Inside the City of Skilled Hands

Siegfried leaned forward and squinted, trying to discern the source of the cloud of dust rising behind the cart.   “If they get too close I can deal with them,” he said confidently.   Bob turned and shouted a warning to his comrades. “We’re being followed!”   Varien sighed and got to his feet, conjuring his pact weapon, which appeared as a magical longbow. “I’m going to take a shot!”   “Wait!” Siegfried called. “We don’t know for sure who is following us! You might peg a member of the Neverwinter Guard or somesuch.”   Varien snorted, his bow fully drawn back.   Radegast scrambled to the top of the pile of hay in the back of the wagon and gazed with searching eyes at the riders who followed them. She could make out two staggered lines of horsemen carrying lances, spread out on either side of the narrow wagon trail. The late afternoon sunlight glinted off plate armor and horse barding.   Their leader rolled confidently in front, a battle standard flapping mightily in the breeze. It bore the mark of the Order of the Gilded Eye.   Bingo , she thought. They need to die, and quickly, too.   She turned to Varien. “The Eye follows us.”   “Okay then!” Varien said, preparing to shoot. “Never loose your arrow until you’ve seen the whites of their eyes,” Radegast warned.   Varien rolled his eyes and let fly. His arrow arced high into the sky and fell back to earth, homing in on the lead rider.   In a flash, the rider drew a greatsword and deflected the arrow with a flourish, shattering it into matchsticks. The rider, resplendent in his polished armor, kept the sword pointed out at his quarry, and kicked in his spurs, sending his horse flashing forward as his riders kept pace.   “Oh, damn,” Radegast whistled. “If I didn't hate these guys with every fibre of my being, I would have thought that was a pretty sexy move.”   Siegfried got to his fight and cast Armor of the Dawn Titan . In a flash of cinders and brimstone he was clad head to toe in smouldering ash plates, which glowed with primordial molten rock at each seam. He raised a hand, sending a cloud of ash whipping into the wagon’s wake. “Agents of the Eye,” he shouted with supreme authority. “This is your only warning! Turn back now, and live! Pursue us further and be executed as enemies of the Crown of Neverwinter!”   Varien reached for more arrows in his quiver and sent two towards the approaching riders, both of which fell short of their target. “Shut up, Radegast!” he said preemptively.   Fiendsbane rattled in his scabbard. If you’re not slashing at fiends, I’m not interested.   “Have you considered putting Fiendsbane into your bow and shooting him at our pursuers?” Radegast asked innocently. She realized that the Gilded Eye was too far behind for her to do anything worthwhile, so she chose to cast minor illusion to spook the horses pulling the wagon with the yipping sounds of a pack of wolves, to inspire them to keep up the pace.   Her plan worked on one horse better than the other, and suddenly Alec was frantically hauling on the reins in an attempt to bring the horses back into alignment as one, whinnying and shrieking, attempted to bolt from her harness.   The wagon began to slow.   “Dammit, Radegast!” Varien cursed as the wagon lurched beneath him.     Siegfried cast a hand out over the tall grasses and cast plant growth .   In an instant, a 200-foot diameter patch of grassland before him, centred on a point about 150 feet away, began to thicken and grow, tangling up the pounding hooves of the riders and forcing them to a near-standstill. The riders shouted in dismay as they attempted to stay in their saddles, and the horses neighed in panic at the sudden increase in overgrowth.   Only the rutted, rocky wagon trail remained clear, and the lead rider spurred on his horse, intent on closing the distance, while his companions struggled to hack their way free.   Varien fired two more arrows with the intent of taking the rider’s horse out of the action. Both shots missed.   Radegast stepped in front of Varien, nocking an arrow into her stormbow and firing at the lead rider. The arrow sizzled as it turned into a lightning bolt that sought its target. Radegast’s eyes went white with the rage of Talos.   The arrow struck the rider squarely with a thunderclap, sending bolts of electricity arcing over the man’s armor, rocking him in the saddle. The horse cried out as it too took secondary damage from the blast, stumbling but remaining upright and in the fight.   Erwen poked a straw-covered head out from the pile of hay in the back of the wagon. “What’s going on?”   “We need you up here!” Alec shouted.   “What are you doing to those poor horses!” Erwen exclaimed, jumping into the driver’s seat and taking the reins from Alec. He made a nickering sound that calmed the panicked draft animals down.   Radegast turned to Varien. “The whites,” she said with emphasis. “Of their eyes.”   Suddenly there was a pair of sickening thuds as a pair of arrows struck her squarely in the chest. She swooned back, coughing blood.   The lead riding was up and firing, with two more shots that whizzed right over Erwen’s head as he fought to get the horses under control.   Bob grabbed his healer’s kit and tried to help Radegast.   “See?” Radegast said weakly as her blood spilled onto the straw below. “If you get close enough you can hit someone.”   Varien snarled and grabbed one of the arrows sticking out of his comrade. He nocked it into his longbow, breathed a prayer, and let fly.   The arrow struck the horse in its flank, and the force of his eldritch smite knocked the animal prone. It and its rider fell to the ground with a resounding crash, sending a plume of trail dust rocketing skyward.   “Yes!” Varien pumped his fist. He then looked over his shoulder at Erwen, who hadn’t noticed what he had done to the horse.   “Don’t tell the little fella,” Varien whispered.   Bob shook his head as he bandaged Radegast’s chest.   Radegast pulled the second arrow out of her body and fired it back at the now horseless rider, who was down on all fours and struggling to his feet. The shot went wide.   Radegast turned to Varien. “Now, you see that? I missed because I couldn’t see the whites of his eyes.”   Bob shook his head as he bandaged the second wound on Radegast’s chest.   The party lost sight of the other riders, still struggling in the tall grass, as Erwen coaxed what extra energy he could out of the horses. They were wild-eyed, with flecks of foam around the bits in their mouths.   “Erwen, you’re better than me at driving,” Alec admitted. “But these horses aren’t looking so hot."   Radegast cast heroism on the horses.   Siegfried let the Armor of the Dawn Titan crack and fall away in plates of ash that dissolved like grey memories. He practiced tossing Talon into the air and summoning it back to his sword hand, while keeping one eye on the receding riders behind them.   Bob finished administering first aid to Radegast and found a spot to sit down near the front of the wagon. He shaded his eyes with his hand as the late afternoon sun lowered itself towards the coastal horizon before him.   “I think we’re coming up on a road ahead,” Bob said. “Looks like a major thoroughfare.” It reminded him of the long, lonely roads across the steppes of his homeland.   “That’d be the High Road,” Radegast said. “There should be plenty of road traffic we can blend into.”   “No sign of the Gilded Eye behind us,” reported Siegfried. “I suppose they finally blinked.”   Erwen expertly pulled the wagon onto the trade road and turned south, towards Neverwinter.

Siegfried moved to the front of the wagon. “I can talk us through the gates,” he said, “but it might raise fewer questions if those of you who tangled with the Eye in Helm’s Hold stayed out of sight.”   Varien sighed and sat on the wagon’s front bench. Erwen stayed at the reins.   Radegast shrugged and buried herself in the straw, and the Trevelyan brothers did likewise.   Erwen slowed the horses and the wagon continued on its journey south, at a pace befitting a casual visitor to the city.   A dark smudge to the south began to reveal itself as the skyline of Neverwinter, Jewel of the North, and the City of Skilled Hands. “Now there’s a sight,” Varien said.   What they saw before them was a city within sight of reclaiming its former glory after nearly thirty years of ruin and threat. Amid the wilderness and savagery of the cold North, Neverwinter stood as a beacon of civility and warmth. Its walls were strong and high, with two gates on the northwestern and northeastern corners. One end of the city was a harbor that spilled out into the sea. Floating above the waters were three distinct earthmotes, one of them tethered to the ground with chain whose links were the size of small houses.   To the city’s immediate east, the grounds of the Upland Rise sloped up and away, where it would eventually reach Neverwinter Wood.   The Neverwinter was a bright blue ribbon draped over the countryside, disappearing behind the city’s high walls.   Siegfried’s heart filled with an aching longing for hearth and home.   In the western quadrant of the city, near the harbor, and towering over the city’s impressive array of multi-storeyed buildings that peeked above the walls here and there was the glorious ruin of and immense castle, its window slits dark and lifeless, its stone walls pitted and scoured by the pyroclastic flow that brought the city to its knees decades ago. Its dilapidated spires, and those towers that had been shorn roughly off, were connected hither and yon by flying buttresses and footbridges. It looked as though it had been built on a steep outcropping, but its architects had cleverly incorporated and otherwise masked its natural foundations, making the castle’s bulk all the more impressive. Fully a third of it loomed out into the choppy waters of the Sea of Swords, linked by archways and elevated roads.   The setting sun, reflecting off the choppy sea, bathed the upper reaches of the castle with complex patterns of dancing pink and orange light.   “Castle Never,” Siegfried breathed. He had only seen it depicted in picture books, and was now certain that none of the illustrations were capable of doing it justice, even in its diminished state.   “Yeah, I saw it the first time I visited Neverwinter,” Varien said. “Bit of a fixer-upper, I’d wager.”   “Named for Neverwinter’s founder, Halueth Never,” Siegfried continued. “Back when this settlement was known as Ey-ger-sstor.”   “It’s pronounced Eigersstor ,” Radegast said from beneath the straw. “And you’ve got your timelines mixed up, but it’s not your fault – much of the lore of Neverwinter has been lost thanks to the city’s near-total destruction some years ago. And while I’m on the subject there’s a near-total lack of maps where the city is concerned – apparently one of the Kings of Neverwinter decided that a mapped city was a vulnerable city, in that an enemy, like, say, Luskan, might be able to exploit weaknesses divined from them, and forbade any charting of the city’s districts whatsoever.”   Siegfried fumed at Radegast’s interjection, but refused to let it knock him off course.   The High Road before them forked, with one tributary heading to the northwest gate and the other to the northeast gate.   “Which way, sir?” Erwen piped up.     At this, Siegfried paused. This was an important decision. The northwestern gate would, if his research could be believed, lead to the city’s Bluelake District, where Neverwinter’s nobility had ruled the roost. The northeastern gate, on the other hand, led to the old River District, also known as the Tower District for the number of tall merchant’s and wizard’s spires that loomed over the neighbourhoods where the city’s mercantile class had set up shop. The Tower District had been overrun by Orcs in the chaos and confusion after the Ruining of 1451DR, and it was many years before they were forced (or commanded) to withdraw from the area. Siegfried unconsciously ran a hand over his face as he pondered which gate to approach.   Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Make a right and head for the Bluelake District.”   The pile of straw rustled. “Actually it should be a left turn, and the district is actually known as the Blacklake District these days.”   Siegfried sighed and mouthed “right” to Erwen before replying. “Thank you for the history lesson, Radegast.”   “Happy to help,” Radegast replied. “What’s the use of having the benefits of a classical education if you can’t share your knowledge with your boon companions?”   “Indeed,” Siegfried seethed through gritted teeth.   Erwen steered the wagon towards the northwest gate.   In Siegfried’s ear he heard a voice like the sound of a crackling campfire, and the stinging reek of smoke caused his eyes to tear up all the more.   Home, sweet home, the voice hissed.   Siegfried murmured to himself in Orcish. “Home, sweet home.”   From her position beneath the straw, Radegast’s ears pricked up at Siegfried’s words.   The wagon entered the long shadows cast by Neverwinter’s high walls. Hung at regular intervals from its battlements were great banners bearing the symbol of Neverwinter – snowflakes against a blue background.   Erwen pulled the wagon into line behind a queue of waiting carts and carriages.   The gate was guarded by two classes of soldier, Siegfried noticed. There were grizzled, professional veterans bearing the insignia of Mintarn, an island nation whose chief exports included ships and mercenaries. This did not surprise Siegfried at all, given that Dagult Neverember had relied on Mintarn mercenaries and naval assets while he was Open Lord of Waterdeep. Apparently he had hired a private army to help him maintain order in Neverwinter as well.   The other militiamen were younger, their armor and tabards more threadbare and slapdash, but they made up for their meager provisions with their earnestness, obviously proud to stand guard over their home, while the Mintarn soldiers looked ready to punch their clocks at the end of a long day.   Siegfried turned and spoke in a low growl to his companions. “Now, if any of you lay a hand on any of these boys, I’ll murder you myself.”   “Who, us?” Varien said, wide-eyed. “Why would we fight these guys.”   “Your reputation speaks elsewise,” Siegfried said.   “I’m with you, buddy,” Bob said from his hiding place.   A harried-looking customs inspector flanked by two of the younger guards walked up to the wagon.   Siegfried hopped down off the wagon’s bench as he prestidigitated himself clean and grabbed up the inspector in a bear hug, squeezing. “I am so happy to see such friendly faces!”   “Er, quite,” the inspector said as he tried to wriggle out from Siegfried’s grasp. “Um, welcome to Neverwinter. Please state your business.”   “Siegfried Thann, of the Lord’s Alliance,” Siegfried said smartly.   “Anything to declare?” the inspector asked. “Indeed, my good man,” Siegfried said. “Assassination, murder, and tales of treachery from Helm’s Hold! I must speak to Fitzhugh Montgomery, the Lord’s Alliance envoy, or failing that, the Lord Protector himself.”   The inspector paled as he realized his pay grade had just been exceeded. He cleared his throat. “You’ll want to head straight to the Hall of Justice,” he said. “Just keep to the main road and follow it across the Dolphin bridge over the river, and you can’t miss it.”   Siegfried clapped the inspector’s shoulder. “Good man, good man. Do you want me to sign anything?”   The inspector suddenly remembered himself and shuffled his papers. “Er, yes, this declaration of peaceable conduct behind our walls will do for a start.” Siegfried conjured a feathered quill and sketched a dazzlingly large signature across the bottom third of the entry form.   The inspector’s eyes widened, but he waved the wagon through all the same.   Siegfried jumped back onto the wagon with a flourish. “Thank you, my good man, you are a credit to your position!”   From her hiding place, Radegast cast a sending message to her mother. Just arrived at Blacklake District, on our way to the Cripple’s Court. She winced at her own casual blasphemy, but wanted to convey what she could about her impending arrival at Tyr’s house of worship while not giving away the farm. Her mother’s voice purred in her inner ear. Meet you there, my child. There was a sudden giggle in Radegast’s head that grated like gravel. Oh, stop that, you Devil! See you there, child.   Normal 0 false false false EN-CA ZH-CN X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} Radegast frowned. That was weird.

As the wagon pulled away from the phalanx of guards, Siegfried whispered to his friends. “You can probably show your faces safely now, as you’re among friends.”   The party passed through winding city streets and drew near the ash-choked lake that gave the district its name. Though the waters were fouled, the villas and mansions that fronted or backed onto the lake looked to be in good repair. The party drove past a villa that was easily twice or three times the size of its neighbours, with walls that gave it the look of a fortress.   The immense bulk of Castle Never blotted out much of the sky above them.   Then they were closing in on the Neverwinter River, which marked a long east-west axis that bisected the city. Spanning the river, at the foot of Castle Never, were three bridges - the Sleeping Dragon, the Winged Wyvern, and the Dolphin, judging by the artful stonework sculpted in three distinct forms.   While the Sleeping Dragon and the Dolphin were both covered in places by scaffolding that hinted at serious repair work, the proud shape of the Winged Wyvern bridge, its supports carved into the shape of outstretched wings, looked as though it had weathered the cataclysm that had destroyed everything around it intact.   They crossed over the bridge to the river’s southern bank. A wrought-iron archway over the foot of the bridge proclaimed “You are now entering the Protector’s Enclave.”   Radegast stretched and regarded her surroundings. “Well, it’s no Silverymoon or Evereska, but I sure am glad to be safe behind sturdy walls for a change.”   Siegfried was too engrossed at the goings-on around him to reply. Nothing he had read about the Jewel of the North had prepared him for what he saw. People had returned to Neverwinter’s once-abandoned streets, and great buildings were even now being restored to beauty, swarming with artisans and labourers atop scaffolds. The recent repair efforts gave the city a patchwork appearance; slums were juxtaposed with new construction, all resting on the shattered remnants of old buildings. Everywhere he looked, he saw commerce, camaraderie, and community.   Radegast couldn’t help but notice Siegfried’s distraction. She whispered to him in Orcish. “You know, for someone who calls this place home, you are acting like you’ve never seen this place before.”   Siegfried stiffened at Radegast’s choice of language, his good mood evaporating like the mists over the Neverwinter River once and for all.   The Hall of Justice was a massive temple complex, an interlocking array of domes located on a cliff overlooking the Sea of Swords, directly opposite Castle Never across the river. Built from stone, iron, and wood, the halls were large enough for giants to walk inside without ducking, and were connected by banks of ecclesiastical apartments and well-kept courtyards.   Erwen drew the cart into a wagon yard near the temple and the party disembarked. Erwen climbed up and hugged each of the draft horses in turn, whispering words of encouragement into their flicking ears before sliding down to join his friends.   Ancient statues of Tyr, and newer statues dedicated to Torm dotted the courtyards as they approached the main entrance.   There was a guard on duty who stepped forward as they approached. “What is your business?” he asked.   “Urgent message and orders for Fitzhugh Montgomery, or failing that, the Lord Protector himself,” Siegfried said as he flashed his signet ring.   The guard nodded. “Wait in the antechamber. I’ll tell the Envoy you are here.”   The party spent an interval of time in the well-appointed antechamber, shaking off as much trail dust and loose bits of straw as they could.   Bob felt a little nervous. “So we’re going to be meeting some high-up Lord’s Alliance officials?”   Siegfried nodded.   Bob frowned. “Is there a protocol for what I’m supposed to say?”   “Well, actually…” Siegfried said, and whispered something in Bob’s ear. Bob frowned.   Suddenly the guard returned with another man, this one dressed in ceremonial armor that marked him as much a manager as a man-at-arms. He was bald, but grew a great grey beard and sideburns.   Siegfried knew Montgomery by reputation. The envoy had likely signed documents featuring Siegfried’s exploits in service of the Lord’s Alliance on more than one occasion, recording successes and covering up debacles.   “Warduke Fitzhugh Montgomery, Lord’s Alliance Envoy to Neverwinter,” the guard announced.   Montgomery looked the party over. “A little late for a social call, isn’t it, agents?”   Siegfried stepped forward. “Warduke Montgomery, we had a bit of a late start today, but trust me when I say you will like what I’ve brought you.” He tapped Bob on the shoulder. “May I present Robert Trevelayan, newest member of the Lord’s Alliance.”   Bob stepped forward and recited the greeting that Siegfried had given him, but as a check against possible bamboozlery said it in his native Tuigan tongue.   “Well met, Cloak Trevelyan,” Montgomery said, unfazed by Bob’s choice of language. “What brings you to our doorstep at this late hour?”   “I bring a full report from Sildar Hallwinter in Phandalin,” Bob explained. “It was a bit delayed, but it has arrived intact.” He handed Montgomery the packet of papers.   Montgomery nodded as he inspected the package. “Good work, Cloak. As it happens, the Lord Protector is available to meet this evening, and in fact is expecting you.”   Bob stood up straighter. “He is?”   Montgomery turned to Siegfried. “And you? What have you to report, one-time Redknife-” his face reddened a bit and he set his jaw as he said, “Dangeresque?”   “Six-time Redknife, actually,” Siegfried said, referencing his series of promotions and demotions within the faction. His hand strayed towards Bob’s bag of holding . Bob slapped at Siegfried’s hand, and produced the papers he figured the bard was going for. He handed them to Siegfried.   Siegfried presented the copies Radegast had made of the Gilded Eye’s warrants, minus the one implicating Varien. “And now, the juicy stuff.” He handed them to Montgomery.   “What’s this?” Montgomery asked.   “These are dossiers accusing high-ranking Neverwintans of trucking with devils,” Siegfried said. “But that is not the worst of it. My companions and I have uncovered evidence that the Gilded Eye plans to usurp the Throne of Neverwinter using their campaign against the minions of Asmodeus as a pretext.”   “You don’t say?” Montgomery said, his eyebrows raised.   “I do,” Siegfried nodded. “Cloak Trevelyan and Chevall De’eath here-” he indicated Radegast. “-were involved in a joint operation with the Order of the Gauntlet to investigate the Gilded Eye, but their infiltration was discovered by High Commander Javen Tarmikos.”   “Well, wait now-” Varien said.   “There was an altercation,” Siegfried soldiered on. “After the agents discovered evidence that the worshippers of Helm had perverted their deity’s decrees and led innocents astray while seizing property to justify their plots.”   “Go on,” Montgomery said.   “After obtaining evidence of the Gilded Eye’s crimes, Javen Tarmikos intercepted the agents and we attempted to save them,” Siegfried said. “Not all of the Gauntlet agents survived the encounter.”   Radegast cast her gaze downwards.   “Afterwards, these good people were hunted by the Gilded Eye across the flood plains, until we arrived here, at your doorstep,” Siegfried said. “To deliver these dark tidings.”   Montgomery nodded. “We will review this evidence, and likely speak on this further in the near future.”   “Thank you, Warduke,” Siegfried gave him the deference accorded to the man’s rank.   “Now then, the Lord Protector awaits.” Montgomery pocketed the papers and pointed to the antechamber’s door.   He led them into what once was a holy sanctuary but now appeared to serve more secular purposes. Mintarn mercenaries were posted at regular intervals along the walls.   There was a raised platform at the far end of the chamber that once likely held an altar, but now stood bare, save for a speaker’s lectern at one side.   Before the dais stood two figures, a man and a woman. The man was dressed in a war mage’s leathers, finely detailed and tailored, but what drew the party’s attention was the glowing third eye that regarded them from the wizard’s forehead, as though drawn or tattooed onto his skin.   The woman was clad in the garb of the Mintarn mercenaries, but her flexible chainmail armor was bedecked with the piping of a general’s rank. Her short hair was cut in a simple pageboy style, and she radiated both ferocity and competency.   A third figure stood near the edge of the platform, resplendent in gleaming gold and silver plate armor decorated in sun motifs that identified him as a paladin in service to Amaunator, the Morninglord. A flowing gold-trimmed white cape was draped across the paladin’s shoulder pauldrons, and his helm bore fan-like feathered crests that added another foot or more to his already impressive height. He brandished a broadsword whose blade was wider than some men’s shields. Though he stood at attention, there was the occasional shift in his armor plates, and from between the joints of his armor, beams of brilliant white light glowed, illuminating the room as much as the torches on the walls did.   “Wow,” breathed Radegast, fanning herself.   There was the sound of heavy doors slamming open, and two figures strode out onto the dais from a chamber at the rear of the room. The man was tall and broad, and the woman on his arm was lean and lithe.   “The Lord Protector of Neverwinter, Dagult Neverember,” Fitzhugh Montgomery murmured.   Dagult Neverember preened like an armored peacock as he walked forward, the braided symbols of office emblazoned on his suit of chainmail interspersed with golden lion sigils. Robes of blue, the colour of Neverwinter, covered his armored form, which emphasized his already-broad shoulders. He had an impressive leonine mane of flowing pumpkin-brown hair, his slightly receding hairline somehow making him look all the more dashing. His deep-set, dark eyes surveyed the newcomers as he approached.   Siegfried felt cold ashes settling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the man who ruled Neverwinter. There was a whisper at his ear. Lord Pretender, he means.   Normal 0 false false false EN-CA ZH-CN X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} Neverember spoke.

“Ah, the Champions of Phandalin! We have been awaiting your arrival for some time now! Welcome to Neverwinter, and be merry, for you are among friends this day, so close to the close of Waukeentide!”   “Well, met, Lord Protector,” Siegfried stepped forward. “I am Siegfried of House Thann. I believe you signed my adoption papers in Waterdeep many years ago.”   Neverember’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “House Thann, you say?” His expression brightened as he bellowed, “why, that would make you Millio’s boy, wouldn’t it?”   “Yes, Lord Protector,” Siegfried replied.   “And how is the old Quarterling, anyway?” Neverember said with a glint in his eye. “Still coming up ‘short’ in the eyes of polite society, I’d wager, eh?” He threw back his head and laughed, his mane of brown hair shaking with each chortle.   Siegfried forced a polite chuckle, as did the others.   Erwen stared thornily at Neverember.   “Oh, oh goodness me,” Neverember said between breaths. “Coming up short, that was hilarious, wasn’t it dear.” He straightened as the woman on his arm patted it softly. “But wait a moment. I believe we have some fine Thann vintages in my private wine cellar.” He turned and bellowed into the shadows. “Galt. Galt!”   “Yes, m’lord,” a stocky dwarf stumbled out from behind a pillar, trailing sheafs of parchment as he did so.   “May I present Mayor Soman Galt,” Neverember said, clapping his free hand on Galt’s shoulder. “Galt handles the day to day business of keeping Neverwinter running like clockwork. Now, Galt, fetch us some of the Thann vintages from my private reserve, and be quick with it.”   “Yes, m’lord,” Galt mumbled as he dashed off, muttering under his breath.   “Ah, the old dwarf’s gone a bit addle-pated I’m afraid, but he is a wizard with numbers, if you get my meaning, and keeps the bureaucracy running tautly, believe you me. We’d be lost without him.”   I believe Galt’s a little lost himself , Siegfried thought, taking the mayor’s measure.   Siegfried motioned to Varien and conjured Talon, which he kept in the ceremonial scabbard for the time being.   “Lord Protector, may I present to you Varien Aether, Champion of Phandalin,” Siegfried said as he handed Varien the sword.   Varien tilted forward in a polite semi-bow.   “Ah yes, I’ve read your name in Sildar Hallwinter’s dispatches,” Neverember said. “And how fares fair Phandalin these days?”   “Well, they are finally getting around to building a defensive wall,” Varien said at Siegfried’s prompting.   “But sir, it’s not Phandalin you should be concerned about,” Siegfried said. Nodding at Fitzhugh Montgomery, he said, “we bring dark tidings of ill news from Helm’s Hold, where the Order of the Gilded Eye plots your overthrow, and worse – war in the north!”   “Helm’s Hold?” Neverember said. “What are those zealots up to now?”   Seigfried beckoned Radegast’s forward. “This woman, Radegast De’ath, operating under the aegis of the Order of the Gauntlet, has evidence of the Gilded Eye’s machinations against Neverwinter.”   Radegast pulled out the sketches she had made of the wargame table she had spied in the private study of Javen Tarmikos.   Radegast’s blood ran cold as she got a good look at the woman on Lord Neverember’s arm. She was a copper-skinned, red-haired sun elf of noble cadence, her lips rouged and her body molded tightly to Neverember’s side, clad in a sheer shift that was equally molded.   “Mother?” she whispered in Elvish. Bob’s eyes went wide as he heard Radegast.   “How rude of me,” Neverember was saying. “I haven’t introduced my companion this eve. May I present to you Lady Mialee Amonodel of Silverymoon, my consort. My dear, these are the Champions of Phandalin I’ve told you about.”   “Mother!” Radegast shouted in a strangled voice, this time in Common.   Varien’s eyes went wide.   Mialee Amonodel batted her eyelashes. “Hush, child, the Lord Protector is speaking.” Radegast spluttered in shock.   “Well, well, what have we here!” Neverember said. Mialee in tow, he strode down from the platform and crossed the floor to stand before Radegast. “I say, Mialee, is this your sister?”   “Oh, Lord Protector, you rogue!” Mialee blushed and swatted his shoulder playfully.   “Honestly, the resemblance is uncanny!” Neverember said. “Welcome to the Jewel of the North, fair lady, though the jewel does not glitter brightly as you do.”   Bob gagged discreetly.   “Sire, that’s my mother you have on your arm,” Radegast said coldly.   “Ah, that is true,” Neverember gave her a leering smile. “But as you can see, I have two arms.”   Radegast shoved the paper at Neverember, who intercepted her outstretched hand, turned it over, and kissed the top of it. Radegast resisted the urge to slap the man as his whiskers tickled her fingers intimately.   Bob gagged again, discreetly.   Neverember stepped back, Radegast’s renderings in his hand. He gave them the most cursorial of glances. “Fine artistry, girl. Very fine.”   “Lord Protector,” Siegfried said again. “About Helm’s Hold…” Siegfried was evaluating the Lord Protector’s bearing and attitude and was finding him wanting. Though Neverember projected an air of casual familiarity, it was shod in the irons of entitlement and authority. It was clear, however, that the Lord Protector was as much an intolerable flirt and skirt-chaser as he was a competent diplomat – it was likely that the skillset required for each pursuit reinforced the other. To find Radegast’s mother on the Lord Protector’s arm was too much of a coincidence for Siegfried’s liking, and put Radegast’s repeated entreaties to get to Neverwinter in a new perspective.   Galt had returned with bottles of wine and several fluted glasses. There was a circular table nearby where he spread out the tray’s contents and began uncorking bottles.   Through all of this, the male wizard and female warrior had remained silent, but were watching with appraising eyes.   Neverember swept up a glass that sparkled with the white wine. “I propose a toast! To Neverwinter, to Phandalin, and to Friends both Old and New!” He tossed back the drink and slammed the wine glass down on the tabletop, where Galt obligingly poured him another.   The party members drank to the toast, with Bob keeping his lips sealed against the glass so that the fizzy alcohol would not go down.   Varien felt the eyes of Lady Amonodel on him as Neverember drank another drink and called for a minstrel or two to play a martial tune. She detached from Neverember, who was busy slapping Alec on the back and complimenting his posture, and approached him.   “Filean, is that…” The elven woman whispered. “But it can’t be.”   “No,” Varien said haltingly. “Filean’s my dad. Filean Aether. Have we met?”   Mialee stepped even closer. “But the resemblance is so strong, you are your father’s mirror image.”   Varien cleared his throat. “Uh, well, this may be difficult for you to hear, but my father is dead.”   Mialee’s hand, which had drifted entirely too close to Varien’s face for his comfort, suddenly recoiled to cover her mouth. “No! How horrible!” Mialee’s eyes glistened with tears. “How long ago?”   “Two years, I'm afraid,” Varien said.   Mialee shared a long look with Radegast before replying. “Oh, oh no. I had promised myself that I would visit him in the North again one day, and now look what has happened. An opportunity, lost forever.”   Radegast had gone pale at the news as well.   “Wait,” Varien said, looking from Radegast to Mialee and back to Radegast again. “How did you know my father?”   Radegast exhaled. “He was my dad.”   Erwen picked up an empty wine glass, waited for Galt to pour him a shot, and then drank richly before spewing it out in an incredulous spray.   Normal 0 false false false EN-CA ZH-CN X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} Bob’s eyes goggled. “I knew it!” he declared.     

Outside the Hall of Justice, in the wagon yard, the two draft horses from Rothé Valley lazily munched on some hay.   There was a nearly imperceptible creak from the wagon and a shape dropped catlike to the ground beneath the axles and springs. The shadowy figure rolled sideways from underneath the cart and scuttled silently until he was out of the courtyard, behind a row of empty barrels.   The wood elf was covered head to toe in trail dust and bore several bruises from his rocky ride beneath the wagon. His ranger’s leathers were scorched and burned along his left flank, and one of his pointed ears had been badly seared.   He crouched behind the barrels, staring with cunning eyes until he found what he was looking for. A pigeon pecked at the cobblestones nearby.   The elf reached into his carrybag and pulled out a morsel of bread. Clicking his tongue, he caught the bird’s attention, flicking the morsel out onto the road.   The bird gobbled it up and hopped closer as the elf tossed another piece of bread.   The bird snagged the bread and hopped closer still, until the elf, lightning-quick, shot out a gloved hand and captured the bird.   “Heed my words ,” the elf intoned quietly as his free hand sketched a hypnotic pattern across the beady-eyed pigeon’s field of vision.   The pigeon cooed obediently.   The elf raised the bird to his lips and spoke into its ear.   “The banshee’s killers are now in Neverwinter. I await your instructions.”   Normal 0 false false false EN-CA ZH-CN X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} He tossed the pigeon skyward, and it flapped its wings with furious purpose, flying east towards the dark expanse of Neverwinter Wood.