"There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet"
Chapter Two
Tai sat on Entreri's bed, and Jarlaxle sat in the chair across from him. Entreri took a moment to light a second oil lamp, suspecting the young priest would not be able to see in the gloom as well as either Jarlaxle or he. The additional light revealed the thread-bareness of the linens and the layer of dust coating the furniture, but like Entreri, Tai seemed to either not notice or not care about the room's shabbiness.
Entreri sat by the boy and inspected him closely in the momentary silence that followed. Tai's black hair had grown until it now brushed his shoulders, and his royal blue cloak seemed just as new as it had eight months earlier. However, the sixteen-year-old seemed tired and agitated; his narrow shoulders slumped.
Jarlaxle had crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. "Very well. Tell us what has happened."
"I would like to hire you," the priest said.
"Hire us? You?" Entreri asked.
"Yes. I'll pay you as best I can, but I need your help." Tai's overly-large brown eyes seemed to implore them.
Jarlaxle held out a calming hand. "Do not worry of that just yet. Simply explain your circumstances."
Tai inhaled deeply. "When I reached Silverymoon, I met a woman named Nyx, with whom I began working to carry out my duties to Hoar. We only remained in Silverymoon for a short time, in fact, before traveling south, where we came across plenty of people in need of retribution. But in the course of our travels, we came across some highly disturbing and dangerous information: someone is searching the ruins of the High Forest in an attempt to find the Kagaor ki Tamal."
Entreri and Jarlaxle traded glances, and the elf shrugged, indicating that he'd never heard of it. Entreri turned back to Tai. "And what, exactly, is the Kagaor ki Tamal?"
"We weren't sure, ourselves," Tai admitted, "but it seemed important, so when we reached Nyx's childhood village, Olostin's Hold, we asked her great uncle, who had worked in Silverymoon as a scribe for most of his life. He was mortified at the thought that anyone would search for the item, much less find it."
Jarlaxle appeared quite curious now. "Oh? Why?"
"The words kagaor ki tamal translate into common as convergence of mirror; in other words, this artifact is called The Mirror of Convergence. Supposedly, it's an ancient saurian relic."
"Saurian?" Entreri asked.
"The saurians were one of the five creator races of Faerun," Jarlaxle answered briefly. "Think of the yuan-ti, who are their descendants: humanoid head, arms, and chest, but a snake-like lower body."
Entreri shrugged; he knew very little about the yuan-ti, either. At least he'd heard of them. The assassin narrowed his eyes for a moment. Jarlaxle sure had a great deal of knowledge about many things—not just magical items, but ancient empires like those of the Netherese and the saurians. How old was Jarlaxle, and how or why did he come by so much knowledge?
"According to those we've asked, no one knows how the mirror works," Tai had continued, "only that it bestows great power upon the wielder. There are many rumors concerning this: some say the mirror summons demons from the abyss, and others claim the mirror intensifies the ki or life energy of anyone who gazes into it, granting them powers. But the most disturbing rumor holds that the mirror opened a direct channel to the god Sseth. I say 'opened' because from my communing with Hoar, I have learned that Set has taken charge of Sseth's domain . . . which leaves me to wonder with whom the mirror would put one in direct contact: Sseth or Set." The priest shuddered. "It really doesn't matter which rumor is true—they're all bad. Obviously, it's a relic that should be left in the ruins."
"Fascinating," Jarlaxle commented, looking already deep into thought.
Tai smiled. "Well, upon learning these things, I decided to contact you two because the job seemed like the type of delicate one that would require . . . a stealthy approach. With the help of wizard friend of Nyx's, I was able to both locate you and reach you easily." The young priest straightened his shoulders. "Which brings me to my request: I wish for you to accompany us on a quest to stop whoever is trying to recover this mirror."
"To stop them?" Entreri raised an eyebrow. "How does this serve your god? I thought Hoar was the god of retribution and poetic justice."
Tai cringed. "In my communing with Hoar, my god has impressed upon me his displeasure over the thought of a mirror which could potentially increase Set's power." The priest took a deep breath. "Let me see if I can explain this . . . during the time I spend communing with Hoar, I sometimes gain knowledge he has or get impressions of him. I get the sense Hoar is somehow angry with the Mulhorandi deities, of which Set is one. Although I do get the sense that most of Hoar's anger is directed at one of the other Mulhorandi deities, I know Hoar would not be fond of Set simply because he promotes evil for evil's sake. At any rate, the issue of this mirror has caught Hoar's attention."
Entreri's gaze was wandering off, but Jarlaxle nodded. "I see. So if your friend, Nyx, is accompanying you on this quest, does that mean that she is a cleric of Hoar as well?"
"No, not a cleric," Tai replied. "Actually, she's a monk, but yes, she serves Hoar."
Jarlaxle fingered his chin with one delicate finger. What were the odds that the seeker or seekers of the relic were Bregan D'aerthe's scout party? He calculated for a few minutes, then came to the conclusion that it was unlikely. The scouts were indeed looking for treasure in the ruins, but Kimmuriel had indicated they were looking into establishing a supply, not searching for a specific piece. Besides, the scouts were trained to move with discretion, and their designs would not be so easily discovered. However, in the off chance they were the seekers, Jarlaxle would punish them himself for failing to have said discretion.
The elf, of course, conveniently ignored the fact he'd once raised two crystalline towers in open daylight for the world to see.
"It could be interesting," Jarlaxle commented at length, immediately adding in side excursions and alternate plans to ensure the adventure would prove profitable, for he had no interest in a mirror that might be a direct channel to Set. In the pause that followed, Jarlaxle glanced across at Entreri, who was frowning, but the mercenary suspected he wouldn't disagree—Entreri had been bored recently with no one to challenge his skills.
"Well, it's something," the assassin said.
Tai smiled, a nearly blinding flash of white teeth. "Excellent! Nyx is staying in Secomber and has already secured a magical means of getting us to Olostin's Hold quickly. Our search, you see, will need to start in that part of the High Forest."
"Very well," Jarlaxle said, standing, "we'll leave early in the morning for Secomber."
It was half-past midnight before the priest of Hoar had finished communing with his god and receiving the divine power to cast spells for the following day. Yet although Tai felt exhausted, he couldn't fall asleep. From his spot in Jarlaxle's bed, Tai glanced around the room, which the elf had graciously offered to share with him. In the pale white moonlight, he could make out Jarlaxle sitting cross-legged in the floor, apparently deep in Reverie. In the opposite bed, Entreri was curled on his side, facing the door, a dagger stuck in the wall above him. With his face relaxed in sleep, the assassin looked younger, almost innocent, especially with the glow of the moonlight falling over his features. However, the fact that he slept facing the door, a weapon within easy reach, denoted the man's real mindset—particularly since the single dirty window and the door were both thoroughly trapped.
Tai sighed softly in the still silence. In the months since he'd last seen his newfound friends, he'd learned a great deal. His stay in Silverymoon had been quite enlightening since he'd run across several people who'd heard of Entreri and even a few who'd heard of Jarlaxle. And what he'd learned left Tai feeling disillusioned and foolish. It's not that I was completely blind, he consoled himself. I knew they were mercenaries, and I knew Entreri was an assassin. But the stories I heard!
Tai sighed again, reaching up to rub his eyes. At one point, he'd come to the conclusion that the priest of Tyr who had pursued them had been correct in his desire to carry out retribution upon Entreri. Furthermore, when Tai had learned a story about Entreri and a heroic drow named Drizzt Do'Urden, he'd realized that Socor and Entreri had possessed some similarities . . . and Tai had been out to kill Socor in the name of Hoar.
But when Tai thought through all that had occurred between himself, Jarlaxle, and Entreri—and the fact they'd saved him from Socor—he had to recant the negative thoughts. Some sliver of good existed in each of them, and if it could be reached, it would be worth the effort. Plus Tai could not deny that he still wished to convert Entreri to the ways of Hoar. And the pain Entreri carried deep inside, a pain Tai had glimpsed, made the priest wish to do so all the more.
The young priest glanced across at the sleeping assassin again and wondered just what the man truly thought of him. They'd seemed to connect just a bit during their time spent chasing Socor, but . . . Tai smiled wistfully. No, he didn't just want to convert him. He wanted to befriend him.
With a final sigh, Tai rolled over and fell into a restless sleep.
The following morning, the group left on horseback for Secomber. Despite the fact Tai rode with Jarlaxle, they took the road at a good pace, wanting to reach the town within one day. Not far out of Zelbross, however, a terrific thunderstorm overtook the morning, the black clouds dropping the wooded landscape into near darkness. Chest-rattling thunderclaps swallowed the pounding of the horses' hooves as lightening streaked across the sky. Torrential rains drenched the riders and the ground, slowing the group's progress slightly, but they still reached Secomber by nightfall.
And so it was that a wet, muddy, and moody Entreri rode into the peaceful town of fishermen and farmers and frowned at everything he saw. Jarlaxle and Tai, who were laughing over an apparently humorous story, rode ahead of him toward an inn called The Cat and Kipper, which presented itself as a fine establishment with its three stories of brownstone and black shutters. The courtyard, however, was nothing but a sea of mud—not that Entreri had ever minded dirt given that he'd spent a lifetime sneaking through sewers. Still, even the assassin sighed when he dismounted and sank three inches into the muck, especially since his nose told him that there was more to the muck than mud. Even the incessant rain couldn't wash away the smell of horse feces.
Entreri glanced over at Jarlaxle as he carefully dismounted from his black mare—of which he was much enamored—and patted the sweaty horse's neck. Maybe Entreri's growing fastidiousness was a result of Jarlaxle's influence; the drow was always clean and tidy. The assassin wasn't sure.
Entreri sighed. He wasn't sure about much anymore. He turned back to his horse and unbuckled the saddlebags so the waiting stable boy could take the horse. Here he was, charging off into some unknown adventure, and for what purpose? Because he was bored? When he thought through all his alternatives, though, nothing presented itself as more appealing. Even if he thought it possible to return to Calimport and try to reestablish himself as an assassin, the option didn't hold any allure. Entreri had ever been a man of action, not reflection, but recent events and unavoidable ponderings had revealed too many truths for the assassin to simply return to the way things were. He couldn't go backwards, but he wasn't sure what forwards meant. What did he really want to do with the rest of his life? How did he want to live it? Not as a man who was anything like his father, that much he knew, but he realized that ultimately gave him little help in deciding a direction.
Entreri slung the saddlebag over his shoulder and glanced back at Jarlaxle, who was once again laughing with Tai. Of course, the other part of his question was something that bore directly upon his companion: did the direction he wanted to go in include friends? Did it include flamboyant drow mercenaries?
When Tai and Jarlaxle had collected their saddlebags, the group made their way across the courtyard with Entreri frowning more grimly than ever.
"Ah, to be traveling on my own two feet," Tai said happily as they entered the inn, which greeted them with a warm fire and soft murmur of voices.
"You make little sense, my friend," Jarlaxle said, removing his floppy hat and shaking the rain from it. "You'll permit a wizard to teleport you over a hundred miles, but you dislike riding horses!"
Entreri glanced around the dim tavern, but the patrons continued talking over their ales or stews without looking up. The smell of smoke, beef, and freshly baked bread invited the assassin to relax, but he couldn't. Not when a crowd of mostly men—some of them with swords—would eventually notice the drow who had walked in with him.
However, Tai and the drow in question continued their conversation as though nothing could go amiss. The priest was grinning at Jarlaxle. "I am quite comfortable with magic, so teleportation would never bother me. But why would my comfort with magic make it odd for me to dislike riding horses?"
"Never mind." Jarlaxle put his hat back on and shook his head. "Do I dare ask what you think of traveling by ship?"
Even in the dimness of the inn's tavern, Entreri could see Tai grow pale. "Definitely not."
"So you shall travel all Faerun by foot?" the assassin asked with a snicker.
"Not at all!" Tai's grin nearly split his face. "I'll simply grow enough in Hoar's divine favor to wind walk."
Entreri watched amusement light the boy's eyes. "Fair enough," the assassin conceded in spite of his foul mood.
Jarlaxle turned away, but not before Entreri saw a small smile turn up the corners of his mouth. Why is he so pleased? the assassin thought, irritated, but he had little time to consider the question, for Jarlaxle headed toward the innkeeper. While the drow's posture was relaxed, Entreri felt himself tense, and beside him, Tai also seemed to hold his breath.
"Secomber is usually kind to travelers—especially adventurers," Tai whispered to the assassin. "But since our friend is drow . . ."
"You have no idea," Entreri whispered in agreement before he could stop himself.
The innkeeper, a thin old man who towered over Jarlaxle by half a foot, stared with suspicion at the companions as they approached the bar. "What ye be doin' here?" he asked, his pale grey eyes narrowing.
"Why, we wish to have a warm meal and a room at your fine establishment!" Jarlaxle said with his most charming grin. He whisked off his wide-rimmed hat and bowed to the man.
Entreri crossed his arms and inconspicuously placed his hands near his weapons' hilts.
"I won't be servin' no drow," the man replied, wrinkling his nose.
Entreri's already foul mood sank into a simmering fury that threatened to match the black clouds and booming thunder outside.
"Of course not, sir!" Jarlaxle agreed, replacing his hat, and the innkeeper looked nonplussed. "You would never serve an evil, destructive person of any race. However, I am not a drow come from the Underdark to destroy villages or rule the world. I am simply a traveler, an adventurer, an occasional bounty hunter."
The tavern had grown quiet and still as all eyes turned Jarlaxle's way, and Entreri sensed the fight coming. The innkeeper frowned, and the effect lengthened his face, making his nose seem to protrude like a beak. The man looked over Entreri and Tai, and seeming no more pleased, returned his attention to Jarlaxle. "Bounty hunters?" The man grunted. "I can't figure the boy, but it seems like a fittin'ly low profession for the likes of a drow and a desert shit."
Entreri narrowed his eyes but did not respond to the racial slur. As someone who had found ample cause, in his opinion, to hate all humans, Entreri had never bothered to differentiate among humans of different races, nationalities, sexes, or—to a certain extent—classes. To him, people were either smart or stupid, successful or failures, practical or foolish, self-controlled or debased. And they could be any of these regardless of their exteriors or origins. Still, he did not enjoy being referred to by such an insulting term.
Jarlaxle had glanced at Entreri, probably to see if he were going to react violently or not, then turned back to the innkeeper. "Now there is no need to be offensive, good sir. We're not here to cause trouble or—"
"If ye don't want to cause trouble, then git out!" the innkeeper replied. A rustle and rumbling started up among the patrons.
A young woman with a braid of auburn hair stepped from the shadows near the bar and approached the innkeeper. "Now Goodman McFadden, there is no need to be concerned." She gestured toward the companions. "The boy here is a priest and my traveling companion, and the other two are indeed bounty hunters who he's hired to help us track down some murderers up north." She smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. "Please, allow them to stay."
The room grew quiet again as the innkeeper locked gazes with the small woman. Since she wore a sleeveless leather vest, Entreri could see the finely toned muscles of her arms, but this strong quality was counteracted by her being a few inches shorter, even, than he. This put her at a disadvantage when engaging in a staring battle with a man a foot taller than she. Still, after several tense moments, the man conceded and gave them a room, and Entreri had to admit he was slightly impressed.
At her request, the men followed the woman over to her table, and Entreri walked behind her, sizing up her weaponry: a kukri was strapped to each of her thighs, and nunchaku swung on her belt. But her graceful and confident gait told Entreri all he really needed to know. This woman was a highly trained fighter.
Once the group was seated, a nervous barmaid approached and took their orders; after she left, Tai smiled at his companions. "Masters Entreri and Jarlaxle, I am very pleased to introduce you to Nyx Jassan, Holy Javelin of Hoar. Nyx, this is Artemis Entreri," Tai gestured to the assassin, "and Jarlaxle." He then gestured toward the drow.
"Pleased to meet you," Jarlaxle said, inclining his head to her, "and our thanks for your help with the innkeeper."
"You're welcome," Nyx said, her expression noncommittal. She seemed a bit wary of the drow herself.
"Holy Javelin?" Entreri repeated, skipping the greetings.
"Yes," Nyx replied. "Because of my dedication to Hoar, I have been given a great honor: the title of Holy Javelin, or she who strikes with pure justice and unrelenting vengeance."
"You're a zealot." Entreri paraphrased bluntly.
The monk snickered. "Not at all. Just single-minded and determined. I punish, by poetic justice, those deserving retribution by the judgment of Hoar. Nothing more than that, but never anything less, either." She smirked.
"I see." Entreri narrowed his eyes and considered the woman. Jassan. It was a Calishite surname. Actually, when he thought about it, he realized the name Nyx was Calishite as well. The assassin inspected Nyx carefully, for with her auburn hair, she didn't look like a Southerner. Still, she had dark brown eyes and a slightly darker complexion than the average redhead, qualities caused by her Calishite heritage, no doubt. Also, she was short and small-boned like most Calishite women. Speed. Agility. These would be her greatest attributes.
"Do I meet your approval?" Nyx asked somewhat dryly.
Entreri held in his reaction. "That is yet to be seen," he replied, deadpan.
Nyx laughed while Tai looked between them in a nervous fashion. Jarlaxle grinned, but the mischievous glint in his eyes told Entreri the elf was up to no good.
"Don't make me hurt you," Entreri said, looking at Jarlaxle.
Jarlaxle sat back in his chair and smiled the wickedest smile Entreri had ever seen. "Whatever do you mean, my dear friend?" The elf held one hand to his chest in an innocent gesture that was utterly defeated by his naughty expression. "I am being a good little elf."
Entreri snorted with laughter over that impossibility. What nefarious plot was the drow hatching now?
Tai chuckled, and Nyx looked at all three of them like they were mad. "Don't mind them," the priest told his friend. "They're quite incorrigible, it's true, but it's nothing for you to be concerned with."
"We'll see," she mumbled.
Their meal proceeded amicably, with Jarlaxle and Tai telling the monk a decidedly animated version of their battle with Socor and Entreri remaining silent. When both the meal and story were finished, Entreri and Jarlaxle excused themselves to carry their saddlebags up to their room.
"Well?" Tai asked his friend.
Nyx frowned, watching the pair climb the stairs. The drow was an odd one: slender and delicate, he was cat-like in his grace, as a drow should be, but smiles lighted his eyes and face with uncharacteristic brightness. His fine black traveling cloak and white linen shirt were normal enough, but the great purple hat with its overwhelming plume and the red eye patch were strange. His many earrings, necklaces, and rings were all made of the finest gold, but he had so many that his taste seemed only one step shy of garish. Most jarring of all, however, was his easy laugh and charm. It was not at all what Nyx expected from a drow. The elf was a mystery—perhaps too much of one.
The human was easier to figure out, but Nyx was not comforted by that fact. Like the drow, Entreri was handsome, slender, and lithe. He struck quite a figure in his fine black cloak, leather pants, and black shirt, which was unbuttoned a few buttons, showing a bit of his chest. His thick black hair, which was partially concealed by a flat, small-rimmed hat, was tied by into a ponytail, and a neatly trimmed goatee complimented his face. High cheekbones accented fine grey eyes nicely. However, the dark eyes held no warmth, and the man's piercing gaze spoke of a life lived in the shadows. Also, for a man who was obviously Calishite, he had an unusual grey pallor to his naturally tan skin—it was faint, but Nyx could detect it. What did the pallor mean? The man did not seem ill, an explanation which would have been the most logical. That detail, mixed with what little Nyx already knew of the man named Artemis Entreri, made her uncomfortable.
"Your friends are dangerous," Nyx answered at last. She thought a moment longer. "It's odd that the drow carries no visible weapons, but the assassin carries two very fine weapons. I can tell without even having to see the blades." She glanced at the priest. "If what you have said of them is true, I suppose I cannot retract my agreement to your plan. However, since we are headed into a situation full of unknowns, I admit I am hesitant to have such people at my back. I only hope I presented myself as calm and confident to them."
Tai nodded, accepting the answer. "You did, I assure you. Your concerns are sensible, of course, but remember that Hoar has led us to ask their help. This must be the best path."
Nyx snorted. "Don't forget that the last time you followed Hoar's guidance to work with these two, you were nearly killed."
Tai smiled. "Ah, but I am still alive, and Socor is dead."
The monk didn't join in the smile.
Mordecai of Bregan D'aerthe dismissed his scrying spell and snickered to himself. "So my esteemed, absentee leader has teamed up with two further humans," he murmured to himself. "How . . . pathetic." The drow turned away from his scrying bowl to look out the window; from the tower which served as his new base of operations, Mordecai could see miles of the landscape. "Jarlaxle has become polluted—weak!" the drow hissed to himself, his lip curling in disgust. The expression warped his narrow features.
How could Jarlaxle leave Bregan D'aerthe to pursue such lowly things? Truly, Mordecai did not understand it, for the mercenary band of males seemed a beautiful thing to him, not merely a powerful tool, given his great hatred of Lolth. He despised everything about Lolth: her priestesses, her agents, and her creed, which subjugated males. If he could have killed the goddess himself, he would have.
Pushing the enraging thoughts away, Mordecai turned from the window and paced the room. In his 111 years of life, he had never undertaken such an important task as his current one. In his 111 years, he had never been so committed to a mission. Of course, his plan was perfect; he entertained no doubts. And not only would his plan result in lovely chaos and destruction, it would be entertaining. Very entertaining.
But, unfortunately, the first step in that plan was to kill Jarlaxle's lackey, Artemis Entreri—a not so entertaining task. Mordecai hated the human, didn't want to even share the same room with him. Given that fact, perhaps the drow should go ahead and finish this unpleasant task.
Yes, perhaps it was time to rid the world of Artemis Entreri.
A/N:On Jarlaxle's clothes—I took the description of Jarlaxle's latest outfit from "Wickless in the Nether," although I did add the detail about the material the shirt is made from.
For those of you who read or watch InuYasha, I'd like to acknowledge the nod I make in this chapter toward one of my favorite manga/anime, which inspired me to use a mirror instead of a ring or a crystal shard. ;)
Finally, if you're interested in FR deities, you might like to know all that information about Hoar and the Mulhorandi deities is right out of the book. Hoar hates Anhur and, to a lesser extent, the Mulhorandi pantheon from which he sprang. According to Faiths and Pantheons, Anhur stole from Hoar the portfolio of Ramman after Hoar slew him during the Time of Troubles. Hoar has been out for revenge ever since. As for the "Holy Javelin," I gave myself creative license and created the title based on what little information is given about Hoar.