“Because we do not wish to dissuade House Xorlarrin of its ambitions,” he answered when the Xorlarrins did not. “Matron Mother Quenthel is willing to grant to you this place and your dreams, as we have made clear by our actions, and even more so by our inactions. With the advent of the Netheril Empire, the world has become too dangerous a place for the Houses of Menzoberranzan to so continue their incessant in-fighting, and House Xorlarrin is among the worst of those offenders, even you must admit.”
Despite her stoic posturing, Berellip swallowed hard at that obvious truism.
“And so we’ll allow you to migrate to the outskirts of Menzoberranzan’s domain and influence.”
“As long as our city strengthens Menzoberranzan,” Ravel stated.
“Of course. Were you to rival us instead of working in accordance with our needs, we would utterly destroy you,” Tiago said matter-of-factly, and he had said the same before in other words, of course. He had never made a secret of it to either of these two.
“But you think we should call for more drow to bolster our ranks now,” Berellip remarked, as if seeing the contradiction.
“I never said drow,” Tiago corrected. “The Clawrift could spare a few hundred kobolds, a thousand even. They are clever little wretches and surprisingly adept at mining and working metal. Such a gift from Menzoberranzan would help you greatly here and would hardly diminish Menzoberranzan, of course, since the rats breed like… well, rats, and they would quickly replenish their ranks in the corridors of the Clawrift. And driders! Indeed, you should ask for more driders, for I have no doubt that many in Menzoberranzan would be rid of the whole lot of them were we able! Such wretched things.
“Bring them in to your side, I say, and grant them some outer sections to secure and call as their own home.”
“Driders are driders for a reason,” Berellip dryly reminded.
“The Spider Queen would not be pleased?” Tiago asked sarcastically. “Better to put them into service for her, would you not agree?”
“That’s not the point,” Berellip argued.
“It’s entirely the point,” Tiago said, and he dismissed all semblance of being reasonable. “That is the only point… to any of this! You’re here, in these halls, to serve the Spider Queen. You’ll be allowed to construct a sister city to Menzoberranzan, if you can succeed, for no purpose other than to serve the Spider Queen. Matron Mother Quenthel allows you this because she serves the Spider Queen. There is no other reason, there is no other purpose. Once you truly appreciate that, Berellip Xorlarrin, you will better understand my counsel, and only if you do come to truly appreciate that, Priestess Berellip, will you and your family have a chance of surviving this daring ‘escape’ from Menzoberranzan. I should not have to school a priestess of Lolth in these obvious truths. You disappoint me!”
With that, Tiago took his abrupt leave, moving to join Gol’fanin, who had started the long task of creating the coveted blades.
Herzgo Alegni stubbornly pulled himself out of the bed and stood to his full, imposing height. The many bandages he wore fought against him as he straightened, but the proud tiefling just pressed through their binding, obviously determined to show no weakness before the withered old warlock. Still, he stumbled a bit, disoriented by the fact that he no longer had a working right eye.
“When will you be ready to return to the land of light?” Draygo Quick asked him curtly, and without even a casual hint that he cared about Alegni’s health in the least-which of course, he did not.
“When I am ordered to do so,” Alegni replied.
“Even this moment?”
“I will leave at once, if you so desire.”
Draygo Quick couldn’t suppress his smile. Alegni was a stubborn one. He could barely stand, his legs wobbly, his shoulders shaking from the strain as he tried to keep them squared.
“You know that you must return, of course.”
Alegni looked at him curiously.
“You left something behind.”
Still the tiefling seemed confused.
Draygo Quick was not surprised by the reaction, doubting that Alegni remembered much of anything of the last moments of that brutal fight. When he’d come into the Shadowfell, so near to death, the great panther tearing at him and biting deep into his flesh, his every action had been reflexive and desperate, his every sound filled with the most profound timbre of agony.
Suddenly Alegni’s one uncovered eye popped open wide and he glanced all around desperately. “Claw,” he muttered.
“They have it.”
Herzgo Alegni turned back to face his master, and his shoulders slumped. This was his failure, of course, and one that was typically accompanied by the most profound and extreme punishment. Netherese lords lived and died, the saying went, but weapons were eternal.
They were supposed to be, at least.
“They live?”
“All three, yes. Indeed, they seem to be doing quite well among the grateful citizens of Neverwinter.”
The tiefling screwed up his face. “Your soldiers failed!”
“My warlord, Herzgo Alegni, failed me, so it would seem.”
Alegni stiffened at that unavoidable truth. “They were three against one,” he explained.
“Four against two,” Draygo Quick corrected. “By your prideful choice.”
“And all of the Shadovar remained at bay!” the hulking warrior insisted.
“Lord Alegni, you are not appealing when you whimper like a child,” Draygo Quick warned. “Your charges- your charges-acted as they had been ordered. You were certain that Barrabus the Gray would be brought under your control, and that your deception would put you alone with Dahlia for your long-desired victory. It would appear that you were not quite correct.”
“Three against one!” the tiefling insisted.
“Four against two,” Draygo Quick again corrected. “Would you so easily forget the drow’s panther companion? Or Effron, who battled the beast for a long while as you played out your folly on the bridge?”
Alegni’s face tightened at the mention of Effron. Alegni wanted to argue, to throw some insult or threat the twisted warlock’s way, Draygo Quick recognized, for how many times had he seen that look?
“You have no one to blame but Herzgo Alegni,” the withered old warlock insisted. “Accept your responsibility. You know what must be done.”
“I must retrieve the sword.”
Draygo Quick nodded. “Back to your rest. The priests will be along, one after the other. Accept their healing and their nourishing spells, for you will face that dangerous trio again soon.”
“I have learned from my mistakes.”
“Good, then I’ll not have to tell you to take others along with you.”
“I’ll need a new weapon…” Alegni said, or started to say, for Draygo Quick was done with him and the old warlock turned on his heel and simply walked away.
He pulled the door closed as he left Alegni’s room, and quickly lifted his finger to his pursed lips, indicating that Effron, who had been waiting outside the room, should remain quiet until they were away from the room.
“Will I accompany Lord Alegni to retrieve the sword?” Effron asked many steps later-a bit too eagerly for Draygo Quick’s liking.
He stared at the young warlock.
“I’ll go with him?” Effron asked again.
“You will go… near him,” Draygo Quick corrected. “Herzgo Alegni likely walks to his death.” He started to go on, but paused, gauging Effron’s response.
“How does that make you feel?” he asked.
Effron gave one of his twisted, awkward shrugs, trying futilely to dismiss the notion as if he didn’t care-but of course, he most certainly did.
“He’s reckless now,” Draygo Quick explained.
“Because of the sword, the urgency in retrieving it,” Effron surmised.
“Partly, but mostly because of Dahlia’s involvement. That, and the betrayal he feels at the hands of Barrabus the Gray.”