Chapter 4: Dislocation

Chapter summary: Being out of the desert does not necessarily guarantee being free of sand. Ruins are full of their own traps and pitfalls, and while Jarlaxle is usually prepared for smaller groups of critters, even he can be caught by surprise. Good thing he has a dwarf.

Disclaimer: Jarlaxle and Athrogate are the property of R.A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. Forgotten Realms and Karsus the archwizard are the property of Wizards of the Coast. Fan characters belong to me. Other canon characters may appear throughout the story. Preview image is the property of iDaisan, commissioned by me a few years ago.

The world of darkness receded in favour of a soft bed and white curtains that hid the waking world from her gaze. She looked around, noticing obscure symbols on the red bedding that lay on top of her. They'd been stitched into the fabric with golden thread. Sitting up, she noticed she was wearing a silk shirt with a more pale version of the red, matched with a green colour that reminded her of mint. Her body didn't feel stiff or sore, nor did she have any wounds, but her head hurt. She tried to remember where she was, but all that did was make her head spin. Crashing back down on the bed, the world became a whirlpool of colours until it finally settled down once more. When she got up this time her head hurt a little less.

Tapestries on the walls, adorned with handsome embroidery of rivers, forests and people, was the sight that met her when she pulled the curtains aside. A pair of soft red and mint green slippers stood by the bed and she put them on before examining the room closer.

She was certain this wasn't her bedroom, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what the real one was supposed to look like. Her eyes took in the full sight of the bed, noticing a dark, pyramid-shaped roof that was adorned with golden dragons. The beasts drew her in, and she ended up staring at the artistry, her attention and breath both stolen away. There was something eerily familiar about it all, yet she couldn't place it.

The door swung open and she spun around, her heart in her throat. In stepped a beautiful woman with golden eyes, dark hair and pale skin, a long, flowing dress adorning her body and expensive jewellery jingling with her every move. They exchanged curious looks, the dark one being the first to speak.

"Good morning, Your Highness," she said and bowed deeply. "It's pleasing to us that you have awoken. For a while we feared you wouldn't."

"Highness?" The woman was confused. She couldn't remember being related to royalty.

"You're one of the eight princesses of Eileanar and a princess of Opus," the golden-eyed woman informed her, which did nothing to dispel her confusion. "It will take a while for you to get used to the truth, Your Highness. You only just arrived."

"Arrived from where?" She rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"A place you're better off forgetting," the woman replied. "A pleasant lie, nothing more. You live for the truth, and the truth is what you now face."

"I know what Eileanar and Opus are," she began. "Flying cities of a magical empire named Netheril, correct?"

"Indeed," came the response. "Your father and I made sure to grant you much knowledge upon your arrival."

Her eyes narrowed as she faced the woman once more. "Did you also erase my memories?"

There was a moment's silence. "Yes. Your father thought it would be for the best. Though we didn't erase all of it. What do you remember?"

She scoured her mind, expecting another headache, but instead images flitted before her eyes. "I was a librarian... I practised witchcraft. I had friends."

"Sisters," the stranger corrected. "All by the same father. They're here, too, along with their offspring."

"I had family too?"

"Not by blood," said the woman dismissively. "Unimportant, not worth remembering."

She didn't agree. In fact, that very piece of information made her feel as if she'd lost a very big part of herself, never to be recovered. Anger bubbled up inside, mixing with her confusion and need for clarification. "Just how badly did you mess with my mind?"

"We didn't mess with it, we merely erased what wasn't needed," the stranger said, looking offended. "It would spare you much trauma."

The anger from before flared up, but she wasn't the type to throw things or scream. Instead she shot the stranger a cold look. "Then I look forward to returning the favour one day."

In response, the stranger's eyes grew wide and she straightened, but she didn't leave. "You have your father's fire, but your mother's ability to keep it in check, Your Highness."

"Do I have a name as well?" she countered dryly.

"Of course." The stranger smiled a coldly beautiful smile. "Princess Felicia."

With or without clothing, Felicia's physique was something Jarlaxle had come to appreciate. Not only was she quiet when she moved, but she proved to have good hearing and eyesight as well, more so than the average human. Still nothing like a full-blooded elf, of course, but the mercenary wasn't one to judge another's capabilities by standards that didn't fit them. Her use of facial expressions for communication and the way she signalled with her hands was much appreciated, for as it turned out, the third level was inhabited by a rather loud and vocal group of kobolds.

Kobolds were small creatures, about the same size as gnomes or halflings, with scaly hide, naked tails and canine-like heads. They claimed some kind of dragon ancestry, but no-one would assume that simply from looking at them. Kobolds weren't a threat except in large numbers, but seeing as the levels below hosted both Shades and beholders, neither Jarlaxle nor Felicia wanted to alert them to their presence. If they attacked the kobolds, chances were high the noise would give them away.

Athrogate made it very clear with his signalling that he wanted to go in for the attack. Jarlaxle sent him a disapproving look, but it did nothing to deter the dwarf. Instead he indicated the leather bag that hung on the drow's belt. He could easily guess that Athrogate wanted him to use his wand to drop a spell of silence on the kobolds, but the elf didn't like the idea of spending the charges on his magical items without good reason.

Felicia drew their attention by touching Jarlaxle on the shoulder. She indicated they stay where they were, and wait. The mercenary was confused, but all she gave him was an impish smile before she sneaked off, hiding behind debris until not even the drow could see her. His stomach tied into a knot, because he still didn't fully believe her story, even if he'd accepted that she wasn't insane or trying to kill him. Not to mention he preferred to lead.

The kobolds chatted for a good five minutes more, until suddenly, Jarlaxle could no longer hear them speak. Their serpentine eyes darted around in fear, but none of them seemed able to guess where the one who had silenced them was. The mercenary had a pretty good idea, though.

Athrogate wasted no time sneaking up on them until he was in position. He then jumped them, morningstars leading, his battle roar just as muffled as the voices of the small reptiles he attacked. One morningstar connected with a kobold's head, burying itself deep in its skull and sending the creature sprawling to the floor. Another struck his comrade in the chin, which sent him down, belly-up, and his neck twisted to the side. Athrogate was already on the third before the others even noticed he was there. Predictably, full-fledged panic broke out among them.

Jarlaxle stepped out from his hiding place next, tossing daggers at the creatures. One kobold was hit in the throat, another in the chest and a third in the eye. A fourth kobold tried to flee, but the mercenary took him down with a dagger in the back. That left three more, all of whom turned around to flee. Athrogate tripped one with his morningstar and Jarlaxle hit the other in the throat, but the third was about to make it to the door and leave the silenced area behind. Jarlaxle procured another dagger ready for the throw, but even as he tossed it, he knew it wouldn't kill the creature. As if on cue, a lithe, female figure stepped out before the kobold and blocked his passage. The creature skittered to a halt, and the mercenary's dagger sunk into his head. All the kobolds went down quietly.

It had been a risk for Felicia to take, considering she wasn't armed with any weapons apart from the two wands, but her quick thinking had helped them overcome the little monsters. The dwarf smashed in the skull of the one he'd tripped, and the drow's infravision informed him that the others were dead as well, the red colour of their body heat diminishing. Jarlaxle kissed Felicia's hand as show of appreciation for her assistance. Athrogate grinned from ear to ear as he went about checking the corpses for treasure.

A few human corpses could be found in the next room, but they'd been thoroughly looted, no doubt by more kobolds. The dwarf found a path through a pair of overturned boulders that leaned against each other, the opening so small that only someone who was the size of a halfling could pass through. No doubt it led to the kobolds' lair and even more of their kind, but also the loot they'd picked up. Not wanting to miss out on anything potentially rewarding, he gave Athrogate a quiet nod.

The dwarf grabbed his enchanted belt and tightened it by a few notches. As a result, the muscles in his arms bulged and grew. Jarlaxle moved to lean against one boulder while his companion pushed the other aside. The boulder was heavier than the drow had expected, but Felicia joined him, putting in an impressive amount of muscle for a mage and easing the burden for the mercenary.

Athrogate's new strength allowed him to place his boulder down gently and quietly. He then moved over to where Jarlaxle stood and gave Felicia a surprised look and a nod of approval before taking to the task of lowering the second one. She smiled with delight.

Loosening his belt, for as he'd told the elf on several occasions, he had no need for magical strength against critters, the dwarf led the way through the tunnels. Ordinarily Jarlaxle would take the lead, but as a dwarf, the warrior had an understanding of the stone around him that the drow lacked. While the elf's hearing was the keenest, sounds had a tendency to travel, bounce off the stone and seemingly come from all sides. Athrogate, the mercenary had found, had an uncanny ability to locate enemies or monsters underground, no matter where they were. When asked about it, he'd merely shrugged and said "I can tell by the stone". The mercenary remained mystified, but accepted it all the same.

They were halfway down the tunnel when they heard a rumbling sound from behind them. The entire tunnel shook violently, and Felicia crashed against the rock wall. She would have fallen over if she hadn't grabbed a hold of that wall to steady herself. Jarlaxle looked behind her to see debris falling down through the roof, accompanied by a bit of sand. The level shook some more, but then it calmed down. Silence followed and lasted for a whole split second until more rumbling sounded, this time accompanied by the sizzling sound of sand, and lots of it, judging from how the noise didn't cease.

Jarlaxle grabbed Felicia by the arm and pushed her into a run, the dwarf already having taken up the lead. The drow followed as quickly as possible, the sizzling turning into a deep rumble as a wave of sand came crashing through the tunnel. All three ran as fast as their legs could carry them, but the sand was quicker. Jarlaxle could always levitate, and he might be able to save Felicia in doing so, but the roof hung too low for them to be successful.

Survival required quick thinking, and the best he could do was to pick out a rather unique wand that he'd bought in Waterdeep. He aimed it first at Athrogate. An air bubble formed around the dwarf's head. He then pointed it at Felicia, creating the same result. Before he could activate it on himself, however, the sand caught up to him, enveloped him and knocked the wand out of his hand. A gloved hand caught it, however, and the last thing he saw was Felicia pointing it at him and repeating the command word he'd used. The sand pushed him up against her and she grabbed a hold with her free hand. He was pleased to learn that he could still breathe. She held on for dear life as the sand wrapped itself around them and carried them down the tunnel, the drow making sure to do the same. His back struck against a large rock at one point, but the pain wasn't even noticeable, making him suspect that the woman had cast a stoneskin spell on him.

They crashed against another rock not long after, this time her body bearing the brunt, and then the sand finally seemed to slow down. Pouring out from the pile of dust like bodies being pushed towards the shore, the mercenary was the first to get up. He looked around and noticed that Athrogate looked no worse for the wear, grumbling and shaking off the sand like a dog did rainwater.

"Bah!" he roared. "City by humans turns to ruins. Now even I need a bath." He seemed preoccupied with something else, however, climbing back into the pile of sand, of all things. Jarlaxle noticed he was missing his morningstars.

Felicia groaned, and when Jarlaxle looked down, he noticed she wasn't getting up. Then he looked down at his hands and noticed they were covered in blood. He quickly turned her over on her belly and spotted the same blood on the back of her shirt, and more pouring out. She hadn't cast stoneskin on herself?

Jarlaxle wasted no time in lifting her shirt up so he could inspect the injury. Sand had, of course, poured into it. He got out his waterskin – enchanted to hold an endless amount, of course – and set to work washing it out. She groaned and coughed up blood, and her breath came out in ragged gasps. Once the wound was clean, he got his healing orb out, the gash rapidly closing as the energy poured out of the white ball, through him and into her back. It didn't take long for her to breathe easier, although she did cough up some more blood before the healing session was over.

"Why didn't you cast stoneskin on yourself?" he asked as he healed her.

"I had only one left," she explained. "It wasn't among the spells that were restored by the silver key, I'm afraid."

"But you still chose to cast it on me," he pointed out.

"A rash decision," she began. "I miscalculated, thinking we'd suffer only one impact."

"That still doesn't explain why you cast it first on me," he argued. Jarlaxle noticed the hand on the arm that had embraced him was bloody as well, the fingers broken, but fortunately not beyond repair.

She coughed some more, but this time no more blood came out of her mouth. "I don't know why. I'm past one-thousand-seven-hundred years old and a little lonely? I could use some friends?" Another cough escaped her lips. "I might have to work on my social skills, though. This is a dreadful way to start a friendship." Then she let out a small laugh at her own expense.

Jarlaxle wasn't laughing. He strongly disliked the idea of her getting hurt on his behalf, and for many reasons. One was that he didn't like being indebted to anyone. Another was that he didn't want the likeable people to be the ones to take the damage. Apart from their... disagreement about the medusa, Felicia had remained amiable. Her words about being lonely and needing friends also left him quiet, a feat rarely accomplished. He noticed Athrogate wore a sombre look on his face.

She got up eventually, but he wasn't done. Putting the orb aside, he grabbed her wounded hand. He removed the glove as carefully as he could, did his best to clean the hand and then fished out some wooden sticks from his bag of holding. "This is going to hurt," he warned. In response, she bit down on the fabric of her shirt arm.

"Do it," were the muffled words and he set to work snapping the fingers back into place. All five had her flinch, but only the last two brought out any sound from her, albeit muted. He bound her fingers to the sticks to make sure they stayed in place, and then picked the orb back up so he could heal the remaining damage. She looked behind her and found the wand she'd used on him, fortunately still intact, and gave it to him. He pocketed it.

"I hope ye've got diplomacy aplenty," the dwarf cut in, his weapons having returned to his side, "fer now we've got ourselves some company."

As if on cue, a dozen or so kobolds rushed forth, their spears pointed straight at the trio. More clambered over boulders and others slipped through cracks, like cats. Jarlaxle pocketed his orb and rose to his feet, whereas Athrogate slowly backed up until he stood next to the elf. Felicia grabbed her glove and got up on unsteady feet. Spears came to point at all three of them.

A voice sounded from the back of the row, and the skinny kobold warriors cleared a path. Forth stepped a chubby – mildly speaking – kobold, slightly taller than the rest and wearing a pair of men's breeches as a cloak. On his head was a hat too warm for the climate, with a furry band, on top of which rested a dented brass helmet with various things attached to it, including scorpion tails. In his hand was a piece of web-worked wood that Jarlaxle had never seen before, so intricately carved that it had to be elven made. It was too small to be used by an elf, however, but looked sturdy.

The oddly dressed kobold examined the trio from top to toe, his beady eyes going from the dwarf to the drow and finally to the woman.

"Hey, I remember those breeches," she remarked. "They belonged to my father. He enchanted them to protect against wear and tear."

Jarlaxle tried very hard not to think of the fact that a kobold was wearing the pants of Karsus as a cape. Snorting with laughter now would probably convince the kobolds that he was mocking them – which wouldn't be untrue – and that would make negotiations difficult. It was one thing to kill the group upstairs, but a whole nest of them would be more of a problem. If they could get through this unscathed, it would be with diplomacy, not force.

"The dark one and his companions are not welcome here," the kobold leader said in surprisingly good Common, the look in his eyes unforgiving. "Especially the dwarf must go back now!"

"Kobold with a stick up his arse," Athrogate grumbled, "explains the short staff to match the rest of the farse."

The kobold shot the dwarf a glare.

"We do not come seeking conflict," Jarlaxle replied. "We're explorers and came upon this place by chance."

"We understand, but you must still leave," the kobold insisted.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," the drow countered. "You see, we come seeking some things that you may have found."

"Things in the ruins are free for the taking," the little monster argued. "Why should we give it to you?"

"You may keep my father's breeches if you want," Felicia cut in. "I don't mind that. But I've lost something far more precious and would like the opportunity to examine what you've found."

The kobold's eyes focused on the princess. "What have you lost that's so precious?"

"My memories," came the reply, "and with it, my family."

Every kobold surrounding them grew quiet. Jarlaxle couldn't be sure, but it almost seemed like their leader had a sympathetic look in his eyes. That might just be imagining on his part, though, as kobolds weren't known for their sympathy.

One of the little beasts muttered something in the leader's ears, and they walked away whispering things in their language. Jarlaxle managed to make out individual words like "god", "treasure" and "test". The leader nodded, and it seemed from what the elf could hear that they were in favour of giving them access to their findings. There seemed to be a catch, however, judging from the pleased grins on their faces. He considered his options and counted the kobolds. No doubt this was just a smaller force, knowing how much and how fast the little beasts reproduced, and even if they managed to kill them all they would be overrun. Whatever treachery the kobolds planned, picking a fight wasn't the right solution to the problem. Jarlaxle put to mind other plots that he could play out instead.

The kobold leader returned and addressed Felicia directly. "You may examine our findings, if you manage to pass under our god safely. If you fail we kill your companions."

She shot Jarlaxle and Athrogate worried looks. "It's fine, don't worry about us," the mercenary said and smiled. Her worry turned into deep-set concern and even a bit of defiance. "It's better than starting a fight."

"Don't die," she said after a few more seconds of hesitation. Jarlaxle's smile grew warm before he urged her to follow the kobolds. Her gaze stayed with him for three more steps before the beasts took her around a large boulder.

Athrogate sniffed. "I think she likes us."

"Or she's very lonely," the drow countered.

The dwarf shrugged. "Or both."

Or both, indeed. Either way it was a strong motivation towards her accepting their company. Jarlaxle knew the horrors of loneliness and oppressive silence all too well. He also knew how easy it was for such people to latch onto just about anyone from sheer desperation only to dismiss them later when better – or seemingly better – company came around. The mercenary wasn't one to be treated in such a flimsy manner, and if necessary, he'd make sure to give Felicia a thorough lesson in this should she prove to be that kind of person. If not, he might just take her seriously. Not that he was in the habit of befriending females, regardless of the race. In fact, knowing himself, he might just end up bedding her.

He was good either way.