Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Silent Blade:

"Rai'gy will have to pray to Lady Lolth for a hundred years to regain her favor after using one of her bestowed healing spells upon your dying form," Jarlaxle remarked with a laugh. He nodded to Kimmuriel, who bowed and left the room.

"May she take him to her side for those prayers," Drizzt replied dryly. His witty demeanor did not hold, though, could not hold, in the face of all that he had just come through. He eyed Jarlaxle with all seriousness. "Why did you save me?"

"Future favors?" Jarlaxle asked more than stated.

"Forget it."

Yet again Jarlaxle found himself laughing. "I envy you, Drizzt Do'urden," he replied honestly. "Pride played no part in your fight, did it?"

Drizzt shrugged, not quite understanding.

"No, you were free of that self-defeating emotion," Jarlaxle remarked. "You did not need to prove yourself Artemis Entreri's better. Indeed, I do envy you, to have found such inner peace and confidence."

"You still have not answered my question."

"A measure of respect, I suppose," Jarlaxle answered with a shrug. "Perhaps I did not believe that you deserved death after your worthy performance."

"Would I have deserved death if my performance did not measure up to your standards, then?" Drizzt asked. "Why does Jarlaxle decide?"

Jarlaxle wanted to laugh again but held it to a smile in deference to Drizzt. "Or perhaps I allowed my cleric to save you as a favor to your dead father," he said, and that put Drizzt on his heels, catching him completely by surprise.

"Of course I knew Zaknafein," Jarlaxle explained. "He and I were friends, if I can be said to have any friends. We were not so different, he and I."

Drizzt screwed up his face with obvious doubts.

"We both survived," Jarlaxle explained. "We both found a way to thrive in a hostile land, in a place we despised but could not find the courage to leave."

"But you have left now," Drizzt said.

"Have I?" came the reply. "No, by building my empire in Menzoberranzan I have inextricably tied myself to the place. I will die there, I am sure, and probably by the hands of my own soldiers – perhaps even Artemis Entreri."

Somehow Drizzt doubted the claim, suspecting that Jarlaxle would die of old age centuries hence.

"I respected him greatly," the mercenary went on, his tone steady and serious. "Your father, I mean, and I believe it was mutual."

Drizzt considered the words carefully and fount that he couldn't disagree with Jarlaxle's claims. For all Jarlaxle's capacity for cruelty, there was indeed a code of honor about the mercenary leader. Jarlaxle had proven that when he held Catti-brie captive and had not taken advantage of her, though he had even professed to her that he wanted to. He had proven it by allowing Drizzt, Catti-brie, and Entreri to walk out of the Underdark after their escape from House Baenre, though surely he could have captured or killed them and such an act would have brought him great favor of the ruling house.

And now, by not letting Drizzt die in such a manner, he had proven it again.

(390-391).

Chapter 3

Friends

Artemis and Jarlaxle agreed it would be unwise to take on a day's journey through the harsh cold without a filling breakfast. That is where they went first.

"Breakfast, good sirs?" The bald, portly man did a cursory polish over their table with his rag. "We have fried steak with country gravy. House Special. You'll like it."

"As long as it's not the same as the cooking elsewhere," Artemis said, smirking. One Shaaryan House Special was enough.

The man looked puzzled.

Jarlaxle laughed. "That means yes. I'd also like a dish of griddle cakes, if you have them."

That request seemed to cement the idea that he was not truly a drow, for their waiter gave Jarlaxle a relieved, friendly grin. "Coming right up. I'll have Hattie make em for you fresh. If you like, I can top it with strawberry jam."

"Yes," Jarlaxle said. "I think I would like that." He turned on the full power of his beaming smile. "Thank you."

"You're mighty welcome," the man said, waddling off.

"Tell me, Artemis," Jarlaxle said, draping an arm over the table and leaning forward comfortably, "have you ever been to Skullport?"

Artemis shook his head. "No. I've only heard stories about it. It's not as helpful as having been there before. We should still prepare for the worst." He smirked. "After all, you are quite offensive. They may not tolerate you at all."

"Are you saying they would throw me out of a den of scum and villainy?"

The assassin smiled and shrugged. "There's only so much scum and villainy scumbags and villains can take."

Jarlaxle made a show of pouting.

Their meals came soon after, and they concentrated on eating.

"I don't think we're in any danger here, and we will leave sooner if we split up," Artemis said as they walked out of the inn.

Jarlaxle nodded.

"I'll go see about getting horses," Artemis said. "I already know one woman who said she would be willing to sell to me the other day." He tossed Jarlaxle a small bag of coins. "Why don't you investigate what resources this town has in the way of magic. You'd know what to look for better than I."

They went their separate ways.

Jarlaxle just milled around for a little while, walking through the small piles of black snow over the road and looking at the gold in his hand. He didn't know how he felt about it. He'd just been given gold and told to go get something. No one had ever done that to him. Not if it wasn't a trick…and he doubted Artemis would tell him he'd bought the wrong thing and then start taking strips out of his hide. The assassin truly didn't care what he bought with the gold. It was just a present.

He frowned at it. He felt as though Artemis were trying to take care of him. But he was the one who had always taken care of other people. He didn't know how to react to this. He'd never been in this position.

They met in front of the inn about half an hour later. Artemis was leading two rugged looking steeds with long, shaggy coats. Jarlaxle surmised that his friend had been successful in his dealings with the woman.

"Well?" Artemis asked as Jarlaxle inspected the horses. He already got one of them to nuzzle his hand, and decided that one would be his. "Did you find anything that could be of use to us?"

Jarlaxle slipped his hand into a belt pocket and showed the assassin the trinkets he had purchased. "I found a local mage, but she was only capable of making minor enchantments. I have a ring that helps a little against fire, and a ring that affords some protection against ice, but I didn't find anything that could help ward off enemies." He made a face. "Her only wand was a casting of water purification ten times a day."

Artemis sighed. "Alright. What's that necklace, then?"

Jarlaxle smiled sheepishly. "It's a charisma enhancer. I had a weakness for it because of the semi-precious stones, and I thought it might help me if I had to convince someone not to hurt me."

"You better put it on," Artemis said. He narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. "If I find that is all you bought with the generous sum I handed you, I'll kill you."

Jarlaxle chuckled and quickly produced the scrolls he'd purchased at the mage's shop. "Stoneskin, magic missiles, acid arrow, and three – no, sorry, four scrolls of fireball spells. In case we encounter trolls."

Artemis nodded, looking more at ease. "I think that will be a necessary precaution."

Jarlaxle tucked the scrolls under his belt again and dangled the beautiful necklace. "So, will I need this?"

"Not today," Artemis said. "But keep it handy. You are full of slight, annoying habits."

Jarlaxle grinned and took off his hat in order to slip the necklace on. "I shall wear it, then. No harm was ever done by being extra charming." He also slid the rings onto his fingers, over his gloves. They fit a little uncomfortably, but they wouldn't fit at all under his gloves, and he wasn't about to take them off. "How do I look?"

Artemis gave him a sour appraisal from head to foot. "Insane, like always."

Jarlaxle beamed. "Good. One must keep up appearances."

They mounted their new horses and set off down the path that would lead them one day closer to their destination of Silverymoon, and then Waterdeep's underground.

In spite of that morning's banter, Jarlaxle was shamed. He knew that Artemis tended to him during a time of great danger. Danger they were not yet out of, and yet the assassin found time to take care of him when he was sick. If the positions had been reversed, he would not have done the same. His dream haunted him: the sweetness of his innocence at a young age, such a young age that he did not know how to injure or kill; the effortless way he had drawn the goblin into his world with charm he did not yet know he possessed; the ease of their time as playmates. His betrayal, burning hotter than any feeling had since burned, when his wean mother had killed the goblin for being his friend. The dead corpses of his childhood convictions made him stop and shut him up for the time it took to leave the town and ride into the snowbound forest. To think of the childhood convictions he'd had about right and wrong, and how easily they had been snuffed out and forgotten.

He once had been as Artemis was. He once would have helped a dying friend, leapt into mortal danger for a person that so captured his heart that he told that person all his secrets. There had been no secrets with Ril. There had only been companionship.

Jarlaxle could not remember when he had stopped believing what he had believed as a child. It was not any one event. It was a pervasion, something so small and so subtle to him that he had not sensed it. The dream he'd had about Ril was like a slap in the face: wake up! And he had awakened.

He'd awakened to realize that he was in a nightmare where he no longer had any convictions from bending them so long. That he had done things Artemis, his kindred spirit, would think were wrong. That he had suffered slings and indignities it would horrify his friend to know and been subjected to a layer of filth he should have choked on. Instead, he had come to see these things as normal. The dream about Ril had reawakened horror in response to these things, a feeling of horror he didn't know he still possessed.

Jarlaxle measured the uneven gait of his steed and the increased bumpiness of the ride as they crossed a rougher, boulder-strewn patch of terrain, but it couldn't jolt him out of the sick, numb feeling that was stealing over him.

His love for the line between life and death might have been his last cry of help to himself. A cry that his life was not what he wanted it to be. The unending manic energy that buoyed him, hiding his desperation to cling to who he was in a situation slipping further and further into madness. Every time he was hurt he walled that part of himself off, robbing the event of emotional importance, until there were honeycombs of locked doors inside him and the open space was getting smaller and smaller… How much of him was left?

Something he hadn't considered before, either: whether or not the closed doors were parts of him that actually still remained. He thought the dreams meant that they were. Those discarded parts of him were still there, and he could open them. If he wanted.

Jarlaxle was suddenly frightened. If he was the only one that had the key to those doors, and they had been opened in his dreams, some part of himself wanted those doors opened. He wanted to let those dark, uncharted parts of himself free. What would he find? Why would he want to let out all of those hurt, mangled dreams? It frightened him to realize that he turned to look at Artemis with that question on the tip of his tongue. For once in his life, he needed guidance, and there was someone riding beside him through the cold, wild-blown forest that he would actually ask. He was aware of feeling set up by someone with a higher power than he. It was like a sign. But should he, or should he not?

"Are you being silent, or has your mouth frozen shut?" Artemis asked, looking over at him.

"Artemis – What do you hope to gain by me?" Jarlaxle asked. Artemis was usually the straightforward one, but he felt as though all their roles had suddenly switched. The assassin had command of the situation, and he was the dependent.

"Nothing," Artemis said with a straight face. "You are my friend."

Jarlaxle stared at him. He had just quoted Jarlaxle's own words back to him after the mercenary had saved him from death by taking him to Bregan D'aerthe for the first time. He searched his recollections for a moment, and came up with the assassin's response. "Friends we may or may not be, but that does not explain why you would save me and keep me alive rather than leaving me where I lay."

Entreri shrugged, the motion barely detectable under his heavy scarves and fur-lined cloak. "Call it a whim. I'll see where it leads me."

"Since when did you follow up whims?"

Artemis didn't answer him.

Jarlaxle felt a huge chasm between himself as he was now and the child he had been when he had been capable of friendship and full disclosure. He reminded himself that Artemis Entreri was not Ril. He didn't have the option of dropping on Artemis that he was afraid he had lost most of the pieces of himself. Artemis wouldn't be able to listen the way Ril had listened when he had said his mother hated him. He wondered what would happen if he told Artemis that. Probably nothing good.

On the silent ride through the wintry forest, Jarlaxle made the decision that he had to leave Artemis behind. Part of it was his own reduced capability as a partner. He hadn't helped Artemis so many times in the past to be his downfall later. Part of it was his reawakened shame over who he had let himself become by losing the keen sense that his culture and its tortures were wrong. But the real reason, the reason he only admitted to himself once that day, was that he was afraid of losing control. Artemis could betray him. Even if he did not, Artemis could. That was too much for Jarlaxle to handle.

Just after nightfall, they broke through the forest and into open land. They could see the little glowing ball of a town ahead. However, in spite of its tantalizing visibility, they chased the rosy glow of the town over snow-crusted hills for hours. Like a falling star, it never seemed to get closer. When Jarlaxle had almost given up, the town began its miraculous growing trick, a feat that soon filled up the horizon. They had come to Pickett.

Though it was well after dark, the cobblestone streets were swept clean of snow, and there was still activity at a large house down the main road. It turned out to be the inn. Jarlaxle let Artemis procure a room. He didn't argue against staying in the same room this time. It was kinder. He wouldn't be staying, anyway, and he didn't want the assassin to have to pay for a room no visitor was going to use. Instead of speaking, he merely nodded to the innkeeper and followed Artemis upstairs.

As soon as they were alone in the room, Artemis started shedding his winter garments. "We arrived here in good time," he said, dropping several scarves, a cloak, and his heavy gloves on the floor. He unbuttoned his down coat, unhooking the large buttons rapidly. "We have good horses. It is fortunate that the woman in the last village didn't cheat me."

Jarlaxle silently unwound his scarf from around his face. "I don't think anyone could cheat you, my friend." Artemis looked up at him. He winked. "You're too intimidating. Especially for some poor woman. You will take it upon yourself to present yourself nicely someday, won't you?"

Artemis gave a disgruntled shrug and dropped his coat. "I am never going to have children, so what is the point?"

"That is such a waste!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, looking at him admonishingly. He raised an eyebrow. "You have a responsibility to spread your extraordinary skills to the next generation!"

Artemis looked at him incredulously.

"It is as I told my friend Zaknafein," Jarlaxle said, waving an index finger. "If you do not spread your good blood to the next generation, you are preventing someone in the future from doing great things! Just think what sort of warrior would come from Artemis Entreri? A master! A master to top all masters!" Jarlaxle smiled at him slyly. "And would you not be creator of the greatest master of all time? You could claim credit for some other's rise to fame. He would be your son."

At those words, Artemis immediately soured. He turned away and crossed his arms. "No. No son of mine. I'm sure the world has enough aspiring swordsmen without an additional brat running around." He snorted. "No, you've spread enough blood for the both of us."

Jarlaxle grinned. "The right woman will change your mind."

"There is no such person."

"Of course there is!" Jarlaxle spread his arms. "Is that not what you humans say? There is a soul mate for everyone?"

"Not me."

Jarlaxle lowered his arms. "Why not?"

Artemis turned to face him and looked him in the eye. "My soul is a product of my experiences. If a woman had endured what I have, she would have died. A long time ago. There is no point entertaining the idea that there is a woman to match me. There are none." He turned away and returned to preparing for bed. "There is no way to know me without knowing my experiences. No woman could ever understand my life."

Jarlaxle stayed silent, musing his friend's words. He did understand – he supposed, in a way, Artemis would claim a woman couldn't. They were alike, and he was sure that Artemis had endured pain the same way he had. He and Artemis shared an affinity. With a sudden sadness, he could understand some of Entreri's loyalty to him. In their own ways, they both deeply resented being alone. But that's the way it has to be.

He crawled under the covers of his new bed and stayed there, looking at the ceiling, well after he could hear the steady rise and fall of Artemis' breathing in slumber.

Eventually he forced himself to go before he wouldn't be able to go at all.

Jarlaxle stole out of bed. Not a floorboard creaked. He lifted the map from the table, glanced at it briefly, and confirmed that it was the one Artemis had marked with their route. He rolled it up and stuck it in his hat. Then he lifted a handful of coins from the purse at Artemis' belt and whisked out of the room, his boots never making a sound. The closing of the door was so delicate that it hardly stirred up any dust. He was gone.

He effortlessly avoided all the staff strolling through the inn and got his horse out from the stables. The horse, perhaps sensing his urgency, was as silent as he was. It didn't have a drow's grace, but its footsteps were surprisingly soft, and made no other noise save the soft whuffling of its breath. Jarlaxle was deeply appreciative.

The speculation of what Artemis would find in the morning – or not find – ate at Jarlaxle as he urged his mount down the road that would eventually lead to Silverymoon. Seeing the look on his friend's face in his mind pained him. He did not want to end their partnership. He had to.

Even as the village grew smaller and smaller behind him he asked himself what more he could have done. I have done all I could have done, Jarlaxle answered himself vehemently. He will find other friends. If he chooses to. He has incredible charm! If he will use it on people he could gather an intelligence network as large as I had. He could be a leader. I know he resents it, but he could.

Jarlaxle shook his head. No, I gave him everything I had to give. It is best that I go anyway. He will not want to stay my partner much longer if he has absorbed all of my knowledge. He knows how to enjoy himself. He has all the tools to make himself happy.

Yet, still a part of him doubted. A part of him saw Artemis sinking into the hungry depression that had almost consumed him before. The part of him that saw an amazing, skilled man break down and withdraw in on himself, as if the pride and sharp self-confidence had been a shell. He barely grasped an important truth: that although Artemis Entreri had all the tools he needed to make himself happy in his life, he might choose not to use them.

Artemis awoke, rubbed his eyes, and turned his head to see if Jarlaxle was awake. Jarlaxle was not in his bed. This was a marked change from the drow's insistence that they stick together. He jumped out of bed and pulled on a shirt.

He saw that the map was missing from the desk where he'd laid it. He frowned. Jarlaxle had left, taking the map… Did he decide to ask questions about their route without him?

The assassin quickly went downstairs and looked around the common room. No Jarlaxle. Two maids were just now getting tables ready for breakfast. The innkeeper was mopping the floor.

Artemis stopped him. "Did you see my friend leave? The one wearing the purple hat?"

The innkeeper's brow crinkled. "The purple-hatted one? I would've remembered him."

Don't count on it, Artemis thought darkly. My esteemed companion has his ways of escaping notice.

The middle-aged man shook his head. "No. Haven't seen him."

Artemis sighed. "Of course." He threw his hands into the air. "It's not the first time he's gone to the market before me. If I know him, he sneaked his way out of here in the middle of the night." There. That should keep the innkeeper from talking. Nothing is less interesting than the dry history of mild disagreements between friends.

The innkeeper squinted one eye almost shut and ruminated on those words for a moment. Then he smiled slightly. "The ladies?"

"Always." Artemis didn't have to feign his weary irritation. He turned and went back up the stairs, returning to the scene of the crime to scrape up his handful of clues. He would find them, he knew. It was the worry that their meaning might not immediately be clear that made his footfalls heavy.

The sheets were mussed. The assassin stared at Jarlaxle's abandoned bed, at the large wrinkles and folds in the maroon top cover. He was so incensed by the thoughtlessness of Jarlaxle stealing his map that he hadn't registered the bed as unusual. He tapped his forehead with his fingers and scowled, closing his eyes. Jarlaxle slept perfectly still – he did elven reverie. There should be no signs of disturbance on the bed. That means that he was awake the entire time – Waiting to leave! Artemis snapped his eyes open.

He turned on his heel, overcome by the turmoil of too many emotions at once to categorize. "That – that son of a bitch!" He threw his dagger at the wall as hard as he could. The long, wicked thing made a sharp kuk! and stuck into the wood paneling. The hilt vibrated for a second, violently, and then stilled. Artemis stormed over and yanked it out of the wall. He hoped, for one moment, that the wall was just alive enough to be killed.

But then Artemis Entreri surprised everyone, including himself: he had an immense, thirsting desire to track the drow bastard down, backed up by the sense of wounded pride that raised its hackles and demanded to be given full reign. He would not let Jarlaxle leave, because Jarlaxle could not leave his illustrious, world renowned – primary – business partner. It could not be done. To the nine hells with the fact that he had vowed never to go chasing fools across Faerun ever again: here was a chase worthy of him. A chase worthy of Artemis Entreri. This made his old, dusty hunter's instincts salivate with long-forgotten excitement. He was thirsty.

Artemis got a new map and marked out the exact same route he had marked on the first one. The coins he found missing meant nothing to him, so he was back where he started in terms of readiness. He saddled his horse and left town.

He was amused and almost excited that Jarlaxle had stolen the map instead of committing it to memory. He wouldn't have stolen the map if he wasn't going to follow their plan. So he was going to follow their plan, but he had decided in the middle of the night do to it without Artemis. The fact that Jarlaxle honestly thought that would save him the trouble of a confrontation amused him. It excited him because a part of him acquainted with Jarlaxle's odd, roundabout way of thinking thought that perhaps he was intended to follow Jarlaxle's trail and catch up with him. That made about as much sense as impersonating Drizzt Do'Urden, really. If that was one of Jarlaxle's plans, then anything was possible.

In the land of Shaar, the sun beat steadily and strongly. However, inside her tower, the sunlight was but a weak stripe through a beautiful, delicately paned window. On days like this, where her informants told her it was close to 130 degrees, she was glad of the enchantments on her tower. Hearing about such despotic temperatures was almost enough to make her fair, untested skin burn.

On the table in front of her, a polished globe of pure, clear crystal depicted an image of wind-swept pines, heavy with frost and snow. The picture scrolled, as an eye might, scanning the forest. It was an empty view, as desolate as the view of the Shaar's sun-baked plains from her study window. She found a bit of nostalgia in this view, unlike the view from her study. Her fingertips gently caressed the crystal ball. It was frustrating, having lost track of her quarry, but memories of her childhood in the North tugged at her like the little hands of childhood friends, beckoning her to put off looking for her escaped captives and just dream a little.

Her skin tingled suddenly at a surge of magic.

Tandy Jedra looked up from the scrying crystal on the table. A tall gold elf in richly patterned mage's robes appeared in her study, long hair fluttering with a magical wind that did not disturb her stacks of paper.

"I apologize for not being able to tear myself away from family matters until this day." The richly dressed elf bowed slightly. "I realize that some trouble has occurred with the two prisoners you say you acquired after a battle in your tower."

"My lord, what shall I do?" She looked at him anxiously. "My family is fighting a battle in the North right now and recalled many of their retainers, leaving me with a paltry handful to satisfy my needs. As such, the moment I served you by entering my trance in order to destroy more of the Shaaryan people, the human one slaughtered the retainers I set to guard him, and he and the dark elf escaped. I don't know what to do. Should I let them go, and prepare in case they try to overtake me again, or shall I retrieve them, exhausting more precious resources?"

"I will lend you the materials necessary to obtain them," he said. "One can't have prisoners escaping unchecked. It mars the reputation."

"Yes, Lord Erevain." Tandy bowed, her long hair touching the floor.

He twisted a strand of pale hair around his finger. "You know, this land would not have endured the destruction it did if not for the dark elves." She rose, and he casually put a long-fingered, delicately boned hand on her head.

"Yes, my lord."

His lip curled, ever so slightly. Obedient little lapdog she was, hunger in her eyes at the merest sight of him. The desire to be one of the People was so strong in her that she would lick the salt off of his hand if he wished. He folded his hands behind his back and paced. He decided to give her a history lesson. "Did you know that these lands used to belong to our People?"

"Yes, my lord."

"These Shaaryans are nothing more than vermin infesting our land." His intense, blue and gold flecked eyes flashed. "They expect us to retreat to Evermeet. My people will not leave behind their land. These are our lands. We were here before humans were more than superstitious savages rolling in filth." He looked over his shoulder and gave her a chill smile. "Would you like to prove your devotion to your people?"

"Anything, my lord."

"Bring me the Illithyri you say you lost. Bring him before me. Let me give him a taste of the revenge my people owe his kind for the destruction of this land."

She looked up at him with liquid adoration in her eyes. "Instill in him a fear of the power of Good."

He patted her head affectionately. "Indeed I will. And then…you will be allowed to join your people."

The sorceress gaped. "Before I have finished ridding this land of its inhabitants?"

He chuckled. "Yes. To give you extra motivation to get the job done quickly. I must have these lands before my people retreat to the Isle of Elves. We must show them that the time is not to retreat, but to reclaim the lands stolen from us over the centuries by the Mud People."

"I will bring the dark elf to you myself!"

He chuckled again at her enthusiasm. How charmingly stupid these part elven, part human aberrations were. "I know you will." He patted her on the head. "Until then, I bid you ado. I will send a messenger with the resources you need." He wrapped his fine cloak around himself and teleported, disappearing in an instant.

The red-haired sorceress returned to her scrying eagerly, all thoughts of daydreaming the afternoon away forgotten. If she could find and take that dark elf in to her master herself, without his aid, how much prouder would he be! He might even consent to let her take on the form of a gold elf, like himself.