Gauntlgrym by R.A. Salvatore

his muscular chest. He kept his leather vest partially untied, of course, to emphasize the rippling muscles of his massive torso.
    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