A/N: I'm sorry this chapter took a bit too long – exams period coupled with unfinished university projects got in the way. I'll spare you the rant, though: instead, I'll let you enjoy this latest installment. Read, and leave me your thoughts afterwards.

Shadows of the past

The sky outside was black, with small diamond-like stars shining down on them through the empty space.

It was a beautiful night, but Artemis Entreri was feeling too restless to admire it – he didn't even want to sit down as the rest of his companions to listen to the tale Yria was telling.

He stayed on his feet, his hand never straying from Charon's Claw pommel, his brow furrowed much deeper than usual. Occasionally he paced around the common area, mindful of the corpse that still lay there, untouched and apparently forgotten, and he would throw furtive glances to the shadows and the outside of the building.

It was probably the most patent manifestation of discomfort he had allowed himself for years – decades, even. After all, concern was weakness and if you let your enemies see your weaknesses in the world of Calimshan's pashas, then you were as good as dead.

That alone said something about how far from Calimport and Pasha Basadoni he had come.

But the fact that he was showing distress didn't mean that he wasn't Artemis Entreri, the most deadly assassin a city of assassins had known in a long time. So he paced, and his hand caressed his powerful sword, and meanwhile his mind registered every last one of Yria's words, every reaction of Jarlaxle, every small change of body language of Rizolvir.

And for the moment, what he was registering was doing very little to calm him down.

"No one really knew what it was," Yria was saying, "but Master Drogan and that Harper agent that suddenly showed up agreed that it was dangerous, so they got this funny idea about sending me to retrieve it. It makes you wonder, that they chose a barely qualified girl right out of an 'adventuring school' to carry out what was supposed to be an important mission… I mean, what chances did I actually have of succeeding? It was suicidal!"

"So why did you agree? You wanted to prove your worth to your teacher or just wanted to play the hero?" Jarlaxle asked.

Shadovar still hadn't entered the story, which was pretty much a recollection of Yria's adolescent days, but the drow mercenary lent her half an ear anyway and prompted the girl to continue, letting her follow her own rhythm.

After all, he could use this interlude to think plans and bounce ideas of his own.

Yria muttered something unintelligible, and the rogue had to ask,

"What?"

"I said, I just wanted to get the item. If it was that powerful, it'd be a gold mine… Anyway, it was destroyed so the reasons here don't matter," she answered, clearly wanting to avoid the topic.

Jarlaxle smiled amused in spite of the current situation, and Rizolvir nodded to himself: he hadn't erred when he got her measure, what seemed a long time ago.

"So," the petite sorceress continued her story, "I chased the thief. Who happened to be a meduse. Who happened to… ah, petrify me. And while I was solid rock, she kind of used the item to power up the Netherese city of Undretide."

Entreri stopped his pacing for a moment and sent a questioning look Yria's way.

"You were adventuring alone and you got petrified. And somehow, you still managed to have the effect reversed and save the day?"

Yria was thoughtful for a moment before answering.

"Well, if you put it like that, then… yes, that's what happened."

"There shouldn't be people this lucky around," Entreri said, shaking his head. "You hoard all the good luck available. My portion included."

"Artemis, don't be like that!" Jarlaxle said, amused at the sudden morose bitterness of his companion. "You do have a good share of luck in life, too! Just think about the countless times there's been impossible odds, and you still have managed to come out on top!"

"That was preparation, not luck. I don't have luck: I've been stuck with you, and that's proof enough," the Calishite said, pointing an accusing finger at the one eyed dark elf.

Rizolvir sighed. There they go again, he thought. But he was too interested in the story and the Shadovar to let them sidetrack the conversation, however entertaining it might be, so he spoke up, softly addressing Yria – who was looking slightly miffed at having lost the spotlight.

"How did you overcome the effects of petrifaction, Yria? If my lore is not mistaken, the stare of a medusa is an ability with permanent consequences?"

Yria smiled brightly again, and rubbed the back of her head. She was glad to be asked, but this was the humiliating bit.

"Well, there was this caravan of lizard-like folk who ended up trapped in Undretide. They found me, and they gave me a collar that nullified the enchantment."

It sounded pretty good like that, the sorceress thought. There was no need to tell them that it had been a caravan of slavers, that they used such collars because petrified merchandise didn't require water in the desert, and that she had had to perform a ridiculously difficult task in order to regain her freedom. No, no need at all.

"So then I was alive once again, but I was trapped in Undretide – and the city was rising to the skies, to fly like it used to do back in the times of the Netherese Empire. Only that the city was kind of old, and lacking in the maintenance department, so there was no way it could fly smoothly. Besides, I'm sure that the medusa didn't know the first thing about piloting an airborne city. We were going to crash."

"Which is why you were forced to stop her," Jarlaxle supplied.

He had already estimated how many light-producing trinkets he had, how expensive and how difficult it would be to acquire new ones and how each of them should be employed if a Shadovar attacked them again.

After his brief contribution to the conversation, he went on to design some kind of trap that would prevent plane shifting around his person.

"Exactly," the girl said, oblivious to the fact that the bald drow was only giving her a fraction of his attention. "Only problem was that to get to her, I had to open a door that required of three items – the Three Winds, they were called. One of them was in a library, and acquiring it was amazing. I mean, I had to read all this stories and then write a fitting end for them, and then…"

Yria trailed off in face of the intense glare Artemis was sending her. She could feel his eyes piercing her. It was a glare of epic proportions… the kind of glare even she had to acknowledge in one way or another.

She gave a little cough.

"But I digress. The important thing is that another Wind was in the graveyard, and the last one was in the Archwizard's tower. Which is where I found the Shadovar."

Jarlaxle stopped trying to figure out how to make his infamous green goo glue things that were in parallel planes of existence, and turned all of his attention to the conversation.

He wasn't the only one. Entreri stopped pacing altogether and approached the couch where the sorceress sat, and Rizolvir leaned forth in his seat.

"Were they somehow awakened by the reactivation of the city's magic?" he asked, his wizard training kicking in as he tried to puzzle the mystery.

Yria pondered his comment.

"Not really. They aren't the inhabitants of Undretide, but of its rival city – it was called Shade. The reactivation of the city did alert them, though, and they moved through the plane of Shadow to the wizard's tower to see what had happened."

"They wanted to get their hands on the artifact that had reawakened the city then," Jarlaxle quickly surmised.

"Perhaps," Yria shrugged. "But from what I know, their city is still fully functional. I think they wanted the wizard's tower instead."

"So they were there stealing artifacts and documents," Entreri suggested, finally relenting to sitting down.

"No. They were stealing the tower. As in, the whole tower."

"You mean to say the tower? Stone and all?" the assassin's eyes opened like saucers. He had heard of all kinds of thieving stunts, and he had pulled a few of them himself, but he had never heard of a stolen building.

Jarlaxle's eyes were also wide open, but for different reasons.

"How does one go about doing that?" he asked enthusiastically.

Artemis glanced over and cursed when he recognized the look. Jarlaxle was getting funny ideas – again.

"But the human Empire known as Netheril disappeared," Rizolvir cut in, apparently intent on staying in topic. "I have been taught that they were annihilated in a war against an Underdark people. So how did this city of Shade survive?"

"Netheril disappeared because of their flying cities," Yria explained, recalling the explanation she herself had received when asking, back in the deserted corridors of Undretide. "There was a moment in which magic simply disappeared from the world, and though it was very short, it had all cities plummeting down to earth. Shade flew higher than the other cities, though, because their Archwizard was a bit paranoid about safe flying measures, so when magic was restored they still had time to use a spell before collapsing: they transferred the whole city to the demiplane of Shadow.

"Once human, the Netherese have since then lived on over there, becoming aligned to their new native plane in the process. The end result of this change are the Shadovar," she made a gesture towards the body of the dead assassin. "They were stealing the whole tower of Undretide, with all its secrets intact, by moving it into the Shadow demiplane. Stone by stone."

Rizolvir nodded, and Artemis sat back to digest this information.

It seemed that they had gotten into something quite big this time around, if these last descendants of Netheril were involved.

Only Jarlaxle thought to ask something of importance in the tense moments of realization that followed the story.

"How did you learn all this about Shade and the Netherese?" the drow mercenary said.

Yria had been hoping to avoid that question. But there was no navigating around it, so she just sighed and gave her most honest answer.

"The Archwizard's pet told me," she confessed.

Jarlaxle didn't blink. Rizolvir was frozen.

Entreri leaned forward again as quickly as a tightly coiled spring.

"A pet told you?" he asked, as if he was having difficulty digesting those words.

"Yes."

"The pet of an Archwizard?"

"Yup."

"Who has been dead for the last few millennia?"

"That would be him, yes."

"And his pet told you all that?"

"… It was a badger."

Artemis fell back on his seat.

"We're reduced to relying on information provided by a speaking badger several thousand years old," he blinked a few times and then turned a hard stare onto Jarlaxle.

"This is your fault," he said. "You wanted to take the book. You talked that good for nothing merchant into paying us for taking the book away from his caravan as a security measure. You've dragged me into this mess."

The assassin reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if trying to stall an incoming headache, and then felt the need to add,

"I hate you."

Jarlaxle chuckled nervously.

"Now, now, Artemis, no need to be overly dramatic. Something good came of that deal: we did get rid of Master Folrn, didn't we?"

Entreri gave him a look that said clearly that he wasn't convinced in the least, and Jarlaxle had to turn his charm on full force in order to survive the daggers that were being glared his way.

"Artemis! You need a bit of a positive outlook in life! Attitude is everything, my friend! And let me inform you that your attitude is not going to take you anywhere anytime soon!"

Yria nodded her agreement.

"I already told him," she said. "Positive thinking is the way to go, but he won't listen."

"I am not being overly dramatic and I'm not being pessimistic. I am the voice of reason here. Your crazy schemes are going to get us killed," the Calishite turned to the one other sensible person in the group for a supporting opinion, but unfortunately asking Rizolvir to argue directly with Yria was a bit too much.

The drow just shrugged, and said:

"If I recall correctly, Jarlaxle did ask your opinion concerning the ownership of the book. If you were adverse to the idea, you should have expressed your position at that moment."

Entreri glared at Rizolvir, feeling strangely betrayed, and Jarlaxle sighed dramatically.

"Alright, Artemis. I'll immediately pursue contrasted information about the Shades and about this book that now lies in our possession, and I will not stop inquiring until you're assured that the knowledge we have is sound and useful. This way, I hope to prove to you that recklessness is the furthest thing from my behavior, and that I can, and will, take responsibility over the consequences of my actions, even if those actions were taken with fully informed consent of the rest of the group."

The assassin snorted.

"You do that," he said, disbelievingly.

Jarlaxle grinned widely and bowed. Then, the drow picked up his cloak and plopped his huge purple hat in his head.

"Well then, I'll see you all again in the morning."

"It's the wee hours of the morning, Jarlaxle," Yria commented, innocently. "Where are you going at this time? I'm sure investigation can wait!"

The rogue walked to the huge hole opened in their wall and looked down, calculating where he wanted to land. Then, he turned with a flourish of his cape and a bright grin, tipping his hat to the sorceress.

"But I wouldn't dare to make Artemis wait any longer!" he said. "Besides, worry not: I find the moon and the starlight to be… most inspiring!"

By the time his last words were uttered, he was already out of sight. Yria looked confused, but when she looked to Rizolvir the drow made a reassuring gesture. The wizard was positive that Jarlaxle was hiding some contact from the Underdark, so he could make an educated guess on what the other mercenary was going to do – and why it was so appropriate to do it at night.

Entreri, for his part, didn't have to guess anything. He knew where Jarlaxle was headed.

And it pissed him off tremendously to have given the drow an excuse to disappear and call forth his Bregan D'aerthe.

Because in the Calishite's mind, there was no doubt that Jarlaxle was going to find a secluded spot to summon Kimmuriel, and while he had to admit that the psion could probably find out things more quickly than them, he hated the arrangement.

He hated to get an Entreri-hating Kimmuriel involved, he hated to depend on Bregan D'aerthe, and he hated to be roped into another crazy adventure with unknown stakes.

More than anything else, though, he hated the way Jarlaxle had hidden the nature of his investigations even though it was obvious to the assassin, and he hated the way he had been manipulated to provide an alibi for a plan that the mercenary had surely developed quite beforehand.

"We're in over our heads," he commented. Then, turning to Yria, he asked, "Do you really think the information you've got about Shade is reliable?"

Yria brought her knees up to her chest and nodded.

"What the badger told me about Undretide was true, so… I guess it'd tell me the truth about the outsiders who were stealing his sleeping quarters."

"Whatever the case, there is nothing else we can accomplish by pondering upon it," Rizolvir commented. "I believe we should worry about different matters until Jarlaxle comes back to share his discoveries."

Entreri allowed his gaze to drift to the Shadovar corpse. The mortal wound had stopped oozing, but the spots left by the inky blood were still fresh.

"You're right for once, drow. We need to get rid of this."

"Of course. But I believe we would be better served thinking up an excuse for that first."

Yria and Artemis followed the pointing ebon finger to the missing wall. Yria frowned in confusion.

"Oh, that… Now that you mention it, it must have been quite the explosion to take off such a great chunk of masonry. There is no way for it to have been unnoticed, right?"

Entreri snorted.

"I don't see why not. So the view you get from the main street of the biggest inn in town is a huge blown-up wall. Who would bother to notice such a thing, after all?"

"Hey! Believe it or not, I just so happen to be able to understand sarcasm!"

"You had me fooled," the Calishite said, smirking darkly.

"Fooling you is not a difficult task," Rizolvir intervened, narrowing his ruby eyes.

"Many have died for making that assumption."

"Many have died for showing far more respect than you."

"So!" Yria spoke up, loudly enough for both males to reluctantly back off. "If they have noticed, I wonder why nobody has come to ask what happened yet?"

Entreri raised an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting.

Four strangers, two of them drow, had barged into the main inn of town. Then, they had intimidated their way into getting the best rooms available. Then, somehow, they had made a ruckus in their room. And then, they had ended the fight by blowing off a stone wall.

Why wouldn't anyone just knock on the door and ask if everything was fine?

Boulder-sized debris blocked the main street in town, completely impeding carts from crossing and seriously bothering any pedestrian trying to make way. The stone work of the inn where the debris had originated from was still smoldering, and some rocks had actually melted. Furthermore, the explosion had been felt in the entire building, and surely in the entire square as well.

Why wouldn't anyone come to see what had provoked such disturbance?

There were a lot of possible reasons, but most likely, it was because Greenest would need a little more time to put together its army.

o O o

Jarlaxle stored away his silvery tube as soon as the bluish dimensional door opened a couple of paces away from him, and did his best to hide the wide smile that crept onto his features when Kimmuriel stepped out.

The psion's cold features were carefully arranged in a display of boredom mixed in with a healthy amount of disgust at having been called upon.

"Jarlaxle," he said, giving just the barest hint of a nod by way of greeting.

"Why, Kimmuriel! So nice to see you! How are you faring lately?"

The bald drow knew that he was in a bit of a tight bind, and that he should address his business diligently, but he just couldn't help the need to poke his particular brand of fun at Kimmuriel.

And of course, the former Oblodra rose to the bait.

"It was you who made me come," he said, his perfect brow furrowing ever so slightly in annoyance. "And I must add that I wasn't expecting to see you again this soon."

Jarlaxle chuckled. All their meetings in the surface started with a slight variation of the very same conversation: the psion heeded the call, the rogue attempted to make small talk, the psion showed off his incredibly sour mood, the rogue made whatever request he wanted to make in the first place.

Truth be told, the Baenre scion enjoyed the moments of 'friendly banter', but there was a part of him that hoped to see a different look in his lieutenant's face. To him, the surface was a place of freedom and possibilities, and so he wanted his band to think – and act – accordingly. Kimmuriel, on his part, hated the strange habit of 'socializing' developed by his former master, and was waiting eagerly for the folly to end so that he could cut all ties with the accursed surface.

Neither day seemed to be coming anytime soon, though, so for the moment Jarlaxle kept wandering about and summoning Kimmuriel to the oddest places, and Kimmuriel kept heeding his call with the barely suppressed sigh of a martyr.

Which didn't mean that they'd not try to change the status quo.

"Ah, you shouldn't complain so much. Just enjoy the moment to be reunited with an old friend, away from the responsibilities of Bregan D'aerthe! And look, isn't this town cozy and charming?"

Jarlaxle was still his superior in some level, so the psion failed to mention that there was no 'old friend' that he could see, that he far preferred to relax in his luxurious private bath, and that he found the way mud stuck to his boots to be all but charming.

It wasn't like the rogue didn't know, anyway.

"What do you want from me this time, Jarlaxle?"

"Why, I'm hurt. How can you assume that I summon you for your services?"

"Don't you always."

Jarlaxle smiled with an impish gleam in his eyes and tipped his hat to the other dark elf.

"Short and to the chase, as always. I see that power hasn't changed you at all."

"Which is why I'm still alive."

"Indeed," the rogue allowed himself a small laugh. He'd always found his lieutenant's dryness a great source of humor. "I'm glad to see your pragmatism is intact: you're going to find it most useful to complete the task I want to charge you with."

"What do you want from me, I ask again."

Jarlaxle shrugged and reached inside his cloak. After a bit of patting and fumbling, he produced a thin leather-bound book.

"Information, of course. I want you to take this back to headquarters and find out what it is about. Independently, I want you to gather whatever knowledge you can about the old Netherese, the city of Shade, and the so-called Shadovar."

Kimmuriel took the proffered book and turned it over in his graceful hands.

"What game are you playing at now, Jarlaxle? Illefari ruins first, and now you're involved with the Netherese? I believe you're plunging us deeper than we should go."

"Nonsense," the rogue said dismissively. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

The psion smiled wryly.

"I'm not expected to find adventure. I'm expected to keep Bregan D'aerthe from destruction."

"The spirit of Bregan D'aerthe is not to survive, but to thrive. You must strive to profit!"

"Profit from last venture is to make an appearance yet."

Jarlaxle sighed exaggeratedly. He so hated it when Kimmuriel chose to play difficult.

"The book isn't netherese," he confessed, "it comes from Candlekeep. It was expected to go towards Berdusk, but the merchant taking it there was… ah… dispirited, and he charged us with the task instead. I'm not going to travel with something I know nothing about!"

"More like, you're not going to part with anything until you're sure that it is not powerful enough."

"If you want to put it like that," the rogue acknowledged.

"And so you choose to pull Bregan D'aerthe into it."

"I just want information," Jarlaxle shrugged. "And I know you actually will cherish the opportunity to lock yourself away and study for a bit. Call it 'mutual benefit', if you will. Or would you rather set up a Future Market?"

That did the trick.

The unimpressive looking book disappeared in Kimmuriel's person.

"I'll look into it."

"That's so kind of you!" Jarlaxle said, with a wink and an amused smile. "I'll call you back in a few days to see what you've learned, then. And don't forget to look into the Shade stuff!"

"Of course I won't," Kimmuriel said stiffly, as if offended by the mere idea that his prodigious mind could possibly overlook anything at all.

Jarlaxle smiled and waited till the psion crossed his dimensional door, and then he stared for a few moments longer while the bluish glow vanished, thinking.

Kimmuriel was as loyal as a drow came. He was devoted to Bregan D'aerthe, because it was the way to preserve his own life and status, and he disliked the leader position enough to keep doing whatever Jarlaxle told him to. Plus, the psion wasn't a fool, and he knew that if he got to like the band too much, if he tried to take it away from Jarlaxle, the Baenre son would just waltz back to Menzoberranzan, pull a couple of strings here and there, and then there would be Kimmuriel no more.

All in all, he was the perfect elf for the job.

Sometimes, though, his aversion to unnecessary risks could be so very infuriating.

Good thing that Jarlaxle knew how to use his pride and his own intelligence to help him see things from another perspective from time to time, or else all the little side-projects would be dead before being even formulated.

As a matter of fact, if it weren't so easy to bait the psion into a 'bet you can't do it' kind of challenge, then Jarlaxle would surely have had to pay for half of his arsenal.

Yes, Kimmuriel was an extremely capable and reliable subordinate… but sometimes he was just too boring!

Dawn started to break, and with a satisfied smirk Jarlaxle pushed away from the wall where he had been leaning and started his leisure walk back to the inn, thinking that his lieutenant really needed to broaden up his mind.

After all, what could be the harm in investigating a book?