Chapter Two
The flames which quavered in the fireplace cast a faint glow upon Jarlaxle as he smiled at Naomi and held her hand. After Entreri had left the room, a charming blush had seeped into Naomi's cheeks, and when Jarlaxle had clasped her hand, she had trained her gaze upon her lap, apparently unwilling to meet his gaze. The elf chuckled and reached out one finger, tipping her chin up and forcing her to look into his one uncovered eye. "Do not be so shy, milady," he teased her.
Naomi grinned at him, faint dimples showing as she did. "It is only that . . . well, it is a tad improper for us to be here alone—"
"Nonsense," the elf said gently, secretly amused by her façade of shyness but willing to make the most of it.
"And I have never before met a drow." She glanced away momentarily. "I have heard . . . terrible rumors, I must admit."
"Those rumors are often true, I'm afraid, but they do not include me," Jarlaxle replied in his most soothing voice.
Naomi blushed again, reaching out one finger to play with the top button of the elf's fine linen shirt. "You would say that, however."
"Most true." Jarlaxle captured the lady's hand and kissed her palm. "But I speak truthfully, I promise you." Naomi met the drow's gaze again, and Jarlaxle found himself fascinated by the stunning jade hue of her eyes.
"I'm afraid I have little defense against your charms," she said quietly, "for you are . . . finely handsome."
Jarlaxle found that the corners of his mouth ached from his sustained smile. His gaze traced down the contours of her throat, and he could almost taste her skin upon his lips. Then he noticed the amethyst pendent inlaid in platinum which rested at the dip of her throat. "What a beautiful necklace!"
Naomi absently touched the piece with her fingertips. "Thank you. It is a family heirloom passed on to me by my mother before she died. I treasure it more than any other jewel I own."
"And rightly so," Jarlaxle said, his gaze now tracing back up the graceful curve of Naomi's throat. Her blush deepened to crimson, racing down from her cheeks to stain her neck. Jarlaxle found himself leaning forward, but a cool brush against the back of his neck stopped him short. The elf glanced about the room sharply, his innate ability to sense magic burning within him so powerfully that his sinuses ached.
"What is it?" Naomi asked, her tone alarmed.
Jarlaxle scanned the room but sensed nothing further. "Nothing, my dear." He didn't sound very convincing, even to himself.
Torch in hand, Entreri stalked silently up the corridor, pausing to check each recess and door he passed. So far, he'd merely discovered urns, vases, and a fancy metal box in the recesses, and behind the doors, he'd found only a dusty study, small library, and a few bedrooms. However, when he opened the final doorway on the left side of the hallway and stepped into the bedroom beyond, he noticed a drastic temperature drop from the hallway to the bedroom. A distinct chill wove itself around his spine like ivy upon a lamppost, but he shrugged it off and searched the room. As he passed by the bed, a draft of air brushed his shoulder.
"Artemis," a feminine voice whispered into his ear.
Entreri whirled around, dagger in hand, only to find nothing. The assassin frowned; this was not to his liking. Turning back, he was met with the sight of a bluish orb flying a lazy spiral path before him. The orb floated out of the door, and with a mixed feeling of intrigue and foreboding, Entreri followed. Was the orb connected to the voice? Entreri vaguely recalled overhearing some guild wizard, perhaps LaValle, once suggesting that orbs were not spirits, but he felt there had to be at least some faint connection between the orb and the bodiless voice.
The blue ball was now floating across the hallway toward the far wall. Entreri approached the light cautiously, but it passed through the wall before he could reach it. The assassin felt a compelling urge to follow the orb, but how was he to do that . . . unless, of course, there was a hidden door?
The assassin's scowl had reached epic proportions, but he eased up to the wall and ran sensitive fingertips over the dark cherry wood. A moment's search located the door, and with a smirk, the smug man placed his ear against the wood and listened for any further noises. Hearing nothing, he checked the door for traps, and when he found none, he slipped the door open and slid inside.
Nothing more sinister than a staircase and a faint sulfuric odor greeted him. The room held only the staircase, and a single door stood ajar at the bottom of the stairs. Both suspicious and curious, Entreri silently padded down the stairs and peeked inside the room, which was mostly cast in shadows. A quick search revealed no traps here either, so he entered the room for a closer look. As soon as he stepped into the room, the sulfuric odor burned his nose, but the sight before him rendered the scent insignificant. The assassin stopped suddenly, using all his willpower to resist the urge to turn and leave again as an overwhelming shroud of evil seemed to drape itself over him.
The room was small, perhaps sixteen by sixteen feet, with two rows of petrified benches running up the center of the space. A jade statue stood at the end, its hands clearly holding a heart, but its face and body were chipped and mold-covered to the point that Entreri couldn't tell if it were meant to be male or female. Before the figure stood an altar, its sides blood-covered; a rusted ceremonial dagger, two melted black candles, and runes decorated the top.
More disturbing, however, were the two human-sized, wrought-iron cages which hung on either side of altar and the molded-over wall carvings depicting human sacrifice and hearts being cut from the chests of children. The pervasive sense of evil seemed to bloom, to become so tangible that Entreri tasted a coppery-metallic tang in his mouth and tiny shivers like insect-feet threatened to crawl up his arms.
It was time to leave.
Entreri turned, but even before he could reach the doorway, his torch extinguished just as surely as though some force had snuffed it out. Although the assassin did not allow himself any fear, he reacted quickly, tossing away the spent torch and racing up the stairs.
It was not until he was halfway back to the sitting room that Entreri realized he'd been able to see in the utter darkness. He hadn't been able to see far ahead, perhaps ten feet, but even ten feet was remarkable for a human surrounded by pitch-blackness.
The shade's life-force? he wondered to himself, but dismissed the thought as he rounded the corner to the sitting room. There were more important things to address at the moment.
Entreri's approach to the sitting room had, of course, been utterly silent despite the fact he entered in a dead run, so the drow and the lady who were wrapped in each other's arms kissing deeply were somewhat shocked to be so suddenly intruded upon.
"My apologies on interrupting your mutual admiration." Entreri's voice dripped with sarcasm. "But during my canvassing, I seem to have found something I should call to your attention."
The couple stared at him wide-eyed. Naomi's entire face had turned a fine shade of scarlet, and although Jarlaxle's complexion didn't lend itself to showing a blush, the elf seemed a touch abashed.
Entreri, however, was mentally back in the dark chamber reviewing what he'd seen, so he didn't notice. Child sacrifice? Did the worshippers of this unknown deity sacrifice their own children . . .? He turned a glare upon Naomi. "Just what god did your ancestors worship!"
Naomi looked both taken aback and confused by the question. "What do you mean? My family has always worshipped Mystra."
"I'm unsure of that given what I found."
Naomi frowned. "Please, show me of what you speak."
Once Entreri had procured a new torch, Naomi and Jarlaxle followed him to the hidden chamber.
"Great goddess," Naomi whispered, shivering as she wandered about the room and studied its horrors. Jarlaxle did not look any more comfortable in such surroundings than Naomi, and Entreri wondered if the drow were comparing the scene upon the walls to things he'd seen in Menzoberranzan.
In fact, Jarlaxle was doing just that. The elf frowned at the scene, his eyes riveted to the horror depicted on the faces of the dying children. I wonder if there were specific children chosen for their purposes, he thought, staring at the image. Only male children, perhaps, or only female ones? The first-born . . . or third-born? Jarlaxle frowned, momentarily disgusted before he could bring himself under control. He turned toward Naomi and started to speak, but he caught Entreri watching him closely. The assassin glanced away as their eyes met, but for a second Jarlaxle thought he saw a touch of empathy—and perhaps a touch of curiosity—on the man's face. Empathy? Surely not! My imagination must be teasing me now.
Jarlaxle shook his head, deciding to pursue the thoughts at a later time, then spoke. "It would seem there are a few things about your family or ancestors about which you have not been informed, milady."
Naomi turned toward the drow, and the haunted look in her eyes made her seem suddenly weary. "It would seem . . . there are darker things than a bloody feud in my family, yes." She sighed and stared at the ground. "But . . . but I could almost see turning to an evil religion if I could only get all the unnecessary bloodshed to stop." Her voice had dropped nearly to a whisper. "Is it evil to turn to evil in order to stop evil?"
Jarlaxle once again glanced at Entreri, although he turned back to Naomi before replying. "Yes, my dear, it is. When surrounded by evil, it may be difficult to find anything other than evil means for surviving, but there is a difference between carefully negotiating only what is necessary to survive and pursuing a dark path or acting without discernment."
Naomi frowned at him in obvious confusion.
Jarlaxle smiled. "What I am saying is that although you are surrounded by bloodshed and terror, all you would accomplish by pursuing a dark method of ending the feud is further bloodshed and terror. I encourage you—and your father—to actively and aggressively work to end your problem, but I also encourage you to not dismiss a certain brand of diplomacy." He winked at her. "Always think in terms of mutual benefit, and you will find that many good things will come to you."
From behind him, Jarlaxle heard Entreri snort, but Naomi smiled at him. "Mutual benefit?" she echoed, apparently trying out the phrase and finding it to her liking.
"Oh, wonderful," Entreri quipped, "you've created a monster."
Jarlaxle started to chuckle, but the darkness of the room seemed suddenly to bend down upon him. The mercenary may have not been a good elf, but the pervasive sense of evil that hung in the air was so tangible it felt as though he were breathing thick, black liquid. Jarlaxle had the sudden, overwhelming sense of the type of demonic aura Lolth possessed. A compulsive shiver raced up and outward from his spine like the charge of a million tiny spiders. Entreri flashed him a look of concern, and Jarlaxle grabbed his arm. "I sense an evil presence here! We must leave this room immediately!"
Neither Naomi nor Entreri seemed to be in the mood to argue with him, and the three quickly made their way back to the warmth and light of the sitting room. Yet as he entered the room, Jarlaxle did not find the scene comforting. Instead, the fire seemed to flutter as though threatening to extinguish, and the pink marble and ivory statues seemed sterile and cold. Something was down there with them—a presence much more dangerous than the purported assassin.
Jarlaxle drew Naomi down onto the loveseat again and held her hand, but in truth he didn't feel he had much comfort to offer. The situation was much more complicated than he'd originally thought, and he still couldn't shake the sense of foreboding evil. Something malevolent, something magical, was awake in the basement of this mansion and seemed to be reaching toward him. It coaxed terrifying memories from him, memories he normally kept buried.
Jarlaxle glanced over his shoulder at Entreri, who stood behind the sofa; the man was positioned just behind the elf's right shoulder, his hands resting easily on the hilts of his sword and dagger. The assassin was watching Jarlaxle carefully; the look on the man's face was one the elf couldn't quite place. It was almost as though Entreri sensed his mood. When Jarlaxle turned toward him, however, Entreri's expression returned to its perpetual scowl. Still, the man radiated pure confidence and . . . protectiveness? Was his friend actually feeling protective of him?
Jarlaxle frowned, sure that his healthy imagination might have finally run off with him. With a shake of his head, the drow turned back to face the room, and when he did, he felt his own confidence reassert itself. After all, he had more tricks stored in various places about his clothes than either Artemis Entreri or even Kimmuriel could ever hope to guess or keep track of.
And added to that was the fact he had a highly talented and grimly determined assassin standing at his shoulder. Entreri's cunning and skill had been two of the factors which had caused Jarlaxle to choose him as a traveling companion.
But also there was now that odd look of Entreri's. Jarlaxle had seen it before, he thought, during their escape from the crystal tower, and reflecting on it brought forth a warm emotion he didn't recognize. Could it actually be . . .?
A hiss turned everyone's attention toward the entrance to the hallway, where a ghastly feminine form had suddenly appeared. Her grey, decaying skin stretched tight across her skull, and the cartilage of her nose had long ago disintegrated. Tiny crimson points glowed in her empty eye sockets; a few remaining clumps of straw-like strawberry blonde hair stuck out stiffly from her head. When Jarlaxle and Naomi jumped to their feet in alarm, she hissed at them again, then glided into the room, opening her mouth in an unholy shriek like a strangled coyote's howl. The aura of evil emanating from the creature enfolded Jarlaxle like a shroud of ice which tried to freeze and suffocate him. He fought against that aura, tried to shake off the sense of paralysis that threatened him, and in the edges of his vision he could see Entreri and Naomi trying to do the same.
Dear gods, Jarlaxle thought, biting down hard on his rising panic.
It was a lich.