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

"What have I done?" the assassin wailed, falling to his knees beside the drow. He turned an evil glare over Jarlaxle. "What have you done?"

"I gave you your fight and showed you the truth," Jarlaxle calmly replied. "Of yourself and your skills. But I am not finished with you. I have come to you for my purposes, not your own. Having done this for you, I demand that you perform for me."

"No! No!" the assassin cried, reaching down furiously to try to stem the spurting blood. "Not like this!"

Jarlaxle looked to Kimmuriel and nodded. The psionicist gripped Entreri with a mental hold, a telekinetic force that lifted Entreri from Drizzt and dragged him behind Kimmuriel as the psionicist headed out of the room, back down the stairs.

Entreri thrashed and cursed, aiming his outrage at Jarlaxle but eyeing Drizzt, who lay very still on the floor. Indeed he had been granted his fight, and, indeed, as he should have foreseen, it had proven nothing. He had lost – or would have, had not Kimmuriel intervened – yet he was the one who had lived.

Why, then, was he so angry? Why did he want at that moment, to put his dagger across Jarlaxle's slender throat?

Kimmuriel hauled him away.

"He fought beautifully," Rai'gy remarked to Jarlaxle, indicating Drizzt, the blood flowing much lighter now, a pool of it all about his prone and very still form. "I understand now why Dantrag Baenre is dead."

Jarlaxle nodded and smiled. "I have never seen Drizzt Do'Urden's equal," he admitted, "unless it is Artemis Entreri. Do you understand now why I chose that one."

"He is drow in everything but skin color," Rai'gy said with a laugh.

An explosion rocked the tower.

"Catti-brie and her marvelous bow," Jarlaxle explained, looking to the landing where only Guenhwyvar remained, roaring and clawing futilely at the unyielding glass. "They saw, of course, every bit of it. I should go and speak with them before they bring the place down around us."

With a thought to the crystal shard, Jarlaxle turned the wall in front of Guenhwyvar opaque once more.

Then he nodded to the still form of Drizzt Do'Urden and walked out of the room.

(387-388)

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"He is sulking," Kimmuriel remarked, joining Jarlaxle sometime later in the main chamber of the lower floor. "But at least he has stopped vowing to cut off your head."

Jarlaxle, who had just witnessed one of the most enjoyable days of his long life, laughed yet again. "He will come to his senses and will at last be free of the shadow of Drizzt Do'Urden. For that, Artemis Entreri will thank me openly." He paused and considered his own words. "Or at least," the mercenary corrected, "he will…silently thank me."

"He tried to die," Kimmuriel stated flatly. "When he went at Drizzt's back with the dagger he led the way with a shout that alerted the outcast. He tried to die and we, and I, at your bidding, stopped that."

"Artemis Entreri will no doubt find other opportunities for stupidity if he holds that course," the mercenary leader replied with a shrug. "And we will not need him forever."

(389)

Chapter 6

To Come So Far

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Artemis was silent as they walked to the inn because he was thinking. However, he wasted no time confronting Jarlaxle about his thoughts when they entered the warm inn's common room and sat down to wait for Jarlaxle's companions to awaken.

"Why would you leave, is the question," Artemis said. "You had to know that Tandy would not let us go without a fight. Did you really think you could face such a powerful sorceress alone?"

Jarlaxle didn't answer.

Artemis, studying his face, saw that such a silence answered him better than Jarlaxle's fleeting excuses. Alarm slowly rose in his chest. Jarlaxle hadn't been thinking. He hadn't even considered what he would do if he faced Tandy. This, from the drow who had a plan for every contingency.

The assassin decided that they were in more trouble than he had anticipated.

They did not have to wait long before Jarlaxle's companions arrived, walking bunched comfortably together. They rose from the table as one.

"Jarlaxle?" Ryan stretched, cracking his back. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Something came up," Jarlaxle said. "I'm afraid I must aid this gentleman here…" He gestured to Artemis.

"Who is he?" Layla asked, staring at Artemis with a curled lip.

He glared back. "I am the person you will fail to detect right before your life's blood spills onto the carpet."

Jarlaxle laughed uneasily. "He is a little bad-tempered today, but do not worry. He doesn't mean you any harm. He only needs my help with a personal problem."

"What?" Barak asked, scratching his head.

"He means that he and I are leaving," Artemis said.

"He made a deal!" Barak said, jabbing his finger into the palm of his other hand. "He can't leave until we reach Skullport."

"He's not coming with you," Entreri growled. "He has a prior obligation."

Jarlaxle might have laughed at being surrounded by people arguing over him, but the situation was only comedic if he had the power to walk away from them, which he didn't. Instead, he just felt sick to his stomach. "Why can't these three accompany us to –"

"No," Entreri snapped. "I'll not have such weaklings and children following me wherever I go. Next you'll be suggesting that I take care of them at my own expense."

"Children?" Layla's voice grew shrill. "I am not a child!"

"Then you're a weakling." Artemis sneered. "Make your choice, but get out of my face, woman."

Jarlaxle held up his hands, trying to stall the confrontation. "He does not mean it. He is only upset because I –"

"Not one word from you." Layla rounded on him, trembling with anger.

The drow winced despite himself.

Artemis looked at him curiously and jerked his head at the woman. "Why do you care what she says to you?"

"Why do ye care whether the drow bastard comes or goes?" Barak asked, propping his hands on his belt.

Artemis turned to him, dead white and snarling. "Say that one more time, and I can guarantee that tongue of yours won't stay in your head."

Barak held his ground with stony stubbornness.

"Why don't we just let him go where he wants to?" Ryan asked desperately, gesturing at Jarlaxle.

"Oh, yes, why don't we?" Layla replied. Her nostrils flared as she stared at Jarlaxle. "Why don't we let him do whatever he wants?"

Jarlaxle held up his hands. "I did not hurt you because I wanted to."

"Oh? Then why did you?"

Artemis stared at Jarlaxle incredulously.

"I…" Jarlaxle felt everyone's gaze bearing down on him. He felt caught between compromising to maintain his image with his new companions, and remaining enough true to himself so that Artemis didn't despise or question him. The explanation he knew could dissolve some of the tension in both parties was the one he knew could ruin him. The internal pressure beleaguered him and forced him to say the words, even though he resented them. "I am not a…"

An unearthly roar erupted from outside, shaking the floor and rattling the windows. Everyone froze.

His damning confession, tantamount to an offer to stab him in the heart while he watched, fled from his lips, forgotten. I am not a perfect person. "What was that?" Jarlaxle looked out the windows, seeing a plume of smoke rise over the rooftops from two blocks away.

"Tandy," Entreri said, drawing his sword.

The barmaids shrieked at the grind of blade against scabbard.

"You can't do that!" the innkeeper yelled. "You're in the city! All of your weapons have to be peace-tied. It's the law!"

"Bugger the law, you imbecilic old man!" Entreri yelled over his shoulder. "Can't you see what is going on outside? The city is under attack! We shall be killed if we don't defend ourselves."

The innkeeper hid behind the counter.

Entreri curled his lip in disgust and growled. Suddenly, he turned and glared at them all. "Well? Do you want to die or live? Draw your weapons and get out there!" He ran to the door and flung it open before anyone could find their tongue. Jarlaxle and the others merely drew their weapons and followed him.

When they ran into the street, they were met with a chorus of screams. A panicked mob was reacting to the crisis by running away or barricading themselves inside buildings. The urge to fight the menace seemed to be in the minority.

This didn't stop Artemis. He headed towards the attack, pushing stampeding people as hard as they pushed him, going against the flow of traffic.

"He must be bored," Jarlaxle said to his three bewildered human companions. He followed the assassin's example of moving towards the disturbance, although much less enthusiastically.

This earned him a roar: "Jarlaxle, get your black elven ass over here!"

The mercenary shot Artemis Entreri a dirty look and put more speed into his steps. Instead of shoving people, he walked with his head high, plume bouncing in the wind, declaring primly, "Move, people, move. We are accomplished mercenaries. Please make way, and we will put everything to rights." The terrified crowd scattered for him, currently cowed into placing their faith in anyone willing to fight. Jarlaxle motioned to Layla, Ryan, and Barak. "Come with me. I think this noble city deserves your assistance." Dumbfounded, they shut their mouths and nodded.

"Jarlaxle!" Artemis roared again.

"Coming, dear partner," Jarlaxle said, trotting through the now-clear streets.

But all of them halted abruptly when they saw what was causing the disturbance. A red dragon loomed above them, taking down buildings with its teeth and breathing spurts of flame at whatever caught its eye.

"It's a baby," Jarlaxle offered weakly, trying to smile in the face of the urge to faint. In the eyes of that dragon, he was a speck without any magical shells to protect him. The dragon, if it caught him, could simply crush him. Then there would be no more Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe and no one would care that he had disappeared without a trace, without any last words to his mercenaries. Menzoberranzan was built that way. People disappeared every day.

"It's a dragon!" Ryan screamed. "Good god Ao, it's a dragon!"

"It's a dragon," Artemis seconded with deadpan hatred. A murderous gleam lit his gray eyes, and his hand tightened on the jeweled hilt of his new sword.

Jarlaxle wanted to tell him they didn't stand a chance. His words were frozen in his throat.

The dragon looked in their direction.

"Shit!" Layla scrambled behind a cart, recognized what she was clinging to, screamed, and hid behind the stonework of an already smoldering house.

"Those who have dared disturb my slumber shall die!" the dragon roared in a voice that made the hair on Artemis' arms stand up on end.

"You were napping?" Jarlaxle asked, beaming. He laughed. "Sorry. I'm surely not the one who would wake so eminent a creature as you, Master …?"

The dragon made a swipe at him with its front claws. Jarlaxle bounded away like a cricket, heightening his jump backwards with levitation. He landed nimbly on a weather vane that topped a nearby roof.

The dragon flapped its wings, sending a gust of snow and chilly air that ripped the weather vane off the roof. Jarlaxle landed on his back in the roof's snow and jumped back onto his feet.

The dragon roared, "Humans! You shall suffer for disturbing me!"

"Oh, boy." Ryan fainted dead away in the middle of the street.

Artemis kicked him in the ribs. "Useless scum!"

Ryan didn't stir.

"Where did you find these cowards?" Entreri demanded in disbelief.

Jarlaxle shrugged sheepishly. "Never mind them. Let them tend to their own safety."

"Enough talking!" the dragon roared. "Die!" It unleashed a roiling cloud of smoke and fire at the rooftop where Jarlaxle stood.

Jarlaxle leapt, flying backwards just ahead of the flame. It melted the ice and snow on the roof and set the house ablaze.

The dragon moved, its muscles bunched, cat-like – an enormous predator preparing to strike.

"Jarlaxle!" Artemis screamed.

The dragon slammed into the drow with its tail before Jarlaxle had a chance to land.

Jarlaxle shot towards the ground like a meteor and disappeared from sight.

The dragon instantly turned on Entreri.

Artemis rolled out of the way, but not quick enough. The heat blast from the flame was enough to burn him, turning the side of his face hot and throbbing and setting his clothes on fire. He smelled scorched hair and wool. He kept rolling until he felt the flames on his body extinguish and lay in the mud, drenched by the cloud of vapor that moments ago had been snow. He prayed that the trick would make the dragon think he had been killed and hoped the dragon couldn't hear his heart beating, rabbit-quick.

However, he still tensed, getting ready to jump to his feet and run.

At that moment, a powerful female voice carried across the demolished streets. "Halt, and stop this destruction at once! I give you only one warning. You are violating the sanctity and peace of Silverymoon and will be punished!"

"Who are you to stop me?" the dragon growled. Artemis could feel the dragon's voice vibrate his bones.

"I am Alustriel, this city's keeper."

Artemis Entreri fervently hoped that Alustriel was as powerful as the stories said. If the legends were true, he and Jarlaxle might just limp away from this encounter alive. He lay in the mud, eyes closed, hoping that this battle would skip over him completely. Jarlaxle had the sense to do the same, if he were still alive.

If he had been watching, Artemis would have seen an incredible battle. He heard Alustriel chanting, felt and smelled the odd tang of magic racing through the air. He heard the yells of Silverymoon soldiers, archers, and wizards as they swarmed into the street. The ground shook with the rampages of the dragon. Earsplitting roars, ferocious and cavernous, belched from lungs the size of cottages.

After enduring this for what seemed like hours, the victorious cries from the soldiers told him that the dragon had been eliminated.

Without thinking, he scrambled to his feet, mud and icicles frozen to his body, and ran to the place he had seen Jarlaxle fall. Behind him, looming in the corner of his vision, was the steaming carcass of the red dragon, but he did not heed it.

Artemis dug through the snow with his bare hands, scraping his fingers on sheets of crumbling ice. He found an ebon-skinned hand and clasped it, one hand on Jarlaxle's wrist, and pulled. Jarlaxle's body shifted a foot forward, knocking snow loose from his head and chest. Artemis lifted, muscles in his arms flexing, and Jarlaxle came free from the snow bank. The drow's head lolled. For one moment, Artemis thought his neck was broken, and his chest almost burst. Jarlaxle looked up at him, and he realized he'd been holding his breath so tightly he couldn't breathe. "Hold on. The dragon's been defeated. We can walk away from this and get you the help you need."

Jarlaxle chuckled weakly. "I told you I didn't like red dragons."

"I know."

Artemis straightened, pulling Jarlaxle's arm across his shoulders and putting his other arm around the drow's waist to steady him.

He felt the prick of a sword against his back. The man's voice came from directly behind his right ear. "Halt."

"Halt?" Jarlaxle complained. "We're always being told to halt."

"We haven't done anything worthy of your attention," Artemis said evenly. "We were trying to protect the city, but the dragon's wrath proved too much for us to handle." The burnt side of his face was stiff and hurt outrageously whenever he spoke.

"Artemis Entreri," an amazed voice breathed.

Despite better judgement, Artemis turned, almost causing the soldier to slice out his Adam's apple. Drizzt Do'Urden. Artemis' eyes narrowed to slits. Drizzt's quickly did as well.

"H-Hello," Jarlaxle said. The way he was breathing made Artemis think his ribs hurt. The assassin only hoped they weren't broken. The drow managed to smile. "I thought we would stop by and see how you were doing and how your pursuit of the lovely Catti-brie was faring. By any chance do you have children yet? I would love to see them. No doubt they have her hair and your lovely eyes."

Artemis imagined that and immediately tried to dismiss the picture.

"Jarlaxle!" Drizzt exclaimed through clenched teeth.

"Ye-es, that is my name. Drizzt, call off your lackeys and let us sit down for tea," Jarlaxle said.

Alustriel stepped forward, looking outraged. "They are not his lackeys."

Jarlaxle tried to bow, even with Artemis being the only thing holding him up. "My apologies. I did not mean to insult your eminence."

"These two are wanted criminals known far and wide," Drizzt said. "One of them is my old enemy, the assassin Artemis Entreri. The other is a new partner he picked up during a stint in the Underdark, in the city of drow."

"Stint," Jarlaxle said to Artemis. "As if he thinks you were taking a vacation or something."

"I did not 'pick him up'," Artemis corrected. "He imprisoned me."

"Let us not quibble over semantics," Jarlaxle said.

"Then, when I finally managed to escape, he came after me and saved me from certain death… on the condition that I would be his servant," Artemis said. Jarlaxle gave him a worried glance, as though he thought the assassin were being entirely serious. Artemis sent him the slightest smirk to reassure him it was all in good fun.

"He makes a good servant," Jarlaxle said. "I make him wash my feet."

Artemis wrinkled his nose.

"The details are irrelevant," Drizzt interjected, speaking loudly.

"I beg to differ," Jarlaxle said. "It's all in the details."

Alustriel frowned, seeming the slightest bit confused. "Silence, please." She glanced at Drizzt. "You say you know these men, and that the Calishite is none other than Artemis Entreri?"

Drizzt bowed to her. "Lady, I can assure you that these are two dangerous men, much better kept in one of your cells to await trial than left to themselves to pursue whatever destruction meets their fancy. They have countless crimes to atone for."

"Let me add a new one before you make the tally," Artemis growled. "Give me a chance, and I'll break your neck."

Alustriel frowned disapprovingly. Suddenly, all the soldiers around them pointed their swords in their direction.

"Oh, dear," Jarlaxle said.

"I guess I won't give you the chance, then," Drizzt hissed.

"What makes you qualified to decide who should be locked up and who should be set free?" Artemis demanded. "What makes Drizzt Do'Urden the ultimate judge of a man's actions?"

"I'm not," Drizzt said. "That's why there will be a trial."

In the wake of all the destruction, Artemis and Jarlaxle were marched into the Silverymoon dungeons.

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Inside the dungeon, the guards pulled them apart, one guard taking Artemis' arm, another taking Jarlaxle's.

"What are you doing?" Artemis demanded.

"Collaborators are separated."

The guard yanked Artemis roughly down the left passageway. "Now, come with me, ye scoundrel."

"But he's injured!" Jarlaxle protested.

Artemis looked at him in surprise. You're one to talk, he thought of saying. You can't even walk by yourself.

"He'll get treated," the guard said, without a change of expression.

To Artemis' mortification, Jarlaxle started to struggle with the guard holding him back. "Wait!" he ordered. "By who? When? You can't leave him like that!"

"Jarlaxle, stop," Artemis snapped. His face was starting to get hot from the inside, and he didn't know why.

Jarlaxle stopped. Their eyes met, and they both saw something there that surprised them. What exactly was communicated neither one knew; but they felt it in their bones.

Jarlaxle allowed himself to be led in the opposite direction, and Artemis' guard resumed dragging him down the hallway.

"Enough of the lovebird act," Jarlaxle's guard muttered loudly enough for Artemis to hear. "You'll see each other at trial."

Artemis stared at his hands. He sat on the stone bench jutting from the wall. I can't believe he's gone.

And then, I've failed him.

Artemis shook his head. He didn't know what he was thinking. You are hungry and tired, he told himself. You aren't making sense. Stop thinking until you have some food and rest.

But he couldn't.

Jarlaxle was vulnerable, really vulnerable. He hadn't wanted to see it before, but he couldn't help it when remembering the sight of Jarlaxle being pummeled by the dragon. It was dangerous for Jarlaxle out there; he was always getting himself into trouble, and he couldn't afford it now that he didn't have any magical protection. Stripped of his magic, Artemis could see more clearly the dark elf rogue: Jarlaxle's strengths were his being quick, nimble, and persuading everyone with his charisma. That is why he had such an array of magical items festooned around his person. Wands to fight when he couldn't compete. Tricks to aid his stealth or his swiftness or guarantee an escape if cornered. And even with that layer of protection, Jarlaxle must not have trusted his safety completely, for he rarely fought until pushed to it, and never if his companions could handle the conflict by themselves.

It was inconceivable, but it was true: Jarlaxle needed someone like Artemis to be the muscle behind his threats, to be the dagger at his enemy's throat.

Now he understood the nervousness in Jarlaxle's eyes that morning during their confrontation. Now he understood the manipulation, the constant insistence on control. Jarlaxle knew that without his magical weapons, without his guaranteed way out, if Artemis wanted to kill him, he would be dead. And no one would bother to resurrect him.

Artemis held his head in his hands, lost in his disbelief. He had been blinded by the aura of impenetrability that Jarlaxle projected. He had bought it. He had fallen for an illusion. Jarlaxle was just as vulnerable as he was, and he always had been.

He remembered Jarlaxle's smile, the mercenary's insistence that they were equal, and his rejection of that idea.

It came to Entreri in a flood: He was telling the truth. In spite of needing to manipulate me, he told the truth to my face. He was telling the truth all along.

Artemis thought about that for the rest of the day, fixated on it, unaware of time passing. He was telling the truth.

His food went uneaten, and he did not sleep.

The next day – or it could have been the next week – the assassin was forced to look up at the sound of something ringing against the bars of the cell. It was the dark elf ranger, sounding the bars with a hunting knife to get his attention.

"Why are you here?" Artemis asked, raising an eyebrow.

Drizzt sheathed the dagger and paced in front of the cell like an uneasy animal. "To make sure you still are. I have already checked on Jarlaxle."

Artemis laughed. "What do you expect?"

Drizzt frowned. "I expected you to escape. They told me how much surveillance they have posted on your cells, and I did not think it would be enough. I feared that when I came to see your accommodations, I would be looking at an empty cell."

Artemis grinned. "How would we manage that?"

Drizzt's frown deepened. "Jarlaxle seems to be able to escape from a sealed room with ease. He is so slippery I would almost expect him to turn into a shadow and glide under the door."

Artemis' grin drained of mirth. "Jarlaxle doesn't have a plan. He doesn't even have a way out. If it's his presence here that you want, you will get it."

"My impression of him was that he always had a plan," Drizzt said dryly.

Artemis' grin faded away entirely. "He hasn't been himself lately."

Drizzt raised an eyebrow. "What about you? Have you been yourself lately?"

Artemis snorted. "What do you expect of me? That I have a lock pick in my mouth, secreted away in a hollowed out cheek pouch?"

Drizzt narrowed his eyes. "That sounds about right."

The assassin rolled his eyes. "Left it at home. Sorry to disappoint."

"Then what are you going to do?" Drizzt asked suspiciously.

Artemis stared at him dead on. "About the trial? Do you really think I will give a damn what a hundred people say? What two hundred say? Or three hundred? A thousand? I know who I am."

Shaken, Drizzt left.

That night was a special night. Artemis Entreri dreamt.

Incredibly, he was home – the home that haunted the furthest recesses of his childhood memories, a two story adobe house with rich, heavy tapestries in front of open windows to let in or restrict the wind. A place that smelled of cinnamon and rich, dark molasses, lit by sunroofs during the day and oil lamps by night.

He was drawn like a rip tide into his mother's room.

"Why does Papa have two wives?"

She drew him into her lap and sat him upon her shapely knee. He buried his face in her robes. He liked the perfume. It was flowers. Like the purple ones that grew in the garden.

She must have thought answering him important, for she took his chin and gently tipped his head up, to meet his inquisitive eyes. Smiling, she stroked his baby-soft hair. "Many men have more than two wives. Wives are a way for them to follow love. One wife shows a man loves a little. Several wives show a man who loves a lot."

He frowned, but it was more like a pout. "But if he has lots of wives, who is his favorite? Does he love them all? Or does he just like having them?"

She laughed. "So serious! You are only four years old, Artemis!" She ruffled his hair. "You will have a chance to learn these things, when the time is right."

"Five," he said, sticking out his lower lip and crossing his arms.

She lifted him off her lap, hooking her hands under his armpits, and patted his rump, scooting him forward. "Go, you scoundrel!" She laughed again, a heartfelt, amused sound. "It is time for bed, and boys who do not go to bed have no supper the next eve."

He turned, first only to look over his shoulder, but then all the way around when he couldn't see her well enough that way. His face was frank, unintentionally serious with his sober gray eyes. "You would feed me. You would bring me bread crusts from the kitchen. Like you did last time." He was done speaking and put his thumb in his mouth.

She came from her chair, silk whispering around her ankles, and bent down, gently plucking his fist away. "Still sucking? You will have crooked teeth at this rate. I told you what the priest said."

He pulled his tiny hand away from hers and stuck his thumb back in his mouth. "Mmn."

She sighed and picked him up. "Just this once. I cannot carry you to bed forever, you know." Still, she held him close enough for him to hear her heart beating, as if she would be sad when she could no longer fit her arms around him so easily.

"Mama-hal…" He took his thumb out of his mouth, repentant and obedient. "I'm tired." His eyes fluttered shut.

She carried him to his bed and tucked the covers over him. He fell asleep, nestled in eiderdowns and silk.

Artemis awakened in the cell, head throbbing and bile in his throat. His entire body hurt, on the inside, beyond muscle and bone, and in a moment of clarity he knew that he was heartsick. He dreadfully missed his mother, missed the feeling that someone else cared for him. He was surprised, having thought he buried and forgot the pain a long time ago. It was raw, chafed, new. Bitter resentment welled up in him, as tears might have, if he had been weaker. He had never dreamt of his mother before, never in the long years since her disappearance. He had put it behind him. Or so he had thought.

Now, his head still whirling from sleep, she was all he could think about. Every touch, glance, and smell was reawakened, as if it had been preserved in a heavy tome, pressed and dried.

Just when he thought he couldn't stand it anymore, the pain faded to the background with one last throb in his chest, as if the memory of her was reassuring him that it could crush his heart if it wanted to.

He realized – or remembered – two things: he had loved before because he had loved his mother, and the one thing he was suddenly afraid of losing forever was Jarlaxle.

Artemis growled, covering his eyes with his fists, restraining the urge to beat his fists against his forehead. "You are weak, stupid, weak."

But even saying it out loud couldn't banish the feeling. He wanted Jarlaxle, more than he had ever wanted anyone's presence before. He wanted the condescending smile and the vanity and the uncomfortable feeling of being included. Included in Jarlaxle's plans and being physically included, thrust into the spotlight with the insane drow with the simple pull of the mercenary's arm around his shoulders, the infectious grin suddenly blaring his way like the sun's glare.

He had gotten used to it.

No…He had gotten to like it.

Like it. He swallowed against a suddenly tight knot in his throat.

His eyes wandered along the stones of the wall, but they were unseeing, tracing instead the line of events that had led him here.

In the months surrounding the Crystal Shard and Jarlaxle's downfall, Artemis had become assured that Jarlaxle would not turn on him without reason. He had trusted that about Jarlaxle's presence: that unless he gave Jarlaxle a reason, the drow mercenary would not strike at him. That was more assurance than he had previously had about any of his associates, partner or otherwise, but that did not mean he felt any sort of kinship or loyalty. Safety was not precisely the word for it, either. He had simply known that should Jarlaxle come or go, he would part with the mercenary on pleasant terms.

When they attacked Tandy's fortress and failed, Jarlaxle's fallen body had forced him to realize that Jarlaxle's life or death mattered to him. Another's survival impacted him in some way. He had felt compelled to call the sorceress off, to offer her a deal. This was new to him, and somehow unpleasant.

Then, even when he had found his escape, he had paused, deciding to wait for Jarlaxle instead of putting his plan into action as soon as possible. Imprisonment was distasteful to him, and he knew full well that Jarlaxle would not be up to his full fighting capacity. And yet he had waited until he saw Jarlaxle pull through, starting to regain consciousness and lucidity. Yes, when they struggled through the snow – Artemis largely pulling Jarlaxle's weight – he had admitted to himself that he had feelings of like toward Jarlaxle, that Jarlaxle made his life seem more worth living somehow. But though he freely admitted these new feelings, he had ultimately dismissed them as his being accustomed to Jarlaxle's company, of coming to 'like' the mercenary because there were no other options for company.

Jarlaxle's desertion in the middle of the night had changed that. His anger, his following pursuit, his determination to face Jarlaxle again and demand an explanation – these things had all stemmed from a violation of another new feeling. Artemis had placed value upon their partnership, placed value upon their friendship. He, the lone assassin, had come to like another person for who he was. It was an impossible feat. No one measured up to his standards, no one garnered so much respect that he would claim to 'like' them. But first Dwahvel. Now this mercenary. He had been forced to consider a question: Was he truly changing?

Those ruminations brought him here, to this prison, to his pangs of anxiety in regards to Jarlaxle's treatment at the hands of these 'goodly' people. He felt the same way he had as a small child when his mother began defending him from his father. The same age-old pangs in his chest, the echo of a tiny voice he scarcely believed had ever come from within him, saying, No, please don't leave me. I'm scared. Be careful.

He had finally let someone inside the circle he had maintained for himself and his mother. Jarlaxle. He had given Jarlaxle the same status he had bestowed upon himself and his mother: love.

The taste in Artemis Entreri's mouth was despair.

Author's Note: Everyone ought to thank Ariel D, because I was hopelessly stuck on this chapter until she and I talked over MSN Messenger. She helped me figure out what to do, and so it's because of her I got my act together. Thank you, Ariel.