Author's Note: I know that character insertion into an urban environment is annoying, but it's part of the plot. Sorry.
Part 9
Subreality
"Were there not supposed to be strange noises?" Jarlaxle looked at the dark, tangled trees of Cloakwood as if the place had personally betrayed him.
"I am actually very relieved that it looks and sounds like a normal wood," Entreri informed him dryly, "Especially since it's just about nightfall." Besides, the fact that Zaknafein was looking increasingly confused was beginning to unnerve him. The dark elf seemed to be darting suspicious glances into the depths of the bush as if expecting monsters to assault them at any moment – and seeming extremely puzzled when nothing happened.
"Do you want to take a look now, or wait till morning?" Jarlaxle asked curiously.
"Now," Zaknafein said brusquely, at around the same time Entreri said "Morning."
Entreri glared at his lover. "All three of you might be able to see perfectly well in the darkness, but I can't."
"Oh? But you are an assassin," Jarlaxle grinned mischievously. "One would have thought the night would be your element, and all that."
"Calimport happens to have lanterns and torches hung intermittently around at night," Entreri said as coldly as he could. "And I feel a lot less wary in a city, no matter what time of day it is, than in some potentially dangerous wood in the middle of the wilderness. You know that, Jarlaxle." Although this darkness was fine compared to the Underdark, he would much rather go about searching for the wizards in the daytime. It was far too easy to overlook things at night.
"What do you think, Kimmuriel?" Jarlaxle asked his 'pet mage'.
Kimmuriel shrugged. "I feel no sentient presences close by. If you wish to enter this forest, then I will go with you – if you stay, I will stay."
"I knew he would say that," Entreri muttered. "Are none of you tired?"
"Are you?"
"Yes," Entreri said dryly. Actually he wasn't, because it had been a fairly sedate ride from Beregost, with Zaknafein being relatively benign and affectionate instead of wickedly playful.
"The morning, then," Jarlaxle shrugged, getting off his horse then helping Kimmuriel dismount. "We had better set up camp."
"You cook," Zaknafein told Jarlaxle dryly, dismounting and proceeding to string his longbow. "I am going to look for game. I refuse to eat human travel rations more than once a day."
"I'll go with you," Entreri said quickly, tethering his horse with the rest and helping Kimmuriel with his mount.
"You cannot see in the dark," Zaknafein reminded him with a grin, though he seemed relatively pleased that Entreri wished to go along.
"I can see in the dark," Entreri
corrected stubbornly, "Just not perfectly."
"Take Kimmuriel with you and
leave Entreri here," Jarlaxle suggested, "Kimmuriel can kill much more cleanly,
and Entreri can help me with the camp.
After all… we've had a lot of experience."
"Don't remind me of those ten years," Entreri groaned.
Zaknafein's mouth twitched a little – obviously not as happy with this arrangement, or with the comment regarding 'a lot of experience', but shrugged. "Fine."
Kimmuriel looked as though he was going to protest, but apparently thought better of it when Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow at him, and moved quietly to follow Zaknafein as the warrior wandered off into the forest. Entreri watched them go, then efficiently began setting up the tents, wishing it didn't remind him so much of ten years spent in the mercenary leader's company. Some of the trouble they got into still gave him mild nightmares… especially after a heavy dinner of some sort.
"Can you still remember how to cook?" he asked Jarlaxle as he finished one tent and started on the other.
"That is actually insulting," Jarlaxle said, professing an injured pride. "You did not die from it before."
"No, but I've always thought it looked rather suspicious," Entreri said dryly. "Especially the amount of mushrooms always inside it. And why did you get Kimmuriel to go with Zaknafein? I would have thought you'd welcome the opportunity of privacy."
"Well… Kimmuriel does not know how to set up camp, and has a tendency to get into my way when he tries to be helpful," Jarlaxle replied, piling some dry sticks onto the firestarter. "Not to mention we might get distracted, the same way you and Zaknafein might."
"At least we don't do it in public," Entreri muttered, planting a pole into the ground. "Want to take turns looking out?"
"Well, elves sleep for four hours instead of you humans… so actually just Zaknafein and myself could take turns," Jarlaxle said, managing to locate pot and materials in a saddlebag, then frowned as he looked inside the pot. "Hmm. When was the last time we washed this?"
Entreri shot him a disbelieving look.
Jarlaxle laughed. "Only joking."
"Someday you'd be the death of me," Entreri shook his head, righting another pole.
"Oh, I hope not," Jarlaxle grinned, "How am I to explain it to Zaknafein?"
"He has been behaving so oddly lately that you might not have many problems at all," Entreri replied, pushing an iron peg into the ground and knotting twine around it.
"Oddly? Well… he is still a little unbalanced."
"I don't remember him being paranoid."
"In what sense?"
"He's been acting as though he wouldn't survive this," Entreri gestured at the dark forest.
"We are going into unknown territory," Jarlaxle conceded, "But I would agree that it is unlike Zaknafein to fear… that. Or most things." He looked up sharply.
"What? What?" Entreri's hand went to his sword as he shot glances around quickly. Ten years had also conditioned him to react in panicky ways whenever Jarlaxle turned serious.
"Kimmuriel's in trouble," Jarlaxle replied tersely, dropping pot and miscellaneous equipment, and then taking off into the woods. Entreri cursed elvish impatience, and ran after him, nearly tripping over the twine. What could have hurt Kimmuriel? Whatever it was… then… Zaknafein…
He rather wished Jarlaxle wasn't running so quickly. What with the darkness, and his growing anxiety, he couldn't follow even the brightly colored cloak very well… and how did the mercenary leader manage to thread his way past tangling bushes, snaking roots and low-hanging branches without getting caught…
Damn! Entreri yanked irritably at his cloak, winced as it ripped, looked back forward, and realized that he'd lost Jarlaxle. Looking backwards, he couldn't tell very well where he had come from, so he couldn't retrace his steps… and was it his imagination, or was the darkness becoming deeper…?
**
Jarlaxle slowed his steps when he 'felt' Kimmuriel's presence close by, and, instead of making a bee-line for it, circled instead, his jewelry and cloak abruptly turning into shades of dull green and gray, preventing him from being betrayed by their gleam. Infrared showed a patch on the tree a few yards away from him, and then the patch disappeared, as if a cloak had been hurriedly pulled over a body. The mercenary leader threw a dagger, and smiled when he heard a curse and a crash as someone fell heavily onto the ground. Moving quickly behind a tree, he nodded absently as dweomered arrows stitched into trees and foliage behind him.
Where was Entreri? No doubt the assassin had gotten lost somewhere behind him if he hadn't shown up by now – the man wasn't used to the forest, and had never failed to get lost in one if he was left to his own devices, especially at night. Jarlaxle hadn't expected himself to move so quickly… but Kimmuriel's safety seemed so much more important than worrying about Entreri's navigational ability at that moment, when the panicked feedback had washed in through their shared mental connection.
"Come out, Jarlaxle," a deep male voice said somewhere far behind him. "Or I'd have to break your little toy."
At least their complex and carefully constructed 'mental' connection had not been affected by whatever had been done to Kimmuriel to prevent him from being able to use his magic. Are you conscious? He 'asked'.
Yes… leave this place… Kimmuriel seemed to be in great pain, and even his projections were erratic. Humans… archers… on trees… a trap…
Where is Zaknafein? Jarlaxle moved back carefully, trying not to step on any twigs, and crept to the next tree. Judging from the angle of the shots, he was quite sure he could tell, relatively, which trees the archers were on. That their enemy had come prepared for them was not really surprising – Jarlaxle had been quite suspicious at the beginning regarding the 'messenger' that Entreri had sent. No one so obviously a carrier of information should have been able to come so close to a city with a branch of Bregan D'aerthe without Jarlaxle knowing.
Went off… earlier… heard voices… I was going back… to camp… A cry of pain, badly stifled. Hurry! Leave this place…
What, and leave you here? Jarlaxle 'commented', amused. He squinted, and made careful aim – and the dagger hit the throat of the 'archer', making the person let out a soft gurgle and slump against the trunk of the tree. The cloak only shielded the wearer, on closer inspection – so one only needed to look carefully at the spot without veins of infrared through the leaves of the trees and other little animals.
I am… of no use… like this…
"Jarlaxle? You have ten seconds." Another cry of pain, this time mostly muffled, as if the victim had bitten himself to try and stop the sounds. Jarlaxle frowned, and removed a necklace, crushing the crystal pendant in his gloves.
How many archers?
I do not… know… leave me…
Jarlaxle wiped the powder off his hands onto the grass, and then said clearly, "All right, I'm coming out."
No! Master… leave me!
"And none too soon, either."
Jarlaxle walked slowly out, hands in the air. Kimmuriel was on the ground twenty metres or so away, while a brown-robed man held a longsword to his throat. Two arrows stuck out of his legs, at the joints, and blood stained other parts of his off-white robes.
"Disarm yourself." The brown-robed man ordered, "Or I believe I do not need to waste breath telling you what I'd do to your mage."
Jarlaxle shrugged, removing his gloves and dumping them on the ground. "Do you want me to remove all my weapons?"
"That's what I said," the man snapped.
Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow. "All right." He unclasped one of his necklaces and dropped it, then unclasped another… and another…
"Not the jewelry!" the man frowned. "Oh, right. I was told about those. Apparently they're even more dangerous than your returning daggers."
"Make up your mind, then," Jarlaxle said pleasantly.
"Fine, fine," Kimmuriel's captor muttered. "Hurry up."
Jarlaxle nodded, ignoring the telepathic pleas from Kimmuriel to stop. Removing all the necklaces and assorted torques took fifteen minutes, before he could start on his bracelets…
And on cue – shouts and yells from the trees, and even the brown-robed man stepped back, dropping his sword and waving wildly in front of his eyes, cursing, then choking and falling to his knees, clawing at his face… and Jarlaxle calmly picked up a necklace, clicked a switch on his clasp, and abruptly all his equipment, gloves included, were neatly back in place. A dagger took the brown-robed man out of his misery, and he was crouching next to Kimmuriel, checking his wounds. The mage couldn't walk, unfortunately, so Jarlaxle made him put one arm over his shoulder, and slowly supported him to his feet, then back towards the direction of camp, smirking at the screaming behind them.
"What did you do?" Kimmuriel asked, surprised, gritting his teeth at the pain.
"That necklace I got from Ched Nasad a hundred or so years ago," Jarlaxle explained dryly, "The single-use, race-specific insect plague that takes fifteen minutes to start up. Never used it before because I normally need immediacy, but I could stall in this case. It will keep them – and any human in half a mile's radius – entertained for an hour or so."
"Oh," Kimmuriel paused, biting his lip. "I apologize for…"
"You are worth far more to me than a necklace," Jarlaxle cut in curtly, and then changed the subject. "I hope Entreri's immunity to magic excludes him from the plague."
**
Actually, an insect plague was currently the least problem on Entreri's mind, because he didn't seem to be in Faerun any longer, and being immune to magic made him relatively sure that it was no illusion. He seemed to be in a narrow alleyway, the walls of the buildings strangely even, and an odd metal container behind him that was obviously a garbage receptacle. Adding to his annoyance at being transported elsewhere, it was raining, a steady gray drizzle that quickly drenched him, making him run quickly in search for shelter.
Out of the alley and under the overhang of a building, he noticed many other bewildering things. Firstly… the roads were a deep, coarse gray, with even stripes down the center… and on the whole, far too even to make much sense as to how they were made. The people who passed him stared, but walked quickly by – they wore outlandishly cut clothes of many colors. As he watched in disbelief, a growling metal vehicle moved at an unnatural speed past him on the road. Come to think of it… all the buildings seemed uniformly tall, and behind glass displays were odd accessories and clothes…
"Hey man, nice costume," Entreri realized someone was talking to him. A youth, his friends also looking curiously over his shoulder, an ingratiating grin on his face, a strange burr in his voice, but still speaking understandable Common. "You going to the con or what?"
"A con?" Entreri frowned.
"Yeah, a gaming convention. I'd bet you're going as Ian Nottingham of the Witchblade, eh?" the boy pointed at the gauntlet on Entreri's arm.
"Nope, no katana, dumb-ass," one of the youth's friends smacked him on the back. "See that? See that?" Entreri glanced at where the youth was pointing – his jeweled dagger?
"Ohhhhh. An Artemis Entreri fan!" yet another of the interchangeable boys grinned. "Hey cool!"
"Well, I'm sorry about the mix-up," the other youth muttered. "I've always thought Salvatore borrowed heavily from other fantasy sources anyway."
Now admittedly more than extremely confused, Entreri could only stare at the group of boys. Thankfully, before he said something extremely odd, one of them spoke up. "So… are you people going as a gang or something? We saw another guy in costume just now, as a dark elf. Damn cool."
"Er… yes. We got separated… did you see where he went?"
"Probably the con," one of the boys nodded. "We're all going. So we might as well go in a group, yeah? We were going to talk to your friend, but he seemed to be in a hurry so we didn't go catch up with him."
Which was probably why they were still alive. Entreri knew that Zaknafein's instinctive reaction at the moment to a confusing situation was one of violence. Though he was not sure how he had come to this place, or whether it was just some elaborate, powerful illusion of a sort that could slip past his weapon… he knew he had to find the dark elf.
Did Zaknafein think this would happen? Was that why he acted as though Cloakwood would be the end? But nothing here seemed that dangerous as yet… all the people were unarmed, and the clear paths for pedestrians meant that one wouldn't be menaced by the occasional growling metal chariot…
The sheer bulk of colors and the seemingly hasted speed of life was beginning to make Entreri feel slightly dizzy, and extremely disoriented. The youths seemed to sense this, and one said sympathetically, "You're not from around here, are you?"
"No… I am afraid I was a little lost there," Entreri said, with a weak grin.
"Lucky you found us, then."
"Is the con far away?" Entreri asked politely.
"Why… you worried about your friend?"
"Yes… He also gets lost a little easily."
"Oh well – hopefully we'd find him on the way then," the boy nodded, "Or you could just look 'round the con. Bet'ya few people will be in such elaborate costumes. My name's Shawn, by the way." The other boys introduced themselves, and Entreri, worried about Zaknafein, absently introduced himself with his real name.
"Yeah, sure thing, 'Entreri'," Josh said with a grin. "So, who's your friend?"
"Him? Oh he's…" Entreri paused, unsure as to whether or not to tell them… but guessed he might as well.
"He's not Drizzt, because Drizzt has two scimitars… right?"
"No, not Drizzt," Entreri was rather surprised that they knew about his nemesis.
"I know! Drizzt's dad… what's his name… Zaknafein, yeah," Max said, snapping his fingers. "Two longswords, no stupid sparkly blue shit… yeah, Zaknafein. That's cool."
"It's not sparkly blue shit, you ass," Josh snorted. "Drizzt is the coolest. And he beat Zaknafein before. More than once."
"Yeah? I thought Salvatore must'a been on crack when he wrote that. One has four hundred years of experience, one has about sixteen? Less than sixteen? Then later… twenty plus? And he can beat the four hundred years? Yeah, right."
Actually, Entreri had always wondered about Drizzt's account of that incident, but after his own training sessions with Zaknafein, at least he had an answer. "Perhaps Zaknafein was holding back while training a younger dark elf," he suggested.
"I think that's it, yeah," Shawn said, sounding amused. "Hold it up, you guys. The two of you whine and bitch so much about the issue that for all I know you're the guys on crack. Fans of any sort give me the creeps."
"Yeah, yeah, then how do you explain your own obsessiveness with Elminster?"
"Hey, a kick-ass mage like that? No explanation needed."
And a lot more dialogue… and what was that? Entreri turned his head, in time to see a cloak before it disappeared down yet another of the uniform alleyways. "Nice to meet you people," Entreri told the boys quickly, then ran off after it, leaving the shouts of 'Hey, the con is that way!' behind him.
A few more twists and turns – into a road, a large park in front of him. Nearly getting knocked down by a speeding chariot, the human inside furiously yelling at him, Entreri ran into the park, looking around wildly… and blocked a slice to his side.
Backing off quickly, weapons drawn, Entreri got a sinking feeling when he saw Zaknafein's snarling features – like a maddened beast…
**
Back at the camp, rudimentary first-aid applied by a seriously annoyed Jarlaxle got the arrows safely removed, and some judicious application of healing potions managed to get Kimmuriel more or less healed, though the wounds still hurt – the problem with potions was that they seemed to make the body disbelieve that you had just been abruptly healed, such that you tended to feel the pain intermittently for a longer time. Kimmuriel lay on his chest under a travel blanket, head turned, breathing painfully, watching his master with tired eyes as Jarlaxle put away the medical equipment, wiped his hands of blood, then sat down next to the mage.
"Are the sentry wards still around the camp?" he asked mildly.
"Yes," Kimmuriel replied, after a pause, then slowly moved his hand to lightly touch Jarlaxle's ungloved one. "Thank you."
Jarlaxle did not reply, though he sat closer to stroke Kimmuriel's hair gently. "I wonder how those two are doing."
Kimmuriel closed his eyes, as if savoring his master's touch. "I cannot… feel them anywhere close by."
"Well… we will just have to go look for some answers after you get some rest." Jarlaxle said thoughtfully, patting Kimmuriel's shoulder. "I might as well keep watch until then."
"But you need to rest as well," Kimmuriel grabbed Jarlaxle's wrist. "The sentry wards…"
"Since our enemy were so prepared for us… I think the wards might not hold a concentrated attack," Jarlaxle replied, gently but firmly prying Kimmuriel's fingers off his wrist. "I will be fine."
"But…" Kimmuriel protested anxiously. Jarlaxle ignored him, putting on his boots, then made a sound born of pure exasperation when he felt Kimmuriel embrace him from behind, muffling sounds of pain from the forced movement against his back.
"Did you not try this the last time?" Jarlaxle muttered, keeping still, in case he brushed against the barely healed wounds.
"Keep watch from here?" Kimmuriel murmured drowsily, the sleeping pills Jarlaxle had laced the healing potions with finally beginning to take effect. "Please."
Jarlaxle sighed, carefully pulling Kimmuriel into his lap, blankets and all, arranging the mage such that he could sleep cradled against Jarlaxle's arm, head against his master's shoulder. "Better?"
Kimmuriel yawned, obviously dropping off, "… love you…"
Jarlaxle watched as the mage fell asleep, then looked out into the forest, his expression enigmatic.
**
"Well," Entreri said, gasping, "This isn't surprising." Disarmed except for the irremovable short sword, on his back, arms numbed from nasty stabs at his arms, a furious Zaknafein about to kill him… "But why don't you say… something?"
One difference though – Zaknafein never continued trying to fight him past a certain point (normally once he was well and certain Entreri had given up). It looked as though Zaknafein was serious this time, and Entreri wondered what was wrong – sure, they were in a weird new world with no apparent exit, but Zaknafein should know he was not a threat… right?
Entreri somehow found the effort to roll away from a stab, and shakily to his feet, and barely block a blow with his raised gauntlet. "Zaknafein… what the hell… is wrong with you? Don't tell me you don't recognize me…"
"All illusions," Zaknafein snarled, his first words since the fight. "You are all illusions!"
"I am not a bloody illusion!" Entreri snapped, weariness and frustration boiling into a nice temper, blocking another slice. "Do I feel like a damn illusion?"
"All… the world… is a lie," Zaknafein replied, punctuating his words with a vicious flurry of slashes, some of which managed to connect. Entreri winced, deciding this was a pretty good moment to run away, and used the gauntlet to come out with the black ash curtain. Hurriedly, he ran to his side, stooping to pick up the jeweled dagger, and then fled the area. The curses behind him seemed to lurch to the side, then were silent.
Thank the Gods for the gauntlet. Entreri decided to try and find a nice, quiet area to stop, them some beggars to… and the padding sounds to his right were a definite warning that someone was running with him, like a wolf, circling its prey. Since there were precious few people Entreri knew who could detect him when he was moving as silently as he could…
Entreri stopped, and had to dodge a slice at his neck. "Zaknafein… bloody hell, if you think I'm an illusion, why don't you go kill another one?"
"You dare… wear his guise," Zaknafein growled, a kick connecting, knocking the breath out of Entreri and making him stagger back, gasping. "You dare…"
"Sam?" Entreri tried another appeal. The ash was dissipating quickly.
Zaknafein shook his head, frowning. "Sam? She's…" He hissed suddenly in pain, and dropped his weapons, clutching at his head. "Stop it! Stop trying to come out! I… must kill him… no, he is not the real one!"
Well, that wasn't very encouraging, but Entreri found himself moving quickly forward anyway, sheathing his weapons, and holding Zaknafein's arms. "Are you all right? What's happening?"
"Don't… touch me," Zaknafein snarled, between heavy, pain-filled breathing, twisting away. "You… are not Entreri…"
"Of course I am," Entreri said, quickly becoming very annoyed. How did one deal with this kind of situation? "Ask me a question then."
Zaknafein stared at him with wild eyes, and then began to laugh, a low, choking, disturbing sound. "Fine. Do you… love me?"
Entreri blinked, having expected questions about personal details regarding their life together to date. "I…"
"Well? Can you answer that, illusion?" Zaknafein asked, taunting, whatever pain that had struck him apparently dying away.
"How is this supposed to prove to you that I'm not an illusion?" Entreri asked irritably.
"Because I know the answer," Zaknafein said simply. "And if you do not… then you are an illusion, and I will kill you."
Entreri could only gape at Zaknafein in surprise for several moments, and then sighed, trying to restrain his anger. "How do you know what I feel? How can you just assume something… how can you just ask me this, in such a situation?"
"Are you going to answer me?"
"I refuse to answer you like this," Entreri snapped, now absolutely furious, despite being tired, wounded and… probably because of those conditions. "Instead of trying to kill each other we should be trying to find a way out of this place."
"You cannot get out," Zaknafein replied, and there was a deep despair in his voice. "Because this world is the real one, and all of the other is a lie."
"Look, I knew you were a little unbalanced, but that is downright insane," Entreri said, attempting to be reasonable. "How can this world be real? Does it look real to you? How can roads be that flat, and buildings that evenly built? How can things move that quickly? How can the grass in this park be cut at a uniform height?"
"It is," Zaknafein muttered. "It was shown to me. The other world – and all the other worlds – only exist through the imagination of those in this world, not by themselves. Not… real."
"Did the demons tell this to you?" Entreri asked suspiciously, getting a glimmer of why Zaknafein had behaved as he had. If he truly believed in this – it was no wonder that his mind seemed to have broken.
"That and much more," Zaknafein said painfully, as if remembering something he did not want to. "All… illusion…"
"Right," Entreri sighed. "What do you think is an illusion, Zaknafein?"
Zaknafein frowned at him. "Anything that is not real."
"So what is 'real' then? Can an illusion do this?" Entreri stepped forward and put a hand against Zaknafein's cheek, then leaned forward and kissed him, a little awkwardly, growing in confidence when Zaknafein opened his mouth and took over. "Well?" he asked, when they disengaged.
Zaknafein blinked, stared at him briefly, then pulled him down into another kiss, which moved to Entreri's ear, the assassin moaning softly when he slowly licked the exposed neck… "You still have not answered my question," he murmured, lightly caressing Entreri's arm, conscientiously avoiding the cuts.
Entreri felt his ire draining away, and he thought – did he love Zaknafein? He certainly cared for him… if not saying this would not be so hard… but love? To want to be with someone else forever… to be able to give yourself entirely to another… for your entire existence to hang on that of another, was that what it was to love? Was he able to love? Not the way Kimmuriel loved Jarlaxle… but in his own way, did he love Zaknafein? And the answer was right there… deep down within him.
"I…" Entreri sighed. "I think I should have told you this before. Yes, I… love you." He hissed when Zaknafein roughly pushed him away, losing his balance and falling onto his rump on the soft grass. "What?"
"Wrong answer," Zaknafein said coldly. Were those tears in his eyes…? "He does not love me."
"How would you know that?" Entreri snapped, his anger returning. He had to spend this much effort saying that… and he was not believed? "Damn it, Zaknafein… then how would you come up with a reason why I…"
"Because he can never tell me why," Zaknafein reasoned, holding his boot knife now. "That means he must have been hiding a reason that he did not want to 'hurt' me with… and the reason must have been that he never felt love for me, even if he cared a little – or cared enough such that he did not wish me to be 'hurt'."
"How about 'I couldn't tell you because I was scared of getting so attached? Because I didn't want to ruin what we had?' Since your last experience with love… I did not know how you would react to an admission…" Entreri breathed a shuddering sigh. "I will never hurt you. So there isn't any way I can get out of this, can I? There's no way I can fight you and win if I don't hurt you… so all I can do is defend myself, and that isn't a way of winning…"
Zaknafein paused, shaking his head. "You are an illusion. You are not… Entreri…"
"I'm getting damned tired of hearing you say that," Entreri replied angrily. "How am I supposed to know whether you're the illusion, then?"
"And how would you know that?" Zaknafein asked curiously.
"Because I can touch you… and because I don't know anyone else so bloody stubborn!"
Zaknafein stared at him, then chuckled somewhat hollowly. "I must admit you are a very good copy."
"That's because I'm the real one!"
"The last time they put in a Jarlaxle… a Malice… a Drizzt… my daughter… many others… all of them went out of character near the end."
"Are you even listening to me?"
"I killed all of those. All the fakes. Killing fakes in the 'real' world… is that not fitting? I think I killed them all in this park, too. I tried to bury them, but the bodies faded away." Zaknafein glanced at the oaks, as if remembering something.
"What if you killed me, and my body did not fade?" Entreri challenged. "What if what I said is true?"
"Then I guess I would not want to continue living," Zaknafein smiled rather sinisterly, with a rather manic, psychotic purpose. "But that is not much of a problem is it, since you are an illusion."
"So… how do you normally get out of the 'real world'?"
"Whenever the demons have had their fun." Zaknafein shrugged. "I've had a long, good dream in the Material Plane this time. Perhaps it is time… that the demons took me back to hell."
"Someone like you doesn't belong in hell," Entreri said quietly.
"Someone like me?"
"Yeah," Entreri rested his head against his hand, elbow on his knee. "Is that what it is to love? To think, despite all evidence, that the other is an angel?"
"That is part of it," Zaknafein agreed, and moved to him, pushing him down and placing the knife at his throat. Entreri, now far too tired of the entire affair to resist – and besides, the numbness in his arms just set in with a vengeance.
"See… you are illusion," Zaknafein muttered, eyes focused on a point behind Entreri, avoiding the assassin's eyes. "He would not give in this easily."
"Zaknafein… I haven't slept for the past day, and you've just wounded my arms and my legs," Entreri said dryly. "I'm hard pressed even to run away."
Zaknafein wasn't listening – Entreri managed to catch the boot knife as it fell, then found himself looking into the worried eyes of Sam. Much less weight on his stomach, which was good…
"Finally!" Sam grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about that. Can you run? I'd hold him back until you're gone."
Entreri lay down onto the grass, turning his eyes up towards the blue sky and intermittent clouds. "Sorry, I'm staying."
"But why? He'd just kill you. He still doesn't think you're real."
"And how are you to know whether I'm real?" Entreri asked wearily.
"Because I think you really do love him," Sam grinned. "And we all have to have a bit of faith."
"Well… isn't it ironic that the first thing he does when I tell him that is to say he doesn't believe me?" Entreri pointed out bitterly.
"I think it's because he wants to believe you so badly that he's afraid that he'd get hurt," Sam shrugged little shoulders. "And he doesn't want to get bitten twice."
"I don't even want to be bitten at all," Entreri muttered, deciding to be pragmatic. Emotional angsting could wait – what was more important was getting back to the real world. "But I think it's a bit late. Do you know how to get out of here?"
"Nope," Sam said, getting off and sitting on the grass. "Never been here before. I think he might, but he's gone all quiet."
"That's good," Entreri said, not wanting to deal with a recalcitrant Zaknafein at the moment, even if it meant they'd be stuck here for a while. "Stay here. I'm going to get healed, then I'd come back."
"Do you think all this is real?" Sam asked curiously, patting the grass.
"I think it may be," Entreri replied, "But there are a lot of worlds, and we might just have been dropped onto this one. For all we know – our world, and this world, are just two separate ones."
"I hope that might be it," Sam agreed slowly. "But what if this is the real one? What if Zaknafein and his demons were right?"
"Does it matter?" Entreri asked, standing up slowly. "To me, the other world has been real, and is real, and will continue to be real. As much as I like it or not – it is my reality. Whether this one is real as well, or the root of my world, makes no difference to me."
**
What is love…
If not a fragile fantasy?