Chapter III

Zak let out a long, distressed sigh when he closed the door to his private chambers. He let his head rest in his hand for a moment, his eyes closed. Long were his days of late, preparing for the raid to the surface.

Preparing! Zak breathed out shakily. Is that the word Malice at used? Preparing? Zak tried focusing on the blackness of his thoughts, attempting to block out the pain that was still causing his back to throb.

Nearly an entire minute had passed before Zaknafein sensed the uneasiness of the shadows. . . .

"Show yourself," Zak ordered in perfect calm. He slowly unsheathed his weapons, drawing them menacingly and threateningly. Despite his steady tone, Zak felt his heart thudding in his chest nervously. He was weak and caught off guard. Silence drummed in Zaknafein's ears, deafening him.

Suddenly, breaking the terrifying silence, there came a familiar laugh, and an old friend stepped out from behind a door.

"Put those away, Zak," the mercenary Jarlaxle chuckled. "I didn't come here to fight anyone, much less you." The weapons-master relaxed, at ease once again. Friends didn't come too often in such place as Menzoberranzan and Jarlaxle was the closest thing he had to one. Zak smiled in greeting as he sheathed his swords, but the smile quickly faded as he thought over Jarlaxle's surprise visit to House Do'Urden.

"Why are you here?" Zak asked, turning to lock the bolt on his door. He couldn't risk anyone happening upon their meeting.

"What? You aren't happy to see me?" Jarlaxle gave a short laugh and Zak shook his head, giving a wistful smile. More seriously, Jarlaxle went on. "Things are happening in Menzoberranzan, many things that need our attention."

"I am no member of the Bregan D'aerthe," Zak reminded Jarlaxle. The mercenary shook his head.

"You misunderstand. I don't mean the band alone. You are part of this too."

"How?" The weapons-master cocked his head curiously to the side as he waited for Jarlaxle to explain.

"I heard that you would be joining the others on the surface raid," Jarlaxle told him, side-stepping the question asked. Jarlaxle looked around the room while Zak digested his words. Along the wall ran a shelf, cluttered with daggers and random objects, some weapons and some not. Jarlaxle peered at them with sharp eyes. Spotting a curious black orb near the middle of the shelf, he intently stared at it, drumming his fingers lightly.

"I don't have much of a choice," Zak responded grimly. Jarlaxle snorted as he reached for the black orb and tossed it into the air.

"That's obvious," he remarked dryly, letting the orb fall neatly into his palm. He tossed it up again, but Zak didn't notice. The weapons- master was far too consumed by the reference to the wounds on his back.

"Malice thought I needed to see a bit of reasoning," Zak returned, dismissing Jarlaxle's worries with a slight shake of his head. Jarlaxle would not be that easily deterred.

"Reasoning?" he asked. "Are you hoping she will kill you before the surface raid? That way-"

"Jarl, I am going on the surface raid," Zak said, cutting his friend off in mid-sentence. "There is no way to prevent that."

"That's not what I am concerned about," the mercenary stated. He tossed the orb into the air one final time before carefully setting it back into place on the shelf. "It's what you could-and might-do once on the raid."

Zak swallowed, a nervous lump forming in his throat. Jarlaxle had a point, as much as he hated to admit it.

"Enough of this," chided the mercenary after a dark moment of silence. "We're acting like idiots. There's no time for it either; too much is happening on the streets."

Zak looked up curiously.

"Two of my scouts intercepted a group of drow last night," Jarlaxle explained. "Have you heard anything about them?"

"No," was the reply. "What happened?"

The clever drow smirked, still amused by the encounter, despite the tension it was causing. He sat down in one of the chairs in the room smugly. "I was warned to stay off the streets."

"Naïve drow," Zak commented, sharing in Jarlaxle's ease and merriment. "Did they give a reason?"

"None, but I am planning to find out."

Zaknafein nodded. "Are you thinking that some house is planning something?"

Jarlaxle shrugged. "It's one of many possibilities. The drow my scouts met are bold-clever and bold. Not always a thrilling combination."

"Unless you can pull it off," Zak teased, gesturing to his friend. Jarlaxle grinned and bowed awkwardly in his seat.

"I try," he joked. A moment passed and their smiles faded again.

"Where did the drow come from?" questioned Zak.

Jarlaxle had no answer. "I don't know and they left somewhat in a jiffy." When Zak seemed confused, Jarlaxle added caustically, "Poof."

"Magic then?" the weapons-master reasoned.

"That's what I'm thinking." Jarlaxle sighed. "I'm not really worried, but if someone believes they have the authority to order Bregan D'aerthe. . .. It means they have incredible power or they have incredible stupidity. I'm not too eager to find out which."

"Understandable," Zak observed. "Be careful on the streets." Jarlaxle nodded.

"As always," he slyly said. Looking at the door for a second, Jarlaxle slowly and heavily stood up. "Time for me to go," he said. "I'll keep in touch with you, Zak. Watch your back on this raid-people like us have more enemies that we can imagine."

Zak offered only a nod in response as the crafty mercenary reached into the folds of his clothes. Throwing something on the ground, Jarlaxle had just enough time to flash his friend a grin before he vanished in a whirl of yellow, purple, and red.

*** *** ***

A knock came at the door almost instantly after Jarlaxle had vanished.

Amazing timing, friend, Zaknafein thought lightly, although there was no way for Jarlaxle to hear.

Zak waited until the last of the colors had finished blending into the air, vanishing into invisibility before moving towards the door. A hand on his sword's hilt and a hand on the doorknob, he asked shortly, "Who is it?"

"A messenger, sir." Zak made a face that showed his annoyance and then opened the door. Before him stood a drow, fairly young, his white hair tied behind in a leather band.

"Your message?" Zaknafein questioned bluntly. The drow before him smirked, catching ear of the weapon-master's impatience.

"My master wishes that you join him in his company," the messenger laughed. "Tomorrow night. Wait by the Clawrift, Someone will show you the rest of the way."

"Oh?" Zak asked smartly, although a twinge of anxiety was finding its way into his thoughts. He held no doubt that this was one of the drow Jarlaxle had spoken of. "And who might your master be?"

The messenger winked, giving no answer. "Until tomorrow." With that the messenger vanished, disappearing as Jarlaxle had, leaving no trail to be followed, save for the uneasiness it left behind.