Chapter Three

Hector Macatos hated criminals with a righteous hate. He hated the evil things they did, he hated the way they disrespected the laws they broke. He hated it when they went free, when they didn't get the punishment they deserved, and when they committed the same crime again and again. Hector Macatos hated a great deal.

At fifty-seven years of age, Hector was a plump and balding man: his six-foot stature did not save him from the hearty padding that encircled his waist in a distinct roll, and his raven black hair, now thin on top, had several shots of silver running through it. His naturally brown skin had recently begun to develop its first potato spots, but his brown eyes shone with an intelligence and cleverness widely respected by those who knew him. However, Hector rarely acknowledged such deference, for he was accustomed to it: he was a priest of Tyr.

Hector Macatos preferred to remain in the city, hovering in the temple or near the courts, carrying out his priestly duty. He enjoyed advising others, he loved engaging in the law-making process when allowed. But occasionally serving a god means doing things one does not like. Hector hated to travel, and he hated personally running down criminals. But the case of Marrin Socor had become so severe that several priests and paladins of Tyr had been sent to track down the wizard and bring him to justice. Hector actually volunteered for the job, for Socor had made one further mistake in Hector's eyes: he'd impregnated the cleric's fourteen-year-old niece.

The noon sun had broken through the morning's lingering clouds with such punishing brightness and heat that Hector thought it could be holy praise to Tyr. The heat didn't slow him any, however. Hector had been traveling in it without complaint for two tendays now, and after a quick lunch in a bustling country inn, he resumed his mission, urging his grey-mottled mare into a canter and holding back a sigh at the way the dust seemed to gravitate toward his new traveling clothes.

But the priest could suffer the mess, for Socor—whose list of crimes against both young women and others seemed to lengthen each day—would soon be brought to justice. Hector's prayers had been answered; Tyr had provided him with a clear lead on Socor's whereabouts. The priest now followed some bounty hunters. And Tyr forbid that any such filth ever be allowed to reach the criminal first, especially when he knew one of the bounty hunters to be the infamous assassin Artemis Entreri. No, no one must ever be allowed to impede the righteousness of divine justice.

No one.

Tai Vatoshie tightened his arms around Jarlaxle's waist as the crazy drow led their horse to jump a fallen tree trunk. Tai had never been much for horseback riding; he knew how, but preferred to walk. He just couldn't entirely trust his safety with an animal three times his size, and besides, the more nervous the beast, the more nervous the priest. Upon learning this, Jarlaxle had smiled impishly, and now for the last thirty minutes, the insane elf had apparently been trying to scare Tai on purpose.

"I'm sufficiently frightened now," Tai said to the laughing drow, "you can stop." He really didn't know much about drow, but there were rumors that they were cruel and evil. Maybe he should've listened to them more carefully.

Jarlaxle glanced over his shoulder. "I'm not trying to scare you, good priest, only show you the joy that horseback riding truly is! These are magnificent animals that you have here on the surface; you should do your best to enjoy them!"

There was a snicker to their side, and Tai glanced over at Entreri as the man pulled his horse up beside Jarlaxle's. "You'll have to be careful," he said to the young priest, "Jarlaxle has an obsessive need to fix anything that proves inefficient in his eyes, including people. It's the mark of a born leader, I suppose—well, a very annoying one, I should say."

Jarlaxle laughed again. "Not at all! It is only that one should do one's best to live life with as few limitations as possible."

Entreri shook his head, and when Jarlaxle looked away to survey the forest around them, Tai could see the very faintest of smiles hovering around the man's mouth. Still, it seemed to Tai that the smile would never actually manifest, and he wondered what had hurt this man to leave him so obviously jaded.

Indeed, it was not lost upon the young priest, despite his admitted tendency toward naivety, that these two bounty hunters were both accomplished and dangerous mercenaries. Part of him felt quite the fool for agreeing to travel with them, especially since one was drow, but on the other hand, he'd likely get into more trouble traveling separately since they knew he was after the same prey. Not to mention that Tai truly felt that Hoar was guiding him to join the bounty hunters, so it must be that justice would be best served this way. Besides, Entreri's outraged reaction to the abuse of the child the other day had been promising, although Tai did not know what to make of the drow at all. Based on what he'd seen over the last several days, Tai thought that Jarlaxle sometimes seemed twice as dangerous as the glowering Entreri, but other times just seemed free-spirited. It was as if the drow had two personalities, and as long as you didn't threaten him, you only had to deal with the nice one.

Jarlaxle was looking back at Entreri again. "What? No snide response?"

Entreri snorted. "Why bother? Still, you shouldn't scare the poor boy so. He'll think you're trying to kill him."

Tai started to bristle at being called a "boy" when he was fully sixteen years old and already a priest—especially when he was called such by someone who looked to be only in his mid-thirties. But Tai reminded himself that twenty years of age difference might make him seem a boy to the man. Besides, appearances could be deceiving; the man could be older than he looked. Still, it seemed unlikely.

"Well, you could allow the boy to ride with you for a while," Jarlaxle suggested slyly.

Again with the "boy," but Tai didn't even want to guess how old the drow might be by comparison. The elf had a real air of experience about him, though; Tai couldn't help thinking he would have to be a few centuries old. In that case, Tai really would seem a boy to him. Suddenly, strangely, all of the feelings of maturity and accomplishment Tai had gained from his intensive clerical training seemed to flee, leaving him feeling young and inexperienced indeed. He sighed. Well, modesty was a virtue.

"No, I wouldn't steal your pleasure from you," Entreri told the elf. "I wouldn't want to you pout for the rest of the morning."

"I do not pout!" the drow protested with mock anger. Tai laughed, for the flamboyant elf had worked a bit of poutiness into his voice even as he spoke.

"Sure you don't," Entreri replied, and if a sneer could ever be described as teasing, then Tai had seen his first teasing sneer.

How does he do that? Tai wondered with no small curiosity. I've never known anyone who could express something positive in such a negative way. But of more interest was the way Jarlaxle had suggested he and Entreri ride together. He'd suggested such a thing more than once over the past few days. It was almost as though he were trying to get them to bond or befriend each other on purpose. But why?

It was obvious to Tai that he'd walked into the middle of something very complex and multilayered. These two seemed to be playing some kind of unspoken game with each other, but playing it where the other could still see and understand it despite its being unspoken. It was very odd, and it worried Tai just a bit. Were they really friends or just allies trying to use each other? Tai started to worry, but he brought himself up short. He'd only been around them for about a tenday—he was jumping to conclusions.

Jarlaxle went rigid suddenly, and it startled Tai to the point he almost dropped his arms from around the drow's waist. Entreri, too, was looking at the bushes and trees on either side of the road. Tai followed their line of sight but didn't see anything. Still, the forest seemed unnaturally quiet. Spooked, Tai gathered himself to cast the few spells he'd prepared the night before.

Jarlaxle spoke to Entreri in a language Tai had never heard, and the man nodded and dismounted. "I hope you can fight," Jarlaxle then whispered to Tai, "because we're surrounded by about thirty orcs."

Tai paled. Orcs. He hated orcs. And thirty of them! What terrible odds! He'd never had to fight more than two people at once and had never been ambushed in his life. He wondered if they'd all three die today. "I prepared several spells last night in case of an emergency," he answered calmly, although in truth his heart pounded in his chest.

Jarlaxle nodded, and Tai dismounted quickly but clumsily. Jarlaxle landed gracefully beside him just as the first spear arched toward them. With a chorus of roars, the orcs descended upon the travelers, but Tai was already deeply in prayer, asking for a blessing upon himself and his companions.

Confident in his moody but just deity, Tai drew his matching daggers—the only weapons he carried—and met the first orc's attack. He crossed the daggers before him, stopping the downswing of the orc's staff. His wrists and arms stung with the impact, but he ignored it and pivoted to the side, disengaging the weapons and turning nimbly. Before the orc could figure out what was happening, Tai stabbed him in the back.

To his right, Tai could see Jarlaxle issuing a stream of endless daggers that cut down his opponents before they could get close to him. Entreri had drawn a truly terrifying-looking sword and a beautiful dagger, and with a skill Tai had never seen, slashed through his attackers. Tai realized then that they were not in as much danger as he'd first thought. He met his next two opponents with more assurance.

Deciding to lower the odds to his liking, Tai cast a fear spell on the axe-wielding orc approaching from his left, sending it running away. The second one, however, swung at him with a huge club which Tai simply had to dodge. Scared but determined, the young priest feinted a second dodge to the left but then dived right instead, tumbling into a headlong roll that carried him past the orc. Tai gained his feet instantly and jumped back in, stabbing the creature in the back. However, the orc had started to turn toward him, and the dagger didn't delve as deeply as Tai intended. Panicking, the priest did the first thing he thought of: he cast a second fear spell. It seemed appropriate somehow. The wounded orc howled and started running away, but Jarlaxle noticed it from his position and cut it down with a hail of daggers before it could escape.

For a moment, Tai thought he could breathe easier, but the reality of the situation crashed back in as he saw yet another orc turn his way. Furthermore, Entreri, in pursuit of several orcs, crashed through the bushes to Tai's left, startling him. The entire scene confused the young man for a moment: several walls of ash hung in the air, and the drow was now levitating above a group of orcs and raining daggers upon them. This was the chaos of battle? Tai didn't like it. He hadn't trained as hard as he had to fight in a battle; he'd done it to administer justice and vengeance. No, he didn't like this at all. But there was no time for his childish sentiments, for the next orc was bearing down on him. He turned and ran, pretending that he was trying to escape. The fear he didn't have to fake.

Once in the trees, Tai weaved in and out of several closely grouped trees, confusing and slowing the orc behind him. Hiding behind one particularly large trunk, the priest waited until the orc ran past him, then threw one of his daggers right into the creature's spine. It fell, paralyzed, with a shriek. Tai sprinted forward, collected his dagger, and sneaked back toward the main fighting.

Entreri was nowhere to be seen, although Tai could hear heavy fighting to his left. Jarlaxle was now levitating in a spot about ten feet away from where he'd been previously, and half the orcs he'd been fighting now lay dead. Tai shook his head in amazement at the sight of the smiling drow who so obviously enjoyed the fight. Fortunately, he was also very good at it. Orcs seemed to be dropping by the second. Tai took a deep breath and started forward to help.

However, before Tai had taken more than two steps, a mixed look of both surprise and horror crossed Jarlaxle's face, and he suddenly dropped out of the air. Tai instinctively shouted and ran forward, realizing that the drow's levitation spell had failed somehow. His shout turned a few of the orcs toward him, taking some of the pressure off of the drow, who quickly pulled two daggers from his belt and, with a word, magically elongated them into swords. Still, Tai could tell Jarlaxle had been rattled, and he wondered what it all meant.

Twenty feet away, Entreri relieved yet another orc of its head and turned, meeting the next charge. As suspicious-natured as he was, he had to wonder if this band of orcs had happened upon them on its own, or if a certain rodent-like wizard had played a magical hand in it. For now, however, it didn't matter. Entreri dodged the orc's clumsy axe-swings and countered with a slash that nearly split the creature in half. He grinned wickedly. Yes, a good fight was all he needed to clear the shadows from his mind and lighten his mood a bit. There was no room for past torments in the middle of a dangerous fight; there was only the thrill of the action, the weight of the sword and dagger in his hands, the song of the steel as it sliced the air. For once not bothering with stealth, Entreri crashed through another thicket of bushes in pursuit of the final two orcs he'd been fighting.

The clearing, however, held several surprises for him: five orc corpses lay scattered on the ground, and a weaponless man stood among them, seeming quite calm and composed.

Entreri slid to a halt and found himself looking up at a fellow Calishite. In fact, he found himself gazing upon someone who, had he been the correct age, would have looked much like his own father: overweight, dirty, and leering. All that was needed to complete the picture was the stench of alcohol and a drunken sneer. But most disturbing of all, the man wore a thin silver chain with a matching silver pendant: balanced scales resting on a warhammer. The symbol of Tyr. This man was a priest of Tyr.

There were several things Entreri did not like. He didn't like drunks, he didn't like gluttons, and he especially didn't like gluttonous, drunken slobs. He didn't like men who betrayed their children, and he definitely didn't like rapists. But Entreri reserved a special, dark corner of his heart for priests. The sound that issued from his throat was something very much like a growl. "Tyrist."

"And you, I've learned, are Artemis Entreri, the vilest assassin in all of Calimshan, and possibly in all of Faerun." The man smiled a cold and sinister smile. "This shall be the most profitable venture I have ever made, I suppose, to bring to justice both Marrin Socor and Artemis Entreri on the same trip. Prepare to face your most-deserving judgment, evil assassin."

Entreri raised his weapons, instantly deciding that this man had to die.