"And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions"
Chapter 3
Entreri stared out the window, noting that the rain had finally ceased. Midnight approached, and the town had grown quiet for the night. Torchlight reflected off the wet cobblestones of the main thoroughfare and revealed the courtyard to still be an ocean of muck. The cloud cover rendered the night completely black, without moon or stars. The silence that now shrouded both the town and the inn was almost eerie in its totality.
Behind Entreri, however, several candles and a fire brightened the room. The assassin turned to face Jarlaxle, who had visited the bathhouse built onto the back of the inn. The elf had returned clean and refreshed and now lay on his bed, atop the linens, watching the assassin with a small grin.
"What?" Entreri snapped.
Jarlaxle chuckled. "She might not be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, but she is still quite striking."
"By 'she,' I assume you mean Nyx," Entreri said, padding across the thick maroon carpet and straddling the dressing table chair. He crossed his arms over the chair back and stared at the drow. So this was what the sneaky mercenary was about.
"Of course," Jarlaxle answered. "And do not pretend that you did not notice!"
Actually, Entreri hadn't noticed. Oh, he supposed he'd registered the fact during his assessment of her, but it wasn't something he'd thought about during supper or during the later conversation about their travel plans, much less afterwards.
Jarlaxle smirked. "Actually, I think her temperament might be similar to your own. Perhaps you should not consider her beauty—the two of you together might be explosive. In a bad sense, I mean."
Entreri sighed over Jarlaxle's lewd innuendo. "Are you conspiring to set me up with a woman, Jarlaxle? Why ever would you do that?"
The elf grinned. "Because I think it might ease that perpetually sour expression from your face."
Entreri shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, disregarding the implied insult. "I have not the time, the lifestyle, nor the inclination to invest myself in such a relationship."
"Is that so?" Jarlaxle's eyes seemed to glitter with amusement.
Entreri ignored him and stood. "I believe I shall go bathe now."
"Yes, please do," Jarlaxle replied.
Entreri ignored that, too. He collected fresh clothes, slipping his dagger between the layers, and headed downstairs. The assassin had not expected an inn so far north to have a communal bathhouse, and the situation did not please him. Entreri hated bathhouses—they were loud, potentially unsafe, and lacked privacy. Of course, waiting until midnight did ensure him quiet and privacy, but it did not make him feel any safer.
Still, when Entreri entered the men's bathhouse, he had to admit it was nice. Decorative white and navy tiles, which were arranged in lazy spiral patterns, covered the floor and walls. The entryway contained shelves for possessions—although Entreri carried his clothes (and dagger) with him—and the front of the room had stools, sinks, and various supplies for cleaning oneself. In the back was an expansive pool, apparently fed by a hot spring. Steam hung in the air, blurring the light from torches burning in the wall sconces.
Thankfully, Entreri was alone, as he'd hoped. Stripping naked, he washed away the day's grime and mud, traces of which clung to him despite earlier efforts to clean up. Once finished, he carried both his clothes and a towel over to the pool and set them on the edge before stepping into the hot water. Stone benches had been crafted along the edges of the pool, so with an unconscious sigh, Entreri eased back and propped an arm on the edge, keeping his hand near his hidden dagger. It was pleasant. He'd never admit it to anyone, but it was. He breathed in the steam, and although he wouldn't close his eyes, he allowed himself to relax just a fraction.
Several minutes passed in utter silence, and Entreri enjoyed the quiet. Despite the fact he'd trained himself to tolerate noise—loud Calimport streets, loud guild house celebrations, loud battles—he actually hated rackets. It had started during his childhood; loud noises had begun to grate on his nerves. Entreri breathed in deeply, allowing the thought to float away from him. Nevertheless, he acknowledged that silence was to be treasured; his favorite jobs had been the ones that occurred in quiet rooms or in the relative stillness of the sewers at night.
After a stretch of peace, Entreri realized he was growing sleepy and sat up straighter. The water lapped against his body as he moved, and he looked down at his chest, which glistened with water, and considered both the muscles and faint pallor he found there. He and Jarlaxle had never again spoken of the shade's life force which now ran in his veins, but Entreri was growing suspicious. He'd noticed three things: one, he could see better in the dark; two, others apparently had a harder time seeing him when he was concealed in darkness; and three, he felt younger. Not much younger, but just enough to be noticed. He'd once told Dwahvel that he'd slightly slowed with age, but now . . . now he was no longer sure that the loss of speed remained.
No longer sure. Not sure.
Entreri sighed with faint irritation and decided it was time to get out. He was thinking too much. He started to stand, and it was at that exact moment that he intuited he was no longer alone. In an instant, the silence of the room turned sinister, and the steamy haze became dangerous. Entreri finished standing as though he'd noted nothing and reached for his towel, using the action to hide the retrieval of his dagger. He climbed out of the pool with a calculated grace which splashed the water very little and kept the dagger hidden behind the towel. He listened carefully, glanced about the room, but heard and saw nothing.
His intuition was never wrong, though, and he didn't relish his position. While he did have his dagger and his hand-to-hand combat skills, he was standing naked and wet on slick tiles. For the first time, he wondered if he should have sacrificed some of his privacy for the benefit of added safety, and it was not an easy question to answer.
To his left, a flash of movement through the steam caught his attention. Entreri realized there was no use in pretending he was unaware—the only way he could fain ignorance was to start drying off, and that would tie up both hands and make the dagger harder to hide. So instead, Entreri looked directly to his left and searched both the steam and shadows for further movement.
Then, suddenly, every hair on the back of Entreri's neck stood up straight as his sixth sense yelled that the intruder was directly behind him.
"Good," came a strangely familiar voice as Entreri tensed, "but not good enough."
Entreri whirled around, brandishing his jeweled dagger just in time to deflect the dagger which was meant to have severed his spine. Red eyes locked gazes with him, and Entreri recognized with a jolt the wood elf he'd seen in Zelbross . . . except that the creature before him now had ebony skin and shortly cropped white hair. "You!" he hissed.
"Me!" the drow replied in a lilting voice, withdrawing his dagger and unsheathing a second dagger which was strapped to his thigh.
Entreri jumped back, sliding slightly on the tiles, and tried to give himself some space. The drow rushed him, though, slashing at him with double strikes that Entreri was hard-pressed to block with his single dagger. He had to get a second weapon, or he had little hope of winning even with the best of his handwork. Mentally, he inventoried the room, even as he deflected the drow's strikes, and tried to recall anything useful. There were stools . . . maybe he could break off a leg or employ them in a trick. With his signature calm cunning, he manipulated the fight to move in that direction.
With a sneer on his lips, the drow pushed forward in the face of what must have seemed like a retreat, and Entreri held the attacks off with his dagger in one hand and unarmed strikes or blocks with the other. Unfortunately, the drow was too fine of a fighter—Entreri was getting cut and slashed. It was a pure testament to his skill that he wasn't already dead.
"Pathetic worm," the drow taunted as he tried to slip a dagger between Entreri's defenses, yet his red eyes shone with frustration when he failed in his strike. Apparently enraged over not having killed the lowly human yet, the drow stomped forward with his boot, trying to crush Entreri's foot. The assassin took advantage of both the move and the rage, and he not only dodged the attack, he slipped his foot around and caught the drow's ankle, tripping him. Unfortunately, they both went down on the slippery tiles, and the drow grabbed Entreri so he'd land on top of him. The assassin tried to position his dagger so that the drow would impale himself in the process, but the drow was a step ahead of him—he struck out, mostly deflecting the blade, and his armor protected him against the rest. The drow quickly brought one dagger to rest against Entreri's throat.
The reality of the situation sank into Entreri in that moment: he was lying on his back, naked, underneath a drow who had a blade against his throat. In his nightmares, he had never dreamt a worse scenario.
Fortunately, the drow seemed to only want to kill him. "To the nine hells with you," he spat, and Entreri saw his death in the drow's eyes. The assassin's mind scrambled to find a counterattack or defense, but suddenly the drow jerked to the side as though dodging something. A throwing dagger buried itself in his shoulder. The drow cursed and jumped off of Entreri to dive into a roll. A series of daggers followed him, one catching in his boot heel and two others catching in his cloak. As he came to his feet, the drow pulled something from a pouch and threw it at the ground; he vanished, then, in a poof of orange smoke.
Entreri lay flat on his back a moment longer, calming his racing pulse as the adrenaline eased from his system. Jarlaxle's face entered his line of vision a moment later, and the elf's look of concern only partially counteracted his expression of anger. He knelt by Entreri. "Are you all right?"
Entreri started to sit up, and Jarlaxle grabbed his elbow, pulling him up as well. "I've been worse . . . and better." He looked down at the dozen gashes which bled freely from several places on his body. The sweat and water on his skin mixed with some of the blood, turning it pink as it traced over his muscles. "Well, I was clean . . ." He looked up at Jarlaxle. "Why did you come down here?"
"You had been gone to long," Jarlaxle replied. "You never take so long to bathe."
Entreri smirked, but he didn't even bother to pretend he hadn't needed the help. "Thank you."
Jarlaxle nodded, and the look of anger returned. "It disturbs me that you were attacked so."
"What do you mean?" Entreri watched as Jarlaxle stood and went to gather his towel and clothes.
"The drow who attacked you is named Mordecai," Jarlaxle answered. "I don't suppose you remember him? He was with those I brought to Calimport."
Entreri stood and accepted the towel from Jarlaxle. "No."
"I suppose that's not surprising—he wasn't holding any unique position at the time. He's the leader of a scout party now. I . . . recently learned that he wishes to kill me, which is nothing unusual in and of itself. Half the drow in Bregan D'aerthe ultimately wanted to kill me and take my place. But that he would attack you first . . ."
Entreri paused in drying himself off and stared at Jarlaxle as a thousand questions descended upon him. There were several missing details and logical leaps in the drow's narrative, but before he could ask anything, Jarlaxle continued.
"I suppose that Mordecai's attack upon you is a type of compliment—he gave you enough credit to bother trying to kill you in his quest to kill me." Jarlaxle's smile was grim. "Still . . ." The elf frowned, and for a moment he looked uncomfortable, as though he were surprised to be so angry.
Entreri wrapped the towel around himself and considered his friend for a moment. Of course Entreri would have to be eliminated in any attack on Jarlaxle: not only might the he get in the way of the assassination attempt, he simply knew too much about the drow and was an abomination to drow sensibilities—he was a talented, smart human. Entreri knew that the attack upon him this night had been both logical and well-planned—Jarlaxle should simply acknowledge it as such with one of his dark, wry grins and start his counter-planning.
But the elf was instead frowning at Entreri and looking perplexed. The assassin had a moment's insight, then, about the mystery called friendship, and he reached out and briefly squeezed Jarlaxle's shoulder. "It angers you." Stated as a fact. "That is understandable."
The usually glib mercenary, who always had a reply for everything, accepted this comment without a word.
Entreri's scowl in the morning was more dour than usual. When he and Jarlaxle joined Nyx and Tai in the courtyard, Tai apparently noted this fact, for the priest drifted over to Entreri's side and gazed up at him with concern. The boy had been attentive to Entreri practically from the moment they'd met, and that thoughtful consideration caused in Entreri a mixed reaction which he refused to unravel.
The assassin held Tai's gaze for a moment and shook his head, indicating that Tai not ask, for Entreri and Jarlaxle had decided not to tell their companions of the attack—not a difficult feat to accomplish since Jarlaxle had healed all Entreri's wounds. Tai took the cue and nodded, but his expression of concern did not abate. The assassin appreciated this specific facet of the priest's personality; he never pursued a subject once Entreri had indicated it was off limits. For a bare instant, the assassin's mood faintly lifted.
However, nature seemed to be conspiring against the assassin, which soured his mood once again. The storms had passed, leaving the bright spring morning to intrude upon Entreri's sensibilities: the sun beamed down upon cheerfully singing birds and awakened the dazzling red and yellow tulips planted in the courtyard garden. Likewise, the people of Secomber thrived in the brisk morning air, shouting and laughing together as they traveled through the courtyard and street. Entreri growled to himself softly. Noise. Too much noise.
"Be of good cheer, my friend!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, slapping the assassin's shoulder. "A normally long and arduous trip is being much shortened for us thanks to Lady Nyx's efforts!"
The redhead in question snorted. "Just Nyx. My status as Holy Javelin does not confer upon me any titles, nor am I noble-blooded." Today her auburn braid was wound in a tight crown around her head. Like the day before, she wore a leather vest, and although she had donned a weather-beaten grey cloak, it was thrown off her shoulders to reveal her bare, muscular arms.
Entreri noted the woman's practical attire and looked to Tai, pointing at the priest's royal blue cloak. "You really should purchase a cloak the color of mine or Nyx's. The blue makes you stand out too much."
Tai smiled, mischief sparkling in his dark eyes. "Why ever would I want to blend in with everyone else? And grey is such a drab color!"
"Better to look drab than to die because your enemies spotted you too easily," Entreri replied.
Nyx watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow. "The man has a point."
"Not at all!" Jarlaxle said. "You and Artemis merely lack fashion sense."
Entreri smirked. "Fashion sense? You? Your hat is nearly large enough to constitute its own nation." He started to continue but noted the stable boy, who was approaching with two horses. "But enough of this nonsense. I know Tai doesn't have a horse, but do you, Nyx?"
The monk shook her head. "No, my friend Evendur the White teleported me here to a wizard he knows, just as he teleported Tai to Zelbross. My horse is back in Olostin's Hold."
Entreri sighed, taking the reins of his chestnut stallion from the stable boy and tossing him a coin. "I guess we'll have to double up, then. How far is it to the wizard's?"
"Just a few miles out of town," Nyx replied.
Entreri flung his saddlebag across his horse's back and secured it without acknowledging her answer. He supposed he should be grateful that the monk had such good connections, but his foul mood did not relent.
Jarlaxle had secured his saddlebag as well and was now stroking his horse's neck. "Ah, such fine animals. Well, how should we pair up?"
Nyx frowned, and it was obvious to Entreri that she didn't wish to ride with either of them.
"I'll ride with Jarlaxle," Tai offered, no doubt thinking that Nyx would be more comfortable riding with a human than a drow.
"Or Entreri could ride with Jarlaxle, and you and I could ride Entreri's horse," Nyx replied with a small smile.
"I'm complimented that you fear me so," Entreri said, casting her a sideways glance.
Nyx glared at him. "It is not a matter of fear. I simply do not cherish the thought of riding with a complete stranger."
Entreri grinned at her just to irritate her. "Fine." He gestured to the saddle. "Climb on, then, if you are unafraid." A wicked thought struck him. "In a show of trust, I'll even allow you to guide."
Nyx stared him down for several seconds, and Entreri wondered that his skin was not blasted off his face. He felt like snickering but didn't.
"Very well," she said at last and mounted the horse.
Entreri traded a look with Jarlaxle and saw the drow nearly choking in an effort not to laugh, although the assassin got the bad feeling that he was as much the cause of Jarlaxle's mirth as Nyx. Entreri swallowed his second sigh of the morning and climbed on behind the monk. When he grasped her waist, he felt her tense, but she said nothing.
"Shall we, Tai?" Jarlaxle said in a commendably level voice, and once the drow and the priest had climbed upon their horse, the group headed out of town.
Although Jarlaxle and Tai kept up a lively conversation, Nyx was quiet during the ride, leaving Entreri to his thoughts, which inevitably turned to the previous night's events. Another damn drow. The sky seemed to be raining drow! The sky had been raining drow for over a decade now. First Drizzt, then Drizzt's relatives, then Jarlaxle, then a whole city of the evil freaks, then Bregan D'aerthe on the surface, then Drizzt again, then just Jarlaxle, and now—now this freak Mordecai! Could Entreri never, ever escape these evil little elves?
He wished he'd never seen a drow—any drow! He cursed himself for ever finding them fascinating, for ever wanting to be around them, for ever allowing himself to get so obsessed with Drizzt. He cursed himself ten times over, called himself a fool, and told himself he deserved his horrid fate.
"I hate drow," he moaned, not realizing he had spoken aloud until Nyx glanced over her shoulder with a bewildered look.
"You do?" she asked, obviously confused by his sudden outburst.
"It's a long story, but yes. I hate all drow . . . except Jarlaxle."
"Does your out-of-the-blue comment mean you think drow are after the Kagaor ki Tamal?"
An out! Entreri thought. "It's possible."
Jarlaxle's sensitive hearing had allowed him to hear his name be spoken. "Are you talking about me?" he asked, smiling.
"Yes," Nyx said with a smirk. "Entreri here was just telling me how he hates drow."
Entreri glared at the back of Nyx's head, but Jarlaxle simply laughed. Just to knock the elf off balance, Entreri turned to the mercenary and smiled as close to nicely as he could manage and not break his face. "But not you, Jarlaxle. I am quite terribly fond of you."
Jarlaxle looked like he might fall off his horse, and Entreri snickered. Tai and Nyx had broken into laughter. The mercenary recovered and smiled. The assassin could see the mischievous glint in Jarlaxle's eyes again and knew that the elf was entertaining thoughts of matchmaking. "Don't make me hurt you," Entreri said to him for the second time in as many days.
Jarlaxle feigned an evil cackle, and once again, Entreri found himself subjected to stares that asked him whether he and his drow friend were mad.
The group reached the wizard's tower a few minutes later to find the old man awaiting them outside. They dismounted and approached him.
"Well met, Dorn the Wise," Nyx said, bowing. "These are the companions I spoke of." She gestured toward the group.
The old man, whose face was nearly lost in a long, scraggly beard, simply pushed back the sleeves of his crimson robe and frowned at them. "Yes, yes, let's proceed. It's a quarter hour past our appointed time, miss, and I don't have all day."
"My apologies," Nyx replied, holding out a bag of coins; Dorn took the payment and headed inside without comment.
The group looked at each other then followed him, horses and all. Once inside, they found a large circle drawn on the foyer floor. Amber dust coated the interior of the circle.
"Step into the circle," the wizard said, his tone impatient.
Nyx and Tai entered the circle without hesitation, and after trading concerned looks, Jarlaxle and Entreri followed with their horses.
"Now be quiet," Dorn commanded and began speaking the arcane words of his spell.
Entreri's stomach protested as the room around him began to shift, his vision blurring as though he were spinning around in circles. He closed his eyes, but only momentarily, for it made the dizziness worse. Beside him, his horse whinnied and tried to pull away, but Entreri held on to the reins tightly. For a moment he couldn't breathe or move, then the spinning of his vision reversed in a green smear. Suddenly, with a faint popping sensation, the assassin found himself and his companions standing in a field. His breakfast asked rather rudely to be released from his stomach, but he held back the urge. He'd never been fond of wizards' doors, nor had he particularly enjoyed "normal" teleportation. But this version of teleportation had proven to be his least favorite.
"See!" Tai piped up. "Much better than horseback riding, and much quicker, too!"
The assassin wanted to choke him, but any quick movements seemed out of the question for the moment.
Nyx pointed to a stand of trees on their left. "The village is just beyond those trees. We're close enough to simply walk from here."
Within a few minutes, the companions had arrived at the gates of Olostin's Hold. Nyx joked with the guards—apparently acquaintances of hers—for a few moments, winning them entrance into the village. The rustic village didn't make much of an impression upon Entreri: although a wooden sidewalk ran in front of the stores on both sides of the street, the main thoroughfare was merely a hard-packed dirt road. One- and two-story wooden buildings, inconspicuous in design, filled the area, except for the end of the street, which sported an open-air market. Nyx headed straight for the nearest tavern, the Flaming Flagon, and strode in without even waiting for Entreri and Jarlaxle to secure their horses.
"Patient one, isn't she?" Entreri quipped.
"As patient as you," Jarlaxle replied.
Tai laughed. "Yes, I do see a few similarities between you and Nyx, Master Entreri."
Jarlaxle started chuckling, and Entreri shot him a withering glance. The assassin turned back to Tai. "Entreri."
The priest blinked, obviously confused. "Your pardon?"
"Just call me 'Entreri.' We're past the stage of formalities." The assassin swept past the stunned but smiling priest and wondered why Tai was so happy about what he'd said. Was it something specific to the culture of Tai's nation—whichever nation that was? Or maybe something specific, even, to Tai's town or village? Entreri glanced over his shoulder before he stepped into the tavern and found a grinning drow at his side. He looked away before any exasperation could seep onto his face. What was Jarlaxle so amused about? The assassin pushed through the doors, thinking as he entered that the drow was the only person he knew that referred to him by his personal name—a recent development that had occurred without Entreri's consent. Strangely, though, it didn't bother him.
Upon entering the dimly lit tavern, Entreri made an automatic visual sweep of the room: a dozen small round tables, a long bar, two dusty windows, two exits (front door and unseen back door), six customers including Nyx, and one grim barkeep. Entreri locked gazes with the barkeep—a short, squinty-eyed fellow—and instantly summed him up as a thug. They stared at each other hard for a moment, each recognizing the other's criminal streak, then Entreri turned away with a smirk, smelling the man's inferiority as a fighter without even having to measure his stride.
Nyx had seated herself with a cloaked figure at a corner table, so Entreri led the group in her direction. Given the lack of patrons—and therefore noise—Entreri could easily hear Nyx's gasped "What?"
The assassin stopped at the monk's shoulder and looked between her and the other figure, who he now saw was a woman. "Is there a problem?"
Even in the dim light, Entreri could see Nyx had grown pale; her brown eyes were wide with shock.
"Keep your voice down," the other woman whispered. "I don't trust Hartshorn," she titled her head slightly toward the barkeep, "and I don't want him to overhear our discussion."
Tai, Jarlaxle, and Entreri joined the women at the table, and Tai watched Nyx with concern as she clenched her fists upon the tabletop.
"Nyx?" the priest asked softly.
"I just gave her terrible news," the other woman told him, then paused as she looked at Entreri and Jarlaxle. "Excuse me, I should introduce myself." She lowered her hood, revealing her narrow features and bun of brown hair. She was perhaps in her mid-thirties, likely a decade Nyx's senior. "I am called Aedelvana, and to Nyx, I am a friend of a friend."
"Well met, Lady Aedelvana," Jarlaxle said, and the woman looked at him with great suspicion.
"What terrible news?" Tai asked, apparently trying to deflect the usual It's-A-Drow reaction.
Aedelvana focused on Tai, who she seemed to recognize. "Evendur the White as been murdered."
Tai sat back, looking surprised.
"Was that not the wizard who teleported you and Nyx?" Entreri asked the priest.
Tai nodded. "Yes . . . he was a very kind man." He grasped one of Nyx's hands and squeezed it. "And he was a friend of Nyx's."
"And of mine," Aedelvana said. "I've both cast divination spells and asked around, and the fruits of my effort are that I have an idea of who is responsible." She glanced at Jarlaxle, narrowing her eyes. "Evendur was attacked by a small party of drow, a powerful wizard or cleric among them. Rumors hold that these drow have taken up residence in Evendur's tower, although no one has been able to confirm the rumor."
Jarlaxle frowned, and Entreri suspected that the mercenary was wondering if there were a connection between Mordecai and the murder.
Entreri suspected correctly. Jarlaxle held Aedelvana's troubled gaze as he thought through the situation. The mercenary, who had spent hundreds of years both spinning his own webs of intrigue and watching matron mothers spin theirs, had long since decided there were no such things as coincidences. Scout parties and raiding parties made regular trips to the surface in the area of the Silver Marches, it was true. Also true was the fact that many drow lived in the High Forest. But too many things were happening at once for Jarlaxle to be comfortable: Kimmuriel had sent a scout party to the surface; the leader of the scout party, Mordecai, had declared his desire to kill Jarlaxle and had attacked Entreri; and simultaneously, someone was plotting to procure a powerful saurian relic. A powerful saurian relic that could help an ambitious drow kill his superiors and place him on the throne of Bregan D'aerthe, perhaps?
Jarlaxle raised a delicate white eyebrow at Aedelvana. "I suppose it's not surprising to hear that drow would invade a wizard's tower and take possession of it. I've heard that several drow inhabit the High Forest."
Tai nodded, glancing at Aedelvana as he spoke. "As have I—and apparently some of them are good. I know little about either drow or their deities, but I hear that some of the drow worship Eilistraee—who I've been told is a good goddess—although others worship some god named Vhaeraun." The cleric shrugged.
"Vhaeraun opposes Lolth and wishes for drow to conquer the surface," Jarlaxle explained briefly. "Perhaps Evendur the White had some knowledge or possessions that interested some of the followers of Vhaeraun, and they decided to take what they wanted by force."
Aedelvana frowned. "I care not who these drow serve or why they killed my friend. I simply wish for Evendur's death to be avenged."
Tai and Nyx both straightened at those words. "That is our holy duty," Nyx said, a spark of anger lighting her eyes.
"We shall see that retribution is served," Tai agreed.
Entreri looked none-too-pleased. "I thought we were going to hunt for some overzealous treasure-seekers."
"It might be that there is a connection between the two events," Jarlaxle said. "We can't afford to overlook the fact that this murder took place within the same general area where we had planned to start our search for the treasure-seekers."
Nyx's brow furrowed.
"Tell me," Jarlaxle continued, looking at Nyx. "From whom did you get the tip that you should begin your search in this particular area of the High Forest—your great uncle or your friend Evendur the White?"
"Evendur . . ." Nyx answered slowly. "Tai and I spoke with him before he teleported us south, and he confirmed my great uncle's fears about the artifact. He also said that the most likely ruins that the treasure-seekers would search would be directly east from here . . ."
Jarlaxle nodded. "Was Evendur the White widely known to have a great knowledge of both this area and of arcane relics?"
Nyx nodded, and she seemed almost dazed.
Jarlaxle spread his hands. "A possible link. I say we use a little stealth this evening and pay a visit to your friend's tower."
Entreri's scowl had multiplied ten-fold, but when Nyx and Tai agreed to Jarlaxle's plan, the assassin did also. Outwardly, Jarlaxle smiled to show he was pleased with their consent, but inwardly, Jarlaxle's mood matched Entreri's. If Mordecai were the one searching for the Kagaor ki Tamal, and if he had garnered a significant contingent of supporters, the situation within Bregan D'aerthe might have grown serious enough to warrant Jarlaxle's return to Menzoberranzan. Perhaps, in fact, it was a sign that he'd stayed away for too long already.
Jarlaxle kept the frown from his face, but the possibility of returning home did not please him. He . . . enjoyed being on the surface. Not to mention that he had not finished his self-appointed task of helping Entreri to find himself. Truly, the elf had the knowledge to do so, and yet he hadn't progressed as far as he'd hoped. He'd tried many subtle methods, and was even now considering less subtle methods, but he hadn't found a good opening—and he had told himself he wouldn't leave Entreri's side until he'd accomplished his goal.
But what choice did he have? To stay or to leave both presented problems: staying might very well mean the permanent loss of his self-built empire, and leaving would be to abandon both the freedom of the surface and a . . . friend.
Jarlaxle shrugged off his irritation and began weaving plots and strategies for their upcoming task . . . and for the possibility they'd be facing Mordecai this night. However, it ultimately was of no matter. The clever male had survived in the matriarchal hell of Menzoberranzan on account of his ability to defeat any challenge set before him. He would handle this problem just as he'd handled hundreds of difficulties before it.