R Salvatore - Neverwinter

“He’s not our enemy in this,” the drow reassured her.

“How do you know? He’s a long-lost friend, then?”

Drizzt almost fell over at the sheer irony of that statement, given his turbulent past with Artemis Entreri, a man he’d battled, had hunted, and who had hunted him, both with the intent of killing the other.

But there were other times, Drizzt recalled whenever he came to question the assassin’s motives. Trapped beneath Mithral Hall before King Bruenor had reclaimed and civilized the place, Drizzt and Entreri had fought side-by-side for their common good. Trapped in Menzoberranzan, slaves to the drow, Drizzt, Entreri, and Catti-brie had likewise fought together for their common good.

Artemis Entreri was a violent man, hardly a friend to Drizzt Do’Urden, but he also was, above all else, a pragmatic survivor. It was in Entreri’s interest to see Sylora Salm fall. Drizzt believed that, so he didn’t doubt Entreri’s loyalty to him and Dahlia in this matter. And hadn’t Entreri proven that when he’d surprised Drizzt in the first moments of their meeting, when he’d lunged forward, bringing his knife to a hair’s breadth from Drizzt’s throat? If Artemis Entreri had meant to kill Drizzt, Drizzt would have died then and there.

But still, despite that moment and despite his instincts even before the further evidence of alliance, the thought had occurred to Drizzt more than once in the last day that he was fooling himself, that his judgment was clouded because Entreri represented the last shred of that distant past of which Drizzt didn’t want to let go. The Companions of the Hall were gone, Thibbledorf Pwent was gone, Jarlaxle was gone, and only Drizzt remained-only Drizzt and Artemis Entreri.

That notion came to him again in that moment, on the knoll overlooking the impressive fortress of Sylora Salm, and again, as with every time previous, Drizzt allowed the reasoning to play through its logic in his thoughts. But even before he came to the same conclusion as the previous times, Drizzt knew in his gut that it was so. He glanced over at the assassin, lying low again and studying the fortress and the many Ashmadai zealots moving around inside of it.

Drizzt knew he would be glad to have Artemis Entreri fighting beside him when he, too, went over that wall.

“When the sun sets,” Drizzt promised Dahlia, and a quick glance to the west told them that was nearly upon them. “We would do well to determine where Sylora will be found before all daylight has flown. The tower, I would guess.”

“The tower,” Dahlia answered without hesitation. “Sylora is vain above pragmatic, and confident above cautious. She wouldn’t allow anyone to gain a seat above her, whatever the risk of identifying herself.”

“Unless she was trying to ensure that she could not easily be found,” Drizzt replied. “She’s surrounded by enemies. Wouldn’t she be wise to-”

“If Sylora was the slightest bit afraid of the Netherese, or any others, she wouldn’t have built this… place,” Dahlia interrupted, shaking her head.

“Vanity above prudence?” the drow asked.

Dahlia nodded. “She’s in that tower.”

They lay in wait while the shadows lengthened around them, the light quickly fading.

“The darkness won’t protect us from those guards,” Entreri said some time later, the night growing thick. The assassin slid over to join the other two and pointed down at the wall. Drizzt and Dahlia could just make out the forms, a group of sentries. In the dim light, Drizzt at first thought them goblins, or kobolds, perhaps. But as he watched them more closely, he realized they didn’t move in the least. They just stood there, perfectly still, not swaying, not moving their arms, nothing.

“The ashen zombies,” Drizzt said.

“Darkness won’t slow them,” said Entreri.

“They sense life, and need no daylight to see us,” Dahlia agreed.

“Where do we want to breach the wall to find the best route to the tower?” Drizzt asked of Entreri, who had been sliding all around, after all, studying the black-walled fortress from many different angles.

“Very near to where that bunch is gathered,” Entreri replied.

Drizzt glanced down the other side of the ridge, then brought forth his onyx figurine and summoned Guenhwyvar to his side. He whispered to the panther, and Guenhwyvar sprang away. Drizzt drew his blades and motioned for Dahlia and Entreri to follow him back behind the ridge.

There, the drow climbed a skeletal tree, high enough to see the wall, and the panther, as Guenhwyvar approached the cluster of zombies. The cat growled and struck, tearing the head from one, then darted back up the hill with the others in pursuit. There followed a bit of commotion atop the wall, as living guards tried to see what was happening.

As Drizzt had instructed, Guenhwyvar circled back around to ensure that she would be clearly seen by the guards. She growled at them before running up the knoll and over the ridge, past Drizzt as he dropped down from the tree, past Entreri and Dahlia.

The scrambling zombies came in pursuit, and right into three waiting warriors, four blades, and a pair of spinning flails.

Only heartbeats later, the trio lay at the ridge-top again, looking down at the wall, which had gone quiet once more, the Ashmadai resuming their patrol routes. Again Drizzt whispered his instructions to the panther.

“It’s a dozen feet, perhaps,” Entreri said. “No more.”

Drizzt produced a fine elven cord from his pack and tossed one end to Entreri. “I’ll brace,” he explained.

Sylora Salm opened her eyes and was almost surprised to find herself back in her chamber in the tower. She’d been watching the fight in the forest through the eyes of one of her zombie minions-a creature that had met a sudden and shocking end at the decapitating swing of a scimitar. She started to shake her head, but nodded instead, conceding a bit of respect for what she’d witnessed.

“They’re coming,” she explained to Jestry and Valindra, who were in the room waiting for her to return. “They’re in the forest nearby, already fighting our minions.”

“All three?” Jestry asked.

“It’s rather amazing,” Sylora admitted, “and somewhat amusing.” Her expression revealed her honest surprise. “Truly, I believe Dahlia the least of these three warriors, and by no small margin.”

Valindra seemed as if she didn’t know what to make of that, but Jestry nodded, though he seemed a bit removed from appreciating the weight of that statement.

Yes, they wouldn’t truly understand, Sylora reminded herself. Jestry had little personal knowledge of Dahlia’s considerable martial prowess, and while Valindra had witnessed Dahlia fighting in Gauntlgrym, that was in the midst of a larger, frenetic battle, and at a time when the lich was hardly in her right mind.

“True, they’re formidable,” Jestry replied at length. “We know the reputation of Barrabus the Gray, of course, though few thought him the equal of Dahlia from what I’ve heard.”

“I would disagree,” said Sylora. “She’s quite his equal. But, yes, they are quite formidable. More than I expected.”

“Then why would you let them get so close?” Jestry asked.

Sylora shot him a glare.

“It’s a valid question,” Valindra put in, and Sylora turned her glower her way.

“We’re surrounded by warriors,” Sylora said, “but understand that I hope Dahlia and her two companions get much closer.” She held up the wand as she spoke. “You have brought a group of zombies close by, for my… use?” she asked Jestry.

“More than a dozen,” he replied. “Just to the side of the hill, as you instructed.”

“Yes, I can feel them,” said Sylora, and she brought the wand up to tap it against the side of her head. She whispered something the others couldn’t hear, and waved the wand.