“So I had to choose … because of your mediocrity,” Alegni went on. “But in the end, I had nothing to gain by delaying. The lich would’ve destroyed you from afar and would have remained beyond my grasp anyway.”
Alegni’s gloved hand appeared in front of Barrabus’s face, and the assassin knew better than to let that invitation pass. He took the hand and the powerful tiefling roughly hoisted him to his feet.
“So, as I explained, I saved you, and for no reason other than my generosity,” Alegni insisted, and he ended with a prompting stare at Barrabus.
“Thank you, my lord,” said Barrabus. “I’m not worthy.”
“No,” Alegni agreed. “Not unless you can assure me that your efforts in the battle, and indeed your warning to the Neverwinter settlers of the coming storm, has put you in proper standing among them.”
“They begged me to stay,” Barrabus said.
Herzgo Alegni considered that for a short while. “You can gain access to the city whenever you choose?”
“They will throw their gates open wide for me.”
Alegni nodded, taking his time as he considered the words. Finally, he started walking away. “Then perhaps you were worth the effort of my rescue,” he said without looking back, “despite your ineptitude.”
“You got your prize!” Barrabus dared yell after him.
“The lich escaped.”
“The prize was the defeat of the Thayan forces, and they are defeated,” Barrabus insisted. “The prize was my foothold into Neverwinter, and they are ready to celebrate me as their first citizen!”
Herzgo Alegni stopped walking away and a hush fell over the gathering, with many Shadovar actually falling back a few short steps. Slowly the Netherese lord turned around to face the impudent Barrabus.
“So I have,” he said with a wry grin. “So I have.”
Herzgo Alegni turned away and walked off, leaving the sputtering Barrabus alone in the cul-de-sac of the encampment. All of the other Shadovar dispersed, many of them looking at Barrabus and shaking their heads, as if to scold him for his ridiculous pride.
And truly Barrabus the Gray felt ridiculous at that moment. Ridiculous and helpless. Trapped as he’d never been trapped before, not even when he’d lived among the city of drow elves in the Underdark enclave of Menzoberranzan.
He took a deep breath and stood straight, denying the remnants of the wracking vibrations of pure agony.
He took some comfort in imagining the expression Herzgo Alegni might wear when he learned of the Walk of Barrabus. Alegni had long coveted that crafted bridge as his own tribute.
Barrabus the Gray would take his small victories where he could find them.
Jestry stumbled down the steps of Arunika’s front porch and staggered off after Sylora Salm. It took him a long while to compose himself enough to actually catch up to the sorceress, and when he did, she stopped short and turned a scrutinizing eye upon him.
“I don’t know what to say,” Jestry remarked.
“Gratitude?” Sylora prompted, and Jestry looked back through the trees to the small cottage, and rubbed his face.
“Yes,” he managed to whisper after a few heartbeats, and he turned to stare back at Sylora, this woman he so adored. “Surprise?”
“Why?”
He looked back to the cottage, holding up his hands to indicate to Sylora that the answer should be obvious. Among Jestry’s male peers—even some of the female zealots—discussions of such escapades were fairly common, the typical bonding and bragging of strong young warriors living on the edge of disaster. But how could Jestry even begin to brag about this night? Who would believe him?
He looked back at Sylora and couldn’t help himself. “I love you.”
She hit him so hard that his weakened legs wouldn’t support him and he tumbled sidelong to the ground.
“Why?” he cried, looking up at her. “What?”
“Do you think Asmodeus would approve of such idiocy? Love? There is no love. There is only lust.”
“But—”
“You disappoint me,” Sylora interrupted and started away, and Jestry pulled himself to his feet and scrambled after her. Again she stopped just as he neared, turning an even sharper stare over him.
“That is the truth we know!” Sylora said, and she poked her finger hard against his chest. “And in that truth, we are stronger. There is no love. Our enemies are weak because they delve into such nonsense. There is no love, only lust. There is no warmth, only heat. There is no friendship, only alliance. There is no community, only self. These are the tenets of your existence. These are the truths to which you gave yourself. Would you deny all of that because your loins itch?”
As she finished, she reached down and grabbed Jestry’s crotch hard and twisted. The man grimaced but held his ground.
“You desire me,” Sylora whispered, moving very close to the man’s face. She held her grip as she did, and twisted a bit more.
“You desire me,” she said again, more intently, and Jestry realized that there was a question in her tone. He nodded.
“You must have me,” she said. “You seek to possess me.”
Again he nodded.
“What I just gave to you with Arunika will only sate you temporarily,” she whispered. “And then you will need me again, even more, and you will beg me to show you even greater pleasure.”
Jestry was breathing too hard to respond.
Sylora let him go and shoved him back a step.