". . . there will be time to wonder . . ."

Chapter Four

Mordecai dismissed the underling who bowed before him and then turned back to the stacks of tomes, scrolls, and spell books which covered the desk. When Mordecai had first entered the old wizard's study, he'd been overwhelmed by the endless stacks of musty books and papers strewn about the desk, bookcases, and floor. The scent of dust and dry-rotting leather alone had been enough to give the drow a headache, but Mordecai's patience had been rewarded. The tomes and scrolls had provided the drow with an excess of information about a great many things—including ancient saurian artifacts and the Kagaor ki Tamal. This wealth of knowledge—and the wizard's personal collection of magical items—had made the taking of the tower worthwhile. Mordecai smiled. He now had an idea of exactly where to look for the relic and even had a drawing of the relic to guide him in his quest. The drow was pleased.

But more pleasing still was the report he'd just received. It seemed that two of the people his plan required him to assassinate were unknowingly coming straight to him. Mordecai pondered the turn of events with a smile: on their way were Jarlaxle himself and the wretched human assassin—plus two other meaningless humans who the spy said were a monk and a cleric.

Mordecai left the books to stare out the window, an act that was quickly becoming a favorite pastime of his. For miles the drow could see the swaying green tops of trees, and far in the distance, he could see the grey tip of a mountain peak. Mordecai let the sight of all that was rightfully his comfort him. The drow had been angered and humiliated by his failed attempt to kill the assassin and by Jarlaxle's discovery of him, but he now reminded himself that it hardly mattered whether the mercenary leader knew he was coming for them or not. Jarlaxle would not send for help; he would handle the situation himself—and therefore he would die. "Even the great and powerful Jarlaxle," Mordecai said to himself with a touch of sarcasm, "as talented and dangerous as he is, cannot know the many secrets and surprises I hold."

A bump against the drow's leg alerted him to the presence of his latest acquisition. Mordecai smiled and reached down, picking up the white beast which rubbed itself against his leg. The human had called the animal a cat, but regardless of the creature's name, the drow found it fascinating. He stroked the cat's soft fur, feeling through the animal's back the odd vibration it produced every time he held it. Truly, the cat enthralled him, for not only was it graceful and beautiful, it had proven to be a ruthless, efficient hunter and killer. The drow smiled, imaging himself to be much like the cat. Yes, killing Jarlaxle, Entreri, and their new companions would not be difficult, especially since Mordecai had handpicked his scout team to include only those who supported him. Oh, the mercenary leader and his pet assassin made for an intimidating team, it was true, but Mordecai wasn't worried. No, this would be fun. Where to even begin?

Mordecai considered the question as he scratched under the cat's chin. Jarlaxle was confident in his power, even cocky. Mordecai would steal that from him.

Entreri, though. Mordecai searched his memory. The drow had been among those who'd been brought to Calimport for Jarlaxle's surface venture, so while he'd not paid the human any attention personally, he'd still picked up information by listening to others snicker. Pride! Yes, that was it. The human was desperately prideful. And . . . and there was something about a drow soldier who had teased the man and as a result had nearly ended up dead. "So," Mordecai murmured to himself. "The human is bothered by sexual advances from males."

Mordecai shuddered. The thought of toying with a male did not appeal to him in the slightest, and the thought of toying with any human—even a female one—disgusted him. But if he could bring himself to do it, he could attack on two fronts—the sexual assault itself, and a large helping of humiliation to go along with it.

The drow grinned wickedly. Pain and humiliation. He could do it. And he could even bring himself to enjoy it, too.

Entreri endured with a scowl the hour's ride south to Evendur's tower, his foul mood rendering him impervious to the sights and smells around him. The sun set with a fanfare over the Silver Marches: brassy reds and oranges crowned the treetops, while softer yellows and even greens stretched overhead to blend their voices into the remainder of the blue. A crisp breeze graced the spring air as the sun's warmth faded, and in the forest on either side of the dirt road, crickets chirped in a chorus. Sweet scents from blooming flowers filled the air with a thick aroma. However, Entreri found it all only a step shy of irritating.

Riding beside Entreri—thankfully on her own horse this time—was Nyx, who seemed to the assassin to share his sour mood. Given the intensity of the monk's glower, Entreri entertained little doubt that the murder of Evender the White would be avenged.

Behind them rode Jarlaxle and Tai, both of whom were unusually quiet. Tai had relented and rented a horse, making the trip easier on everyone, but although Jarlaxle had teased the priest about it for a few minutes as they left the village, he had fallen silent shortly thereafter.

The hour's worth of silence left Entreri alone with his thoughts. During the first 40 years of his life, this wouldn't have been a problem, except for a short interval after the assassin had left Menzoberranzan. The past ten months, however, had produced a great deal of inner turmoil and conflicting thoughts, most of which Entreri had settled before he'd killed Socor. Or so he'd thought.

But it wasn't true. Questions were still seeping through the cracks of his emotional armor to attack him. Entreri had heard people joke that those facing midlife often fell into states of reflection, upheaval, or even panic, but he'd never imagined that he would suffer from such confusion. Still, the trip he was currently making–one predominately meant to avenge a man's death—was a perfect example of what bothered him. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life doing things like this? Why was he even bothering being a part of such a task? Entreri found himself seriously questioning who he was becoming.

What, exactly, was he turning into? Not a hero, of that much he was sure. But in admitting months earlier that he'd allowed his past to control him, he'd been forced to question two of his greatest and oldest beliefs: one, his survival was dependent upon his exclusive focus on himself and his needs; and two, the only people worth their lives were those who could save themselves. But if he could truly bring himself to live without those beliefs, what would it mean about the person he would be? Who would this man become? A man with friends or without? A man with compassion or not? The implications were endless. Could this man even go so far as to have both friends and a family? The mere idea seemed laughable, but if the Entreri of a year earlier could have spoken to the Entreri of today, he would have laughed to think he'd reached such a point. And the Entreri who had pulled Jarlaxle from the crystal tower would have been an object of scorn to the Entreri of several years ago, who was a man confused and wandering across Faerun. And the man of several years ago, who had been so lost, would have seemed alien indeed to the man who had traveled all the way up the Sword Coast and into Icewind Dale to capture Regis Rumblebelly and return him to Pasha Pook.

No, the Artemis Entreri of today could not discount any possibility whatsoever.

But the greatest question was much simpler than that, although Entreri was loath to admit it to himself. The real question was whether he really wanted to be at peace, or whether his anger and bitterness were too comfortable, familiar, and easy for him to let go of.

The thought shocked Entreri, and so when Nyx finally spoke, he turned away from it with no small relief.

"We're almost there," the monk said, and Entreri could hear the undercurrent of anger in her voice.

The assassin looked at Nyx, studying her profile. He could see that her jaw was clenched, causing a tendon to slightly protrude on her neck, and her frown was furious, giving her a vicious look. However, her pert nose and fine features somewhat counteracted the effect; in fact, the pert nose especially made its mark, lending her a vaguely girlish appearance. "We should dismount and leave our horses at a safe distance," he replied at last. "We are, after all, interested in stealth here."

The monk nodded once, then her frown deepened. "I . . . can't believe Evendur's been killed."

Entreri's initial impulse was to turn away. What did he care if the woman were upset or not? Yet he found himself watching her and just listening.

"I had just reestablished my friendship with him—you see, my family and I moved away from Olostin's Hold when I was ten," she continued, "and I've only in the past year begun to reacquaint myself with everyone. But . . . Evendur had always been a close family friend . . . he'd doted on me when I was a child." Nyx clenched her jaw so tightly Entreri wondered that he could not hear her teeth grinding. "And it angers me to think that such a kind old man would be brutally murdered."

For a moment, the image of Pasha Basadoni flashed through Entreri's mind—the man's sad expression as he lay helpless and sick in his bed and his look of surprise as Entreri killed him. The assassin glanced away, faintly stung by the memory. "At least you will have your vengeance," he found himself saying.

In the moment of utter silence that followed, Entreri glanced back at Nyx and found her gazing at him with faint astonishment. "Yes," she said finally. "I will have that much, although I fear it will be an empty victory."

Entreri frowned at her, working through her words. "The murderer's death will not give you back your friend," he guessed.

Nyx nodded, but she looked perplexed, as though he had somehow shocked or confused her with his words.

"For some the vengeance would be enough," Entreri continued.

"A thousand acts of violence would not ease the grief of such a loss," Nyx replied.

Entreri tilted his head to the side, looking at her out of the corner of his vision. "What does?"

Nyx bit her lip for a moment, seeming deep in thought. "Time itself, for some, but also . . . hope in tomorrow." She paused. "Humanity's greatest gift is its faith in the future—even when that faith is sometimes misplaced. The death of hope and the numbness of apathy are the worst enemies of any person, for there is no healing, no growth, no . . . life without faith and investment in the future." She glanced at him. "And faith in a god, too."

Her words reminded Entreri of Tai's similar speeches, and the assassin found that despite his most cynical impulses, he could not disagree about faith in the future. In his darkest moment, he had given up on his life, and it had been a foolish impulse. Jarlaxle had forced him to live when he'd ordered Kimmuriel to empower Entreri with psionics in his last strike against Drizzt, but Entreri now knew he was stronger and wiser for it. Never again would he allow himself such hopelessness . . . such cowardice.

"We're as close as we should get," Jarlaxle called from behind them.

"He's right," Nyx said, and the group stopped and dismounted, leading their horses off the road and into a clearing before securing the reins to some trees.

"Remember," Jarlaxle said, "this is reconnaissance only." He locked gazes with Nyx. "Although Aedelvana may be correct—we may be dealing with drow—we need first to verify her information. Also, we need to learn how many we'll be facing and what defenses they've established around the tower. Once we've garnered that knowledge, we can plan our attack."

Nyx nodded, although she didn't look happy about it.

Jarlaxle looked between his three associates. "Let's approach in two teams. Artemis, if you will accompany Nyx; Tai, if you'll accompany me." The elf focused his gaze upon Entreri. "You, above all other humans, understand the level of stealth needed should we be dealing with drow." Jarlaxle then addressed Tai and Nyx. "Stealth is of paramount importance here. However, if by some means we are discovered—and the tower's occupants are in fact drow—we will have quite a fight on our hands. Be prepared."

Nyx nodded, looking grim indeed, and headed off. Entreri scowled at Jarlaxle for a moment, knowing that they both were thinking of Mordecai's attack the night before. Jarlaxle minutely shook his head, and Entreri understood that he was indicating no real benefit would come from their mentioning the attack given that they hadn't verified Aedelvana's information. The assassin faintly nodded in acknowledgement. Entreri then turned to follow Nyx, but Tai caught his sleeve. The assassin stopped and raised an eyebrow at the boy.

"Please don't allow her to get carried away," Tai whispered, his concern shining in his eyes. "I've never seen her so upset or angry."

Entreri's sigh was unconscious, but his tone ominous. "Trust me. I'll not let her rush in."

Tai's mouth curved into a half-smile. "Thank you." The priest patted the arm he'd grasped. "Take care of yourself, too, while you're at it." The sentiment seemed genuine; no sarcasm colored the boy's tone.

"You shouldn't ever concern yourself with that," Entreri replied wryly.

Tai released his arm and left with Jarlaxle, who was once again—damn him!—smiling. Entreri could not figure out what was so amusing.

Nyx and Entreri slipped into the dense, verdant foliage and approached the tower from the west. When they reached the tree line, the assassin got his first good glimpse of the structure, which was made of slate-grey granite. Narrow windows graced the tower in random places, and four sharp spires jutted up from the structure's top like a thorny crown. Since the sunset had nearly bled from the sky, only a faint crimson tint outlined the spires.

"Not an inviting home," Entreri quipped.

Nyx glared at the man. "Evendur dueled and killed the criminal who occupied the tower before him; I assure you that Evendur would not have constructed such an abode for himself."

The assassin nodded and took stock of the grounds. A twenty-foot grassy clearing surrounded the tower, and Entreri frowned at the lack of places to conceal oneself once beyond the safety of the trees. Still, the first stage of their plan was merely observation, so that was of no concern just yet. The assassin and monk each climbed a tree, blending themselves into the leaves, and began their surveillance.

Meanwhile, Jarlaxle and Tai slipped around to the tower's east side, concealing themselves behind the trees. Tai looked down and focused upon the symbol of Hoar which was stitched into his cloak, using the emblem—a gloved hand holding a coin depicting a two-faced head—as a point of concentration so he could enter into communion with his god. He brought two fingers up perpendicular to his lips and whispered a prayer of protection and divine favor for himself and his allies and of disfavor for his unknown enemies. Looking back up, the priest saw Jarlaxle gazing at the tower with a calculating expression.

"Surely we must get closer," Tai whispered, "or we shall learn very little."

Jarlaxle smiled. "You mean I must get closer. You hide here and follow our plan."

Before Tai could respond, the drow melted into the growing shadows, shocking Tai with his ability to blend into the darkness. "How did he do that?" Tai mumbled to himself. "Especially with that hat!"

Several minutes passed, and Tai surveyed the area intently, determined not to miss any signs of the usurper—or usurpers. Briefly, he wondered how effective he could be at such a task considering he hadn't been able to track Jarlaxle. Still, he trained all his senses upon surveillance until he became hypersensitive: the scent of the mint growing nearby burnt his nose, and the chirping of crickets—the only sound in the cool spring night—seemed a deafening racket.

Countless minutes seemed to pass, but then a prickling sensation raced up Tai's neck like a scurrying spider. The priest whirled around, and upon seeing a sword blade flash toward his throat, jumped backward, instinctively calling out the first prayer that entered his mind. Tai felt Hoar's divine power flow through him even as he stumbled and fell on the roots of the tree he'd been hiding behind. The sword blade buried itself into the tree, and the wielder exclaimed in shock. When Tai's mind caught up to what was happening, he realized his attacker was a drow male . . . and that he'd struck the drow blind.

Tai climbed to his feet even as the growling drow pulled his blade from the tree and advanced upon the boy. That's either courage or stupidity, Tai thought, but he didn't dare underestimate his opponent, even if he were blinded. Tai drew the only weapons he carried, matching stiletto daggers, and blocked the drow's next (uncannily accurate) strike. As silently as he could, the priest circled his opponent, but the drow heard him and twirled about, slashing at Tai's chest. However, Tai defeated the attack by jumping backwards once more, and before the drow could advance again, Tai tossed both of his daggers at him—one aimed at his chest and the other at his gut.

To his credit, the drow deflected one of the daggers with his blade, but the other sank into his chest. When the drow clutched at the dagger and lowered his blade, Tai pressed his advantage and rushed forward, knocking the sword from the drow's hand. The elf lashed out at him, but Tai ducked the blow, then reached out to touch his attacker's chest. With a simple prayer, Tai invoked Hoar's divine power again; from the point of contact, gashes sprang forth upon the drow's chest, the wounds seeming to race away like claw marks from Tai's fingertips. The drow collapsed, gasping helplessly for breath. With a cringe, Tai knelt by the elf and withdrew his dagger. He told himself that the drow was evil and deserved to die—and the spirit of Hoar that resided within him agreed—but Tai still grimaced as he raised his dagger and plunged it into the dying drow's heart.

"How is it that I can kill orcs so easily and not drow?" he mumbled to himself, withdrawing his dagger once more and retrieving his second one from the ground. Perhaps it had something to do with having befriended Jarlaxle or having heard of good drow who worshipped Eilistraee.

The question was not one he could take time to ponder just now; obviously, the usurpers were drow and were aware of his group's presence. Tai bit his lip, unsure how to proceed. Perhaps it was best to make his way toward Entreri and Nyx. The priest glanced around, trying to search the shadows for further enemies, and concluded he was in severe danger and should join his friends as quickly as possible.

From across the clearing, Entreri and Nyx heard Tai's shout, even though they could not make out the words of the prayer. "Tai!" Nyx gasped and vaulted from the tree.

"Wait!" Entreri hissed, jumping from his limb to land beside her. "We must—"

The assassin never completed his sentence. Three drow soldiers sprang from their hiding places among the trees, descending with blades drawn upon the humans. Entreri unsheathed his jeweled dagger and Charon's Claw, parrying the strikes from the first two drow, even as Nyx pulled shuriken from her belt pouch and rained them on the third drow, who desperately tried to deflect them with his swords.

Entreri had no time to concern himself with the monk, though, since a globe of darkness fell upon him. Giving himself over to his other senses and instincts, the assassin concentrated on hearing and feeling his opponents' attacks and on predicting their moves. They were approaching him from either side, he could sense it. Entreri whirled in an expanding circle, turning his blades in a corkscrew pattern, which defeated three of the four blades aimed at him. The fourth blade opened a minor gash on his thigh. Once he'd completed the circle, Entreri dived into a roll, tucking his body tightly, and he could hear the blades whoosh over him moments later. With a second powerful vault, he hurled himself into another roll, trying to work his way to the edge of the magical darkness. He could feel a tear in his cloak as one of his pursuers nearly caught up with him, so he came up slashing. Since he hadn't cleared the globe, he allowed his attackers to push him into a retreat, and within a few feet, he stepped into the relative brightness of the natural night.

Nyx, it seemed, had experienced little trouble with her drow. She had relieved him of one sword, and even as Entreri glanced her way, she blocked the drow's second blade and then punched him in the heart. A flash of green energy pulsed from her fist when it connected with his chest, and the drow squeaked in pain as he was thrown backward ten feet to crash into a tree.

The two drow attacking Entreri emerged from the globe of darkness, then, one aiming his blades high and the other low. However, the first drow suddenly found a shuriken buried in his neck; moments later, the second one lost both his right hand and his sword to a vicious swipe from Charon's Claw before having the jeweled dagger plunge into his chest. The assassin jerked the dagger free of the corpse, letting it tumble to the ground, and turned toward the monk, who grinned wickedly.

"Are two drow a bit much for you, perhaps?" she taunted.

"Truly, Holy Jassan," he replied, mixing her divine title and her name in an attempt to annoy her, "you do not know of what you speak. I dare say you would be long dead had you fought as many drow as I. Besides, we would not have been so easily attacked if you had not revealed our positions."

Nyx's eyes narrowed at the assassin's sarcastic use of her title, but then she again grinned wickedly. "Is that so? Are you sure you're not creating an excuse instead of admitting the drow are superior warriors to you?"

Entreri started to speak, to counter her accusation with a barbed comment, but the anger suddenly left him. He shrugged. "Whether any given drow is better than I am is of no matter. I am still alive, and that is all that concerns me."

A shout snapped the pair out of their exchange. "It's Tai again!" Nyx exclaimed, running in the direction of the noise. She was headed, in fact, directly toward the tower.

Entreri cursed and ran after her. She was just like Drizzt, rushing to her friend's aid without a thought, sending herself straight into danger and nullifying what little stealth they could have salvaged. The idiot would get herself killed, and probably without even saving her precious friend! The assassin growled in frustration, but he then realized he had followed her—also without thinking.

Jarlaxle stood in the black marble foyer of the wizard's tower and gazed coolly at the slender drow he was not surprised to see. The mercenary leader had tipped his great, floppy hat slightly backwards on his head and now stared down his nose at the grinning Mordecai. Two soldiers stood on either side of Jarlaxle, no doubt assuming that they had him successfully trapped.

For several minutes, silence reigned as Jarlaxle and Mordecai locked gazes. The flickering of torchlight left most of Mordecai's face in shadow, and since the drow was dressed in solid black, the only features which stood out on him were his red eyes and stock of white hair. Jarlaxle switched to darkvision so he could inventory all of Mordecai's weapons and potential magical items: two falchions hung on the drow's hips, two daggers were strapped to his thighs, two rings graced each hand, a single amulet hung about his neck, and three golden hoop earrings decorated each ear. A modest display, visually, although Jarlaxle suspected the items represented merely a fraction of what the cunning drow possessed.

"I'm forced to conclude you're either growing senile or sloppy in your old age, Jarlaxle," Mordecai said at last, "to have brought yourself so conveniently to my doorstep."

You assume much about my plans and intentions, Jarlaxle thought. "So you think to kill me here and now?"

Mordecai's grin grew wickeder. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I shall toy with you first, my dear former leader."

Jarlaxle did not react to this proclamation except to allow a vaguely bored expression to grace his features. Before Mordecai could continue, two further drow entered, dragging a dazed-looking Tai between them. Jarlaxle pretended to neither notice nor care as they hauled the boy up the marble staircase.

"I'm disappointed in you, Oh Great and Powerful Jarlaxle," Mordecai said with a smirk. "Tell me, what disease have you contracted to cause you to associate with humans so?"

"You assume I do not use them merely for my own profit or amusement, Oh Greatly Foolish Mordecai," Jarlaxle replied.

"One does not typically go to such great lengths to protect a pet as you have gone to protect Entreri," Mordecai countered. "And no matter how graceful, impressive, or entertaining a pet is, it is still simply an animal and not worth any special effort."

Jarlaxle had to wonder whether they were still speaking figuratively of humans or not. No matter; it was time to rid himself of this overconfident pest, though Jarlaxle suspected Mordecai would never understand the extent to which he was overmatched and out-strategized.

One of the massive wooden doors burst into splinters, then, as an angry Nyx used a surge of her ki to force her way into the foyer. Jarlaxle used the distraction to send ten daggers at Mordecai and bury five daggers each in the two soldiers at his sides—all in the amount of time it took Nyx and Entreri to cross the threshold. The two soldiers fell dead, but Mordecai seemed to shimmer. The daggers aimed at him hit the wall even though he hadn't dodged them. Mordecai laughed and sprinted from the room, blatantly inviting a chase, and Jarlaxle bodily blocked Nyx as she tried to follow him.

"They took Tai upstairs," the elf told her. "Please, allow Entreri and me to deal with Mordecai; you rescue your friend."

Nyx glared at Jarlaxle. "You know this drow?"

"Unfortunately," the mercenary replied lightly. "Now hurry—Tai is in grave danger."

Nyx narrowed her eyes at the elf, but without further comment, she headed for the stairs. Jarlaxle turned toward Entreri, then, only to find the assassin already running through the archway after Mordecai.

"But of course he would do that," Jarlaxle muttered, following the revenge-bent human.

Tai could hear the door burst in, could both see and feel his heels hitting last stair as he was dragged into a hallway, but he felt so groggy he could barely move. For several minutes he had been fighting to stay awake, and as he continued to struggle against the drowsiness, he could feel the sting in his leg where two small darts had hit him. Were the darts tipped with some kind of sleeping potion? he wondered.

The thought was barely completed before Jarlaxle's words, which Tai had heard through his daze, seemed to echo in his mind: "You assume I do not use them merely for my own profit or amusement." Was it true? Was the drow Tai had laughed with so many times really no better than the one he'd killed?

No, Tai could not afford to doubt his friends now. Besides, that other drow, who was apparently named Mordecai, had said something about Jarlaxle's treatment of Entreri . . . something that boded well, if Tai could just recall it now . . .

What am I doing? Tai thought, his mind snapping into clarity as his situation became painfully clear. I'm in trouble here! Act now, think later!

Tai traced a divine symbol into the air with one hand and whispered a prayer, which caught the attention of the soldiers. Before they could react, however, Tai began singing, magically enthralling them. Keeping his concentration on the song, Tai carefully extracted himself from their grip and began easing away, but he could see the drow straining against the enchantment. With a shake of their heads, the soldiers threw off the spell, and Tai raced down the hallway, trying desperately to formulate a plan.

Entreri rounded the last corner in what seemed like a circular maze of hallways only to find himself in a dead end room—a library, by the looks of it, and probably merely one of many such rooms in the tower. Overburdened shelves lined the walls, and an oil lamp burned on a scroll-laden desk. The musty scent of old paper and dust filled the air, and a moth beat its wings against the lamp's glass, trying hard to murder itself in the protected flame.

The assassin frowned at the otherwise empty room. Damn Mordecai, where had he gone? Knowing there had to be either a trick or a trap, Entreri drew his weapons and slipped into the room's shadows, keeping his back to the wall.

"You do realize, don't you, that Jarlaxle calls everyone 'friend.' That you are not anything special."

Entreri turned toward the voice in time to see Mordecai step out from a hidden door. The slender drow smiled down at the assassin from the vantage point of a mere two inches, but the arrogance glowing in his red eyes was that of a king peering down at a kneeling subject. The assassin narrowed his eyes at the drow. "Is that so?"

Mordecai ran slender fingers through his spiky white hair, then ran his index finger down his cheek and across his jaw. "Foolish human. Do you not realize? L'alurl abbil zhah dosstan."

The best trusted friend is yourself, Entreri's mind immediately translated.

"Jarlaxle is using you—just as he's used you several times before." Mordecai brushed his black cloak back over one shoulder and smiled at Entreri as though he were a silly child. "Have you not seen all the ways he's manipulated you? Played upon your pride, your confusion, your arrogance, your ambition? He knows your every desire, your every insecurity, and he uses the knowledge to control you, to bend you to his will, to take from you what he wants."

Entreri's face remained as expressionless as ever, but there was a sting of truth in some of those words, he knew. "Even if you were correct, what would you care?"

"I do not." Mordecai shrugged gracefully. "But I wonder why you give your allegiance to someone who has so blatantly used you as a puppet and a tool. Especially since he will bore of you. Tell me that you at least realize that! He will discard you, perhaps even kill you in the process." The drow snickered. "But I wonder which will be worse for you—if he kills you when he betrays you, or if he leaves you to live with the betrayal."

Entreri's grip tightened brutally around his weapon hilts. It's a game, he told himself. Mordecai is the one trying to manipulate you. "I am not fooled by your words," he said.

"On the contrary," the drow said, taking a step forward, "you know that every word I speak is the truth."

Entreri raised his weapons, but Mordecai whispered a spell while simultaneously tracing a circle in the air. The assassin halted in place, caught in the grip of the most powerful holding spell he had ever encountered. Immediately, Entreri asserted every ounce of his willpower against it, but he could not seem to break it. Mordecai sauntered up to him, swaying his hips wantonly, and the assassin's breath froze in his chest. The drow licked his lips as he neared, and Entreri could not miss the sexual implication. Mordecai put one hand on the wall to each side of Entreri's head and leaned into his face, carefully avoiding the raised weapons.

"My sources tell me that you are roughly forty years old, human," Mordecai said, his lips only inches from Entreri's, "and yet you do not look a day past thirty. I hear Calishites often don't show their age as quickly as other human races, but I must wonder if the essence of the shade you have absorbed plays a role in this." The drow grinned at this display of personal knowledge about Entreri. "The Shade are, after all, long-lived and capable of self-regeneration."

Entreri really didn't care what Mordecai knew about him; more disturbing was this leer he had seen before many times. He knew what Mordecai had planned for him, but he fought off the spike of fear that struck his stomach like lightning. Anger took its place.

"But your unusual appearance of youth is not the only thing appealing about you," Mordecai continued, running his fingertips down Entreri's cheek. "I find your slender, muscular build most attractive. Your angular features are nicely aristocratic, and your fine grey eyes burn with anger so beautifully." The fingertips had continued lower, dipping inside Entreri's low-buttoned shirt and brushing against his bare chest. "To be frank," the drow continued, "I have always desired only females, but your effortless grace and your dominating spirit—just waiting to be broken—are far too intoxicating for me to bother with such trivial details. Especially when forcing someone to beg me to ride them like an animal is a pleasure that transcends all boundaries."

This is not going to happen, was Entreri's only thought. I'll kill him first.

This is not going to happen.

A/N: "L'alurl abbil zhah dosstan"—the best trusted friend is yourself—is a translation I got from charlemagne-monet. Thank you, CM!