Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Warning: Light slash

Chapter 3: Friendly Correspondence

Drizzt recognized the short, scruffy human the second he came into view. Sunrise was still an hour away, but the drow's eyes were perfectly suited to peer over the crags of Kelvin's Cairn and see the man, a heavyset ruffian clad in tattered clothes, heaving up the hill and grumbling under his wheezing breath. He was a professional courier from Luskan whom Jarlaxle employed every time he and his assassin companion were in the North. Drizzt remembered from Jarlaxle's first letter that the man was named Godfrey, though he always referred to him as "the messenger."

"Too stingy to hire a more able courier, aren't you abbil?" Drizzt muttered to himself as he rose from his rocky perch and bounded down the hill, his bare feet never missing a hold.

A few seconds later, the dexterous drow was on the path and just a few feet from the courier, his black skin blending him with the lingering shadows of dusk. The messenger plodded along his path, oblivious to the dark, slender figure now standing just a few inches away.

"I hope your master is paying you well for your service," Drizzt said, stepping into view.

The messenger jumped and mumbled several indecipherable curses (though the term "damn drow" was the clearest). He then stiffened hastily in a miserable attempt at looking professional.

"Drizzit Dudden?" the messenger croaked.

"That would be me," Drizzt replied in a slightly annoyed tone, rolling his eyes at the usual mispronunciation of his name.

The courier held out a white scroll tied with a black ribbon and sealed with black wax. As the dark elf reached for the scroll, a small bag flew from his other hand and whizzed past theman's face, landing in the snow with a light chink. The messenger jumped in surprise again and stared at the bag. He then looked up to find the drow running up the hill.

"Wait for me," Drizzt yelled back, "I shall return soon."

Once he reached the top of the hill, Drizzt sat back on the rock he left earlier, untied the ribbon, and broke the seal on the scroll. Ever since attending Drizzt's wedding two years ago, Jarlaxle regularly sent letters: most of them recounting his adventures with Artemis Entreri, though occasionally he would slip in a word or two of friendly advice or even an anecdote about Zaknafein, Drizzt's late father and Jarlaxle's late friend. Drizzt happily responded to all of them with his own details of his more peaceful existence with his wife and friends in Icewind Dale. Over the past few years, Jarlaxle had gone from being a mysterious presence to a good friend. Ever since having him healed of the mortal wound from Entreri's dagger five years ago, along with many other occasions on which the mercenary showed honor despite his ingrained malevolence, Drizzt was happy to realize that at least one other member of his race was capable of some goodness.

Drizzt unfurled the scroll and scanned the letter. The ever cautious Jarlaxle, fully aware that another party might read his scrolls, always wrote his letters to Drizzt in Common and used no specific names. Drizzt, however, recognized the mercenary's eloquent writing style and flowing, intricate script that was impossible to copy. The note read:

To the esteemed Master Do'Urden,

I hope this letter finds you and your lovely wife in good health and good spirits. It has been business as usual, for there is no rest for the wicked. My associate and I have captured at least twenty rogues in our work and put them to "justice" (what a funny little word that is). Not so good was the arrogant noble whose hide we actually had to protect for a week as he visited his mistress in Waterdeep. Fortunately, we failed our mission and received compensation for it anyway (I love incidental poisonings). By the way, if you're ever in Skullport, I recommend this little establishment called The Squire's Meadhouse. That little tavern makes the best meatloaf (though the nature of the "meat" they use is a fact I would prefer to keep unknown). I enjoyed my dinner, but it didn't agree to well with my companion, who was leaning over a bowl all night long (and he always had the strongest constitution, sad really).

I hope you are braving this nasty, Sword Coast winter, though I am glad spring is only a short ways away. I am now looking out my window over Half Moon Street and already see small patches of grass along the buildings. If you hadn't guessed already, I am close to your little neck of Faerûn. My partner and I have been chasing this little band of thugs all the way up the coast, though unfortunately they seemed to have evaded us by just a few miles. Last we heard they were heading north, though I cannot think of any place up there they would rob, though you know the area better than I. If you would like to take part in the hunt, you're assistance and your blades are greatly appreciated, though I'm sure are not interested in such an adventure.

Well, I am off to save the world, though isn't that your job? Anyway, if you crazy lovers decide to have children at last, please let me know. Maybe you can name the lad after me, I would be greatly honored. May all the goodly gods in the universe spare your life for a few more centuries.

Until we meet again

Sincerely,

The King of all Scoundrels

Drizzt put the scroll down and contemplated what he just read. Jarlaxle wrote the letter from Luskan and mentioned a band of thieves traveling up the coast. He then recalled stories spread all the way from Baldur's Gate about a gang of about seven master highwaymen who traveled up the coast, robbing and killing traders and travelers at random before moving to their next target. According to the reports, the group was a tightly organized collective of fighters who were all masters of strategy and deadly with enchanted blades and other magical items. Odds were good that Jarlaxle and Entreri were chasing them to take a few heads (literally or figuratively) for the large rewards they were sure to collect. If Jarlaxle's reports were correct, the band was likely on its way to Icewind Dale.

Drizzt rose and bounded down the hill once again to find the messenger relieving himself on the side of the road.

"When did you leave Luskan?" Drizzt asked.

The messenger jumped and hastily finished his business as he looked at the dark elf from over his shoulder.

"Um…four days ago," he said, re-stringing his trousers. "Started over them hills after high sun the first day, then got caught in a squall. Then I couldn't find my waterskin, so that took up another whole day."

Drizzt looked down at the ground and digested the information. Luskan was only a day's travel, so if Jarlaxle wrote his letter four or five days ago, the band was late in coming, or would never come at all. If they had already arrived in Icewind Dale, their presence would not go unnoticed for four days.

"I would leave you a message, good sir, but I hope to speak to your master in person very soon," Drizzt said, "Or at least I should see him for the sake of his own neck."

The ranger bowed and was climbing the hill a second later. Jarlaxle may have been honorable, but he was still not the most trustworthy, nor reliable individual. Maybe the letter was another ploy to coax Drizzt into a less than desirable situation for the mercenary's own purposes, though the guardian of Icewind Dale couldn't take any chances. He planned a venture to Bryn Shander in the next few hours to inform Elderman Cassius of the possible threat, though he would say he heard a story on the road from a passing merchant. If Jarlaxle planned any foul play, Drizzt would make sure he wouldn't get away with anything. If Jarlaxle's warning was legitimate, the Dale would be prepared. While his mind was focused on the situation, his attention came to the sky, which was now a bright orange. The drow then paused and took in a beautiful sunrise that stung his eyes for just a second before putting his heart more at ease.

Drizzt then climbed over the hill and walked through the shallow snow and patches of grass to a small cave entrance. He pulled back the brown, canvas door and walking into a warm, dark cavern adorned with a few pelts on the walls and a small, green mat by a long cot piled with blankets and the sleeping form of Catti-brie Do'Urden. Drizzt walked up to the cot and gently came to his knees beside his wife, inhaling her warm aroma as he lay down beside her. Her blue eyes fluttered open to see her husband looking so happy and comfortable at her side.

"Morning, dearest," she said, reaching over and grabbing a handful of white hair as she pulled him down for a kiss. After a short while, they pulled back and Catti-brie noticed the scroll in Drizzt's hand.

"Jarlaxle?" she asked with almost a groan.

Drizzt told her about the mercenary's appearance at their wedding and she was fully aware of their correspondence. She still considered Jarlaxle a silver-tongued villain who brought nothing but danger, but she also trusted her husband's favorable judgment of his pen-pal's honor and knew Jarlaxle was too far away to cause any real trouble at the moment.

"Yes, he's up to his usual tricks," Drizzt sighed. "But that's not important now."

He threw the scroll on top of the chest beside their bed as he locked his wife in a strong kiss and locked his hands around her waist. Catti-brie wrapped her arms around his slender body, running one hand slowly down his spine and clutching the fabric of his tunic. Drizzt pulled himself up slightly and allowed her to slip the linen shirt off his body, revealing his tightly muscled, ebony torso. The kiss resumed as her hands ran up and down his taut chest and he undid the buttons on her loose, white sleep shirt, gradually pulling it off to reveal her full, bare form. He then lay on top of her; savoring the softness and warmth of his bare skin against hers as he felt her hands unstring his trousers and slide them down. Drizzt kicked the leather breeches to the floor and allowed his body its high desire, smiling and knowing that he was the happiest creature in the universe.

The tracks were slightly obscured by the stiff breeze, but they were clear enough for Artemis Entreri to read perfectly.

They passed through here less than an hour ago, he said to his partner in drow hand code.

All seven? Jarlaxle signed back from his high perch in an adjacent fir tree.

All seven, Entreri replied.

The tracks lead northwest, Jarlaxle signed, as far out as the horizon.

Jarlaxle jumped from his perch and levitated to the ground beside his companion.

"Since Icewind Dale is just a mile northwest, we know where they will stop next," the drow said.

"I hope you realize that this is too much for the two of us," Entreri said. "We've been chasing these bastards for a month and the closest we've come to any of them was those fire balls they threw at us, remember? I'm just dying to see their tricks in combat, but I have this attachment to my skin right now."

"That's why it won't be just the two of us," Jarlaxle replied, removing his hat and reaching inside.

"Please tell me you were drunk when you came up with this plan," the assassin groaned. "Even if Do'Urden and his heroic little friends are not off fighting dragons, what makes you think he will make our job any easier?"

"Because the favored prey of goodly warriors is evil doers," Jarlaxle replied, producing a small mirror and placing the hat back on top of his bald head. "Especially if the evil-doers infest his beloved home. Master Drizzt and his associates will be all over those bandits like Matron Baenre's snake whip on an inept slave."

Jarlaxle said a brief command word and looked into the mirror. Entreri eyed him curiously as a large grin crept over the drow's face, his white eyebrows rising high.

"Remind me to give Godfrey an extra tip the next time we go to Luskan," Jarlaxle said, looking intently at the glass. "He is clearly a reliable messenger."

The assassin stepped closer to Jarlaxle and looked over his shoulder, looking into the mirror to see a full, clear image of a red-haired woman and a dark elf…

"That's just perfect," Entreri groaned, rolling his eyes and turning from the glass.

"As you can tell, Master Do'Urden is not off fighting dragons," the drow said with a laugh. "As for rescuing the princess…"

"I hope this little peep show has a purpose besides your own gratification." Entreri growled.

"It was nothing more than a small scry charm on the seal of my letter to the happy husband," he replied, not taking his eyes off the mirror. "I just wanted to make sure he was home. I didn't expect that he would be entertaining the Mrs. at the same time, though I swear she has the breasts of a nymph."

"I've seen better. Okay, end this indulgence in your sick fetishes and let's continue where we left off," Entreri spat as he grabbed Jarlaxle's wrist.

"Don't worry, this will be done soon. Right about…now."

Entreri accidentally caught a glance in the mirror and flinched away with a groan as Jarlaxle gave another cackle.

"Congratulations, Artemis Entreri," the drow said between chuckles, "You have located Drizzt Do'Urden's hidden blade. Catti-brie is a very lucky woman, for I believe we have found the next Blackstaff."

Entreri smacked the mirror out of Jarlaxle's hand with an angry grunt as Jarlaxle doubled over in laughter. The assassin walked away and took a few deep breaths as he scanned the horizon. Suddenly, a large, fiery flash in the distance caught his attention.

"I think we found our bandits," he said, drawing his sword and dagger and walking fast in the direction of the flare.

Jarlaxle's smile melted as he bent down for the mirror and ran towards his partner.

The bright flash illuminated the cave through the thick canvas over the entrance. Drizzt sprang to his feet, picking up his pants and putting them on as he moved for the door. Catti-brie rose and grabbed her trousers and tunic from the clothesline on the other side of the cave, donning them hastily and throwing Drizzt's tunic back to him.

"What in the Nine Hells was that?" she said.

Drizzt put on his tunic, then grabbed the lid of the trunk, flinging it open and sending the scroll across the room.

"You know those bandits who have been moving up the coast?" he said, pulling his mithril shirt from the box and sliding it on.

"I've heard, why?" Catti-brie asked, putting on her leather vest.

Drizzt then reached in a corner for the belt containing his scimitars.

"Looks like Jarlaxle was right about something," he said, putting the belt around his waist.