CHAPTER THREE
Jarlaxle sat in a corner, his chair teetering precariously on two legs; his booted feet crossed at the ankles, perched atop the worn wood of a sturdy table. The common room of the Cloak and Dagger was not busy, nor was it lacking patrons, which suited the Drow just fine. Under normal circumstances Jarlaxle would have chosen a more comfortable establishment, somewhere in the Merchant district, but traveling with Athrogate, he found things were going to be far from normal.
On the last leg of their journey the dwarf finally made good on his threat and 'kissed' one of the Merchants camels. Needless to say they did not receive payment for their services. In fact, Jarlaxle had been hard pressed to avoid a fight.
In an effort to prevent any further conflict with their former employers, the two were staying well away form the Merchant district. And so it was that Jarlaxle had to make due in a more seedy section of town.
Even under the circumstance the drow was thoroughly enjoying himself. With the benefit of Agathas mask Jarlaxle was finally able to immerse himself in Myratmas fine Calishite culture. Seedy though is was, even the Cloak and Dagger offered new and exotic pleasures.
Jarlaxle inhaled deeply the aroma of his chosen beverage, a bold Calishite coffee with two fingers of delightful milky, buttery liquor. He sipped at it gingerly, not wishing to scald his tongue, as he took in the sights and sounds of the common room.
Every so often the musicians at the bar would strike up an almost eerie tune with their strangely shape stringed instruments and their ornately carved flutes. The music was enchanting, calling to mind the stark desert beauty and the huge domed palaces of Calimshan.
At the start of the tune, a small troupe of veiled and painted ladies would dance and whirl between the tables. Their wrists, ankles and midsections were adorned with bells and glittering fake coins that tinkled and chimed, adding a lovely rhythm to the music.
Yes, Jarlaxle was enjoying himself thoroughly. He had sent Athrogate off with a small pouch of coin to go and find his pleasures at one of Myratmas many brothels, and to be honest he was glad for the break. While he truly liked the dwarf, he was still a bit miffed over the camel incident and some time alone was just what he needed to cool his head.
Jarlaxle casually flicked a few silver pieces to the ladies as they twirled past and poured himself some more of the delightful coffee from a beautiful, if dented, copper pitcher with an ornately stamped spout. It seemed even the most mundane of things were made fabulous so long as they haled from Calimshan.
The thought evoked an image of Artemis and the drow couldn't help but wince as he stirred the liquor into his coffee. He let out a sigh and shook his head dismissing the man from his thoughts. This was a time to relax and enjoy, not a time to brood over emotional assassins.
Malehedectar skirted around the city of Myratma and entered through the south gate, closest to Memmon. Truly she was a bit nervous entering the city, for in the course of her long journey she had avoided most populated areas.
During her time with Gideon, she had no cause to hide her less than savory heritage, and so she had left her bone white hair un-colored for some years now. Being wholly an elf, but half drow was not an easy thing to come to terms with, but due mostly to her time with the wizard; she had made great strides in reconciling her feelings on the matter.
Even so with her matte gray skin, yellow red eyes, and stark white hair she had cause to worry as those distinctive features would mark her clearly as drow to most ignorant humans. As it was, she kept her hood up and her cloak pulled tightly around her as she made her way through one of Myratmas more colorful districts. A shrouded figure winding through the crowd would elect little if any notice as most people walking those seedy streets were similarly clad.
Malehedectar had sold her horse immediately upon entering Myratma; the beast would be of no further use to her, camels were far better suited to desert travel. Not that she would be traveling the whole of the Calim desert, LaValle had a contact in Memmon that would teleport her directly to Calimport. Still she had to make the two day journey to Memmon. But not for a few days at least, as there was much she needed to learn. It would not do to meet with LaValle wholly uninformed.
And so Malehedectar made her way to the infamous Cloak and Dagger. There would be news a plenty in the neutral Inn, for a price. The Cloak and Dagger was a place where even the most bitter of rivals could sit under the same roof. At least it had been when she had last been through Myratma.
A long standing agreement from every guild in Calimshan had kept the place neutral in an effort to further fuel their intrigue, she was sure. Whatever reason the Guilds had for the neutral meeting place, Malehedectar was glad for it. It wouldn't do to just waltz into a Basadoni interest after such a long absence. These things had to be done just right or one would wind up Kelp Enwalled.
Malehedectar scoffed at the notion, as she stopped at one of the stalls that lined the crowed street, only fools became Kelp Enwalled. Tactless fools, who had no head for intrigue, she thought as she purchased several pouches of colored pigment for her hair.
Truly she couldn't imagine herself, or any of Basadoni's agents ever being so careless as to wind up Guild-less. With her new purchases in hand she made her way across the thoroughfare and into the Cloak and Dagger.
Jarlaxle's interest was perked when a female patron walked through the door. The only female customer he had seen all day. And a lovely one at that, he summarized. Though the woman had her cloak pulled tightly about her, to hide her identity no doubt, it did little to hide her delicate and sensuously curved, almost elven figure.
An elf maid? Jarlaxle was almost giddy at the thought. Never had he bedded a surface elf. Oh but that would be ironic, sleeping with the most hated enemy of his race. He had heard of such couplings among the servants of Eilistraee and to a lesser extent the followers of Vhaeraun, but never had he given any thought as to what it would be like.
Surely it couldn't be better than bedding a Dragon, but there was only one way to be certain. He was getting way ahead of himself, he knew. What if she had a crooked nose? What if she was missing teeth? Gods, how he disliked bedding a woman with missing teeth!
The thought that the elf maid may not wish to bed him at all, never crossed his mind, as he casually moved into a better eavesdropping position near the bar. He also realized that he was in need of another carafe of that delightful liquor. Jarlaxle shrugged, ah well, killing two spiders with one thrown dagger, this is a lucky day indeed.
Malehedectar scanned the sparse crowd for any familiar face, or anyone advertising a Guild affiliation. She was not too surprised to see neither as she made her way to the bar. The tension in the streets and the ease with which the Merchants walked them spoke volumes on the state of things in Calimshan.
The Guilds were at war and each of them had called their agents home it seemed. A few well placed coins would fill in the rest, Malehedectar knew. She drew out a few gold pieces form her coin pouch to grab the inn keeper's attention.
"Yess, yess, how can Aria help you?" the short skinny man inquired.
"My road has been a long one, Master Aria, and I am in need of a bath, a fine meal, and a room for the night. In that order too, if they are to be had." Malehedectar spoke through her mask. Her voice, light and melodic not a bit muted by the thin fabric.
"Yess, yess Miss…" Aria prompted.
Malehedectar toyed with the notion of giving Basadoni, or even Entreri as her surname. If only to see the skinny man's eyes go wide. She knew her own name would fly well below notice here in Myratma, Calimport too most likely. She had been gone quite a long time and people in her business never received much acclaim.
Fighters and Assassins make their names known in blood, thieves on the other hand… 'If ever a rogue was well know for their thieving, than they be a very poor thief indeed', so the saying went.
"Malehedectar" she replied. "My room, Master Aria?"
"Yess, yess dis way. Many rooms Aria has. Come and I shall show dem. We discuss de price on de way yess?"
Malehedectar followed the Innkeeper to the back of the common room and up a rickety flight of stairs.
"Yes the price, I'm sure we can come to a mutually profitable arrangement, Master Aria."
She felt her heart flutter just a bit when she spoke the subtle request for information. This was it; truly she was on her way home.
Aria seemed surprised at the request. Surprised and delighted. He smiled wide showing off more than one grey tooth. The skinny man bobbed his head happily and nearly clapped his hands.
Malehedectar couldn't help but picture a desert lizard warming up for its mating dance as she waited for the silly man to reply.
"Yess, yess, Aria knows much, it has been some time since Aria has seen your kind here Miss. Give us some time and we shall have dat which you seek yess?"
"And what is it I seek?"
Aria's face fell as he mulled the question over, but he brightened as soon as he caught on to the banter.
Things did not look good, if an idiot like Aria was running the Cloak and Dagger, she thought.
"News of the Guilds. Yess, yess, Aria knows and so shall you. Juss give us some time yess?"
"Three days." Malehedectar placed a small pouch of coins into the man's hand.
"Yess, yess three days an you will know all dare iss to know."
I highly doubt that, she thought.
"And Master Aria, don't forget my bath."
"Yess I send da boy up right away Miss." Aria skittered off down the stairs hollering to someone in his native Calishite the whole way down.
He did send 'the boy' up with the bath water after only a short while, though any one with half a brain could tell the skinny tanned boy was at best, a middle aged halfling. Malehedectar pretended not to notice as she mixed the color pigments into a workable paste.
Jarlaxle was mildly disappointed as he sauntered back to his table, liquor in hand. He had not yet glimpsed the face of his mate to be, but the elf maid's voice was just as melodic and whimsical as it should be. He sat down and poured himself another mug of coffee, or at least he would have, but it seemed he was out of that as well. Surely the liquor would taste just as fine on its own, he thought and he poured himself a generous shot instead.
Evening meal was bound to be served sometime, and sometime soon he hoped. Not that he was very hungry; he just wanted to see her again. He thought perhaps he was being a bit hasty in committing so to this one elf maid.
He was on the surface after all, and here there would be plenty of elf maids to be had, he mused. Well not here, not in Myratma of all places. No it was fate. Fate had drawn them together. Surely Lady Luck has smiled upon Jarlaxle D'aerthe this day, he thought. But what he didn't think was, perhaps he had had too much to drink.
The Deserts Milk was very potent liquor and even Calishites partook of it sparingly. Jarlaxle had consumed enough to put down a camel, or knock out a young dwarf at least.
Malehedectar had just finished toweling off her
hair when she heard the chimes for evening feast. Even so she took
her time examining herself in the chipped, brass framed mirror. Her
hair was now a strange blue purple color, the result of mixing
several of the pigment powders she had bought. But her hair was not
the object of her scrutiny.
Even after
well over ten years, she still had trouble believing that her face
was forever healed. She ran a finger over her perfect, if a bit
upturned nose. For sixty years there had been naught but a twisted
lump of melted flesh there.
Her cheeks and chin too had suffered; indeed everything below her eyes had been marred by acid. Her face had resembled nothing so much as an ink drawing which the rain had caused to run. Never would she forget the pain, or the man who had healed her.
She let out a sigh and tied her silk mask behind her head. Gideon would have tisked and chided her over it, but she felt infinitely more comfortable behind the cool black silk of her mask.
Malehedectar went down to get her meal, intending to bring it right back up to her room, for it was a bit difficult to eat through cloth of any kind. But as she made her way to the bottom of the stairs she nearly ran straight into possibly the strangest elf she had ever seen.
Entreri knew he was in trouble well before he looked up. The long shadows at his feet placed at least two men at his back. There had to be at least six all together, he thought, likely there were three in front of him and a few out to either side.
With only a moment's hesitation Entreri propelled himself to his feet, drawing Charon's Claw as he went. He crouched down low bringing the blade out behind and wiping it around to the front, completing a wide circle. He was not trying to score a hit, just hoping to keep his opponents at bay long enough to come up with some kind of strategy.
As he straightened into a balanced fighting stance, his vision nearly went black as spots danced before his eyes and dizziness assailed him. Weariness form two days without food and water in the brutal desert sun finally catching up to him. Even so he gritted his teeth and unsheathed his jeweled dagger, blinking furiously to clear his vision.
The dagger came up just in time to block a well placed thrust from a hardened wood quarter staff. He worked his weapons through a series of defensive maneuvers as he shifted his stance to better assess the situation.
It was as he thought; there were indeed six of them. All shrouded in sandy colored fabric and all wielding quarter staffs, though he could see weapon hilts protruding from their sides.
Even the most seasoned wood was no match for Charon's Claw, but as Entreri lopped off inch after inch of the pathetic weapons he could not get close to their wielders. The men worked together with a careful precession, two or three engaging the assassin directly and the others, taking cheap shots at his back and legs. Every time Entreri lunged forward with his weapons his opponents would simply move farther out of reach.
Under normal circumstances Artemis Entreri would have made short work of all six of these men, but as it was he was having trouble just staying afoot. Wave after wave of dizziness assailed him and try as he might he could not banish the spots from his vision. Only a copious amount of adrenalin kept him from fainting dead at their feet.
Just as he thought it couldn't get any worse a small dart whizzed past his thigh to stick in the sand near the foot of one of his attackers.
"Damn!" he shouted as he reversed his grip on Charon's claw and swung the blade around himself calling up a wall of black ash.
A stream of shouts and orders flowed form the men in a dialect Entreri could not follow. Just as he made to crash through his visual barrier no less than eight darts flew through the ash to embed themselves in the assassin.
Artemis staggered out of the ash with his weapons leading. Already he was breaking out in a heavy sweat. He could feel a fiery burning spreading out form each of the puncture wounds. Poisoned, he knew he didn't have much time. Still he strode on, determined to take out as many as he could, but it was as if all six of the men vanished. He couldn't even make out their tracks.
Entreri's head was swimming, his limbs felt leaden as he commanded his legs to carry him onward. He took one step then another and fell to his knees. He sheathed his dagger, but stuck Charon's Claw into sand. Presenting its hilt to whoever would dare claim the weapon. His last thought was a vengeful one as he sank into oblivion, landing face first in the hot desert sand.