Chapter 7
Entreri, still pretending to be somewhat stiff from the fading holding spell, waited patiently until the soldiers had dragged him through the great hall and had climbed the arching stone staircase to the second story. Once into the looming hallway, with its shadowy recesses, oil portraits, and tapestries, the assassin decided to make his move. Here, on the second floor, there were no standing guards, and it would take several moments for the ones in the great hall to run to their companions' aid. There were only four soldiers escorting him today, so this would be his best chance despite his injuries.
It was also going to be his last chance.
Entreri frowned to himself as he waited for the perfect moment to make his move. The confusion and indecision he'd faced in the dungeon cell had not been to his liking. Of course, it hadn't been an option for him to offer himself in the elf's place, and yet the vision of Jarlaxle on the torture table, of Waylein with a burning-hot poker, had refused to leave his mind.
But then Entreri had realized he'd missed the point. It hadn't been a question of who had to die; it had simply been a question of who had the best chance of escaping. Jarlaxle, he knew, was the craftiest creature he'd ever met—surely he would escape given the chance. Yet the assassin had already made one trip to the chamber, had already seen the fortress's layout, and had also spent a lifetime in the art of evasion. Not only as a professional, but as a child. He'd made an art of hiding and dodging and manipulating, an art of trying to escape his father and uncle, and that experience had made him all the stronger. Jarlaxle was stunningly clever and a veteran mercenary, but Entreri knew he had the best chance of escaping. So when the soldiers had approached, Entreri had acted without bothering to think it through any further, just as he had months earlier at the psionic door in the crystal tower. It was a disturbing trend, and one Entreri would have to bother himself to reflect upon before he got himself killed.
But not right now. Now the time had come to prove he was correct about his abilities. They were nearing the final corner that would take them to the staircase which led up to the third level—the staircase that led to Waylein's bedchamber and torture chamber. Entreri's chance was upon him, and luck was with him. As they neared the corner, the wizard parted from the group at the last doorway. Entreri's relief was profound. What fools they were to only have three soldiers escort him! This simplified matters greatly. Still, when the captain took his position behind the soldiers who half-carried Entreri, the assassin knew he had to take out the captain first. Without weapons, Entreri concluded he only had one option if he were to have any chance of success.
The assassin tensed his leg muscles but kept his upper body relaxed. He could give no signal to his guards. Then, with one powerful step, a snap of his muscles that pulled upon every ounce of strength and speed the man possessed, he propelled himself forward, tucking his body into a somersault and using the soldiers' grip on his arms for leverage. A third of the way through the flip, he kicked out with his right foot directly into the face of the captain, shattering his nose just as he began to draw his sword. Entreri landed on his left foot first, and as even as his right foot touched the ground, he jerked free of the guards. His somersault had brought him two advantages—it had shocked the soldiers and loosened their grip upon his arms.
Entreri wasted not a moment. He whirled in a circle, avoiding the sword thrust of the soldier on his right, who had jumped into action, and placing the other soldier between them. The second soldier, while likely a decent guard, met his match from the life-long thief; Entreri had one of the man's swords in hand before he even realized what had happened. The assassin gashed his back and pushed him into the first soldier, then charged the injured captain. The other two soldiers recovered fairly quickly, but nine hells' worth of devils might as well have been pursuing Entreri for all the speed and desperation he evidenced. It might have been a reckless move, but he succeeded in slashing the captain's throat, lowering the odds to his liking.
Before he could act further, one of the remaining soldiers yelled for help. So much for that, he thought, quickly throwing himself into the fight. He had less than a minute to incapacitate these two and flee. With a brutal lunge, he stabbed forward, and the first soldier predictably blocked. Entreri, however, spun and ducked the returning slash, and sliced open the man's gut before straightening. The soldier dropped his sword with a scream, trying to hold in his intestines. The second soldier was on top of him then, but the assassin had expected the move and blocked his thrust, simultaneously kicking out and shattering the man's knee. Without hesitation, Entreri snatched up the first soldier's sword so he could have two weapons and fled for the nearest corridor, a stampede of approaching feet at his back.
Entreri smiled to himself as yet another pair of soldiers passed by his position. He'd worked his way back down to the first floor using a back staircase he'd located. Several soldiers had met their demise as a result, but the assassin had been careful not to leave an obvious trail in his wake. What intrigued Entreri, however, was just how well he had been able to hide from the searching soldiers. He was a master of stealth, it was true, but even the faintest of shadows seemed to be able to conceal him perfectly. Again, the assassin found himself wondering what effect the shade's life-force was having upon him. That question, however, would have to wait for another time. The first order of business was to get out of this mess—alive.
Entreri scowled, holding down the surge of disgust and anger that threatened to overcome him at the thought of what he would have faced in the torture chamber. Just thinking about Waylein's sadism made the assassin clench his jaw. Bastards such as Waylein inspired thoughts of great violence in the man, a fact Theebles had been the first to learn. Especially when they threatened him with such . . . things.
Entreri held his thoughts still as he watched four more soldiers pass by, then moved down the corridor another ten feet to hide behind the base of a statue. In his mind he could see the layout of the first floor, could remember every cubbyhole, statue, and side hall he had passed. No matter where he was or why he was there, Entreri automatically, subconsciously took note of all possible places of concealment—and all possible places from where an attack could come. From this picture-perfect memory, the assassin could create a plan.
Another group of soldiers were approaching from behind him, and the Entreri moved down to the next statue, hovering in the shadows. Just a few more minutes, and he would reach the desired door.