presumed.
“My associates’ interests in Luskan are minor in these times,” Jarlaxle clarified. “Their network is vast, and this but a minor endeavor.”
“Their network?”
“Our network, when it serves me,” Jarlaxle replied.
“And my proposition?”
The drow pulled off his great hat and swept a low bow before her. “Jarlaxle, at your service, dear lady,” he said.
“Jarlaxle and Athrogate,” Dahlia corrected. “I need him more than I need you.”
Jarlaxle straightened and met her stern gaze with a wicked little grin. “I doubt that.”
“Don’t,” she said, and she walked out of the alley.
Carefully scrutinizing her every alluring movement as she walked away, Jarlaxle’s grin only widened.
“The power in the west mounts,” Sylora said to Szass Tam. “The tremors grow stronger. There is great danger and great potential to be found there.”
“You have spoken with our agent?”
Sylora propped the mirror she carried up before her and closed her eyes, bringing forth its scrying magic once more. The shiny glass dulled, as if with a mist within and only a small circle in the middle of the looking glass cleared. It no longer showed the reflection of the Dread Ring, but a clear image of a single object, a skull-shaped crystal.
“There is much more to the skull gem than to serve as a phylactery for a lich,” Sylora explained. “It serves me as conduit to our agent, and when the time comes, as a guide on my journey.”
“You wish to leave at once.”
“It would have been better had I gone instead of Dahlia,” the Thayan sorceress replied.
“You question me?”
“Neverwinter is thick with Netherese.”
“A cult of the upstart Asmodeus is there, at my bidding, to … trouble them.”
“But not to defeat them. There is a Dread Ring to be created, to be forged from the secrets that Dahlia seeks to uncover, a power of uncontrollable catastrophe, and exquisite beauty.”
“More credit to Dahlia, then,” Szass Tam reminded. “It was she who identified the signs of approaching peril, and sought to exploit them.”
“They are beyond her,” Sylora insisted. She could hardly see Szass Tam through the haze of ash in the Dread Ring—and that was a good thing, given the archlich’s horrid features—but it seemed to her as though his posture showed indiflerence to her excitement.
“Dahlia is not alone,” Szass Tam assured her. “She thinks she is, and that is to our benefit. It is my hope that she will need us not at all to accomplish what she has set out to do. But you will watch her, and you will know, and we will … support her as we deem necessary.”
“Am I to travel to Neverwinter Wood, as we discussed?” Sylora asked, not willing to push any further. She knew when Szass Tam had heard enough, and knew, too, that arguing with him was a sure way to be invited into his dark realm—as a slave.
“Not yet,” Szass Tam instructed. “The cult—the Ashmadai—will keep our Netherese friends occupied. The greater prize will come from Dahlia’s work, so I would have you learn as much as you can, both through your work here in our libraries and through your regular contact with our agent. This is of utmost importance. Should we succeed, we will have another Dread Ring, and better, it will come in no small part through the suffering of those ancient relics, the Netherese.”
“This is my charge?”
“It is.”
“And my credit?” the wizard pressed.
“In your rivalry with Dahlia?” Szass Tam responded with a sly cackle, one that ended abruptly as he continued, his tone much more severe. “Dahlia suspected the link between the rising catastrophe and the fall of the Hosttower of the Arcane, not you. She has performed wonderfully, though it pains you to admit that. My suggestion to you is that you perform equally as wonderfully, for our greater purpose and for your own well-being. I have granted you this opening for redemption and excellence because of your history with Dahlia—if anyone in Faerûn will watch over that one’s every movement, it is you.
“But you serve me, Sylora,” Szass Tam reminded. “You serve my ends and not your own, or your own will come quickly, I assure you. My desire is that Dahlia succeeds, and you will work toward that end. Our enemies are the Shadovar.”
His tone left no room for debate.
“Yes, Your Omnipotence,” Sylora replied, dipping her head in a scant bow.
Sylora’s only comfort then was her deep-rooted belief that Dahlia was far too young and inexperienced, and far too dedicated, to succeed in the facilitation of the needed catastrophe. The wizard horded the very