging by his expression, but when he caught on to the implications behind the confident statement, his face brightened, albeit briefly.
Briefly, for clearly implied in Beniago’s words loomed a similar threat against House Kurth.
“We should go to High Captain Kurth,” Klutarch said.
“You go,” Kimmuriel answered, and he turned to stare at Beniago, who cleared his throat and waved Klutarch away.
“There is more, then?” Beniago asked when he was alone with the dark elves.
“You grow comfortable in your light skin, I see,” Kimmuriel replied.
With a chuckle, Beniago reached up and pulled off his earring, dispelling the illusion, and he stood before Kimmuriel in his true drow form.
“Kurth will agree,” Kimmuriel stated more than asked.
“He is stubborn and headstrong, but ultimately pragmatic,” Beniago answered anyway.
“If he doesn’t, are you ready to assume the mantle of high captain?”
Beniago wasn’t thrilled at that prospect, but said, “As you command, of course.”
“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Then there is more,” Beniago reasoned
“Your cousin, Tiago Baenre, has settled in with the Xorlarrins in the ruins of Gauntlgrym,” Kimmuriel explained. “Their expedition appears to be going along splendidly.”
“Thus, Bregan D’aerthe’s renewed interest in the region.”
“Of course, but there is a potential problem. Your cousin Tiago has taken an interest with a rogue from Menzoberranzan known to be wandering the region.”
Beniago sighed, understanding the implications all too well. “Drizzt Do’Urden will kill him, and Quenthel will go to war over it.”
“And war, in this case, is not good for business,” said Kimmuriel.
“What would you have me do?”
“Get Drizzt out of the way.”
Beniago looked at his leader with incredulity, and not a small amount of terror. Drizzt would prove formidable enough by himself, of course, as Beniago knew from personal experience, and even more so given the characters with whom he had surrounded himself, and even if Beniago—Beniago Baenre—could somehow find a way to dispatch the rogue, Jarlaxle had made it quite clear to all of them that such an event would trigger harsh retribution. No drow, particularly no drow of Bregan D’aerthe, cared to cross Jarlaxle.
“Not to kill him, you fool,” Kimmuriel remarked, and Beniago breathed a sigh of relief.
“Be clever,” Kimmuriel explained. “Find a way to keep Drizzt and Tiago apart, for the foreseeable future at least.”
“You could go to Tiago.”
“We have,” said Kimmuriel. “Jarlaxle himself spoke with him.”
“And he is as stubborn, prideful, and headstrong as ever,” Beniago presumed. Kimmuriel didn’t bother responding, so Beniago asked, “Where is Drizzt?”
“In Port Llast.”
That perked up Beniago, for Port Llast was becoming the focus of the discussion about Luskan over the last few days. The situation had just become more complicated, he feared, but when he got past that initial reaction, he saw as well a glimmer of hope.
He was a lieutenant of Bregan D’aerthe, he reminded himself, and though with many peers, he was outranked only by Kimmuriel, Jarlaxle, and the independent Valas Hune in the organization’s hierarchy. Luskan was his post, and Luskan was about to become very, very important to the organization once more.
This was Beniago’s chance to elevate himself above the many other lieutenants. He wasn’t about to let his miserable cousin Tiago, whose father had betrayed Beniago and had him driven from the Baenre ranks to the waiting arms of Bregan D’aerthe in the first place, spoil it.
“Make Kurth agree,” Beniago bade Kimmuriel. “I can better serve our interests from my current position. Instruct Kurth to grant me leeway in negotiating the disposition of Port Llast.”
“You’re already plotting your course,” Kimmuriel said, and Beniago bowed at the compliment from this most intelligent and pragmatic drow.
“Problem?” Artemis Entreri asked Drizzt that night, the pair already a third of the way to Luskan despite their late start.
Drizzt rolled the figurine of the black panther over in his hands. “I don’t know.”
“You haven’t been calling her lately.”
“I haven’t seen the need.”
Entreri tapped him on the shoulder and forced him to look up, straight into the assassin’s doubting expression. “We’ve been in a dozen fights since you felled the sea devil on the docks.”
“I was often behind the wall, using a bow,” Drizzt replied.
“And often not.”
Drizzt sighed and nodded, unable to escape the accusation.
“The cat looks haggard,” Entreri said before he could. “Her skin hangs low, as if with exhaustion.”
“You’ve noticed.”
Entreri shrugged. “Call her.”
Drizzt looked back at the figurine and thought it over for a short while, then softly called out for Guenhwyvar. A few moments later, the gray mist arose and formed into the panther, who stood right before the seated drow.
“She pants,” Entreri observed.
Drizzt put a hand out to stroke the cat, and to feel the slackness of her skin, as if her muscles beneath had grown old. He had seen her like this before, but usually after she had spent many hours by his side, battling trolls or the like.
“You see it?” he asked.
“Do such magical creatures age?”
Drizzt had no answer. “Ever before when Guenhwyvar has been so exhausted, a day in her Astral home would rejuvenate her. I fear that the fight with Herzgo Alegni, when she was lost to me, has harmed her.”
“Or maybe she’s not properly returning to her Astral home,” Entreri offered.
Drizzt snapped his head around to regard the assassin.
“Still, she looks a bit better than she did when last she was at your side, so perhaps it will pass.”
Drizzt wasn’t sure of that, but as he had no need of Guenhwyvar at that time, he gave her a hug and quickly dismissed her. Remembering Entreri was watching, he felt a bit embarrassed, but to his great surprise the man offered no judgment—no negative one, at least. Drizzt filed that in the back of his mind and thought again of shadow gates and his suspicions of where Guenhwyvar had been lost to him. He wondered if he might soon be visiting the Shadowfell after all.
“Do you think Port Llast will thrive once more?” Drizzt asked a short while later.
“Do you think I care?”
Drizzt laughed and resisted the urge to blurt out “Yes!” He would allow Entreri his perpetual disaffection, for whatever purpose that might serve the man.
“So when we retrieve your dagger, you will sail out of Luskan and give no further thought to me, or Port Llast.”
“I give no thought to you now.”
Drizzt laughed again and let it go, fully confident that Artemis Entreri would be riding beside him on the return journey to Port Llast.
If they got that far, he reminded himself when he considered the task before him. He knew where Entreri’s dagger was, so he believed, but he wasn’t about to kill the only man who might broker the deal he needed for the sake of Port Llast in order to retrieve that dire blade!