Chapter 1

A Bird Like Me

Jarlaxle felt good for the Svirfneblin. For the first time for several years, he had the chance to return to his home. It was a warm but somber farewell as the mages worked with the Blidgenstone wizards to create a portal for a safe travel home for Seldig. Bruenor promised to see to continued contact between Mithril Hall and Blidgenstone, and Seldig eagerly agreed. A few more good-byes were exchanged, none of which Jarlaxle was a part of. He felt happy for Seldig, who he had traveled with alongside Bugsight for four months, but another hole in his heart had been bored. Bugsight had returned to his life working for Waterdeep, and now Seldig was returning home. Jarlaxle was once again on his own.

But Jarlaxle was not a man that liked to travel alone, and knew that he would have company again soon enough. Jarlaxle was welcomed by Drizzt's family and friends; not necessarily accepted by the Dwarves, but welcomed nonetheless. But while Jarlaxle liked his luxuries, he had no intention of using up hospitality. There was still too much to do and too much to see.

Jarlaxle was seen by few people as he left Mithril Hall. After two dozen paces or so, Jarlaxle would stop and think. The worlds around him seemed to reek of emotions, and Jarlaxle found himself longing to be saturated in it, as well. He had known so many adventures that tested him to his limits, but there were bigger adventures yet, and Jarlaxle, while not old, was not young, either. He had a few centuries left, but not as many as he once had at his disposal.

Suddenly, he noticed a bird staring directly at him. Its body was covered in brown feathers, but its head was white, and its eye's pupil was yellow. Its right eye, however, was scarred and shut. Jarlaxle struggled to remember what the bird was called, and remembered its name: Cockatoo Hawk. Jarlaxle nodded to it, and walked away. Two dozen paces later, he stopped and thought some more. Again, the bird caught his eye as it landed on a tree branch in front of him. Jarxale stared at it for a while, and walked away again. He noticed, however, that its feet were seared.

"He likes you," a voice said, and Jarlaxle jumped. Jarlaxle had been snuck up on before, but only Zaknafein Do'Urden (the first one) had ever done it successfully before. He looked, and saw Phaeraste studying the bird.

"Seems so," Jarlaxle said.

"Bald Eagles normally avoid people, but this one's rather brave. Unsure, but brave. Hold out your arm, like this," Phaeraste instructed, and Jarlaxle obeyed. The eagle studied Jarlaxle's arm, and fluttered to it, grasping it hard. Jarlaxle winced as its talons dug into his arm, but he did not bleed.

"Interesting," Phaeraste said, "What do you see in Jarlaxle that I do not?"

The two eyes of Jarlaxle and the eagle locked for a moment. The bird cocked its head to the right, pecked Jarlaxle on the head, and flew away as Phaeraste burst out laughing. Jarlaxle rubbed the spot where he was pecked, and looked at Phaeraste with a hurt expression.

"First Zak's child cries at the sight of me, now birds trick me into letting them peck me on the head. What is it that I'm losing?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Your mind. From what I've learned, nobody here on the surface uses that as it is," Phaeraste chuckled.

"The same could be said for home," Jarlaxle reminded her.

"I thought the surface was your home?" Phaeraste reminded him. Jarlaxle smiled and nodded; she was right. After being tortured with fire the way he had, he had no wish to see his evil kin again. He had known Drow cruelty; he had practiced it himself on numerous occasions. But Jarlaxle was no longer the same opportunist mercenary he once was.

"The road has been my home for my entire life. The road seems to have taken me here, however, and I don't particularly want to take the road back," Jarlaxle said.

"I used to long for my life in Menzoberranzan. But I've since decided that my life here is far less…Predictable. Down there life revolves around power, and likely I would have achieved a place of grandeur, only to be slain and my position taken over. Here, successful lives are measured differently."

"Not by much," Jarlaxle said, "Depending, of course, on what you're doing."

"I am not as well-traveled as you, so I'll simply take your word on that."

Jarlaxle found no words rising to his mind. That had never happened to him before. Jarlaxle always had something to say. And yet he could find none, and he felt a compulsion to continue talking at the same time. A muffled grunt erupted from his vocal chords.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," Jarlaxle hastily said. His unscarred skin turned a very dark red, and his face grew hot. Jarlaxle looked away, hoping to hide his embarrassment, but Phaeraste was one of the few people that could read Jarlaxle; she always could.

"I've got to get back to my grove," Phaeraste said, "It's good to know that you're doing well for yourself, Jarlaxle. I hope you find peace in your road."

"And you," Jarlaxle replied. 'And you'? That all I can think of? I'm losing it! Am I doomed to become a witless shell?

When Jarlaxle looked again, Phaeraste was gone. Druids and their plants. Back on the branch, however, was the bald eagle. Jarlaxle gave the bird a spiteful glare, and the eagle seemed to look back at him smugly. Jarlaxle continued walking, this time not stopping to think. When he looked up, he saw the eagle circling above him. Stupid bird. But Jarlaxle thought of everything he'd seen, and decided that the bird was probably far wiser than he was.