R.A Salvatore - Gauntlgrym

Appearance was important, the warrior knew, and Herzgo Alegni had never been one to shy from a mirror, in any case. He was the leader-intimidation worked in his favor, particularly when he planned to rendezvous with Barrabus the Gray. That one, Alegni did not trust. That one, above all others in his charge, he knew would one day try to kill him, and with good reason.

And Barrabus was quite accomplished at the art of murder.

The hard heels of his high black leather boots clicking loudly on the cobblestones, Herzgo Alegni strode from his house full of purpose and full of power that morning. He didn’t even attempt to hide his obvious Netherese affiliation. There was no need to do so in Neverwinter any longer, for Alegni’s expedition had been so successful already that none would dare move against the shades.

The Lucky Drake was the newest building in Neverwinter, set up high on a hill overlooking the city and the thundering surf of the Sword Coast. Surveying the city from the porch of the inn, Alegni was reminded yet again of the vast expansion of Neverwinter in the past few decades, since the fall of Luskan to the pirate captains and the floundering of Port Llast. How many lived within the walls of Neverwinter, and just outside the city proper? Thirty thousand, perhaps?

Despite their numbers, they were an unorganized bunch to be sure, with a feeble militia and a lord more concerned with his evenfeast than with protecting his city. For so long, Lord Hugo Babris had been secure in his position. With wild Luskan to the north, her rival pirates uniformly glad for the expanding buffer city, and mighty Waterdeep to the south, Neverwinter had enjoyed great security of late. No ships bent on attack would dodge the armada of Waterdeep, only to be raided by the many privateers running free along the coast north of that greatest of cities.

All of that had left Neverwinter ill-prepared for the arrival of the Netherese-but then again, could anyone truly be prepared for the fall of darkness?-a weakness Herzgo Alegni had been quick to exploit. And since Neverwinter had not been the target of his mission, that being the forest to the southeast, the tiefling had allowed Hugo Babris the illusion that he was still in control of his city.

Alegni’s gaze drifted down to the wharf, the precinct that had changed the least in the last tumultuous decades. The Sunken Flagon was there-Barrabus had no doubt spent the night at that very inn. Alegni couldn’t help but smile at long-ago memories of that place, back before the Spellplague, when he was a young warrior come to find his treasure and his legacy like so many other confident adventurers. Back then, tieflings had to lurk in the shadows, to hide their proud lineage and heritage. How fortunate, Alegni thought, for in those very shadows he had found something more, something greater, something darker.

The warlord shook himself from his wistful contemplation and moved his gaze to the Neverwinter River and the three ornate bridges crossing it. All were beautiful-the tradesmen of Neverwinter took great pride in their work-but one in particular, built with ornamental wings spread wide to either side, caught and held Alegni’s attention. Truly, of the three bridges connecting the halves of the city, north and south, it was the most impressive, for it was carved into the likeness of a wyvern taking wing, great and graceful. For many decades, the bridge had held strong and solid, its substructure supported by a metal grid forged by dwarves and continually reinforced. From a distance, it was beautiful to behold, and that feeling only grew on closer inspection. The bridge had been crafted to perfection in every facet-except for its name: the Winged Wyvern Bridge.

The fools had allowed the simple physical depiction, and not the artistry, to give the magnificent structure its mundane name.

Alegni started down the cobblestone road, determined to arrive on that bridge, the appointed rendezvous, before Barrabus. He hadn’t seen his assassin in months, after all, and wanted that first image he presented to be one that reminded Barrabus the Gray of why he hadn’t dared to move against the great Alegni.

He arrived at the bridge in short order, climbing the easy slope along the wyvern’s “spine” and taking pleasure in the way the mostly human folk of Neverwinter parted before him, scurrying to get far out of his way, every eye turning warily to his magnificent red-bladed sword, hung in a loop on his hip. He walked out to the bridge’s mid point, its high point, just behind the wing joints, and put his hands on the western stone railing, staring out to the other two bridges, the Dolphin and the Sleeping Dragon, while silently noting, with considerable enjoyment, how traffic on the Winged Wyvern had slowed.

It wasn’t just one of the many Netherese shades skulking about Neverwinter who had come out onto the bridge after all, but Herzgo Alegni himself.

Yes, he was quite pleased as he stood there, surveying the river and the coast, noting the disrepair showing on the lesser bridges, right up until the moment he heard the quiet voice behind him-somehow behind him, somehow unnoticed behind him. “You wished to see me?”

Alegni resisted the urge to draw his weapon and whirl on the man. Instead, he continued to stare straight ahead and answered, “You’re late.”

“Memnon is far to the south,” Barrabus the Gray replied. “Would you have me blow in the sails to speed the ship?”

“And if I said yes?”

“Then I would remind you that such a task is more fitting for those who fancy themselves royalty.”

The clever riposte had Alegni turning to regard the small man, and the warlord’s eyes widened at the sight. Dressed in black leather and cloth as always, with little ornamentation other than his diamond-shaped metal belt buckle that conveniently opened into a most vicious dagger, and a slight tilt to his stance, as if all the world bored him, Barrabus surely appeared as the assassin Herzgo had grown to know so well. But the man’s black hair had grown long and unkempt, and he wore a beard, of all things.

“Your discipline falters?” the tiefling asked. “After all these years?”

“What do you want?”

The warlord paused and leaned back, scrutinizing the killer more thoroughly. “Ah, Barrabus… You grow sloppy, slovenly, in the hope that your skills will fail and someone will kill you and release you from your torment.”

“If that were the case, I would kill you first.”

Herzgo Alegni laughed, but instinctively put a hand on his devastating sword. “But you cannot, can you?” he taunted. “As you cannot allow your considerable skills to lapse, as you have with your appearance. It is simply not in your character. Nay, perfection is your defense. You fool no one, Barrabus the Gray. Your slovenly appearance is naught but a ruse.”

The small man shifted from one foot to the other, the only confirmation-and more than he would ever typically offer-that Alegni’s words had struck close to the man’s heart.

“You summoned me from Memnon, where I was not idle,” Barrabus said. “What do you want?”

Alegni wore a clever little smirk as he turned to watch the flow of the Neverwinter River once more, draining into the great sea just north of the bustling docks. “This is a fine structure, both beautiful and functional, don’t you think?” he asked, not turning to regard the killer at all.

“It gets me across the river.”

“Beyond its utility,” the tiefling retorted.

Barrabus didn’t bother to answer.

“The beauty,” Alegni explained. “No simple abutments or pillars! Nay! Every one covered in small designs destined to complete the whole of the image. Yes, the true signature of the craftsmen. I do so love when craft becomes art. Do you not agree?”