Chapter 4

Jarlaxle had to fight the urge to growl in anger as his limbs grew stiff and heavy; his bones and muscles felt made of lead under the power of the holding spell. He could hardly even blink, and the dark elf did not enjoy at all such a sense of powerlessness. With simmering ire, he watched the soldiers drag in an unconscious Entreri and dumped him in the floor. After the soldiers had left and the spell had faded, Jarlaxle knelt at his friend's side and checked him over. The result of the inspection was not pleasing.

Entreri was a mass of nasty bruises and cuts, and the sponginess on the right side of his ribcage suggested broken ribs. His back bled freely from a dozen lashes and one long gash, and Jarlaxle had to wonder how his friend had been lucky enough to only receive a dozen. A series of circular burn marks marched their way up the man's left arm, and his bottom lip was swollen from what seemed to be a score of tiny puncture wounds, likely from a needle.

There was, of course, nothing that Jarlaxle could do, for he needed his healing orb in order to effect repairs, so he simply arranged his friend upon the floor in as comfortable a position as was possible and sat by him, watching him with concern.

A full two hours passed before Entreri regained consciousness. The assassin came to with a choked groan, and it took several minutes for his mind to clear and focus. Instantly, he scoured his memory of the torture, and relaxed only when he recalled that Waylein had not yet raped him. That distinction, Entreri suspected, was being reserved for his second and final trip to the torture chamber. In fact, the assassin's torture wasn't quite as severe as he'd thought it would be, and he mused with a dark humor indeed that Waylein was likely too exhausted from his earlier brutalities to do him justice.

Jarlaxle watched his companion fight his way into wakefulness. "Talk to me, my friend."

"Just a short dip into the nine hells," Entreri quipped in a croak of a voice. "Nothing too serious."

Jarlaxle smiled at the man's strength, but the dark grey eyes that gazed up at him told him a different story. There was a horror there, a pain there, that Jarlaxle had never before seen. Something had happened to Entreri that was not immediately obvious from his wounds. "In that case," the elf said with a flippancy he didn't feel, "we'll be up and out of here shortly."

Entreri blinked once, slowly—the shadow of a nod.

"Sleep," Jarlaxle said simply, but Entreri was already halfway there.

Entreri jolted awake with a choked gasp. The nightmare had been so real that the assassin, so often aware of and in control of his dreams even as he slept, had not known he was dreaming. Even now, he could still feel the hands grasping him, groping him, hurting him.

Jarlaxle still sat beside him and was looking at him with a concerned and curious expression.

"It's nothing," the assassin immediately said, defensively. Why had his mind betrayed him so?

The mercenary nodded, knowing it to be a bald lie.

"How long did I sleep?" Entreri asked, trying to head off any questions.

"About four hours. I estimate that it is about three hours before dawn."

Entreri grimaced. Less than a day in this hellhole, and he felt like he'd been there a decade. "Plan?" He shortened his questions in deference to his parched throat.

"Yes," Jarlaxle answered. "But right now you need more rest."

Entreri didn't even bother to reply. He just went back to sleep, hoping against hope he wouldn't dream this time.

But there was no hope. Betrayed by a mind that had spent years burying the unthinkable, he awakened from a similar dream, sweating profoundly. This time, images of Merrick's torture had mixed with his memories to create one of the worst nightmares he'd ever experienced—and he'd had many nightmares over the course of his childhood, even after he'd fled his home.

Jarlaxle was leaning over him. "This is twice you have awakened so." He didn't have to spell out the implications—if something caused Artemis Entreri nightmares, it was serious. "Tell me what you saw, my friend," he demanded, his stern tone contradicting his concerned expression.

With almost superhuman effort, Entreri managed, with Jarlaxle's help, to pull himself into a sitting position. "Merrick is dead," he evaded. "He was right about the sadistic nature of this bastard." That was as much of a clue as Entreri wanted to give.

Jarlaxle was disturbed too greatly by his friend's nightmares to stop there, however. Curiosity, and apprehension over the danger, motivated him to keep pushing. "Tell me," he repeated.

Entreri was too tired to resist the nagging. He was weary, deeply weary. Would it hurt so much to report what he'd seen? It wasn't like Jarlaxle would make the connection, would be able to tell just from these few events the past the assassin had buried so deeply.

Entreri was too tired to catch the illogic of that thought. "Very well," he began, with the full intention telling the elf all that had happened. But the instant he got to the part about the first rape, an odd thing occurred: the assassin's throat closed up suddenly, choking off the words. Entreri frowned, confused. "My apologies," he murmured. "I guess my throat is still a bit dry." He cleared his throat. "As I was saying, Waylein then—" Again, his throat closed up. The assassin's frowned deepened. Obviously he hadn't regained the proper amount of professional distance yet, and as a result, the visceral disgust he felt made him unable to continue.

Jarlaxle stared at Entreri, surprised by his sudden muteness and brief look of horror. To the drow, Entreri's reaction might have been almost comical in any other situation, but for once, the elf was not laughing. Anything that could produce such a reaction in the assassin spelled doom, indeed. But amidst the drow's concern for his own welfare was another emotion; it did in fact bother Jarlaxle that his friend was so disturbed.

Entreri was shaking his head no, and Jarlaxle let it go for the time being. "Later," he said easily, "now go back to sleep. I'll need you in the best form possible very soon."

The assassin accepted this without question and lay back down.

Jarlaxle pondered the troubling turn of events for the rest of the night.

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers! I really appreciate your feedback.