Chapter 5

Dawn found the two companions awake and ready for their escape attempt. Jarlaxle was disquieted by the extent of Entreri's injuries, but he knew the man would be rendered limb from limb before he accepted any further imprisonment or torture. Truly, the man's willpower was a force like magic, and it inspired a respect in Jarlaxle that he afforded few others, not to mention that it was one reason the drow had chosen the man as a business partner. Still, considering they were fighting without weapons and magic of any great quantity, Jarlaxle would have preferred having Entreri in better fighting form.

Despite their careful planning, Jarlaxle knew that much of their success rode on the wizard, for a wielder of arcane magic would not be frightened by fairie fire and the drow couldn't drop his globe of darkness until the cell door was open. Therefore, the pair was distinctly unhappy to see the wizard enter with the soldiers that morning.

"Your turn next, drow," the captain said as he approached their cell, three more soldiers following in addition to the wizard.

"I know what you're going to try," the wizard chimed in, leering, "and I assure you I will counter your magical darkness with a light so bright it will shine like the sun in this dungeon." The group passed by the cell, dragging a screaming, crying man—one of the prisoners they'd brought in the day before—further down the cellblock.

Jarlaxle frowned and glanced to Entreri after the men passed. "Such an action would defeat that portion of our plan," he whispered, "although the sudden daylight within these confines might blind the soldiers."

"And me as well," Entreri replied faintly, his concentration obviously divided.

"Indeed," the drow said. "But I don't see any other choice."

But the assassin did not hear him, for he was considering the implications of Jarlaxle's possible torture. Unbidden, the image of Merrick's assault came to mind, followed by the memory of the all-too-familiar screams from the unseen boy. Lastly came the recollection of Waylein's maniacal grin as he reveled in the thought of sending extra pain the drow's way. Before he could even think about it, Entreri moved in front of the elf, physically placing himself between Jarlaxle and the door.

"Entreri?" came a confused and curious voice from behind him.

The assassin turned around, still keeping himself between the elf and the cell door. The look on his face must have been too revealing because Jarlaxle gripped him by the shoulders. "What is it?" the elf asked.

Entreri shook his head. What can I do? he thought. It was not an option for him to offer himself in Jarlaxle's place; Entreri was not the kind of man to sacrifice himself. Yet the vision of the drow on the torture table flashed through his mind . . . Waylein laughing, a burning-hot poker, the promise of even more grueling torment for Jarlaxle. No, he thought. There are some things that should never be allowed. But what can I do? Jarlaxle was staring at him a mix of concern and exasperation, and no answers were presenting themselves to Entreri. Why am I so concerned? he wondered, for he had turned his back on many things in his life. But his mind tried to join into one picture this fate he understood all too well and the drow he'd traveled with for many months. No, I must stop this, he thought. But I cannot risk myself, either.

"Tell me, my friend. What did you see?" At Entreri's mixed look of disgust and horror, a bolt of concern shot through Jarlaxle's stomach. "I cannot prepare as well if I do not know what I am facing."

Entreri shook his head again and stared at a point above Jarlaxle's shoulder, apparently struggling with himself. His brow creased as he seemed to battle a memory or a question. Jarlaxle had never seen the man so disturbed, so perplexed. What was it that the man so wrestled with?

"You are going to have to tell me," Jarlaxle said, trying again to coax a response from the man. But Entreri simply closed his eyes, his frown deepening. The look of pain and confusion on his face was so great that the elf found himself nearly breathless with empathy.

Suddenly, Entreri opened his eyes and grabbed him by the upper arms, apparently struck with a thought. "Of course!"

"Entreri?" Jarlaxle whispered, tightening his own grip on the assassin's shoulders. "What is it?"

"I'm such a fool! I should have thought of that sooner!" the man continued as though Jarlaxle had not spoken, squeezing the elf's arms briefly.

"Artemis? Why didn't you think of what?" Jarlaxle asked, and he couldn't help noticing the note of urgency which crept into his voice.

All at once, any remaining uncertainty seemed to drain out of the man before him, and in its place was that haunted look from the night before. Entreri's hands fell away from Jarlaxle's arms, and the man nodded silently to himself. Jarlaxle could practically feel the assassin's self-confidence taking control. "No, it will work," Entreri stated calmly. The mask of the stoic assassin was firmly back in place; Entreri twisted out of Jarlaxle's grasp.

"What will work?" the elf asked, unable to hold off a sense of foreboding. "Artemis, talk to me!"

The soldiers approached their cell, and Entreri faced them, his expression confident but his demeanor a touch resigned. "No, I'll go in his place," he told the captain, his tone conveying only his poise, and he stepped forward to meet the soldiers before the familiar holding spell fell into place.

The captain snorted. "Fine by me. Waylein don't care as long as he gets to play."

"Artemis!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, but any further words were stopped by the holding spell.

The look of determination on Entreri's face was grim indeed, and Jarlaxle had the sensation that he had just witnessed something profound. Something highly profound from a selfish man who would never sacrifice himself for another person.

But if that were still true, what had Jarlaxle just witnessed? A thousand questions descended upon the drow.