Hosttower of the Arcane. Suddenly, and for the first time, Valindra remembered the disembodied spirit of Arklem Greeth after the Spellplague, and recalled the sister skull gem, Greeth’s multi-dimensional and magically multi- faceted phylactery. Greeth’s essence remained within that gem, trapped and helpless, but in there nonetheless. Valindra had only begun to understand the true powers of those wondrous gems, and in this one moment of clarity, she considered Dor’crae, who was grounded to this plane of existence through the power of her own skull gem.
She could trap Dor’crae fully with the power of her gem, as Greeth was trapped by his own phylactery. She’d understood that from the first time she’d encountered the disembodied vampire. But if that were true, might she not, therefore, find a way to loosen the other skull gem’s hold on her beloved Arklem Greeth? Free him to possess the corporeal form of another so that he wouldn’t be lost to her any longer?
Valindra’s lies to Szass Tam regarding her desires with the pit fiend had been grounded in some measure of truth, after all. She grinned then at the possibility of putting her beloved Arklem Greeth into such a magnificent corporeal form.
But where was that other gem? It had been in the room, her room, in ruined Illusk beneath Luskan! Yes, she remembered that.
Where had it gone?
A name flashed in her thoughts, that of a particularly resourceful and self-serving dark elf…
All of that flashed through Valindra’s mind in a matter of a living creature’s heartbeat, a brief moment in which all the reasoning she should have been doing for months and years now had coalesced suddenly to create a great stream of possibility.
The lich stared out at the aboleth with awe, reverence, and hope. For even as the ambassador left her, then, it left behind the unspoken promise that it could indeed help her through her plight.
The meeting lasted only a few moments longer, with the servitor assuring Sylora Salm that this was the first of what might be a fruitful alliance. That strange slimy man also took a moment to assure Brother Anthus that the road for him would be long and glorious, and he ended with a smile and knowing nod at Valindra, who had been promised, perhaps, the most of all.
When they left the aboleth’s chamber, Sylora was smiling indeed. “The people of Neverwinter will pay dearly for their partnership with the Netherese,” she said.
“Because you have struck an alliance with…” Valindra paused and tried to figure out how she might speak the aboleth’s name, but quickly gave up on that idea and simply referred to their host as “the Sovereignty ambassador.”
“Informal, but to our mutual gain,” Sylora replied.
“Truly? Then what did you offer in return?”
“To allow the Sovereignty to exist here without our interference,” Sylora replied, and she looked at Valindra curiously.
“They don’t care about our designs here,” Sylora explained. “Unlike the Netherese, our ambitions for dominance do not include dominance over the living. The Sovereignty understands that we can coexist without ever crossing paths, they in the land of the living, us in the realm of the dead. Our friend, Brother Anthus, did well in preparing them for our visit.”
The young monk bowed stiffly and uncomfortably, as was his wont.
“An alliance of convenience,” said Valindra. “My favorite kind.”
“You will meet with the ambassador again. He… it, told me as much,” Anthus remarked.
Valindra nodded and smiled, her eyes flickering with hope.
“And you concur with the… speaker?” Sylora asked.
“He’s the ambassador’s servitor,” Brother Anthus explained. “Anything he says comes straight from the aboleth.”
“He assured me that the aboleth would help me elevate Jestry to become my champion,” Sylora reminded them.
“Then rest assured that it will be a promise fulfilled,” Brother Anthus replied without the slightest hesitation.
Valindra started cackling then with laughter. “It shall be so,” she said in her own voice, between giggles, and she stared long and hard at Anthus.
“Indeed, you are quite the proponent of our new friend,” Sylora remarked.
“You don’t have a spy in your midst,” Brother Anthus assured them. “There would be no point, since the Sovereignty can scour our very thoughts. Why waste time and effort and risk discovery with such subterfuge when the ambassador can go straight to the source… at will?”
“Who is that?” Barrabus the Gray asked Herzgo Alegni when he caught up to the tiefling outside Alegni’s tent. Not far away, the twisted newcomer lurked around a copse of trees, fiddling his fingers in apparent spellcasting practice.
“No one of any concern to you,” Alegni answered, his voice rough-edged and clearly filled with aggravation.
“Good. I detest wizards.”
“Warlock,” Alegni corrected.
“Even worse,” said Barrabus, taking no pains to hide the utter contempt in his voice.
He noted that his response brought a strange look to Herzgo Alegni’s face, as if the tiefling was suddenly pondering something in a different light.
“No,” Alegni said, and his smile unsettled Barrabus. “Perhaps I spoke too hastily.”
“What does that mean?”
Alegni ignored him and walked past him. “Effron!” he called out to the warlock.
The young tiefling looked over, then began shambling awkwardly his way.
Barrabus couldn’t hide his disgust at the infirm being. “Shall I kill him and end his misery?” he asked, in jest of course, but the angry glare from Alegni, a flash of pure outrage beyond anything Barrabus had ever seen from the tiefling-and he’d seen, and evoked, more than his share of Alegni’s unrelenting anger!-told him he’d hit a peculiar nerve with his off-hand comment.
“Effron,” Alegni said when the warlock approached, “this is Barrabus, your new partner.”
“You can’t be serious,” Barrabus said.
“Oh, but I am.”
“He’s a child.”
“You’re an old human,” Effron countered.
“One to learn from the other, then,” said Alegni, clearly pleased with himself. “I expect that your respective skills will complement each other.” He turned to Barrabus. “Perhaps you will gain an appreciation of magic.”
“Only if it twists over itself and destroys its caster,” Barrabus muttered.
“And you,” Alegni continued, addressing Effron, “will perhaps come to understand the true power of the sword, the nobility and courage of he who confronts his enemies in mortal melee.”
“I understand the value of fodder,” Effron replied, turning a narrow-eyed stare at Barrabus, and only then did Barrabus notice the young tiefling’s weird eyes: one red, one blue.
“And woe to either of you if the other is killed,” Alegni finished. “Now be gone, the two of you. Find your place together and do not disappoint me.”
He turned on his heel and headed back to his tent. Barrabus glared at him, emanating hate with every step. When Alegni reached the tent flap, Barrabus glanced over at his new partner, and realized that this warlock, Effron, watched Alegni with equal consternation.
Perhaps they had a bit of common ground after all, Barrabus thought.
Sylora continued to stare at the surprising Brother Anthus for just a few moments longer then finally relaxed in acceptance at the undeniable truth of the young monk’s reasoning. Why would the Sovereignty need any spies? Sylora had witnessed telepathy often in her time beside Szass Tam, of course, and, since she often dealt with the undead, including powerful liches and vampires, she knew the dangers and powers of possession as well. But she’d never seen such a display of psionic strength to equal that single example offered by the aboleth ambassador and its servitor. The aboleth could do more than impart its thoughts to her through its slave, and relay back her responses with perfect translation.
