Disclaimer: The recognizable characters in this fanfiction were created by R. A. Salvatore in association with the legal entity Wizards of the Coast, who owns relevant copyrights to additional Forgotten Realms material referred to herein. The characters are used without permission but no material profit of any kind is being made from the following work. WotC reserve rights to Forgotten Realms material, but all of the characters and situations unique to this work of fan fiction are property of the writer. No animals were harmed in the writing of this fanfic, but at least one blind feline was teased mercilessly.
A/N: I have found you don't take slings seriously in modern times… until you put a hole in a neighbor's fence with an ice cube. At least the evidence melted. No wonder Roman slingers were so effective and the Conquistadors equated the Inca slings on par with .78 caliber muskets.
Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the Battle-God, great, and his Kingdom—
A field where a thousand corpses lie.
-Stephen Crane, War is Kind
no morals, no dilemma
Four wild centaurs were bearing down on Jarlaxle with murderous intent, scattering dirt about them as he scattered his comparisons to the tortured driders of the Underdark. It was impossible that the spider-bodied drow could make as much noise no matter how they tried. They certainly couldn't shake the earth the way the huge centaurs nearing him were.
Behind him, Jarlaxle heard Entreri calling him an idiot and telling him to get out of the way. Above him flew bullets from two of the centaurs' slings. Ahead of him was the same ferocious sight; lips drawn back over bared teeth, eyes narrowed on him with deadly intent, and multiple heavy hooves backed by a tremendous amount weight. Beneath him was one very nervous roan mare; she was beginning to prance in place.
Unlike his horse, Jarlaxle was unflappable. A grin stretched across his face as the centaurs grew ever closer, he already had his defense prepared; was even twirling the black fabric disk on one finger as the enemy approached. When the concussions of hooves beating the road became almost too much for his mare to stand against, Jarlaxle tossed the disc out and wheeled her away.
The centaurs hardly noticed the disc; it didn't affect them in the least. The first in the group, a lean centaur built for speed rather than endurance, made to charge right over it. He was shocked to learn the fabric had expanded into a large black pit on its way to the ground. It was as if he suddenly just ceased to exist. He was there and then he was gone, taking his heavily percussive gait and sling with him.
The centaurs behind him roared in rage and shock at the surprise. Their single-minded charge was broken up as the two flanking the first centaur peeled away to miss the pit and the mare behind him had to make an impressive leap to avoid the same fate.
By the time the centaurs had negotiated the pit, the mercenaries had already set up a defensive line of four to receive the charge. The merchants had given up trying to attach the team of horses to their wagon and were, instead, hiding in the midst of the steady beasts.
Entreri had acted on instinct as soon as he understood Jarlaxle had his side of the situation under control. Though a skilled rider, Entreri didn't trust his horse enough to use it as a platform for combat. He leapt from the gelding and headed behind the wagon. He suspected if they had four centaurs attacking from the front there would be another two attacking from the rear or sides. The ranger and another mercenary had the same thought and had beat the assassin to the back by opting not to dismount. Both noted Entreri's appearance, but soon lost sight of the assassin as he blended easily into the woods' deep morning shadows.
The two centaurs Entreri had expected came from opposite angles, with no regard for the rear of the wagon. They came out of the forest, headed on separate courses that converged on the team of four horses the merchants were huddled within. Only one made it to the draft horses.
The wagon rocked violently as nearly half a ton of wild horse and humanoid flesh collided bodily with it in a fine spray of blood and rough screaming. The impact packed so much force with the speed and weight of the monstrous body that the wagon was shoved sideways across the road and the wooden sides. The crack of timber added to sound of the collision.
Flailing and kicking up clouds in the road's dust, the confused centaur could not understand what had happened. It had never seen Entreri in the woods, had no time to feel the pain as both its hind legs were mercilessly hamstrung. There was blood spraying from its hind legs and the creature could not reach them with his human hands.
In front of the wagon, the mercenaries had formed up to receive the three charging centaurs coming at them. They had quickly noted the lead bullets from the slings had gone overhead, but were determined to fend off any of the creatures that came near. Indeed, the centaurs seemed prepared to peel off and charge back into the wood until something hit the wagon, nearly sending it into the woods. When the panicked screaming erupted from the same direction, the three centaurs' eyes grew wide and crazed. Several reared and changed tactics; they were suddenly recommitted to attack.
"Stop!" Came another voice Jarlaxle knew as Shir's. "Don't hurt them! They're only after the horses!"
Unfortunately, neither centaurs nor the other mercenaries were inclined to listen to her; the damage was done and the centaurs were serious.
The centaur on the opposite side of the wagon, had initially seized hold of the tack and harness connecting the draft horses, but when her compatriot had struck the wagon with full force, she had to dance back to avoid getting tangled up with the horses and fleeing merchants. With the merchants out of the way and the wagon not going anywhere, she yanked on the harnesses again and struck at their flanks with her empty sling. This had the desired effect of driving the percheron forward as when Entreri had smacked Jarlaxle's roan.
The team began to gallop out, but was seized in turn by the mercenary that had been with Shir. He became the immediate target of the female centaur. She reared impressively, slamming her front hooves into his thigh and his mount's neck while he tried to hold the team. The other horse, trained for combat, did not panic as blood sprayed from its throat, but reared with a scream to counter attack. Neither were aware of the assassin slipping up to them with his jeweled dagger in hand.
Meanwhile, at the front of the wagon, one of the mercenaries was down, hit by a sling bullet and the remaining three were trading blows with the three centaurs still standing. Jarlaxle headed back to the wagon where the hamstrung centaur was trying to drag itself away by its forelegs and another was beating a mercenary and his mount to death with its hooves. Thinking to come to the poor man's aid, Jarlaxle drew out his silver topped cane, intending to fill the offending centaur full of poison darts.
He needn't have bothered. There was a swift shadow and a glint of steel and suddenly the centaur was falling backwards and away from the fight. Just as Entreri had hamstrung one centaur, he was more than capable of doing the same to the other. The dark elf almost felt sorry for the beasts; as large as they were, they really had no way to protect themselves behind when engaged in the front. Perhaps if she had kept her front feet down, she could have caved in the assassin's skull, but he doubted she would have seen the assassin coming in any case.
Entreri took little satisfaction in his victory; there was little challenge in taking out such an easy target. He caught Jarlaxle's eye as he glanced toward the battle raging to the front of the skewed wagon. The dark elf threw him a sly wink and jaunty salute, which was received with a grim look indicating Entreri's disgust. The dark elf didn't need an explanation to understand that look; the assassin hardly thought the battle worth his time.
Rather than lend any immediate aid to the battle still going on before him, Entreri turned the dagger over in his hand and walked over to the female centaur who was doing her best to drag herself away like her cohort. Aware of the danger her front hooves presented the assassin, stepped up from her blind side and wiped his blade clean on her flank. By the time she twisted her torso around to strike at him he was gone again.
Entreri met Jarlaxle again as the dark elf was bringing the team of four horses back to the wagon. They found Shir there already, cursing with vigor and fury as she and one of the merchants tried to staunch the flood of blood gushing down her compatriot's body from shoulder and chest wounds broken open in his body by the female centaur's hooves.
When she saw Entreri she nearly came to her feet in a rage. "You ass! They were only trying to scare us! It wouldn't have escalated, if you hadn't crippled him!"
The assassin ignored her completely, looking to Jarlaxle casually. "Can your orb help him?"
The dark elf nodded, rolling the healing orb over his hand in lazy loops as he replied. "That was my intention with the beasts, too."
On the heels of Jarlaxle's reply, Entreri glanced at the ranger, his expressionless look telling her in no uncertain terms who he considered the ass in the party. Even as he walked away, the other mercenaries were coming back, having put the remaining centaurs to rout.
While Jarlaxle used his unusual healing orb to stabilize the injured, Entreri walked the battle's perimeter. He found the centaur he'd hamstrung first had been dragged away, leaving a bloody trail the assassin could follow with his eyes closed. The female was gnashing her teeth and trying to flee; he didn't think she was going anywhere. The horse she'd attacked was lying nearby where it had fallen and succumbed to the grievous injuries her hooves had inflicted. Another horse was lying dead near Jarlaxle's portable hole.
The assassin leaned down to pick up the hole, always keeping his senses trained on the forest, which had grown silent with the battle. He smirked wryly and stepped back when a lead projectile flew out of the deep pit. Obviously the initial victim of the battle couldn't get itself out of the hole Jarlaxle had thoughtfully provided. He reasoned that they had two captives to interrogate, three if they wanted to run down the centaurs burdened with the hamstrung male.
Moving with calm confidence, Entreri made a full circuit of the area and came back to the wagon where he had started out. The scene was less grim when he arrived. Jarlaxle had stabilized the injured mercenaries and one of the merchants, who had nearly been trampled to death when the male centaur had struck the wagon. Entreri considered both merchants fools for taking cover in the midst of sixteen potentially deadly hooves.
He found the dark elf using the orb to heal the female centaur's crippling injury while the ranger spoke firmly to her. One of the other mercenaries was crouched beside the creature, a crossbow cranked and aimed at her humanoid chest. They were making very little progress in trying to get the centaur to cooperate with them until the assassin approached. She had not seen her attacker when he had cut her, nor when he had wiped her own blood off on her flank, but her nose was thick with his smell.
Her large, expressive eyes rolled in a horse-like manner as she saw him and took in his scent. At first she made to bolt, but the crossbow startled her as it came up and the ranger commanded her firmly to cease. She sank down again and Jarlaxle rolled his magical orb over his hand and into a sleeve of his new shirt.
"Do you remember the plan now?" The ranger's question was firm, taking advantage of the centaur's fear.
Entreri and Jarlaxle were somewhat surprised when the mare replied in a firm grasp of the Common tongue. "We weren't going to hurt you!" Her voice struggled with fear and righteous indignation. "We were just playing a game!"
It suddenly struck Jarlaxle as he looked at the creature's large, frightened eyes that Shir had been correct the night before; the animals were young and the one he had healed was more filly than mare. "The reasoning seems sound," the dark elf soothed, but he smiled in such an ingratiating way that Entreri was instantly tipped off.
Counting on the intimidating look of his bloodthirsty sword, Entreri half unsheathed Charon's claw so the centaur could take a good look at the blood red blade and boney hilt. "I don't believe it. We're on a schedule. If she isn't going to tell us the truth, we should just kill her and move on."
The Chondathans knew what Entreri and Jarlaxle were up to, but the display of the centaur's strong emotions served to unsettle them more than the unusual pair's tactics. The filly flinched away from Entreri, her large brown eyes growing wet but her hands clenched into fists. She was torn between sensible equine instincts of fight or flight.
Shir played along expertly. "Tell us the whole truth, so we can let this become the living past."
Jarlaxle leant his expert aid, manipulating the centaur as only he could. "My dear," he began in the same soothing tone, "The unfortunate truth is that we truly are on a schedule as our deadly compatriot crudely put it. You put quite a bit of our time to waste because of your attack. Now, tell us the truth, why were you after our horses?"
Brown eyes darted from Charon's Claw, to the ranger, to the crossbow, and finally back to Jarlaxle's sympathetic expression. Entreri wondered, as he watched the filly, if she had ever heard of drow. He strongly doubted it. "To prove we're adults," she explained fiercely, glaring around at all of them and then back at Jarlaxle. "We weren't supposed to hurt any of you, just take the horses and bring them back tonight."
While she made this explanation, both Jarlaxle and Entreri, old hands at watching eyes for indications of a lie, were gratified to see the creature was giving every indication of honesty. In fact, her answer hinted at something else the partners both picked up on; the hint of outside influence.
"Who gave you this task?" Jarlaxle asked quickly, putting a note of concerned familiarity in his tone meant to indicate anger at the unnamed party rather than the centaur.
"Narbeli," the filly replied testily, as if this information was obvious or well-known. The reaction only gave rise to further questions.
"Narbeli?" Shir asked, showing clear recognition. A look of instant comprehension dawned on her face, her eyes growing wide. "Narbeli? Why would she involve herself?"
All eyes were directed at the ranger's reaction to the unknown name. "She's no stranger to us," the centaur snorted, taking advantage of their distraction to pull her hind legs underneath her haunches. "She was clear that we could hurt you, but couldn't kill you. Just take the horses and return them tonight when the rains come."
"There's a second wave," Jarlaxle stated ominously, standing up from where he had kneeled to heal the filly. Feeling the unspoken sentiment that they no longer needed the centaur, the crossbow man averted his weapon from her.
As expected, the filly interpreted this move as her cue to take immediate flight, launching herself on powerful legs to flee into the woods' deep cover. She wasn't fast enough to avoid Jarlaxle's quick hand. Not to be left out of all the amusing flank slapping, he managed to tag her rump as she shot past. Entreri didn't miss the connection; he threw Jarlaxle one of the most revolted looks the drow had ever seen the assassin's face compose.
Despite the foreboding mood the dark elf had spawned, Jarlaxle winked at Entreri. "I said you would be inadequate, I never said I was."
Entreri immediately threw a gesture in the direction of the portable hole and its occupant. "You would need that hole of yours to hide something like that and I don't think it will do you any good with a true stallion already in it."
The ranger and human mercenary paused momentarily, casting looks of incredulity at the two despite their ingrained Chondathan stoicism.
Jarlaxle slapped a hand to his chest, feigning a life threatening injury. "Gods above and below, Artemis, you've drawn blood!" Without a sly retort for the assassin, Jarlaxle continued, "I yield the field to you, my bitter and ultimately undersexed friend."
With impressive alacrity, the human mercenary with the crossbow pre-empted Entreri's well-deserved gloating with a roll of his eyes. "Three days we've had to listen to this bullshit. Carry it on a moment further and we toss you both to the druids."
Entreri turned his iron gaze onto the mercenary, making it perfectly clear that the next time the man spoke to him the assassin would end the mercenary's life. The man had lost to the assassin's stare with his compatriots and could by no means hold up against it alone. The mercenary looked away, but said nothing else as he turned and headed for the wagon.
"Who is this mysterious woman, Narbeli?" Jarlaxle chuckled as they followed the cowed man. He wanted to retrieve his portable hole, but knew he would first require help removing the centaur, who was undoubtedly awaiting his fate in wild frustration.
"She's Casteja Vektch's representative to the Emerald Coalition," she began, triggering an intrigued look between Entreri and Jarlaxle, "if she's involved—"
Shir's voice caught abruptly as two of the draft horses that had been securely hitched to the damaged wagon screamed, reared, and fell kicking on the ground. Each one had sprouted a crossbow bolt in their bulky chests. The two horses that remained unmolested were sturdy beasts, but the smell of equine death permeating the area combined with the death throes of their fellows put them over the edge. They began squealing and bucking in place, trying to escape the harnesses keeping them attached to the wagon and their dying team mates. The seizing beasts on the ground did nothing to help, their pink foaming mouths spread terrifying smells every which way.
"As you said, black elf!" The ranger exclaimed, noting that the two lead horses had been struck from opposing sides. Jarlaxle didn't answer as he and Entreri were busy throwing themselves into the close cover under the shuddering wagon.
The two came up near one another and began to scan the trees and surrounding forest. A second attack came as they were looking around for their attackers. A volley of six arrows, all coming in from a semi-circle in the trees ahead of them, struck with deadly accuracy. Three of the mercenaries were hit, though none of the injuries were of a critical nature, the uninjured merchant was taken square in the eye, ending his life without so much as a whimper leaving his lips. Another struck Entreri's shoulder with bruising force, puncturing his leather shirt but bouncing off his body thanks to his black shirt. To his side he heard Jarlaxle swear in Drow. He glanced to the side to see the dark elf pulling his hat off an arrow that had pinned it to the ground. The drow was glaring at a hole puncturing the wide brim.
"I'm going to kill them slowly," Jarlaxle muttered, his lip curling in rarely seen anger as he replaced the hat. To their relief a new volley of arrows did not come on the back of the first. Instead, one of their attackers yelled from the cover of the woods.
"Hail, the caravan; allies of Eles Wianar, despot of Arrabar!"
All the mercenaries, including Jarlaxle and Entreri, began to listen closely, intent on discovering the location of the speaker in order to find and slaughter him. "We allow you the opportunity to take your weapons and leave or stand and die; according to your wishes. We also demand the immediate release of your innocent centaur captive that he may return to his tribe. You have three minutes in which to confer."
"We have your word on a three minute ceasefire?" One of the mercenaries yelled back, his face flushed and angry.
"You have my word," came the reply. In response to this promise, the mercenaries, as far as they were able, came out from under cover to crouch together beside the caravan.
Entreri and Jarlaxle observed the mercenaries with thinly veiled amazement. The two of them were convinced the Chondathan mercenaries were either possessed of an unpredictable naiveté or had taken leave of their senses. When the two remained under the wagon for a moment longer Shir, who had hit the dirt behind them, motioned them to come out.
"The only thing that keeps a land from descending into chaos is strict adherence to one's word," she explained as the two slowly left the cover of the wagon.
Feeling utterly exposed, Jarlaxle and Entreri joined the mercenaries in the open to discuss their options. The assassin hated the feeling, the space between his shoulder blades itched in anticipation of the first blow.
"How many are they?" One mercenary asked quickly.
"At least seven, in a wide range of positions," Entreri commented, "at least two on the ground for them to attack the two of us while under the wagon."
"Narbeli might be with them," Shir whispered, shielding her mouth lest their attackers read her lips. The comment brought a few remarkably vile curses into the tense atmosphere between the group.
"What's in the wagon?" This question came from continually plotting Jarlaxle and was aimed back at the head of the wagon where the remaining merchant was paralyzed, staring at his dead partner. The man didn't seem to hear Jarlaxle at all.
Shir snapped her fingers in recognition of Jarlaxle's leap of logic. "Of course! That's why the centaurs wanted the horses!"
Entreri had come to the same conclusion, though the dark elf had voiced the thought first. Had not the schemer mentioned his suspicions about the cargo from the very start? With little time and less patience, the assassin seized the merchant and dragged him over to the group. "What's in the wagon?"
Eyes showing white all the way around, the merchant shook his head briefly at the grim faces surrounding him. "Tea, cooking spices, and some medicinal herbs," the man insisted, though his quaking voice betrayed him.
Jarlaxle's uncovered red eye glanced at the assassin directly. "Did you notice anything strange inside the wagon when you liberated the lemon peel yesterday?"
"You stole from our supplies?" the pale merchant gasped, incredulous. The scandalized expression he shot the assassin was ineffective against Entreri's complete lack of shame, though the curious looks among the rest of the mercenaries came as a momentary surprise to him.
"He knows how to cook?" Shir asked Jarlaxle, her guarded mien at odds with her look of intrigued shock.
"Our bones are about to dull a half score arrows," the assassin snarled incredulously, "and you are worrying about missing lemon peel?"
Jarlaxle choked back a laugh at the bizarre turn the interrogation had taken. It seemed skimming off the top and basic culinary skills were not mercenary fare. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us not forget we are standing at the proverbial threshold of certain doom."
Impatient and irritated, Entreri turned to his most reliable means of interrogation. He seized his beautifully crafted dagger and pressed it against the merchant's neck. It was likely the assassin had no need to slice a thin line into the man's skin to make him talk, but it was all he needed in order to coax his dagger into drawing hard on the man's life force.
The mercenaries stared in bewilderment at the merchant's sudden shuddering gasp and the terror breaking across his not unhandsome features, especially when he began to stammer incoherently. They had no idea how Entreri had cowed the man into such a strong display, though Jarlaxle surely understood and silently applauded the assassin's choice.
"Supplies!" The merchant cried, his whole body no longer shuddering, but straightening under Entreri's hard grip. The assassin noted with dark satisfaction that the pain infusing his shoulder faded almost instantaneously thanks to his dagger's vampiric properties. "Supplies for General Ashrei's troops!"
A collective sigh issued from the gathered mercenaries at this statement. Quick thinking Shir turned toward the wood and asked loudly if they could have one more minute. Agreement was returned, from a different location than before. Again, all eyes turned back to the merchant.
One of the mercenaries shook his had slowly. "You paid us to protect you and your wagon until we arrived at your destination. We'll fight to the last to do that, but that could mean the lot of us will die here in fulfillment of the agreement. I advise you to consider dropping protection of the wagon."
The injured merchant started to nod, but remembered Entreri's hungry dagger jabbing his throat and whispered instead. "I agree, but please start by protecting me from the man about to kill me."
The mercenary glanced at Entreri. "He's not going to kill you; he gave his word to protect you the day he signed on."
Jarlaxle suppressed a pained expression, while Entreri released the merchant in disgust. He was no Chondathan, binding himself with useless oaths, though the way Shir had presented the idea held a certain appeal. Entreri normally kept his word, but only with individuals he respected; he held no respect for the merchant. And if that word got in his way, he was inclined to disregard it leaving no witnesses to sat he had done otherwise.
The mercenary that had spoken to the merchant turned to the wood and raised his voice. "We're taking the horses and leaving."
In response there was a rustling of brush as six bandits came out of the wood onto the road. Not one held a bow in their hands; leading the mercenaries to believe there were several archers in the wood with arrows trained on them.
Jarlaxle looked the bandits over in open curiosity, while Entreri studied the surrounding trees for indication of their back up. "Could you talk them into taking us to Vektch?" Entreri asked in drow.
"I doubt it, but if we call in Jaka," the dark elf mused thoughtfully, "he could plant the idea in their leader's mind. I say we follow them at our earliest convenience until we get close to Casteja's position."
As much as Entreri disliked the idea of bringing in the young drow, he nodded minutely. "Agreed."
Two of the bandits climbed into the back of the wagon and began tearing it apart, apparently looking for something in particular, while the remaining four directed the two uninjured mercenaries, Jarlaxle and Entreri to help extract the centaur from the portable hole. It took them the better part of an hour to pull the unfortunate creature from the pit. The centaur was in good spirits by the time it was released as was curious Jarlaxle who had actually done quite a bit of work in order to get close to the beast. It was a testament to the drow's ingenious charm that before the centaur trotted off, he was happily answering Jarlaxle's question on centaur ecology.
In fact, if it weren't for the centaur's insistence, the Chondathan Liberation Force would have been richer by one portable hole. They gave the centaur the item and the centaur returned it to Jarlaxle with one of the beast's jeweled earrings as interest. Entreri rolled his eye as the incorrigible dark elf gave the centaur one of his necklaces in trade.
When the beast left Entreri marked a line on an imaginary board with his index finger. "Chalk up another follower in Jarlaxle's cult of personality."
"Don't be jealous," the drow sighed, admiring the glint of sunlight on the heavy gold earring's jade drop and bristling carnelians. "Your position as my high priest will never be in question."
"Only because I'll never occupy it," the assassin retorted, turning away to gather their horses.
As soon as the mercenaries were alone, they came together again to discuss their options. Oddly enough, while the uninjured members of the group had helped free the centaur from the pit, the injured members had received medical aid from the so-called bandits on top of Jarlaxle's work to stabilize them.
While receiving aid, they had discovered what the merchants had been concealing from them the whole time; there had been a case of healing draughts stashed in the wagon. This prompted a dramatic sigh from Jarlaxle and a look at Entreri that was slightly more eloquent than a verbal I-told-you-so. The assassin shrugged in response. "If you were a better fighter you wouldn't need them so much."
Disgruntled and complaining silently, the mercenaries convinced the remaining merchant to abandon his damaged wagon and return to Shamph. The man offered little resistance, involved with the shock of losing his business partner. While the group took turns digging a grave for the dead man, Jarlaxle and Entreri had a heated discussion in drow about how to follow the Chondathan Liberation Force's group back to Vektch rather than an Arrabar army.
The point of contention centered on the certainty that the other group was traveling through the wood on foot. He hated to admit the dark elf had a point, but Entreri relented to the obvious: he would have to give up the horses and lose the hefty deposit he had put down to rent them. Only one consideration alleviated his growing ire as he headed for the mercenaries with the horses' reins in his hands; Shir's explanation about Chondathan's keeping their word.
Since the mercenaries had lost two horses and the draft horses weren't suitable for riding, he told them he would loan them the horses on the condition they would swear to return them to the establishment where he had found them in the first place. The group was curious where Jarlaxle and Entreri planned to go in the wood without horses, but opted to remain blissfully ignorant. With their word and a nod of thanks from the ranger, Entreri strode forward with a smug Jarlaxle.
The two headed into the woods with Entreri at the lead, easily finding their quarry's trail and following it from a safe distance. It didn't take long before they realized the bandits had played a trick on them when they had been with the mercenaries: there was only proof of seven bandits heading through the wood in front of them. There had never been more than seven of them unless the six mystery archers had left in a completely different direction. They figured the one the bandit they had not seen could have been the woman, Narbeli, but neither thought it likely if she was a valuable representative.
Cool air currents began to stir the moist air stagnating underneath the oppressive heat by late afternoon. Tufts from cottonwood trees filled the air with the rising wind as the wood grew far darker than the thick canopy could account for. Rain was a forgone conclusion, a promise that went forth on the back of the swirling breeze. The few gaps in the swaying forest ceiling revealed the slate bellies of ominous rain clouds.
"We'll need the tailor soon if we want to keep pace," Entreri said grudgingly. "Assuming he can follow them with his mind powers. They're running parallel to the road. If they decide to walk on the road for a time in the rain and then leave it, it will be nearly impossible to discern their path. I'm willing to bet they have one or more rangers with them; they're likely to notice they're being followed if we keep them in sight."
Jarlaxle nodded, drawing a silver whistle out of his vest. The assassin studied it closely, marking that it was identical to the whistle Jaka had produced to call Kimmuriel, but not the same one that Jarlaxle used to enact useful magical silences. "He can follow them as long as we keep them in his range, which shouldn't be difficult."
Early evening was upon them and thunder rolled from one end of the sky to the other. The rain had not yet begun to fall, but it smelled imminent when they stopped to use the whistle. It was half an hour before the familiar blue screen of Kimmuriel Oblodra's dimensional doorway opened onto the wood, a comfortable distance from Jarlaxle. The only comfortable distance away from Entreri, as far as he was concerned, was out of sight and ear shot.
It was well lit within the room Kimmuriel stood within. The warm amber glow of a multitude of candles lit the place, backlighting the two slim figures at its edge. The orange light contrasted sharply with the blue gray gloom of the forest's stormy evening making the chamber appear much more inviting than the wood.
As comfortable as the room looked, Kimmuriel's body language was anything but comfortable or inviting. He stood with arms crossed over his thin chest, fingers drumming on his silk clad biceps. Slightly behind and to the left of the unknowable dark elf stood the slender Jaka, looking almost like a three dimensional shadow but for his eyes.
Entreri was amused when a gust of rain-scented wind blew up, guttering and extinguishing the candles within the room, pitching it instantly into inky blackness. He spared no love for anyone, least of all the Oblodran. If the male was less visible, all the better for the assassin.
"Ah, Kimmuriel," Jarlaxle greeted his former lieutenant in his native tongue. "And Jaka Mi'iduor; a pleasure as always. Artemis and I will have him back to you within a tenday."
Though more at home in the evening light, Kimmuriel wore a sour expression. Jaka wore no expression at all, but kept his face respectfully averted. "I don't care if you get him back to me in a tenday; get him back to his House in less."
As Kimmuriel spoke, the dark elf in question stepped through the portal. Entreri noted that the tailor's clothes were not what he would expect from a dark elf of that profession. His clothes, though all of black, bordered on plain, but were not as typical as Entreri had first thought. A flash of lightning, which brought Jaka's arms up and crossing before him in surprise, revealed textures and patterns lost in the darkness. His piwafwi was of wooly silk, his high boots of leather, his long, loosely belted tunic, slit high above his thighs, was of a coarse silk with little more than a dull sheen. The only deviation from his monochromatic image was the pale yellow hue of his eyes.
His first steps were cautious, as if he didn't quite trust the ground he was coming into contact with. The behavior set off a warning at the back of Entreri's mind. Was the drow disoriented by the long distance the dimension door had sent him, or was it that the tailor had never set foot on the surface before? Or, perhaps, the sunlight filtering through the trees and descending clouds was causing him problems.
"We'll take excellent care of your treasured pupil," Jarlaxle assured Kimmuriel, smiling broadly. The mercenary had taken off his wide brimmed hat and was twirling it around on two fingers, seeming at great ease. "Have you any special instructions for his feeding and care?"
Entreri snorted at the question and wished for the thousandth time Jarlaxle would simply end his banter so he wouldn't have to be exposed to the sight of hated Kimmuriel a moment longer. It was bad enough they had the drow's apparent protégé.
Kimmuriel rolled his dark red eyes, hardly reassured by Jarlaxle's infamous grin or the assassin's presence. "He survived traveling hundreds of miles in the Underdark from his volcanic city to Menzoberranzan; he'll be fine."
Chuckling outright, Jarlaxle nodded and waved his hand in a casual gesture of dismissal. Kimmuriel paused only to send a disdainful Entreri's way and to glance at the young drow standing next to the portal. The lad shook his head in response to the psionicist's look, obviously answering some silent question, and then the portal blinked out of existence. The group was left to the roaring wind, rustling leaves, and the first heavy drops of rain.
Not one to mince words, Entreri voiced his main concern with characteristic bluntness. "Have you been to the surface before?"
Jaka's gaze drifted slightly to the left, indicating a damning hesitation while he considered his answer. "Yes."
Entreri was no mind reader, but the telltale signs of a dodge were familiar to him. He didn't doubt the tailor's honesty with Jarlaxle standing beside him; but he knew the laconic answer wasn't the whole truth. "Physically?"
Pale eyes drifted up and settled with bland intensity on Entreri's ironclad stare. The assassin detected a hint of accusation in the look; no drow liked being caught in a deception. "No."
Drawing the hood of his cloak over his head to shield from the rain, Entreri shot Jarlaxle an irritated look that made his feelings apparent. He didn't like Kimmuriel, he didn't like having to trust the psionicist's pupil, and he did not particularly like Jarlaxle just then, either. Turning on his heel, the assassin again headed deeper into the great and mysterious wood.
As they followed their quarry's trail, Jarlaxle let the man fume; sooner or later he knew Entreri would resign himself to the situation. Perhaps he would have never stood for the addition of a psychic 'bodyguard' a year prior, but Artemis Entreri was evolving and that was just one of the many things he so enjoyed about the assassin's company.