"Either way, it seems to me as if life is just a play,
and a pointless one, an act for the pleasure of the viewing gods . . .
All the pettiness of life itself is my complaint, I fear."—A.E.
Chapter Two
A thoroughly drenched Entreri held in a sigh as the guards opened the massive wooden gates of Olostin's Hold. Although he knew he and his companions had to resupply, the assassin was growing impatient with all the lost time. They had wasted seven days attempting to locate the ruins based on Nyx's original information, and without even a single sign of Mordecai's presence. Then they'd spent three days traveling to Evendur's tower and another day going through his scrolls. Apparently, this plan had born fruit, for Nyx and Jarlaxle had discovered what they needed. However, the monk and drow had seemed grim during the trip to Olostin's Hold and wouldn't tell Entreri and Tai what concerned them.
Entreri had long since decided he'd wring them for information as soon as they had rented rooms for the night. The assassin, therefore, headed with single-minded determination for the now familiar tavern, The Flaming Flagon, all the while ignoring the way his boots sank into the muddy street. Around him, the village bustled with activity despite the recent storm: vendors closed their booths for the night, and children raced down the wooden sidewalks. The setting sun had broken through the dark clouds, casting a rosy glow over both the people and their village, and passerby yelled evening's greetings to each other over the hubbub.
After surveying the crowd for possible dangers, the assassin pushed the commotion to his periphery. Behind him, a water-logged Tai lagged by several feet, and Nyx and Jarlaxle, equally drenched, brought up the rear. With a quick backward glance, Entreri confirmed what he'd suspected: the boy appeared to be brooding again. Tai had been alternately stoic and moody for days now, a trend the assassin didn't know what to think about. From the moment he'd first met Tai, Entreri had known him to be a young man of determination and conviction. Perhaps the stocism reflected this, and the moodiness was a sign of an anger Entreri didn't wish to admit he empathized with.
Dismissing the thoughts, Entreri pushed through the door into The Flaming Flagon and was met by a rush of sound and smell: raucous laughter mixed with clinking mugs, and pipe smoke clashed with the bitter scent of ale. People crowded around every table, some of them standing beside the tables in order to share a drink with friends. The assassin pushed through the throng toward the barkeep and secured two rooms: one for himself and Jarlaxle, the other for Tai and Nyx.
And so it was that in short order, Entreri had ushered his companions upstairs and into his and Jarlaxle's room.
"What of supper, my friend?" Jarlaxle asked as he closed the door behind them. "I am famished!"
"We'll dine later," Entreri replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Besides, we couldn't get a table right now." While the assassin hung his cloak and hat on the coat rack and staked claim of a bed, his three companions hovered in apparent confusion near the doorway. The sunset's red glow shone through the window, lending the room its only light.
"Why have you brought us all in here?" Nyx asked, reaching up to squeeze rain water from her auburn braid.
"Tell me," was Entreri's flat response from his seat on the bed. At Nyx's confused look, he clarified, "Tell me whatever it is you and Jarlaxle discovered that so disturbs you."
Tai gave Jarlaxle a suspicious look. "Yes. Do tell us what you are hiding." The priest walked over and sat by Entreri on the lumpy straw mattress, and the assassin smiled smugly. The boy is generally even-tempered, Entreri thought, but he has bite to him.
"But of course," Jarlaxle began, taking off his hat and cloak and hanging them beside Entreri's. "As we said earlier, we have a better idea of where to locate the ruins, which are referred to as the Ssesartas Ruins."
"Although it will take several days to travel there," Nyx chimed in.
Entreri pinned them both with his stare, telling them without words to get to the point.
"And we also discovered more about what the Kagaor ki Tamal can do." The monk's expression was grave.
"Indeed, we are evidently in more danger than we thought," Jarlaxle said as he walked over and sat on what was, by default, his bed. "In one scroll, the mirror was referred to not only as 'The Mirror of Convergence' but as 'The Tainted Mirror.' The description of The Tainted Mirror's powers sounds like psionics. The text implied that the mirror grants its wielder telepathy, mind control, and other psionic attacks, all of which may be used against a great number of creatures at once."
Entreri felt discomforted. "Are you sure? It's rather odd that the mirror would have such disparate designations."
"It is odd," Jarlaxle replied. "However, the serpent races are known for their ability to enchant or charm others, so it makes sense that the mirror might have the power to enchant or even have psionic properties."
"And apparently it does," Nyx said, leaning against the room's wooden door. "That means that if Mordecai gets the mirror, he will gain the ability to read thoughts, control people, and attack others with the force of his mind."
The drow glanced between Tai and Nyx. "You may ask Entreri what that destruction might look like."
Tai frowned in response, and the assassin frowned with him, remembering the way he'd blasted a hole in Drizzt's chest.
"I'm not sure of this," Tai said. "I admit that my ability to sense Hoar and gain knowledge from him is limited, but I genuinely had the impression that the mirror is connected to Set. Apparently nothing you read mentions Set, or Sseth for that matter—and the rumors indicated that the mirror might be a direct channel to Sseth."
"The rumors could be wrong," the drow pointed out.
Tai shook his head. "The text you read might be wrong. And despite the varying rumors we heard, I stand by the impression I received from Hoar: the mirror is somehow connected to Set."
"Either the rumors or the text may be wrong. Or they both might be wrong—or both right," Jarlaxle said. "Regardless, the implication is clear: if Mordecai locates that mirror, all four of our lives will be cut short."
"More than ours," Nyx corrected softly.
"But I have one further point," the drow said. "Allow me to take this moment to assure you that Mordecai will never stop hunting us. Not only have we caused him a great deal of humiliation, it is obvious to me that he's taking orders from someone else. That someone—likely a Matron Mother—will not stop until I, at least, am dead."
"How do you know that?" Tai asked suspiciously.
"Is it not obvious? Besides, I have my sources," Jarlaxle said, waving a hand through the air.
In other words, you became paranoid, talked to Kimmuriel, and then found out your paranoia was justified, Entreri thought with a smirk.
"At any rate," the drow continued, "not only do they—whoever they are—want control of Bregan D'aerthe—" He glanced at Nyx. "That is, my mercenary band," he clarified, "they now realize that I know too much. Ergo, they will not stop until I am dead."
Entreri narrowed his eyes at Jarlaxle's use of "my" in regards to the mercenary band and wondered just how involved Jarlaxle remained in Bregan D'aerthe considering Kimmuriel now led it. Given that the two had periodic meetings . . .
Tai was still watching Jarlaxle with wariness. "You can obviously protect yourself," he said, a touch sarcastically, "why do we not separate from you, thereby ensuring our survival?"
The drow, monk, and assassin all stared at the young man with shock.
Entreri was not so smug this time as he looked to Jarlaxle. That sounded like something I would say. "It's a valid question, although I already know the answer."
"All four of us have brought humiliation to Mordecai; he will see to it that we all die," Jarlaxle reminded Tai.
"Ah, yes. That's right." The sarcasm in Tai's tone remained. "Very well." The boy stood abruptly and smirked at Jarlaxle. "Given that our own precious lives are in so much danger, I suppose we'd better leave early tomorrow morning." With that, the priest exited the room.
After Nyx closed the door behind him, she frowned at the two mercenaries. "That was . . . most unlike him."
Entreri snorted. "Do you think?"
Nyx glanced at him but apparently decided not to take the bait. "Tai is correct about this involving more than our lives."
"For the moment, we'll do well to save our own," Entreri replied.
"Although by saving our own, we'll also save many others," Jarlaxle added. "And the boy is right about one other thing—we should depart early in the morning, as soon as we've bought new supplies."
Nyx nodded. "Indeed." She opened the door, then paused and looked back at the mercenaries. "Truly, you two need to stop calling Tai 'boy.'"
"Ah. I take it from your comment that Tai told you about his birthday," Entreri said. He didn't remember the topic coming up in the sparse conversation the group had shared on the way to Olostin's Hold, but then again, he hadn't paid attention to all of it.
Nyx stared at the assassin. "Birthday? Are you telling me that Tai's birthday is today?" The look on her face could only be described as pained surprise.
Entreri lay back upon his bed and crossed his ankles on the footboard. "Yes."
"And he told you this?" The hurt in Nyx's voice was obvious.
"Yes. He's seventeen now. Did you not know that?" Entreri felt oddly triumphant that he knew something about Tai that Nyx didn't, but he didn't stop to consider the meaning of the strange emotion.
Nyx grew suddenly stoic, although her posture revealed a bit of stiffness. "None of us will celebrate a birthday again if we don't stop Mordecai. Let's keep our attention on what is at stake here." She left without further comment.
"That was rather petty of you, do you not think?" Jarlaxle asked with a touch of mirth.
"All of life is petty." Entreri glanced the drow's way. "Besides, if they were such close friends, would they not already know each other's birthdays?"
Jarlaxle grinned. "An interesting criterion for friendship. What other criteria do you possess?"
"Do not purposely annoy your friends."
The drow chuckled. "I see." He grinned at Entreri again. "So when is your birthday, Artemis?"
The assassin gave Jarlaxle a sharp look. "I don't know."
Jarlaxle nodded, and to Entreri's surprise, some of his mirth faded. "I see."
Several minutes passed in silence, and neither the drow nor the assassin moved. Finally, Entreri decided to humor the drow and spoke. "So when is yours?"
"I never knew," Jarlaxle replied.
Entreri gave the drow another harsh look, but he could tell the drow was sincere. He looked away, feeling inexplicably uncomfortable. "Somehow I do not find that a particularly startling revelation."
"Do we then fail that criterion of friendship?" Jarlaxle asked, immediately returning to his teasing demeanor.
Entreri smirked. "Technically, no, since we did bother to ask. Now be quiet, and let us go eat." He stood and made his way to the door.
Jarlaxle was right on his heels. "Why must I be silent in order for us to dine?" he asked, grabbing his hat from the coat rack.
The assassin swallowed a sigh. "Do not make me respond to that question. I assure you that you will not like the answer."
Jarlaxle merely laughed.
Nyx opened the door to the room she and Tai would share. The room was equally unimpressive as Entreri and Jarlaxle's, but she expected nothing more from The Flaming Flagon. A narrow bed occupied each side of the room; pinewood nightstands stood by the beds. A small dressing table, its oval mirror cloudy with age, occupied the wall by the door, an oil lamp its only decoration. Scuffed wooden floors made the room seem dark, and the single window didn't alleviate the problem.
Tai stared out the window, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He'd shed his weapons and tattered royal blue cloak, leaving them on the bedpost of the bed that occupied the right-hand wall. His newest riding outfit clung to him, affording Nyx the chance to see how thin Tai really was. Since his clothes were normally baggier, the monk tended to forget she was actually slightly larger than her friend. Although Nyx and Tai were the same height—five foot two—Nyx probably carried ten more pounds of muscle. Seeing Tai in the tighter, black outfit made Nyx realize he was too thin.
When Tai faced her, the monk became further disturbed. She realized suddenly that his naturally tan complexion looked more sallow than usual, likely as a result of sleep-loss; even his shoulder-length black hair was damp and tangled from the earlier rain, giving him an unusually disheveled appearance. However, what bothered her most was that he rarely seemed to smile now.
"Tai?" she asked, her voice soft.
The priest's gaze locked on her. "Yes?"
"You were rather short with Jarlaxle. Is there something bothering you?"
Tai frowned. "He's so focused on his own survival, I just question whether he cares about anyone other than himself."
Nyx smiled faintly. "Well, he is a mercenary." The monk dropped the smile as Jarlaxle's earlier comments resurfaced in her mind. "Although he has told me, more than once, that what happened to you genuinely grieves him."
Tai snorted, his irritation apparently intensifying. "In other words, he said that after you so graciously informed him about what happened to me?" The priest turned his back to her and stared out the window again; the sunset's red glow shone off his damp hair.
Nyx literally stepped backward, her shock and sudden guilt were so extreme. "I . . . ah . . . well, yes. I'm sorry, Tai. I told them because . . . it was so obvious you'd been hurt. And I was so angry, I guess that I wanted them to feel guilty or . . ." She trailed off, unsure she could truly explain her motivation. "Plus, given what you'd said about them, I was just hoping . . . they would care."
Tai didn't turn back around. "You allow your anger to overwhelm you at times. I understand that the injustice of the world angers you and informs your dedication to Hoar, and I admire the zeal with which you carry out your duties. But you cannot allow your anger to dictate your decisions or otherwise ruin you."
Nyx felt a blush spread across her nose and cheeks. Tai was right, of course, as she was painfully aware, and she was horrified that her impulsiveness had caused Tai discomfort and embarrassment. Her temper was something she needed to address . . . later. Right now, however, a sense of hope pierced her embarrassment: Tai's wisdom was shining through his irritation and grief. This wisdom was one of the qualities that had drawn her to him in the first place, and the quality which convinced her Tai was special.
"It is a realization I've had concerning my own situation," Tai continued. "I refuse to allow what happened to . . . destroy me. If there's anything I've discerned in the last few days, it's that if I allow this experience to destroy me, it will only grant Mordecai what he desires."
Nyx felt even more hopeful at that statement, yet at the same time, she couldn't dismiss the priest's flat, emotionless tone. Angry, listless, angry, listless . . . Tai's moodiness concerned her. "That is quite true," she commented after a pause, "and it is a wise thing for you to realize."
The priest's shoulders abruptly tensed. "I didn't train intensely for years just to end up some weak, lost soul unable to attain vengeance for himself," he snapped.
Nyx unconsciously chewed her bottom lip. She felt glad that Tai was now speaking to her about this—for an entire tenday, he hadn't. Still, Tai became irritable when they broached the subject. As much as it hurt to admit, Nyx knew that the person around whom Tai seemed the most at ease was Artemis Entreri. But how could Tai be comfortable around someone he'd spent less than a month with and not be comfortable with her? She and Tai had spent six months together! "Of course you're not weak. And you may be sure that you will get vengeance."
"I'm not sure of anything anymore," the priest said quietly.
Nyx cringed and decided she'd best change the topic. She started to mention Tai's birthday—to apologize for being so over-focused on her holy mission that she failed to ask something so simple—but Tai turned toward her suddenly and spoke first.
"You've followed Hoar since you were twelve, correct?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, bewildered by this shift in the conversation.
"That's thirteen years total, then, and seven years longer than I have followed him. So answer me a question."
Nyx wandered over to the unclaimed bed and sat. "I'll try."
"Why did Hoar not save me?" Tai asked, his brow furrowing with his distress.
The raw emotion in the priest's voice was difficult to bear. "I'm unsure. Have you not communed with him and asked?"
Tai snorted and leaned his head and shoulder against the window. "I've considered it. But it feels disrespectful, so I can't bring myself to. All I've said to him is that I don't understand why this has happened."
"Then ask in a respectful tone," Nyx suggested. "Hoar already knows you're angry, and he's not a petty god. He will understand. But I seriously doubt that the 'why' is what matters." The monk wanted to kick herself for saying those words, but she didn't want Tai to get caught trying to answer a question that could never really be answered. "The 'why,' unfortunately, is simply that Mordecai is sick and evil."
Tai sighed, and the exhalation sounded so deep and final it was as though it reflected a void in the priest's soul. "Yes. That is true enough."
The monk was silent for a moment. She desperately wanted to help Tai—to ease his pain any way she could. In reality, however, Tai had experienced what Nyx considered her worst nightmare. She had little idea of how to help him. Even in the early years of her training, Nyx had felt so horrified by the concept of rape that she'd pondered committing suicide if it ever happened to her. However, once she'd become powerful enough to channel ki into her punches, she'd grown confident that she'd defeat any potential rapists.
Now Nyx realized that her confidence did not address the issue of what she would do should her training prove insufficient. However, she'd instantly recognized the wisdom of Tai's earlier words, and she agreed: if she killed herself, she would only be gratifying and empowering the rapist. How could she or Tai steal that power, though? The monk sifted through all the justice she'd dealt to rapists and considered the victims as well. She then thought through all the reactions of those she'd helped, and what she recalled was that there were victims who didn't want to be called "victims" and criminals who lashed out if she taunted them with . . .
"Pity!" she suddenly exclaimed.
Tai raised an eyebrow.
"If you want to shame Mordecai, you must learn to pity him," she said, resolute that she'd hit upon a truth. "Mordecai would not be able to stand it if you pitied him. It would eat his soul."
The priest seemed skeptical. "Pity? Why would that affect him?"
Nyx clapped her hands together as she warmed up to the idea. "Well, in the past I taunted rapists with comments like 'I pity the fact you have so little control over yourself and your so-called life that you have to rape a child in order to feel powerful or important.' Or something along those lines. And that really angered some of them. But I was being so acidic in my tone . . . if you genuinely pitied Mordecai for being pathetic, it'd kill him. It's a matter of his pride."
Tai nodded slowly. "I'll consider what you say."
Nyx stood and approached the young man. She took him by the shoulders, but he seemed so uncomfortable and stiff, she instinctively let go. "I would like to say one more thing," she said. "If you will turn to Hoar for guidance and healing, I have faith that you will be able to overcome this. I say this because I truly believe you are the Chosen of Hoar."
"The Chosen?" Tai asked, snorting.
"Yes. Your wisdom and power are quite advanced for your age; Hoar has shown you great favor. Please, keep your trust in him. A life without hope is not a life at all."
Tai's expression turned sour. "I suppose I should give credence to the opinion of Hoar's Holy Javelin, but I can't imagine why Hoar would allow his so-called Chosen to—" The priest stopped abruptly, a flash of horror passing through his eyes.
"Tai?" Nyx started to reach out to him—to hug him as she had on happier occasions—but she pulled herself up short.
The priest turned to the window once more, glaring at the street below. "Enough. I do not wish to discuss this any further."
There was no arguing with that tone. "Very well." Nyx noted the sadness in her voice and told herself to shape up. "I am going to visit my great uncle and his family. I'll likely be gone for several hours . . . Do you wish to accompany me?"
"No." Tai didn't look at her. "I could use some time alone."
That's not unreasonable, Nyx told herself as she turned to leave. But all she really wanted was to pull Tai into a tight hug.
No, what she really wanted was for things to return to the way they had been before. For this pain to have never befallen Tai.
Damn Mordecai! she thought for perhaps the hundredth time. That bastard can't face a death too heinous.
The tavern's patrons were giving the two mercenaries at the corner table a wide berth. Although Entreri and Jarlaxle had stayed at The Flaming Flagon before, several of the customers had likely not seen them. Needless to say, the sight of the drow and his great purple hat gave them pause—but no more pause than the dark-skinned man who was dressed entirely in black. The man's cold grey eyes were apparently equally unnerving as the dark elf's smile.
"Such a fine steak!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, happily cutting into the two-inch-thick slab.
Entreri eyed the elf's plate. "Perhaps it would be a touch more appetizing if it did not bleed so much."
"Nonsense!" Jarlaxle grinned at his moody friend. "Over-cooking leads to tastelessness."
"It is likely still raw in the center," Entreri argued. "It is a wonder that the meat does not bellow when you cut into it."
The drow laughed. "Quite amusing, my friend. But at least I do not ask that my food be drowned in spices."
Entreri considered his steak, which was so heavily spiced that it was no longer brown. Yellow and red spices seemed to war for dominance upon the meat's surface. "It is the only way I can get food this far north to have any taste."
Jarlaxle wrinkled his nose. "You'll smell of spices for days."
"You are only complaining because you cannot withstand them," Entreri replied, returning his attention to his meal.
"Quite right," the elf agreed easily. "Several of the native Calishite dishes left me to discover a whole new type of burning sensation in my stomach."
Entreri snorted. "At least you admit your weakness."
Jarlaxle waved a bloody slice of steak under the assassin's nose. "Only because you reveal yours."
The assassin swatted away Jarlaxle's hand. "It is not a weakness to prefer one's food cooked. Though, truthfully, were starvation and death the only other options, I assure you I would be able to stomach most anything."
Jarlaxle sat back in his chair, then, and ate his bite of steak, chewing carefully. The assassin had the unusual ability of giving insights into himself at the oddest times. "I am sure you could," he replied after swallowing. And I am equally sure that you have.
Entreri now regarded Jarlaxle with a serious expression. "Now that we are alone, give me your genuine assessment. The Kagaor ki Tamal--how dangerous is it? And do you believe it is a divine artifact or a psionic one?"
The elf was amused. "Do you believe I have withheld information from Nyx and Tai?"
Entreri smirked. "You always withhold at least a bit of information from everyone."
Jarlaxle laughed; indeed, the human's insight and intelligence were two of the reasons the elf so enjoyed his companionship. "I am not hiding any information. As for my assessment, it makes more sense to me that the mirror would be psionic. Whatever House Mordecai is securing the item for could make themselves formidable with such a weapon. However, I am unwilling to dismiss Tai's impression that the artifact is divine."
"And if it is?" the assassin asked, slicing off another bite of his spicy steak.
Jarlaxle shrugged. "There must be some gain to be had in it, although I am curious to learn what, given that the mirror cannot be an artifact of Lolth's." The elf frowned. "Regardless of the power used, all the evidence we have so far suggests mass destruction and carnage."
Entreri grinned wickedly. "A city of 20,000 dead drow does not seem such a bad thing."
"Perhaps not, given that I am not in said city," Jarlaxle replied lightly, although he did not completely share his friend's utter callousness. "However, given Mordecai's pride, I am quite sure the mirror will be tested upon us first." The elf took a bite of his own steak, savoring the taste of fresh food after many days of rations.
"Impossible," the assassin said with his customary confidence, "since he will not reach the mirror first."
Jarlaxle smiled in response. "So tell me," the elf said, changing the subject abruptly, "how go your efforts at salvaging our cleric?"
Entreri gave the drow a measuring look. "One wonders why you do not attempt to salvage him yourself."
"I would think his attempt to verbally slit my throat earlier would answer that question for you."
"I'll grant you that." Entreri paused to take another bite of his meal—and perhaps to formulate an answer as well. "Well enough, I suppose. I should think you aware that I am not entirely sure how to proceed." He frowned for a moment. "Except, perhaps, to stop Tai from brooding so much."
"The great Artemis Entreri admits a second weakness in one night! It is a historical day, I tell you." Jarlaxle chuckled.
Entreri pinned him with his signature death glare, and the elf wondered that the feather in his hat did not curl into a ball in response. "Nor am I entirely convinced of why I should proceed."
"For his clerical skills, as I have told you before," Jarlaxle replied easily. "And I do not just mean divine power—I am speaking of divine knowledge. Our priest is special, as you are well aware. When Tai communes with Hoar, he is able to sense or learn things from his deity. Things, I might add, that have to do with the Kagaor ki Tamal, and therefore with Mordecai."
"Practical as always," Entreri replied sarcastically.
"But of course." Jarlaxle smiled at his friend and considered the sudden sarcasm. Given that the man had just, in so many words, asked the elf for a logical, profitable reason to help Tai, why would he then be motivated to react in such a way? The drow chuckled again. "Besides, you have to admit that the boy is quite likeable."
Jarlaxle received his second death glare of the evening. "About as likeable as you," the assassin quipped.
"Then he is likeable, indeed!" the elf replied with a wide grin.
Entreri snorted, turning his attention back to his meal without further response.
In the face of the assassin's attitude, Jarlaxle thought back to the many conversations he'd shared with the drow who had first trained him in combat. "'To attain power is to defeat your opponents. To maintain power is to build a network,'" he said. "'All those who surround you must require your presence; if they cannot do without you, they will be less likely to move against you.'"
"I beg your pardon?" Entreri asked, looking up. "You sound as though you are quoting a sacred text."
If Jarlaxle had realized how sad his smile was, he would have slapped himself. "No, not a text. Just a conversation I once had with someone." He grinned again, recovering. "And my words are quite true. By helping Tai, we not only gain him as a resource, we bind him to us. He will never turn his god's justice upon us because he will need us. He will need you."
Entreri stared at Jarlaxle for long moments, and the elf could not read his expression. "In a world without loyalty, you create dependence." A statement of fact, or rather of summation.
"Is the concept so strange to an assassin from Calimport?"
Entreri frowned at the drow. "Not at all. But it requires that I ask a simple question: in what ways do you think you have made me dependent upon you, that you might force some brand of loyalty from me?"
Jarlaxle realized he'd waded into dangerous territory, but he remembered a conversation between Entreri and Tai that he'd eavesdropped upon months ago. "I provide you with entertainment." He laughed lightly. "But I do not doubt that you both could and would abandon my company at will."
Entreri stared without blinking at Jarlaxle for many minutes. In fact, the drow found himself caught in something much like a staring contest.
"You do not need to provide me with entertainment in order to buy my 'loyalty'—if such a thing could be called loyalty," the assassin said at last, his tone caught somewhere between banter and seriousness. "Loyalty, on those rare occasions when it exists, cannot be bought. It is something that is built, and all that is required of the recipient is return loyalty. I'm sure the concept is lost on you, however. You could not brush aside your paranoia long enough to give someone loyalty."
Jarlaxle felt a snap of anger at what he perceived as hypocrisy, but the anger was instantly swallowed by the unintentional and deeply buried subtext behind Entreri's words: I am your friend; if you are mine, then my loyalty is yours.
"You are a very odd man," the elf said, reaching an epiphany. The assassin in you asked me for a practical reason to help Tai, but a tiny part of you really wanted validation for an impractical reason to help him. My answer made you doubt my unspoken offer of friendship for you . . . and friendship is, of course, the one and only thing you truly wish of me.
But Jarlaxle could never say those words to Entreri, just as surely as he could not admit his reasons for offering the assassin friendship. "You may doubt my loyalty as it suits you," he said nonchalantly, "but I will tell you this: I do indeed hope that Tai recovers. What happened to him does not please me in the slightest."
"I know," was Entreri's blunt answer. "If I thought you would or could attain even the slightest pleasure from what Mordecai did to Tai, I would have handed you a gruesome death long ago."
Spoken like a man who might have already made good on such a threat, Jarlaxle thought, and he found himself wondering—not for the first time—if Entreri's father and uncle had died horrific deaths at his hands. Perhaps so. Then again, Entreri may not have bothered with them, or they may have fled once they learned he was an assassin.
But such was Jarlaxle's fascination with Artemis Entreri. He did not doubt that he could remain by the human's side for the rest of Entreri's life and never tire of putting together the puzzle pieces or examining the man's psyche.
Tai stared out the inn window at the deserted main street of Olostin's Hold. The moon pierced the clouds periodically, providing illumination where the rare street lamps could not, and revealed the wagon ruts running down the muddy street. A quarter hour had passed since the last person, who had apparently been drunk, had weaved his way through the village. Normally the absence of commotion would have soothed Tai, but not this night. Midnight was approaching, and Nyx still had not returned from her family's house. Tai feared he had hurt her feelings earlier and resolved to apologize to her when she returned. In the meantime, however, the priest needed to commune with Hoar.
Unfortunately, while Nyx's assurances had helped Tai, one of her other comments had left the priest disturbed. If he were the Chosen of Hoar, as Nyx suggested—a possibility that seemed remote to Tai—then did that mean Hoar had allowed Tai to be raped as some kind of test?
Tai shuddered at the thought. On the other hand, he knew that many deities tested their worshippers—especially their priests and paladins—for worthiness. Had Hoar allowed this horror to befall him in order to test his response? To measure some facet of Tai's personality and therefore verify his worthiness?
The mere possibility made the priest nauseated. Life held enough pain on its own without gods putting mortals through tests! Tai wasn't sure he wanted to believe that possibility . . . and he was equally unsure that he should. After all, Hoar had enabled Tai to channel his divine power during the battle with Mordecai and his soldiers even though Tai had barely communed at all!
But rolling around in his own thoughts would not help him. As his uncle had told him many times before, the only way to settle a question was to commune. Tai needed to take Nyx's advice and just respectfully ask questions . . . and hope that he was still enough in Hoar's favor to ascertain a sense of what the answers were.
Tai sat on the floor, crossed his legs, and pulled his shoulders back. Now was not the time to doubt. He was a priest. For five—no, six—years now, his self-identity had revolved around either becoming a priest or being a priest. He could not afford to allow this aspect of himself to slip, or he would be truly lost. Any and all sense of himself would fade away.
And he felt lost enough already.
Focus, he ordered himself, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing. Touch the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth. Breathe deeply. Allow the breaths to fill you, to resonate in your throat.
Tai focused on his breathing for several minutes, and as he did, the sounds and sensations of the physical world seemed to grow distant. Once a feeling of lightness filled him, he moved on to the next phase. Reach inside of yourself, to the core of your being, and touch the thread that connects you to Hoar. Feel his presence. Allow his aura to fill you.
This moment was always both joyful and unsettling. Hoar was a moody deity, and his anger over injustices could be overwhelming. Depending on Hoar's mood when Tai communed—and Tai's level of connection to him—the priest occasionally felt Hoar's burning wrath toward whomever needed a good dose of vengeance. This was how over time Tai had been able to discern that some Mulhorandi deity was apparently at the top of the list.
Of course, this aspect of his deity's personality gave Tai hope that the rape had not been a test and that Hoar was actually angry on his behalf. However, Tai just didn't know yet. After all, it might be that Hoar felt Tai needed to understand the desire and need for poetic vengeance on a more personal, innate level.
Tai shuddered and pushed the thought away. He was losing his concentration. The priest refocused and reached inside of himself again, allowing Hoar's aura to fill him.
Anger. Bitterness. Tai took a deep breath as Hoar's emotions connected with his own. To Tai's delight, he'd attained a deep connection—the deepest since the rape. To his distress, Hoar was unusually angry this night.
I ask forgiveness if I have angered you, Tai immediately prayed.
The anger seemed to redirect, leaving the priest with the feeling that Hoar's rage had not been aimed at him. The priest felt relieved, but he also decided that now was not a good time to question his deity. Still . . .
I admit that I am still confused, Tai ventured.
The feelings within Tai remained neutral, suggesting to the priest that Hoar had simply accepted his statement as normal, natural.
Is there anything which you wish me to attend to? Tai asked. The priest had found that if he remained still and attentive long enough, his thoughts would sometimes be directed toward a specific image or concern.
Several minutes passed, and Tai keep his breathing even and his mind clear. Eventually, the image of a mirror entered his mind.
Then I ask for your blessing for this new day, specifically for the channeling of your divine power in order to carry out your will. Tai proceeded to ask for the divine favors he figured he'd most need, starting with the ability to heal.
Tai lost all sense of time as Hoar's divine power filled him. The sense of closeness to his deity during this process made it Tai's favorite part of communing. The priest basked in Hoar's aura, and the strong sense of order and justice that accompanied it, and felt himself entirely relax for the first time since the rape. Surely, surely, his god would not plan such a test for—
Hoar seemed to suddenly push him—an internal sensation that was almost physical. A sense of danger raced down the spiritual thread from Hoar to Tai, jerking the priest out of his communing and causing him to open his eyes.
Before him, silent and unmoving, stood an unfamiliar drow.
Tai jumped to his feet and glanced at his bedpost, where his weapons' belt hung. He had no way to reach his daggers with the drow standing in the way, but despite the interruption of the communing, Hoar's power resonated within Tai, keeping him calm.
The strange drow laughed and fingered his pointed chin with delicate fingers. "Ah. My first victim of the evening," he said in heavily accented, if lilting, common. "I considered killing you as you mediated. I also considered tossing your weapons into your lap. But I could not decide what I would enjoy most—the ease of your death, silent and instant, or a slight challenge. If, in fact, you are capable of providing me with a challenge."
Tai glared at the slender drow, who was a full two inches shorter than he. The drow's wide golden eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement, and his silvery hair was pulled back from his face in a series of ornate braids. "You must be with Mordecai," Tai said, disgust filling his voice.
The drow hissed. "Not 'with.' I am Mordecai's superior."
"Even more of a reason for you to die," Tai replied, gathering Hoar's divine power within him.
The drow drew what appeared to be a metal rod. "At least you have nerve, worm." He whispered a word at the rod, and two blades extended from it—one from each side.
"And you will have divine wrath," Tai returned. "Corenthur."
Tai was hoping to strike his attacker blind, but as Hoar's divine power surrounded the drow, creating soft blue glow, the elf shook himself and managed to resist the spell. The light quickly dissipated. "Your weak magic won't work on me," the drow sneered.
Tai growled and prepared a second attack. The drow thrust his sword at Tai, and the priest was hard-pressed to dodge the strike in the small room. Still, Tai jumped to the side, escaping the drow's blade.
Tai was already praying again, and he used his index fingers to draw an X in the air. When his enemy continued his assault, Tai thought he had failed again. With a backslash, the drow attempted to slice open the priest's stomach, but Tai dived to the side, clearing the blade. In the process, the priest accidentally hit one of the nightstands, knocking the candelabra off of it and into the floor. Fortunately, the candles had not been lit.
Recovering and turning, Tai expected to find the drow at his throat; however, the male seemed stiffer and slower. It worked! Tai thought, feeling gratified.
Although impeded, the drow continued his attack. As the drow struck a third time, Tai ducked below the blade and grabbed the drow's arm with his left hand. With his right hand, Tai made a single motion while invoking a prayer. Hoar's divine power surged through him and emptied into the drow's arm, opening multiple gashes which spurted blood. The drow howled in pain, and Tai jumped clear, landing on his bed. The priest hooked his foot in his belt and flipped it up into the air, catching it. Within seconds, he had his daggers drawn.
The drow, however, was apparently not interested in fighting anymore. His right arm dripped with gore, and he obviously couldn't hold it up. "Lalith," the drow gasped, and his weapon's blades retreated. He ran and jumped out the window, which Tai only then realized was open.
Tai wasn't sure whether to be glad or alarmed to find he'd retreated so far into mediation that he'd been completely unaware. But of more importance was that Hoar had warned him of the danger.
Well, even if the rape was a test, Hoar obviously still favors me, Tai thought. But that did not make the priest any more comfortable with the possibility the rape had been a test, nor did it answer the question of why Hoar hadn't answered Tai's prayer for help if the rape had not been a test.
"One step at a time," the priest told himself. "Just keep walking, and you will overcome this."
Tai's door burst open then, and Entreri and Jarlaxle rushed into the room.
"I heard a commotion!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, scanning the room.
Entreri was staring at Tai, and the priest figured he struck at odd pose standing on his bed with his daggers drawn. "We have another drow pursuing us," Tai explained.
The grimace on the assassin's face spoke volumes, and he sighed with exasperation. "More damn drow. I am truly cursed."
Jarlaxle grinned sweetly at Entreri, but Tai found he couldn't laugh at the mercenary's antics.
"You and me both," the priest said, feeling complete agreement.
A/N: As you can tell, the food scene in this chapter provided part of the inspiration for "Of Music and Men." ;)