Excerpted from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

"I do not like her," came the high-pitched, excited voice of Dwahvel Tiggerwillies. The halfling shuffled over to take Sharlotta's vacated seat at Entreri's table.

"Is it her height and beauty that so offend you?" Entreri sarcastically replied.

Dwahvel shot him a perfectly incredulous look. "Her dishonesty," the halfling explained.

That answer raised Entreri's eyebrow. Wasn't everyone on the streets of Calimport, Entreri and Dwahvel included, basically a manipulator? If a claim of dishonesty was a reason not to like someone in Calimport, then the judgmental person would find herself quite alone.

"There is a difference," Dwahvel explained, intercepting a nearby waiter with a wave of her hand and taking a drink from his laden tray.

"So it comes back to that height and beauty problem, then," Entreri chided with a smile.

His own words did indeed amuse him, but what caught his fancy even more was the realization that he could, and often did, talk to Dwahvel in such a manner. In all of his life, Artemis Entreri had known very few people with whom he could have a casual conversation, but he found himself so at ease with Dwahvel that he had even considered hiring a wizard to determine if she was using some charming magic on him. In fact, then and there, Entreri clenched his gloved fist, concentrating briefly on the item to see if he could determine any magical emanations coming from Dwahvel, aimed at him.

There was nothing, only honest friendship, which to Artemis Entreri was a magic more foreign indeed.

(141)

Chapter 11

Foreign Magic

The impression Jarlaxle had gotten from Lady Alustriel was that Nesmé was a small town. It was perhaps small compared to Silverymoon, that much he would allow, but it was hardly the dirty, defenseless town he expected. When he and Artemis emerged from the temple of Waukeen, he saw himself in a partially devastated fortress town. The air hung smoky over the fortress. It smelled of coal and metal, mingled with swamp gas. Jarlaxle could not deny that they were now in the Evermoors. Nesmé was crowded with two story stone buildings, some of them tumbling down, revealing the interior through gaping holes. Others stood in good repair. Jarlaxle estimated that perhaps a fifth of the buildings he saw were ruined, and wondered if that was a fair reflection of how many people had died in the giant raids so far. The buildings that stood were there because they were important enough to be repaired or defended.

A grizzled man supporting his weight on a crutch watched them silently for a few minutes before speaking up. "It's not pretty, is it?"

"I wasn't expecting much," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle bowed to him, briefly sweeping off his hat. "We are here to help."

The man spat a glob of chewing tobacco on the ground. "I know. Ye came from the temple."

"I am Jarlaxle, and this is Entreri," Jarlaxle said. He held out a hand.

The man didn't take it. "Seldon. I'm here because I got put out of action the last time the giants came through. Otherwise," he spat again, "I'd be up there, helping." He pointed,.

Jarlaxle saw people on the ramparts, high above their heads. He also saw some catapults. Now that his attention had been drawn to it, he saw the wall itself. A patchy, poorly repaired stone wall almost ten feet thick. And yet, that didn't stop the giants. He frowned.

"Is that where we need to be?" Artemis asked.

"Ye need to be brought to Tess Alaurun," the grizzled man retorted.

Jarlaxle bowed. "Then lead the way." He didn't question who Alaurun was. He assumed she was some kind of soldier or city official who would coordinate them with the rest of the adventurers.

Seldon led them down the street, and it seemed they were headed for the other end of the fortress. They passed several taverns and smithies, a few equipment shops, and only a couple other businesses. Jarlaxle could see other, unmarked buildings around them, removed from the main street. Probably personal residences. The feeling in the air was oppressive.

They came to an open area delineated by buildings on three sides, almost a kind of town square except for the fact that it was too small a space. A woman in somber slate robes stood in front of some soldiers, talking at them. She was the only woman present, and Seldon stopped for a moment before intruding on the scene, so Jarlaxle concluded that she was Tess Alaurun.

Artemis was close behind him, not saying a word.

When the woman in robes stopped speaking, Seldon hobbled up to her. He spoke something Jarlaxle couldn't hear. The woman looked at them, and the grizzled man gestured them over.

Jarlaxle cautiously approached. Artemis followed.

"First Speaker Alaurun," Seldon announced. "These are two more adventurers from Silverymoon. Their names are Jarlaxle and Entreri."

Jarlaxle bowed to her, and Artemis followed suit. Jarlaxle straightened, wondering if he would actually manage to get away without anyone mentioning his race. So far, Seldon hadn't murmured a word.

Alaurun, a tired brunette reaching forty years of age soon, pressed her hands together solemnly. "Thank you for coming. I don't have any restful accommodations to give you. All I have are some empty buildings. The furniture still remains. The owners are dead."

Jarlaxle was surprised and a little impressed. She spoke without any pretense whatsoever. Obviously, being the leader of this town was wearing down on her, but she set it aside with a stoicism he'd only encountered in human men so far. "We did not come for the accommodations," he said softly.

"You can have a building on the west side. 314. Thurlin can help if you need anything. Bedsheets, candles, lamps or furniture."

Jarlaxle gave her a short bow. "Who is Thurlin?"

"He is a half elf about your height, brown hair, dressed usually in a green or blue tunic," she said. "He should be around. I have him handling the adventurers."

She pointed down the street. "His building is not far from here. He was a tailor."

"Was?" Artemis asked.

"Now he is a soldier," Alaurun said. "Like anyone else." She returned to the soldiers, obviously done speaking with them.

"Need me?" Seldon grunted.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the grizzled man. "No, thank you. We can find our own way now."

"I gotta get back to the temple," Seldon said, limping down the street the way they'd come.

"Cheerful place," Artemis said. He walked by Jarlaxle's side down the way Alaurun had pointed them.

"It should be right up your alley," Jarlaxle said. "Depressing, grim, and blunt."

Entreri smirked. "You are going to hate it here."

Jarlaxle smiled at him cheerfully. "I'll manage. With a few minor changes…"

Artemis groaned. "You're going to take this town out from under her and mold it in your own ridiculous image, aren't you?"

Jarlaxle steepled his fingers. "Perhaps. It could use a bit of color, couldn't it?"

Artemis rolled his eyes, imagining Jarlaxle painting the walls purple and orange. "After you defeat the giants, they'll have no choice but to obey you. Is that it?"

"Something like that." Jarlaxle laughed.

On their left, a square stone building was distinguished by a large wooden sign with the words 'Thurlin's Fine Garments' in gold paint. Jarlaxle looked to Artemis. Artemis shrugged. Jarlaxle shrugged in response and pushed open the door. It wasn't that the building was in disrepair or anything. It just felt odd somehow.

Jarlaxle realized a moment later he felt uncomfortable because he still expected the townspeople to yell 'drow!' and light their torches. He chuckled to himself.

Artemis raised an eyebrow.

Jarlaxle just grinned at him.

"You're letting the cold air in."

Jarlaxle turned quickly and Artemis shut the door. The speaker was a half-elf matching the First Speaker's description of Thurlin. He was dressed in a blue tunic, shoulder length brown hair tucked behind one ear. There was no business front, as Jarlaxle might have expected. Instead, they'd walked directly into a workshop. The half-elf was by a dressmaker's model, a tape measure in one hand and a pencil behind his ear.

Jarlaxle bowed to him. "My apologies, sir…"

"Mister," the half-elf said. "Mister Thurlin…" He trailed off, looking at Jarlaxle strangely.

Ah, Jarlaxle thought. Here it comes.

Thurlin hesitated, then pointed to him. He opened his mouth, but no words would come out at first.

Jarlaxle leaned forward expectantly. "Yes?"

"Why are you wearing that hat?"

Jarlaxle's jaw dropped. "What?"

Artemis let out a chuckle in surprise.

Thurlin gestured with both hands. "Why are you dressed like that? It's horrible."

Artemis' grin stretched from ear to ear. He looked at Jarlaxle wickedly. "Well? What do you have to say to the man?"

Jarlaxle straightened to his full height and straightened his coat and vest. "What I'll say is that I like how I am dressed."

"How can you?" Thurlin asked. "It's color blind."

Entreri chuckled again.

Jarlaxle was beginning to be a little annoyed. "I am not here for fashion advice. I am here to fight giants."

"Vermillion and turquoise is all wrong," Thurlin insisted.

"It's called creativity," Jarlaxle hissed.

Thurlin passed his hand over his eyes.

The exasperated gesture only increased Jarlaxle's self-righteous wounding. "It is color. I am wearing color. What have you got to say about him?" Jarlaxle pointed at Entreri.

Thurlin glanced at the assassin. "Black, brown, and gray are all neutrals. At the very least he grasps things that go together."

"I like him," Artemis said to Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle glared at the assassin.

"We are here because we need you to show us to 314," Jarlaxle said to Thurlin. He crossed his arms. "That is the building your leader said we were allowed to stay in, and I would like to unpack before risking my life for you and your village."

"I highly recommend commissioning a change of clothing before the week is through," Thurlin said. He turned his back to Jarlaxle's outraged expression and walked across the room to a cabinet. "You'll need a key. All the vacant houses are locked to prevent intrusion. I have all the keys to the housing." He picked out a bronze key and came over to them. "If you gentlemen will follow me."

"Oh," Artemis commented with a smirk at Jarlaxle, "we're not gentlemen."

"That was just a formality," Thurlin said, giving him a coolly annoyed look. He grabbed his cloak off a peg near the door and went out into the cold with them.

They walked down another street and a half before stopping at another ubiquitous stone building. The tailor unlocked the front door and looked around. "Serviceable but dusty." He turned to Jarlaxle with a smile. "Oh, and very chill. You should start a fire in the fireplace upstairs right away to warm this place up." He deposited the key in Jarlaxle's palm. "Good day, gentlemen." He turned and walked back down the street.

"I think he has something against me because he is threatened by my genius," Jarlaxle declared.

"I think your clashing outfit gave him a headache," Artemis said, grinning.

"His headache is due to his tiny skull being cracked open by his enlarged horizons," Jarlaxle said. He sniffed loftily. "He simply couldn't handle my originality."

"I can second that," Entreri said.

Jarlaxle threw an arm around his shoulders. "Finally, you agree with me."

"I meant that your brand of originality is hard for anyone to stomach."

Jarlaxle laughed.

Inside, it was indeed as cold as it was outside. Jarlaxle kept the door open while Artemis went around the spacious room opening the shutters to let some light in. The downstairs was all really one room. There was a sitting room, a dining room, and a kitchen, all divided by partial walls. The house opened up on the dining room. Jarlaxle came inside and shut the door after Artemis finished his round.

"This should do nicely," Jarlaxle said. He looked around with a smile. There was a table with a few chairs in the dining room, a couple of chairs, a low table, and a rug in the sitting room, and the kitchen looked as though it was stocked with enough cookware to get by on.

Artemis looked at him with a strange expression.

"Don't you think?" Jarlaxle asked.

Artemis shrugged. "I don't know what you are thinking. We are only going to be here for as long as it takes to kill the giants."

The staircase was around the corner in the kitchen, and he started walking up the stairs without consulting the mercenary further.

Jarlaxle followed. It was a little dark, but that didn't bother him. Artemis saw an oil lamp in a sconce and lit it, illuminating the stairwell.

At the top of the stairs was one open room. There were three beds in all. One was a child's bed, pushed all the way over to one end of the space, and two were in the same part of the room, adult sized. It painted a vague picture of family life. A mother, a father, and their offspring.

Jarlaxle looked puzzled. "Where is the bathroom?"

"They probably don't have one," Artemis said.

"What do you mean?"

Artemis sighed. "I mean it is like an inn or a tavern."

"Most of the places we go to have bathrooms," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis glared at him. "In the south."

Jarlaxle tilted his head. "The north has no bathrooms?"

"Mostly, no," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle grimaced. "I was not counting on this."

Artemis smirked. "Feeling the urge to migrate to warmer weather?"

Jarlaxle glared at him. "Not yet. I have plans for this place. And when I fulfill them, I will build bathrooms."

Artemis pointed at a chamber pot in the corner. "For now, that is the bathroom."

"Permanently?" Jarlaxle winced. "Where does the waste go when one is done with it?"

Artemis smirked. "Out the window." He jerked a thumb at the bedroom window behind him casually. "I told you the north was barbaric. The south has had indoor plumbing for years."

"Why is it taking so long for the news to travel?" Jarlaxle whined.

"Northerners have a choice between intelligence and pride, and they pick pride," Artemis said. "They don't believe in hygiene. Most of them still believe that sitting in a sauna and then rolling out in the snow will cure colds."

Jarlaxle smacked his forehead. "How can anyone believe that making yourself hot and then rapidly making yourself cold can have a positive effect on illness?"

Artemis shrugged.

They deposited their travel packs on the two adult beds, and Artemis started a fire in the fireplace.

Jarlaxle looked at the child's bed contemplatively. "I suppose I will tell Thurlin I want to remove it."

"Why?" Artemis asked. He raised an eyebrow. "Not planning on raising children in this place, settling down with some woman?"

Jarlaxle glanced at him and saw that despite the mocking tone, the assassin was curious. Jarlaxle shrugged. "No use keeping old furniture. It will only take up space."

"What will you put there instead?" Artemis asked.

Jarlaxle felt vaguely threatened by this line of questioning. "Perhaps we can wait to discuss interior decorating. I would like to open this bag and see what Alustriel has packed for us."

Artemis gathered around, sitting on the bed. Jarlaxle stayed standing over the footboard and unbuckled the front flap of the bag. He flipped it open. At first glance, there was a coin purse, rows of potions and rolled up pieces of parchment.

Jarlaxle rubbed his hands together. "There is our payment, of course." He attached the coin purse to his belt. Artemis didn't protest. "This looks good. What have we here?" He lifted out the potions one by one, looking at the liquid inside the bulbous glass vial before setting it on the bed in front of Artemis. There were different colors. Three were filled with a thin liquid colored bright magenta. Four held thick, glossy white liquid. The four last ones were filled with something fiery orange.

Artemis examined them as well. "No labels."

Jarlaxle tapped his lower lip with an index finger. "Why are there only three of these pink ones?"

Artemis shrugged. "Maybe she miscounted." At Jarlaxle's look, he said, "Even a high mage can make mistakes. Or have you forgotten she'd thrown us in prison without any evidence?"

"I have not forgotten," Jarlaxle said mildly. "I simply do not think it is important."

Artemis looked at him with disbelief. He made a visible effort not to answer that. "What else is in the bag?"

Jarlaxle pulled out the rolled up pieces of parchment. Each one was neatly tied with a string. Three were white, four were red, four were green, and the last four were yellow. "Scrolls, I hope."

Artemis nodded. "Color coded for description. White for healing, red for fire, green for nature, yellow for lightning."

"If she used the most common meanings," Jarlaxle said.

"Why wouldn't she?" Artemis asked.

"I don't know," Jarlaxle said. "But I suggest we look, just in case. Let us open one of each color in the hopes that it will shed some light on what the colors mean."

Artemis opened a white scroll and a yellow scroll. Jarlaxle opened the red and the green. The assassin held up the white scroll. "Protection." Then he held up the yellow scroll. "Lightning."

Jarlaxle nodded and held up the green scroll. "Vines." Then he held up the red. "Fire."

"So it is standard," Artemis said. He retied the scrolls, and Jarlaxle did the same. "Is there anything else in there?"

Jarlaxle started to shake his head, but he caught sight of a hidden flap on the bottom of the bag, suggesting another compartment. He felt under the flap and found a button snap. He pulled it open and reached inside. The mercenary frowned. It was some kind of soft, thick cloth. He found a drawstring attached, and pulled out a black felt bag.

"What is that?" Artemis asked.

"I don't know," Jarlaxle said. He had to admit, he was surprised and curious. He opened the bag and looked inside. Then he drew out a red leather eye patch, a small purple crystal, and a note, written on a scrap of parchment.

Jarlaxle checked the piece of parchment front and back, then read the message. It just said, I felt the need to apologize to you, too. The handwriting was elegant, swirling cursive, complicated and completely legible. Somehow he knew he was looking at Alustriel's personal handwriting. "I don't understand," he murmured. "When did she have time?"

Artemis said, "Now you know how it feels to be completely outclassed by someone, the way you always delight in doing to others."

Jarlaxle examined the eye patch. "But it looks exactly alike…"

"One has to wonder how much she knows about us," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle frowned. "And the crystal…"

"What kind of crystal is that?" the assassin asked.

"A psionic crystal," Jarlaxle said. "One I might use to contact Kimmuriel."

"It seems she has you figured out," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle gave him a weak smile.

"Not a good feeling, is it?" Artemis folded his arms behind his head, the most casual thing Jarlaxle had seen him do in a while.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Immensely."

Jarlaxle weighed the items in his hands. "I don't know whether or not to use them."

"Why not?" Artemis asked. "I thought she seemed trustworthy to you."

Jarlaxle shook his head. "It isn't that I don't trust her."

The fire was starting to make a difference in the room. It was noticeably warmer than it had been. Still, they didn't remove their outer clothing.

"Then what is it?" Artemis asked.

Jarlaxle hesitated. They'd just gone over the issue of trust less than an hour ago. He supposed he should try to open up about how he felt, if only to see how the assassin would respond. Technically, Artemis had never betrayed him once. He wasn't sure he was comfortable with that, somehow. "I'm not sure I am ready to face Kimmuriel."

"Then hold onto those things until you do feel ready," Artemis said. "I won't encourage you to hurry." He scowled. "The more time I have to myself, the better."

Jarlaxle smiled. "It is the disrespect he has always shown you, isn't it?"

Artemis shook his head. "It's more than that."

Jarlaxle asked, "What else?"

It was Artemis' turn to hesitate. "There isn't a feeling being beyond his exterior."

Jarlaxle laughed. "No?"

Artemis shook his head.

Jarlaxle put all the potions and scrolls back in the bag and tossed it off the side of the bed so he could sit beside Artemis. "Did not our last confrontation make you notice a feeling interior?"

Artemis frowned.

Jarlaxle put a hand on his arm. "He is really very weak, Kimmuriel Oblodra. There is nothing to be afraid of."

Artemis stared at him. "Weak?"

"His powers are strong," Jarlaxle allowed, "but powers do not make the man. His emotions are weak. He hides them because they are easy to take advantage of. He really is the weakest of his family. It is a pity – or perhaps it is fortunate – that he is the only one that survived his House's downfall."

"You were responsible for that," Artemis said.

"The downfall of House Oblodra?" Jarlaxle chuckled. "No. But I did save Kimmuriel, when I could have left him behind. He was too useful – and he was the easiest one to control." He wove his fingers together and braced them backwards, stretching his arms. "If it were not for the crystal shard and the priest Rai-guy, Kimmuriel would never have planned to overthrow me as leader of Bregan D'aerthe."

"Are you not worried about how he is faring in your absence?" Artemis asked.

Jarlaxle shrugged. "He is competent. Besides, I have already stated I will punish him if I find he has let Bregan D'aerthe go to seed."

Artemis narrowed his eyes at the drow mercenary. "You don't care one way or another."

"Why should I?" Jarlaxle asked. "I've left it behind." He gave Artemis a quick smile, as if they shared something private. "In search of better things."

Artemis looked confused and a little uncomfortable.

"Would you like to get something to eat?" Jarlaxle asked, changing the subject. He put a hand on his stomach. "I am famished after that terrible food in Silverymoon."

"Funny," Artemis said. "After I ate that, I lost my appetite."

"You actually ate it?" Jarlaxle asked. "I'm surprised you're still alive."

Artemis smirked. "I have spent years building up a resistance to rotten food."

Jarlaxle flung an arm around his shoulders. "Then allow me to treat you to the finest this city has to offer."

Artemis didn't even flinch at the sudden contact. "I accept."

* * *

They found a tavern a street over from their lodging. From the look of it, there were a lot of taverns in Nesmé. All of them had battered wooden signs out front with the name of the establishment on one side and a painting of a beer mug on the other. Entreri was surprised by the fact that there were still travelers moving through this town. It didn't seem like the behavior of a town on the brink of destruction.

With taverns to choose from, Jarlaxle nudged his arm and pointed at a sign that said 'The Lucky Clover'. Artemis honestly didn't care where they went, so he nodded and followed Jarlaxle inside. It was noisy, poorly lit, and crowded. For once, no one seemed to notice them or care who they were. Jarlaxle actually had to elbow his way through the crowd and force people to push their chairs in a little.

Still, there was one table unoccupied in the corner, wedged between a window and the corner of the bar. It only had two chairs around it. Artemis would have disliked the coincidence more if he hadn't noticed that everyone in the tavern seemed to know each other and were gathered in big groups around every table. A table with two chairs simply didn't interest the other customers.

Jarlaxle stole the corner by the window, so Artemis resigned himself to being constantly bumped into by men weaving to the bar. The overcast light from outside also shone in his eyes at this time of day. Typical Jarlaxle. The drow was generous but not generous. At least talking would be too difficult to maintain in this atmosphere. He didn't feel like it.

Nothing felt real to him. It was all happening too fast. They'd been running from Tandy, and then Jarlaxle ran from him, he caught up to Jarlaxle only to be attacked by a dragon. As soon as they lived through that, Drizzt threw them in jail with Alustriel's questionable help. Then they went through a trial like a meat grinder and were declared innocent. Alustriel tried to return some humanity to them, and then had asked them to go fight giants. And now they were magically transported miles away to a swamp town on the verge of collapse. And he was sitting in a tavern with Jarlaxle. As if nothing monumental had happened to them since the destruction of the crystal shard. Life seemed to undo itself all the time, reversing peoples' fortunes at random but not really solving anything.

If he could accept it, there was a simple explanation for how he felt. He drove himself to exhaustion finding Jarlaxle, was injured, and then was not allowed to rest properly. He was tired. He was thirsty. He was hungry. It was normal in those circumstances to feel his head spinning.

But in Jarlaxle's company, he felt himself refusing simple explanations. The drow seemed to encourage introspection and brooding in him. He was bombarded with questions all the time, and he never knew what Jarlaxle was thinking. It made him question everything. Once, he would have been content to brush off his feelings as physical exhaustion. That would have comforted him. Now it was a cold comfort at best. There were things going on with him internally, a totally separate world he had no control over.

Seeing him deep in thought, Jarlaxle ordered for him.

For instance, the realization that he loved Jarlaxle. That was terrifying at best. Artemis was suddenly worried that either Jarlaxle would betray him, or would leave him. At the same time, he couldn't stop trying to analyze their embrace. He hadn't hugged anyone since he was four years old. He had put his arms around Jarlaxle of his own free will, for reasons he didn't understand, and Jarlaxle hadn't made a joke or tried to touch him in inappropriate ways. It made the gesture seem safe. He knew, logically, that it wasn't. It couldn't be; it never would be. It was a coincidence that it had turned out in his favor. But he wanted to do it again. The desire burned in his stomach. He tried to dismiss it as stomach pains, but he knew that wasn't really what it was.

It reminded him of the times he had witnessed Drizzt with his friends, exchanging physical affection. It burned him with rage, to see that. Not anything thinking, but pure, uncontaminated rage. It had made his hands shake. That emotion had burned in his stomach, too, and he'd been unable to ignore it. He'd hated Drizzt for that, those shows of affection.

The memory stung him deep with pain that had nothing to do with light from the window being in his eyes. He looked at the surface of the roughly hewn wooden table, blinking.

What came to the table by way of food was two bowls of fish soup. Jarlaxle happily devoured it, and two glasses of white wine. Artemis ate slowly. His stomach felt like a wet, tangled shirt. The soup was hot, and it did taste good, but he couldn't force it into his stomach any faster than he was eating it. The fish was some kind of dense, flaky whitefish. Chunks of it floated in a pale, watery broth among carrots and leeks.

After they finished, Jarlaxle paid with some of the coin they'd earned in advance by agreeing to protect the town, and they retreated to the house. It was quite warm upstairs now, thanks to the fire in the fireplace. They both peeled off their thick outer garments and tossed them on the barren floor.

"How does one take a bath in this place?" Jarlaxle asked.

Artemis said, "There might be a butcher's shower downstairs."

"What's that?" Jarlaxle asked.

"It's a room downstairs by the kitchen in some northern homes used by men when they get home from work. It usually has a grate in the floor for the water to drain, out into a drain field in the yard." Artemis gestured. "One draws water from a well, heats it up in the kitchen, and bathes in the butcher's shower. It was popularized by butchers, because they would get covered in blood by the time the day was through." He shook his head. "When will you ever learn these things?"

"It isn't as though I'm not trying," Jarlaxle said. "There is too much to learn all at once."

"I suppose," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle sat down on the bed, but Artemis remained standing. After a moment, the assassin began to pace. He didn't say anything.

After a few minutes of studying him, Jarlaxle said, "This was your idea, and yet you seem unhappy."

"I am."

Jarlaxle flopped down on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head. "Well, I don't know what you expected, Artemis."

Artemis looked away, disgruntled. "I expected giants to be attacking."

"Well, I am sure that will happen," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis glared at him incredulously.

"In the meantime, try and relax."

"Relax?"

Jarlaxle yawned. "Yes, you know. Relax. Take a break. Take it easy. Tandy, for all we know, is engaged in a mage fight with the Lady of Silverymoon as we speak. Hmm. The giants are probably not worried about our future engagement. They're probably at home, singing songs around a campfire and holding their children."

Artemis' eyebrow twitched. "Is that so?"

"Their sense of clan is very strong," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis clenched his fists.

"I suggest getting some sleep. It won't do any good to be tired and cranky when the giants come calling," Jarlaxle said.

"Is that what you suggest?"

Jarlaxle turned over onto his side. "Yes."

Artemis kicked the footboard of the bed.

Jarlaxle sat up. "What?" He looked at the assassin with annoyance. "I haven't gotten any real rest in almost a week. The Silverymoon prisons were quite uncomfortable."

"How can you not worry?" Artemis demanded.

"I am in control of my mind," Jarlaxle said, lying back down. "That is how."

Artemis sat down on the other bed, facing him. He folded his arms on his knees, staring at Jarlaxle in frustration. He knew Jarlaxle was right, and he hated being lectured to.

In the worst way, he needed Jarlaxle's help. If he were in Calimport, he would simply go to the Copper Ante and talk to Dwahvel. But he wasn't. He was far away, and he needed to talk or else his head might explode. And the only person to talk to was Jarlaxle. Unsympathetic, selfish, manipulative Jarlaxle. His insides rebelled at the thought of asking Jarlaxle to talk. Usually he was adamant that he wanted Jarlaxle's mouth closed during stressful times. This would only encourage the mercenary to torture him.

But…when he had been truly vulnerable, Jarlaxle hadn't tortured him. Jarlaxle had given him exactly what he'd wanted but was afraid to ask for. He had been weak, disturbed…exactly how he still felt. He'd hoped that as soon as they arrived they could fight giants and he could clear his head. Reality turned out to confound his expectations.

Artemis sighed. "Jarlaxle…"

The drow mercenary looked at him with wearily patient eyes. "Yes, khal abbil?"

The assassin frowned. "You haven't called me that in a while. Why not?"

"It seemed to annoy you."

That explanation made Artemis feel strange. "You seem to have a clear conscience when it comes to annoying me in other ways."

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Those weren't annoyances, Artemis. Those were necessary inconveniences. It wasn't necessary to call you my khal abbil if it irritated you so, so I simply decided not to do it for a while."

"It doesn't annoy me that much," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle chuckled again. "I was hoping you would grow into it."

The assassin felt a little heat on his face and wondered in irritation what could possibly make him so self-conscious about one of Jarlaxle's jokes. Though it wasn't a joke, exactly. It was some kind of witticism, and it made him uncomfortable. "Yes, well…"

Jarlaxle smiled. "Yes?"

Artemis didn't know what he was going to say. How does one tell a friend that one needs to talk? He never told Dwahvel he needed to talk. He sort of burst in on her when he couldn't take it anymore and hoped that she wouldn't decide to be too busy for him. He knew that wasn't a good way to do it. It wasn't like he had any illusions about it, but he didn't know how to do it any other way.

"I…" Artemis sighed. He couldn't help but skirt the issue. Facing it head on was like facing a mountain. Insurmountable. "Why did you…put your arms around me?"

Jarlaxle laughed. "Is that what is worrying you? I did that because that something friends do for each other."

Artemis looked at him with wide eyes. Just when he thought he understood Jarlaxle, Jarlaxle did or said something that was outside his realm of understanding.

Jarlaxle winked. "Zaknafein and I certainly did that. It was something he did whenever he was overwhelmed with emotion, and I always found that it did the trick in that situation." He laughed. "I guess that is one thing about him that rubbed off on me after a while. We were friends for almost a century, you know."

Artemis shook his head. "I didn't know. You never talk about him, remember? Or anything from your past."

Jarlaxle ignored that. "It was two centuries, if you count the time I knew him but didn't really have anything to do with him besides trying to recruit him for Bregan D'aerthe. He was a stubborn male – he refused." Jarlaxle rubbed his chin. "Always refused…" For a moment, he seemed have lost focus, shifting to somewhere far away.

"I don't blame him," Artemis said, watching his comment force Jarlaxle back into the present. He looked at Jarlaxle sourly. "Being under your control is a curse."

"I never did anything to abuse my power," Jarlaxle protested.

"Never mind," Artemis said. He could never tell if the mercenary was really hurt by his accusations or if he pretended to be to force an admission that Artemis was bluffing. The assassin would never be the person to call off the game if he could help it. That would constitute losing, being weak. He didn't like being played for a fool, even in something so small as this. So he never told Jarlaxle it was mostly in jest.

"Does my explanation make you feel any better?" Jarlaxle asked. "You couldn't have seriously believed I had some other, ulterior motive." He grinned. He was teasing again.

Artemis shook his head. "Not an ulterior motive. I didn't know what motive to assign you."

"Friendship," Jarlaxle said, grinning. "Nothing more, nothing less. It's as simple as that."

"Simple? You?" Artemis snorted.

"In this case," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis decided that he did feel better. He took off his boots and lay down on the bed. It was much softer than a stone bench. His back still hurt from sleeping on that bench in his prison cell. What little sleep he'd derived from it. Still, it took some shifting to get comfortable.

"Is that all?" Jarlaxle asked.

Artemis yawned. "Tonight. I may interrogate you tomorrow."

Jarlaxle grinned at him, but this time, it seemed more warm and less for show. "Very well, then. Good night, Artemis."

The salutation seemed superfluous and a little silly, as well, but Artemis didn't have the heart to be rude. He considered it, but after Jarlaxle's unusually kind behavior today, he couldn't do it. "Good night," he conceded. He rolled over and pulled the pillow under his head.