"Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."
Chapter Seven
Crickets chirped and twigs snapped in the forest encircling them; the leaves rustling in the wind and the animals jumping from limb to limb reminded them they were surrounded by life. Clouds hid whatever moonlight might have pierced the canopy of the trees, shrouding them in shadows and darkness, but they were not impeded. They were drow.
Mordecai led his remaining five soldiers northeast through the High Forest toward the ruins that, according to Evendur's scrolls, contained the Kagaor ki Tamal. Time was of the essence now. He had a task to accomplish, an empire to overthrow, and he required the item's magic to do so. With Jarlaxle now mobilized against him, Mordecai had to acquire the mirror quickly, lest his plan to seize control of Bregan D'aerthe be subverted.
However, the walk to the ruins was long and tedious, leaving Mordecai to his thoughts. The drow tried not to dwell upon the fact he only had five soldiers left, tried not to consider how much he'd underestimated Jarlaxle and his pet humans, but his anger and humiliation kept cycling the thought through his mind. It was unforgivable that he could have made such a mistake! Was he a fool?
Mordecai clenched his jaw, but he immediately reminded himself that he'd scored one victory, that he'd brought one of Jarlaxle's pets humiliation. As distasteful as the mechanics of the act had been, Mordecai would cherish forever the human boy's horror and terror. The drow smiled into the darkness, enjoying the gust of wind which rushed over him and ruffled his stock of white hair. Even the whispering of leaves and murmur of a nearby creek seemed soothing now. Yes, the memory of the boy's terror eased Mordecai's frustration.
Feeling appeased, the drow hugged to his chest the restless white animal he carried in one arm. The beast, which he'd named Cat, had protested at first to being confined, but when Cat had hissed and swatted Mordecai's nose for the attempted "imprisonment," the drow knew he had to keep her. Such attitude! Such a kindred spirit, even if it were a mere animal. The beast had fluctuated between squirming and sleeping during their trip thus far, although right now she had her nose tucked up under Mordecai's chin and was making that vibrating sound of hers almost directly into his ear.
The scout to Mordecai's left looked at him oddly as he hugged Cat again, but Mordecai ignored him. These drow had not yet begun to understand the importance and value of the surface world and what it had to offer.
They're scrying for you, a voice whispered in his mind. Mordecai stopped and focused on the spiritual threads that bound his soul to his deity. They will catch up to you. The words were almost a taunt, but they were followed by a clear threat: Do not fail me.
The remainder of Mordecai's scout party had halted with him, and he turned to them with a wicked grin. "We are being scryed," he announced. "Our enemies are tracking us. We shall set up an ambush."
This time, Mordecai decided, he would not fail.
Of course, lest he try his deity's patience too much, he'd better not.
Kimmuriel Oblodra had always been afraid of Jarlaxle—it was the fear of respect, the fear of uncertainty (since he couldn't read Jarlaxle's mind), and, above all, the fear of consequences. Those who betrayed, cheated, or impeded Jarlaxle did so only once. The fact that Jarlaxle had dismissed Kimmuriel's betrayal of him over the crystal shard had, in fact, heightened his fear, not lessened it, for it meant that Jarlaxle had woven Kimmuriel into one of his more complex plans. And should Kimmuriel disturb such a plan . . .
So, it was with great unease that Kimmuriel answered Jarlaxle's summons. The handsome drow knew at once that something was wrong since Jarlaxle had summoned him twice in one tenday—an unprecedented event. And when Kimmuriel stepped through his psionic door into the dark alley and saw Jarlaxle's expression (or lack thereof), he became worried, indeed.
"Greetings, Kimmuriel," Jarlaxle said in drow, his tone oddly clinical.
"Greetings," Kimmuriel said, bowing. He was careful to keep his face neutral—not only to hide his nervousness, but to conceal his revulsion at the cramped alley, which stank of ale and urine.
Jarlaxle did not continue speaking at first. Instead, he leaned against the side of one of the wooden buildings which enclosed the alley and simply watched Kimmuriel. The drow tried not to be unnerved, but Jarlaxle radiated cunning, composure, and perfection: his black boots were spotless despite the dirty alley; his dark pants and white shirt were wrinkle-free; and above his hat, the large diatryma feather fluttered gracefully in the cool night breeze. Likewise, the elf's face was utterly stoic, although he did seem at ease, his arms crossed over his chest. However, all the details together suggested someone preparing for a surgical strike, and Jarlaxle's silence and unwavering gaze did nothing to alleviate this impression . . . or Kimmuriel's unease.
"It is interesting that you failed to mention our illustrious Mordecai is a cleric," Jarlaxle said at length.
Kimmuriel's eyes widened. "A . . . cleric?"
"Or perhaps you had somehow mistaken him for a wizard?" Jarlaxle clucked his tongue. "Very sloppy of you, given you are a mind-reader."
Kimmuriel's thoughts spun. "Mordecai? A cleric? No . . . Perhaps he wears some device like your eye patch, or perhaps—"
Jarlaxle interrupted him. "Interesting, also, is the . . . ah . . . loyalty his scout team has shown him. It would seem you outfitted him well." The drow's tone was deceptively lighthearted.
Kimmuriel tried hard to hide his rising panic. "I . . . I allowed Mordecai to assemble his own team."
"Do you truly think I would believe you ignorant enough to make such a mistake?" Jarlaxle asked mildly.
Kimmuriel bowed hastily. "Forgive me, but I was. And I had no knowledge that Mordecai is a cleric. By all accounts, he graduated at the top of his class at Melee-Magthere and showed no interest or aptitude in—"
"More interesting yet is the question of which deity he serves." Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes. "And for what purpose."
Kimmuriel felt lightheaded at that moment, for he realized Jarlaxle had seen the truth in his words and had believed him.
"You have a serious network of moles to flush out," Jarlaxle stated, "or else you are facing a small, strategic, but powerful invasion. Beware, or you shall find yourself awakening in the abyss one morning soon. I want a full report within a tenday. More than that, I want a resolution—or you shall find yourself answering to me in neither a graceful way nor in the surface world."
Not trusting himself to speak, Kimmuriel simply bowed and turned to leave. In fact, he could not leave quickly enough, for he could still feel Jarlaxle's eyes on him as he summoned his psionic door and stepped through into the black silence of the Underdark.
Indeed, Jarlaxle did watch Kimmuriel's departure, but not for the purpose of keeping him unnerved. He merely needed an object to focus his gaze upon as he thought. His mind had already moved past Kimmuriel and the task he'd assigned him, and by the time the blue dimensional door had closed, the mercenary leader had already honed in on the issue behind the problem: his future.
For once his was alone, Jarlaxle was left to face the truth that, despite his threat to Kimmuriel, he did not wish to ever return home. He could not turn from that reality any longer. As a result, he would have to confront a permanently life-altering decision: did he force himself to return to the dark hole he rightfully belonged in—the matriarchal hell he'd learned to navigate so well? Or did he leave Kimmuriel to his own devices and cut all ties to Menzoberranzan? He would leave himself with few resources if he chose the latter; he would have to rebuild his empire.
But even if he did permanently leave Menzoberranzan, would it leave him? Or would it be the shadow always at his back, slinking around the corners after him and hovering over him in his rest?
Yet, lastly, a final consideration entered Jarlaxle's mind: Artemis Entreri. The man who was beginning to genuinely trust him and care for him, he knew. The man who would be unable to stop himself from feeling betrayed if Jarlaxle simply walked away, simply returned home.
Jarlaxle had thought of Entreri first as his tool, then as his entertainment and profit, but finally as his project and friend. Through all these phases, Entreri had been his accessory—the man at his side. And so it was that Jarlaxle's initial, overwhelming instinct was to consider the implications of not having Entreri at his side . . .
Until he realized that he was also at Entreri's side, and the question was equally whether he should or would leave the human, abandon his company.
And that was the moment Jarlaxle accepted there was something he wanted in life—something he might want even more than power, wealth, and status.
That was the moment Jarlaxle began to suspect that his life had been nearly as empty as Entreri's.
Yes, there was something he wanted, perhaps above all else. But could he garner the strength . . . the courage . . . to risk all he had accomplished and attained to grasp for it?
And even if he did, would the ghost of Menzoberranzan allow him to have it?
Of all the dangerous, intricate, and high-stakes decisions Jarlaxle had ever made, he found this one to be the most difficult.
Morning descended upon Olostin's Hold with blaring cheerfulness: larks, canaries, and mockingbirds sang lilting tunes from trees and rooftops; golden sunlight poured over the village, warming the townsfolk as they walked to work or market. Jovial voices rang in the streets as lifelong acquaintances greeted each other, and a general sense of bustle enlivened the scene.
To Tai, the cheerfulness made the scene seem disconnected from reality; he felt as though he watched the village not through the glass of an inn window, but through a portal door into another dimension. For a moment, the people scurrying through the streets, laughing and talking, seemed to move too fast, as though under a spell; however, in the next moment they seemed to slow into a crawl, their every footstep and word elongated and warped.
Nyx was standing by Tai at the window, and the boy faintly noted that she seemed uneasy, as though she were unsure what to say. "We are planning to depart this morning to track down Mordecai," she said at last. "Aedelvana was able to scry him for us."
Tai continued to stare out the window; talking seemed too much an effort. Besides, he found it obvious from Nyx's dark traveling cloak and pinned-up auburn hair that a departure was eminent.
"I can understand why you might want to remain here at the inn," she continued, "especially since you didn't sleep well last night. But we really shouldn't separate."
Separation being part of the problem in the first place, Tai thought. "I know."
The monk nodded, and a few minutes passed in silence. "Have you communed with Hoar yet?" she asked softly.
Tai shook his head, a wave of nausea washing over him. "The words . . . seem to slip away from me . . ."
Nyx reached out and squeezed the boy's shoulder, but he pulled away as though burned. The monk bit her lip. "It must be hard," she whispered in the shadow of a voice, "but please try."
Tai simply continued to wordlessly stare out the window. Apparently taking the cue, Nyx left, leaving the boy with the comfort—and simultaneous unease—of isolation.
The priest stared into the street for endless minutes, letting his mind go blank. Strangely, the whole world felt unreal—the voices in the street seemed distant yet too loud; the sun seemed unnaturally bright. Even colors, like the red of the cardinal which landed on the window ledge, seemed odd, washed-out. Likewise, the glass of the window, as Tai experimentally reached out and briefly touched it, felt impossibly smooth and cool. For an odd moment, the priest wondered if his fingertips were actually touching the glass, or if his senses of sight and touch were both being tricked by a cruel dream.
But despite this watery layer of surrealism encompassing everything, Tai's mind would not stay still for long. So many thoughts and images tried to work their way into his consciousness: the sight of Jarlaxle moving off into the night, leaving him alone; Mordecai's face as he spit on Tai and instructed him to "Tell Entreri that was for him." But right now, above all, Tai heard the echo of his own prayer in his head. "Hoar, help me!"
And with that thought, a bubble of anger floated to the surface of his mind and pierced the shock and numbness. Why did this happen to me? Tai wondered, frowning. I did nothing to precipitate such an attack. Why did Hoar allow this to happen? Have I displeased him? Not been a faithful enough priest to him? No, that can't be it . . . I have done all Hoar has asked of me. So why did he allow this to happen?
Tai clenched his fists in anger. He could understand it if Hoar were an evil god, but Hoar was the god of retribution and poetic justice. Justice! How could a just god allow one of his followers to be raped?
Tears of anger pooled in Tai's eyes, and he growled deep in his throat. He hadn't communed with Hoar the night before, and he wasn't in the mood to now. But even if he were in the mood, why bother? Even if he did commune with Hoar, what guarantee, what assurance would he have that Hoar would receive or act upon his entreaties? Tai had asked for Hoar's blessing and protection prior to entering Mordecai's tower, after all, and the result had been that he had been raped!
A knock sounded at the door, and Tai turned in time to see Entreri step into the room. The assassin took one look at Tai's expression and smirked. "So now you are angry?"
Tai turned away and gazed out the window once more; the people below seemed to be scurrying again. Their shouts and laughter, which had sounded so hollow and distant to Tai, seemed to grow louder—to become almost intrusive. Tai shook his head, trying to clear his mind and focus on Entreri's observation. Am I angry? Of course, but . . .
This was a worse case scenario. Tai had been trying to convert Entreri, and now he was confused himself. He wanted to be honest and vent his anger, but he didn't want to make the assassin any more cynical than he already was. Then again, why should he care if Entreri became more cynical? None of this would have happened to him if Tai hadn't been caught in the middle of Entreri and Mordecai's little battle. Tai frowned. No . . . as much as he wanted to be angry at Entreri—to be outraged over being Entreri's surrogate—he couldn't bring himself to feel vindictive. It was just . . . too exhausting. It seemed . . . pointless.
Tai heard no sound as he pondered the dilemma, but when he turned, he found Entreri sitting on his bed and watching him in the attitude of someone ready to listen. Resigning himself to the fact Entreri expected him to reply, the priest inhaled deeply and steeled him to say aloud the words that brought him such great discomfort.
"Hoar has been with me," Tai began hesitantly. "I can't deny his presence or all the prayers he's granted me. But knowing that . . ." He inhaled again, forcing himself to continue. ". . . it makes it that much harder to . . . to understand why this has happened to me."
Entreri nodded. "You're wondering whether you were just the pawn of Hoar—if Hoar really is a just god. Worse, you're wondering if you are merely entertainment for your god. You're asking yourself if you amuse him at your own expense."
Tai stared wide-eyed at Entreri. How did he understand this so well? The boy knew that Entreri had issues with Tyr that related to some abuse or betrayal he'd suffered at the hands of his father, who had been a priest of Tyr. But the assassin's total . . . empathy! . . . was just too uncanny. "Yes, I'm thinking something along those lines."
"I decided long ago that life is a petty play that we are forced to enact with our sweat, tears, and blood for the gods." Entreri's smirk was bitter. "I think it's all of it a farce—the gods may answer your prayers or even empower you, but only as it suits their goals or whims." The assassin paused and seemed to struggle with his next words. "Still . . . there are some who . . ." He sighed and continued in a blunt manner. "Your faith has been important to you. Why do you not simply ask Hoar why he abandoned you and see if you actually get an answer? The worst thing that could happen is that you are answered with silence." The assassin snorted. "Well, unless he tells you that you truly are his pawn and source of amusement."
"That's unlikely," Tai replied, but he couldn't keep the frown off his face. Right now, it felt as though there were a wall between himself and Hoar—the priest wasn't sure he could get through that invisible barrier in order to commune even if he were in the mood to try.
Still, despite his own anger and confusion, Tai found there was one part of what Entreri had said that bothered him more than the rest. "I don't think Hoar has abandoned me," he said, but even as he spoke the words, the priest only believed them with half his heart. This will never do, he thought. I cannot continue with my faith in such shambles. I cannot continue to doubt Hoar.
Yet instantly the questions returned, leaving Tai feeling no more confident.
"I suppose I should say that I hope he hasn't," Entreri said wryly. "But you shall find out soon enough. We're leaving in a quarter of an hour. Meet us downstairs when you've finished packing." The assassin stood to leave.
"And if I choose not to go?" Tai asked, for his feelings about seeing Mordecai again were conflicted. One half of his heart begged for avoidance; the other half demanded vengeance.
At these words, Entreri locked his gaze upon Tai, and the boy felt almost as though the man were staring both into and through his soul. The intensity of the assassin's gaze shook him deeply.
"You will go," Entreri stated flatly. "You are not remaining here alone." It was an order, a command that seemed to resonate both within the assassin and within Tai himself in ways that the boy could not name or understand.
Tai nodded, instinctively realizing argument was out of the question, and Entreri left without further comment. Once alone, the priest frowned, feeling like his very soul had been pierced and yet feeling oddly assured at the same time. Just like the night before, Entreri's words and demeanor seemed inconsistent or shifting, occasionally contradictory. Tai had gained enough wisdom through his clerical training to sense this problem, but he felt too confused and preoccupied at the moment to give it any thought. The priest grasped the part that felt reassuring and chose, for now, to ignore the rest. He had enough to deal with already.
"Mordecai knows we are coming for him, and he'll set up an ambush," Jarlaxle stated flatly.
The group had departed Olostin's Hold midmorning and had stopped for lunch in a grassy clearing. Fortunately, the denseness of the High Forest kept them hidden from any other possible travelers. The canopy of leaves above them shut out a majority of the sunlight, allowing only a few rays of light to dapple the forest floor, and the effect made the clearing seem quiet and private. Satisfied with their chosen spot, the group had settled into a circle around the pile of their packs and had gotten out their dried meat and canteens.
At Jarlaxle's announcement, Nyx and Entreri, who sat side-by-side, had looked up from their meal and eyed the drow across from them. Tai, however, continued to stare down at his half-eaten rations.
"Is that so?" Nyx sounded suspicious.
"Yes," Jarlaxle replied, unperturbed. "It is not so difficult to anticipate his moves."
"Then we should track them following their same course," Nyx said resolutely.
Entreri turned toward her and frowned. "Why should we do that?"
"Because that's the best course of action," she said, like it should be obvious to everyone.
Entreri leaned closer to her. "On the contrary, we should track them but on a parallel course. Stealth is of importance always—but especially when dealing with drow. Besides, if we follow their path, we'll walk right into their trap."
"Not if we know there's a trap!" Nyx bent closer to him as well. "Besides, following a parallel course will not be as easy as you think; this forest is exceptionally dense. It'll be hard enough for us to track them as it is. We'll stick with my plan."
The assassin was now leaning into her face. "We will?" he repeated softly in a tone that promised much pain.
Nyx glared back at him and bent forward into his face as well. "Absolutely damn right we will! I'm from around here, and I know what is best. Look, I know how you Calishite men think, but just because I'm not male doesn't mean I don't know what the hell I'm talking about!"
Entreri's eyes narrowed. "The configuration of a person's sexual organs is of no concern to me, I assure you. Having someone issue me impulsive orders that do not take into account half of the facts at hand is, though."
"Oh?" Their noses were an inch apart by now. "Well, you can bore little holes into my head with that death stare of yours if you like, but let me just tell you—"
An explosion of laughter interrupted them. Both Entreri and Nyx turned to glare at Jarlaxle, who was bent over in a fit of laughter. "Now, now, children," Jarlaxle gasped out between laughs, holding out his hands in a calming manner, "there's no need to fight."
"I am no child!" Entreri snapped.
"I'm not a child!" Nyx said in the same instant. The drow just laughed all the harder, though, and the two humans traded withering glances.
"Damn him," was Nyx's only comment, and as though of like mind, the monk and assassin jumped to their feet and vaulted over their packs toward the elf. Jarlaxle, however, had sensed the move and leapt to his feet, running off into the trees. The Entreri and Nyx stopped their pursuit at the edge of the clearing despite the fact Jarlaxle's laughter reached their ears from his hiding spot in forest.
"Is he always that annoying?" Nyx asked.
"Yes," Entreri replied unequivocally.
"No," Jarlaxle said, and although they heard his answer clearly, they still could not see him.
"It sounds like he's hiding to our left, maybe about five to ten feet out," Nyx murmured and stepped out of the clearing and into the thick foliage, seeming resolute about giving the elf a piece of her mind.
"He was to your left," Jarlaxle said, slipping through the trees and around behind her. Nyx pivoted, stepping back into the clearing, and pinned him with a glare.
But Jarlaxle's eyes glittered with mirth. "Let us get back to the matter at hand. We need to set up a counter-ambush."
"Yes, I suppose we do," Entreri agreed, swallowing a long-suffering sigh.
Nyx apparently decided her glare was wasted; she sighed and addressed the drow with an air of practiced patience. "Well, I assume you have a plan."
"Indeed." The drow grinned wickedly.
Readying himself for a long discussion, Entreri turned back toward their food, thinking to finish his lunch as Jarlaxle talked. However, he caught a glimpse of Tai, who watched them all with a faintly irritated expression. Entreri experienced an emotion he couldn't quite identify (and didn't wish to) and headed in the boy's direction. However, when the assassin reached the priest and knelt by him, he didn't speak. He really wasn't sure what to say or ask.
He'd had a similar problem earlier when he'd entered Tai's room and found him looking angry, and as a result, the assassin had searched his mind for the short list of people and experiences he could fall back on. All he'd come up with was the pragmatic and intelligent Dwahvel, one of the few friends he'd ever possessed, and the words he'd written to her: "I will use our time together as a model." It seemed a logical choice, if he were indeed going to follow Jarlaxle's plan to help Tai, so he'd done his best to mimic the perceptive halfling—he'd sat down, listened to Tai, and then offered what thoughts he could. Now, he decided, he would simply raise an eyebrow and see if Tai would respond.
"You all were being loud," Tai explained in a dull voice, apparently understanding the silent cue. He rubbed his temples. "It was just . . . too much noise."
Entreri stared at the boy, struck by the familiarity of the problem. "I see." The pieces of a puzzle long brushed aside, ignored, and ultimately buried were trying to pull themselves together in the assassin's mind, and he didn't like it.
Entreri turned away, forcibly dismissing the issue. Other things demanded his attention, like the attack upon Mordecai. Now that was a task that the assassin could relish. After all, Entreri intended to make sure the drow met his fate.
Horribly.