This was not going well. Evidently Barrabus had underestimated the scouting network of the Neverwinter enclave.
“I have friends in the region,” Barrabus said.
“Shadovar?” Jelvus Grinch asked.
Barrabus smiled innocently. He knew the question to be rhetorical. “My friends are enemies of the zealots who have infiltrated Neverwinter Wood. Is that not enough for you?”
Around him, the crowd stirred.
“We have reason to believe that these zealots, who facilitated the cataclysm that destroyed this fair city, are now building the most awful of necromantic facilities not far from your intended city. They’ve raised an army of the dead culled from the bodies of that cataclysm, and will send them to the”—he paused and glanced around at the rebuilding efforts—“inadequate walls you have constructed.”
“We’re not simple farmers,” one woman protested. “All here can raise a weapon and raise it well!”
That brought a cheer from all around, and Jelvus Grinch, widely considered the first citizen of Neverwinter, couldn’t help but puff out his chest a bit.
But if Barrabus was impressed, he didn’t show it.
“You will be overrun,” he stated flatly. “And even if some of you manage to escape, or somehow hold out, those who are killed will return as zombies to battle from the ranks of your enemies.”
That stole some of their bluster, to be sure.
“And you offer your services?” Jelvus Grinch said, and Barrabus nodded. “And those of the Shadovar, your kinfolk?”
“I’m no Shadovar.”
“But you’re allied—”
“For the time, perhaps. That’s none of your affair.”
“We have no love for the Empire of Netheril!”
“And they care not for you, or for your city,” Barrabus answered. “They have no designs here that concern you.”
“The Netherese were known prominently in Neverwinter before the cataclysm,” Jelvus argued. “Some have said that a Netherese noble dominated the Lord of Neverwinter in the waning days—”
“That was a long time ago.”
“And now they don’t care?” the woman in the crowd yelled.
“It’s only been ten years!” Jelvus Grinch added.
“Have you seen any Netherese within your walls?” asked Barrabus. “Have they made any advances against any of your citizens?”
“Then why are you here?” asked Jelvus. “If your allies have no designs on Neverwinter, then why do they care at all?”
“My allies battle the zealots—you know this. If the zealots overrun Neverwinter”—he turned to speak to all of the gathering—“if you are all slain that you might join the zealots’ undead army, then the struggle of the Shadovar in Neverwinter Wood becomes all the more difficult.”
“Allies of necessity, then?” Jelvus Grinch reasoned when the murmurs had died away.
Barrabus shrugged noncommittally. “If allies at all,” he said, again with little conviction. “I am here to warn you of the possibility of an assault. I offer my services as scout, and my blades in the battle should it come, nothing more, nothing less.”
“Can ye fight, then?” one man called from behind.
Barrabus’s smile was anything but innocent. It was a look he had perfected as a child in Calimport, an expression of confidence unshakable and unnerving. There was no boast, no answer, because there needed to be none.
Jelvus Grinch surely knew the truth, simply in looking at Barrabus’s face.
“I cannot condone an alliance with the Shadovar,” he said.
“But you won’t discourage it,” Barrabus reasoned from his tone. “And I am not Shadovar.”
“Your help would be … appreciated.”
Barrabus nodded and Jelvus broke up the gathering with a call for all to get to work shoring up the meager walls surrounding their rebuilding efforts.
“You really think the undead will come?” Jelvus Grinch quietly asked Barrabus as the pair walked off alone.
“Likely. The zealots attempted a second cataclysm.”
Jelvus Grinch stopped walking and sucked in his breath.
“It was foiled and the volcano put back in its place, by all accounts,” Barrabus assured him. “I doubt you have to fear another eruption.”
Jelvus Grinch looked at him skeptically.
“If I thought differently, would I be here?” Barrabus said, and when that didn’t seem to relax Jelvus, Barrabus the Gray added, “I was here for the first explosion, you know.”
“When Neverwinter was destroyed?” Jelvus Grinch balked. “There were no survivors.”
“There were a few,” Barrabus replied. “The lucky, the quick, and the clever—or, more likely, those who were all three.”
“You were here? When the ash fell and the lava—”
“When the gray flow rampaged through Neverwinter and to the sea, taking almost everything with it. I was there.” He pointed to the Winged Wyvern Bridge. “I watched the river run with molten stone and ash, and bodies. So many bodies.”
“I shouldn’t believe you,” Jelvus Grinch said. “But I find I do.”
“I have better things to do than lie to the likes of you over such an unimportant piece of trivia.”
Jelvus nodded and bowed.
“There’s one more thing,” Barrabus said. “There’s an elf about, a drow of some renown. His name is Drizzt—”
“Do’Urden,” Jelvus finished.
“You know of him,” said Barrabus. “You know him personally?”
“He escorted a caravan here some months ago,” Jelvus answered. “He and a dwarf—Bonnego Battleaxe of the Adbar Battleaxes. Would that he had stayed in these dark times! And we asked, do not doubt. To have the likes of Drizzt Do’Urden beside us now would serve us greatly should the attack you expect come to pass.”
Barrabus nodded and sighed more deeply than he should have. So, the vision he had seen in Sylora’s scrying pool had been accurate, and Drizzt Do’Urden was alive and well and in the North.
“What is it?” Jelvus Grinch asked, drawing him from his thoughts. “Do you know of Drizzt?”
“I do. A long time ago …” His voice trailed off. “I would ask you, as a favor, as a sign of our budding alliance, that you would inform me if Drizzt is seen anywhere near Neverwinter.”
Now Jelvus Grinch looked at him suspiciously, so Barrabus added, “I do loathe most drow elves, and would hate to kill him by mistake.”
That seemed to satisfy the man. Barrabus gave a quick salute and went out from Neverwinter’s gate to see what he could learn.