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. Many brain cells and eardrumswrithed in agony in the creation of this story.
A/N: This is one of the most difficult chapters I havewritten (outside nonfiction and publication). The last scene was written almost two months ago, but the rest of it was extremely torturous to construct. I ended up throwing out three scenes. I know quality doesn't equal popularity, but I'd appreciate getting reviews on this one, even if it is just a word of thanks for the ridiculous amount of effort that produced crap. (laugh)
"I'm chewing on glass,
I'm eating my fingers…"
"Cutting my face,
And walking on splinters…"
-Ministry, Stigmata
a terrible thing to taste
"I never denied their beauty," Entreri said with a shrug. "I expected there to be things like this in the Underdark."
Jarlaxle nodded in agreement. "There are lizards that can make the tips of their tongues glow to attract insects, but nothing on this scale; nothing so lovely and benevolently hypnotic."
After the rain had cleared away, the trio had found a secluded spot where they could hide and keep an eye on the nearby battlefield. Before long, in the purple and amber rays of gathering dusk, fireflies had begun to appear one by glowing one.
It wasn't the first time the two had seen the luminescence of a growing multitude of softly flashing insects, but it was the first time for them to see the Chondathan variety. Rather than light their yellowish green abdomens and dipping down to find a female, the Chondathan fireflies flew in slow orbits in their search. They would glow as long as it took them to complete a full circuit and then move on to trace another greenish circle in the air.
"Do you like them more than the mountains at that hole, the Spirit Soaring?" Entreri asked, not above vindictive sarcasm when the impulse arose.
A chuckle rose from the dark elf's throat. "If I do it is because the fleeting nature of these creatures makes them special. Mountains are there day after day, millennium after millennium. These little insects are only available perhaps one month out of an entire year."
"At least you are consistent," Entreri snorted quietly. "Only interested in oddities, rarities, and worthless beauty."
"Oh," Jarlaxle sighed, feigning curiosity. "Which are you? Obviously not beauty: oddity, I suppose."
The assassin snorted again but this time the dark elf recognized as an indication of Entreri's humor. "You're the oddity. Rarity more like; Jarlaxle's first associate that does not depend on him."
Jarlaxle looked over at Entreri with a smirk and a glint in his eye that may or may not have had anything to do with the glowing insect circling between the two. "But you do need me, Artemis. What would you do without me?"
"Without you," Entreri replied, tan face lit by the last rose rays of the setting sun and the strobing green of the same firefly, "I suppose I would be dead. Without me, you could say the same. By the same token, it is your fault we have so many life threatening situations. It seems we're better off knowing each other, if only by default."
A small but true chuckle came up from the dark elf's heart, an organ not entirely as black as his skin. "And here I thought we were just in it for the fun and profit. You've put some thought into this, haven't you? I find myself humbled by your underlying sentiment."
The assassin didn't so much as glance in Jarlaxle's direction, despite the accusation of sentimentality. The encroaching night and the beauty of the scenery had gone farther to calm the man than he would admit. He was usually far beyond being touched by the lovely trappings of a world bent on the destruction of its every inhabitant. For a moment, however, he was applying what he knew of Jarlaxle's ability to enjoy himself. He accepted a moment of serenity in the eerie beauty not far removed from a vast field of atrocity and death.
"Don't get used to it, drow." He finally replied, glancing at the small knot of textured blackness among a tupelo's gnarled roots. "Will the fireflies distract him?"
Jarlaxle allowed Entreri to divert the subject; he didn't want to push the assassin after the man had failed to deny a hint of appreciation. "In a city lit by magma and thermal plateaus, I'm sure he's seen even more bizarre manifestations. Kimmuriel knows the boy well enough to telepathically impart the most relevant of his experiences on the surface. I think the most disconcerting thing for any drow, other than the sun and open sky, is the constant and varied racket."
Entreri nodded in agreement; the blanket of silence that lay over the Underdark was oppressive and unsympathetic to noise. On the surface, save in regions affected by winter, noise reigned. He recalled how uncomfortable cricket chirping and birdcalls seemed when he returned from Menzoberranzan after the months of hell he had endured there. He had never been a man that cared for loud noises, but his tolerance for noise was severely impaired the first weeks of his miserable journey back to Calimport. Of late, the rain had effectively drowned most of that noise out to a dull and monotonous roar that was easy to get used to.
"Besides," Jarlaxle continued, "those born with silent magic have strong powers of concentration, not unlike their wizardly cousins. If the many males and females I once knew from Oblodra are anything to judge by, their ability to focus is even more impressive. You need not fear for the safety of your mind."
Hardly at ease with the notion of relying on anyone but himself, Entreri scowled and rose from the fallen and decomposing tree the two had claimed for a dry perch to rest while Jaka took his sleep. They soon needed to leave the area to find the place appointed for meeting Casteja's lackey, Tan.
As soon as the assassin moved away to pick up his travel gear, Jarlaxle adjusted his eye patch minutely. He was deeply gratified that he had the magic item while working with Kimmuriel, but now he felt doubly indebted to it. The sword, Vritra, had seemed to look across the distance at them as he had stared at it. He remembered well the shock that spiked through his heart when it dilated and the stuttered noise Jaka had made, though the lad wasn't looking at it at the time.
The pragmatic mercenary was feeling very attached to the eye patch, with hardly a hint of guilt. He wasn't an unkind male, in fact, he enjoyed it when those he looked kindly on were enjoying themselves. However, when it came down to it, his urge for self-sacrifice had been erased on an altar at his birth. He sincerely liked Entreri and honestly labeled him as a friend, but in matters such as this it was every male for himself and devil take hindmost.
Not that they really needed to go through with the planned capture, it was mainly a mission to relieve a strong desire for a challenge the two had recently lacked. There were certain other extenuating circumstances Jarlaxle was already enjoying and continued to find curious. If they gave up the work now, he wouldn't have the excuse to satisfy his desire for valuable knowledge and possible fringe benefits.
Standing slowly, Jarlaxle leaned back and stretched comfortably, glancing covertly at his human traveling companion as he did. Smiling to himself he admitted silently that he was actually feeling a twinge of anxiety about risking the assassin's mental health.
Walking through glowing orbits, Jarlaxle approached the young tool he had borrowed from Kimmuriel. For a moment he looked down at the small form, wrapped completely in his camouflaging piwafwi. He didn't really know the young male, but considered him a potentially valuable asset should his mind prove stable and his survival instincts strong. The risks, he decided, were proportionate to the gains in this case.
He crouched beside the lichen covered tree roots and called the lad's name. Jaka uncovered his head; Jarlaxle noticed the boy's eyes were quite slow to focus and when they did, they immediately darted to the last vestiges of sunset. The next glance flicked to the glowing trail of green that was being drawn in the air near his head.
The lad sat up quickly, but did not seem alarmed. He glanced at Jarlaxle and nodded sagely, both greeting him and acknowledging the older male's lack of concern regarding the moving lights. He unwrapped himself completely from the piwafwi and got to his feet.
"I'm ready," he assured Jarlaxle, brushing off his clothing while stealing glances at the fireflies from the corner of his eye.
"Then we should be off," Jarlaxle remarked, for no other reason than to cue Entreri, who was still standing beside the fallen tree, gazing at the horizon thoughtfully. The assassin heard him and turned toward them without a word. Together they fell into step, and soon found themselves walking through ankle-deep water on the way to their rendezvous.
The advantage of having Jaka to search the area for any of Casteja or Ashrei's scouts was of great value to the two bounty hunters. They arrived at the appointed meeting place, just inside the tree line where it met the bank of the wide Arran River. Fortunately for the three of them, the bank in that area was sufficiently high above the river's rainwater engorged flood plain that they had very little wading to do in order to get to it.
Arriving an hour early, Entreri both cased the perimeter, despite Jaka's psionic searching, and then placed the psionicist out of sight with patient instructions on how best to remain hidden in the leafy area. Jarlaxle found the whole affair amusing, but made no mention of it; he was secure in Entreri's expertise, Jaka's skill, and his own ability to predict a situation.
Half an hour passed before Entreri felt a small intrusion in his mind. It was a profoundly unsettling feeling, but he felt nothing out of the ordinary come to mind as he had in previous telepathic encounters. The cleric approaches alone. He nodded minutely to Jarlaxle, signaling the approach of their cleric long before either of them would hear him. When the man came into view they were impressed that he made little noise in his gentle gait.
Tan was a man that looked as much as he belonged to the wood as any animal. His hair seemed to be the source of his name, closely cropped and tan as dry wheat. He was of average human height, which put him inches above the lot of them and was not at all diminished by being, perhaps, ten years Entreri's elder. He was strong and able, looking just as fit as any soldier might at the same age. His eyes were the typical Chondath hazel, with a depth that came with a disciplined nature and reservoirs of intelligence.
Jarlaxle read an expression of intrigue in the man's eyes as he studied the drow's garish figure. It was a look he normally did not see in the eyes of a human before or after the initial shock of black skin and pointed ears. Tan, Jarlaxle knew, was intelligent and probably closer to Casteja than they had originally hoped. His connection with his deity was probably far greater than they had expected as well.
"Master Tan," Jarlaxle began as the familiar man approached, "you are very early!"
A hint of a smile pulled at the man's lips, but his eyes remained serious; a habit among Chondathans of which the dark elf was growing weary. "As are you. It almost feels like an ambush, but I've already heard from my watchers that you have little intention of causing me harm."
The mention of watchers pumped a surge of paranoia through Entreri, but he kept his cool as he had in a thousand similar situations. He looked at the cleric with a new measure of respect, but gave no indication that anything had changed. The man might be bluffing, for what would watch them and not alert Jaka to its presence? Additionally, as Jarlaxle had pointed out in Iljak, there was the matter of the assassin's sensitivity to scrying. If there truly was some sort of observation going on, Jaka would have to take care of it.
"As you may recall, sir," Jarlaxle was careful to dance all around a lie without actually stepping on it, "my associate and I are interested in speaking to Master Vektch about Eles Wianar, not ambushing, hog-tying, or otherwise inconveniencing his valued cleric." Technically, Jarlaxle was speaking nothing but truth; he was interested in talking to Casteja about Wianar and he really hoped Tan would not get in the way before or after that talk was complete. He wasn't sure if the cleric had access to enchantments that detected lies, but he wasn't the type to take chances of that nature.
"Yes," Tan nodded, "and Casteja is interested in that discussion. The problem lies in caution and timelines. I need proof you are who you say you are. The Calishite fits the description, but you, Master Do'Urden, do not."
The effort expended in keeping himself from wringing Jarlaxle's neck on the spot was negligible in comparison to keeping an emotionless façade. Entreri was sick of the moronic exploits of Jarlaxle Do'Urden; friend to humanity and righter of wrongs, injustices, and upended ale flagons. He glanced over at his partner, who looked more delighted than he had in days. It seemed their quarry knew of both Artemis Entreri and Drizzt Do'Urden. This didn't seem to Entreri like any sort of rapturous news in light of their previous mutual animosity.
"It is so hot in this country," Jarlaxle exclaimed with honest emotion leading his deception, "even you have cut your hair! Who wouldn't? As for this," Jarlaxle tapped the red eye patch, "it allows me to see things in a different light, shall we say. A helpful item."
"Very," Tan smirked, his Chondathan heritage showing through in a slight aversion to Jarlaxle's enthusiasm. Unconsciously, the stalwart man had leaned back from the display. "I didn't have long to speak to him, but Casteja mentioned he had once considered sending a message to Master Entreri." Entreri nodded in acknowledge and passing amusement. No, Casteja Vektch was not much of a saint. "And he has heard of you, Drizzt Do'Urden, but didn't expect to meet one of your kind."
"As well he shouldn't," Jarlaxle sagely advised, "for dark elves are predominately an evil race, bent on wicked plans of subjugation and power. Best for him if I'm the only dark elf he meets up close."
The cleric nodded in reply. He seemed to be satisfied by Jarlaxle's responses, but Entreri marked the sharp look to the man's eyes. If Tan was at all deceived, it was thanks to Jaka's work in conjunction with Jarlaxle's high level of cunning. "I understand. If you wish to meet with Casteja, there is a shrine on the opposite side of the river he will be at when Selune reaches her zenith. If you head upstream for about an hour, you will see a line of moss-covered stones that come up from out of the river. Follow those northeast; they will lead you down through the swamp and eventually up onto the only hill in the area. It is old and decrepit, but you should be able to find the shrine.
"You will have two things to worry about on the way. Ashrei sent troops to the far side of the Arran River's other tributary in an effort to cross the river, cut behind and outflank us. It is possible that she's also sent some this side that have slipped through our welcoming parties. Other than her forces, you may have a number of angry natives that will not care which side you are on."
Jarlaxle nodded and reached out to shake Tan's hand, but the cleric completely ignored the gesture. Unoffended, the dark elf clasped his hands together. "Anyone who opposes Wianar's alliance with Thay is a friend to Drizzt Do'Urden." Also not a lie, noted Jarlaxle, because he sincerely believed he was telling the truth. He couldn't comprehend how the poor self-righteous lad could possibly see the slavers of Thay with anything other than outraged contempt.
A light of comprehension seemed to settle over the cleric's features with the new layer to Jarlaxle's deception. "There will only be the two of you?" he asked, beginning to turn away.
Jarlaxle nodded, counting on the nonverbal cue to pass a possible detect lie spell. "Master Entreri and I will be the only warm bodies. Come to think of it, I don't plan on any cold bodies coming with us, either." After all, Jaka's body didn't necessarily have to be present for him to be there.
If Tan's eyes narrowed, it was because he did not mind conveying his suspicion. Entreri again reminded himself Jaka had made enough contact with the man's mind that he could manipulate his thoughts more easily. The cleric continued back the way he came with an easy stride, while Jarlaxle and Entreri exchanged knowing looks and then turned as one to Jaka's far removed position.
"Chauntea is a nature goddess," Jarlaxle sighed breathily, half verbalizing their collective mistake.
"It isn't possible to hide from animals in a forest," Entreri remarked, finishing the other half of Jarlaxle's unspoken conclusion.
The two advanced on the lad's position and found him holding his hands cupped together at chest level and peering between his thumbs at flashes of green. Before Entreri could begin to ask if the lad had paid attention at all, Jaka went against his normal grain by speaking first, albeit in drow. "Vektch described Drizzt Do'Urden as having purple eyes, but Tan had already been convinced that Do'Urden was the same flashy red-eyed male he saw a few days prior. I fixed that."
As he spoke, he opened his hands and watched the double handful of fireflies he had caught swarm up his fingers to find high points to fly from, many illuminated the contours of his slender hands as they climbed. "Additionally, Tan received reconnaissance from area wildlife concerning my presence. That is also fixed."
Several of the fireflies took flight from the young male's fingers and flew far from the group, but a few flew straight into the lad's impassive face and pitch black hair. The reflection of their green fluorescence off his eyes and was strange. "Vektch has been injured in the retreat; a serious ankle sprain, attributed to the terrain. Tan is anxious because Vektch distributed the healing potions to his forces in order to bind their loyalty closer to him and left none for himself. The cleric is frustrated because he cannot heal the man with prayers and the faerie, Narbeli, is overdue to meet with them to discuss withdrawal into the wood."
The information, flowing like no other source could supply, brought a wicked grin to Jarlaxle's handsome ebony face. Psionicists, when under control, were worth more than a troop of normal spies. "Good. Work on finding out why the cleric can't heal him and how much of a threat Ashrei is to them at the moment. Is this a victory through loss, or is this a real loss?"
Jaka turned his eyes from the last firefly fleeing his fingertip and up to the two dangerous males standing over him. "I will need to go to the temporary command post they have erected in order to collect more information. When the time arrives would you like to join with me in order to share the experience?"
Remembering distinctly the misunderstanding he had made back when Kimmuriel had suggested such a 'joining,' Entreri simply shook his head. This time, he knew the drow making the offer was not actually propositioning him. He also recalled that through repeated contact with Tan's mind, Jaka had developed greater ease in invading the cleric's thoughts. Entreri was only too happy to skip the experience, especially as the lad had already contacted his mind once.
Jarlaxle declined as well, though he was more concerned with depleting the lad's concentration and avoiding risks that involved removing his eye patch. "As much as I'd love the chance to see Vektch in action again, I think we're better served if you relay what you see."
Nodding his understanding, the young tailor rose to his feet. "I know where they will meet. It should take him some time to get there, if you want to use that for travel to the shrine he mentioned."
"That was the very thing I had in mind," Jarlaxle teased. "Have you been reading my thoughts after all?"
The mercenary was pleasantly surprised to see a hint of a smile pull at the lad's ebon lips. "I don't think I would be able to recover from the experience."
"True enough," Entreri cut in. "It is bad enough to see the outside, let alone the inside."
Enjoying the attention, Jarlaxle took the barb with his usual good humor. "No, Jaka is simply smart enough to know that the price of entry to my mind is rather high."
"Unlike the price to your bed," Entreri snorted derisively as they began the latest leg of the journey.
The comment reduced Jarlaxle to nearly breathless laughter that Entreri found extravagant for the simple taunt. "Hah! Artemis, would you like to know the price? Maybe we should inquire in the next town."
The man didn't look back as they walked. "Just because many are ready to part with a large amount of gold to get those repulsive clothes off your body, don't think it has anything to do with sex."
Dodging between the fireflies, Jarlaxle only laughed the harder. If he wasn't mistaken, it seemed his pet project had found a way to enjoy a given moment, even if that enjoyment did take the form of acidic wit. The assassin was making progress in his own unique way and perhaps someone else was as well. "Jaka, are you just going to let the man insult your fine work?"
Two days ago, Jaka had been secretly mortified by Entreri's half of the occasionally disrespectful dialogue that cycled between the two males. It continued to amaze him, but he had since become used to the phenomenon. Somewhere in the unfocused sense of self he rarely examined or felt, the lad was cautiously envious of a rivalry without rancor; it was something unknown to most drow.
There was a long pause as both Jarlaxle and Entreri awaited the lad's answer, for clothing was always a way to get the quiet youth to offer a definite opinion. "It isn't the clothes that are repulsive, but the combination."
Smiling smugly at the effect he was having on both males, Jarlaxle took no offense at the fleeting alliance between assassin and tailor. Yes, he thought to himself, conflict made for strange bedfellows.
-xXx-
The tributary they followed into the forest was deep and flooded, but after half an hour of brisk travel, it began to slither through the woods in the pronounced curves of a young river. The rain water easily softened the curves, cutting down the bank in a millennia long process that would eventually straighten the stream and mark it as a mature arm of the long established Arran.
The canopy above them was beginning to wear shreds of hanging moss and more profuse coverage that diminished what little light they had from the moon. Jarlaxle's uncovered eye glowed faintly red when he switched to more useful infravision, while Jaka's eyes seemed to take a reflective sheen, not unlike most nocturnal animals. Entreri's eyes did not change with the dimness, but the shadows he walked in seemed to continually swallow him whole.
It was near an hour of brisk walking before the assassin noticed the line of smooth rocks breaking up the river's smooth surface. Jarlaxle saw them almost simultaneously, as he could see the cold current beneath the river's surface churning around the large rocks. Thanks to his infravision, he could see they were more like boulders jutting up from the river bed.
"This must be the place," Jarlaxle murmured, switching his gaze to the lighted spectrum in order to more accurately ascertain the footing the rocks might offer. It was then he noticed the moss on the stones sprouted tiny luminous buds.
"It is… pretty," Jaka commented, moving fluidly and cautiously through the foliage near the water. He crouched near the bank and stepped onto a maze of cypress roots. "There's a flimsy support made of vines spanning the river."
Feeling vaguely enchanted despite himself, Entreri slipped through the undergrowth to inspect the area around the vines in question. Near the vines, which were tied to the cypress' thick trunk, the assassin found a number of barely discernible foot prints. "Lizardmen must cross the river here, though they haven't recently."
He reached up and tapped the vine experimentally. After careful consideration, he decided it was too old and flimsy to be a trap, unless a potential river-crosser relied on it over much. "It won't even hold Jaka's weight," he announced, straightening.
Jaka, who knew a way to reduce his weight to nearly nothing, knew better but did not disagree with the human. He looked to Bregan D'aerthe's former leader for guidance, but hardly needed to do so; Entreri leapt out to the first rock and landed with a dancer's fluid grace.
The assassin made the trip quickly, no longer concerned with the mysteriously calm atmosphere. He darted from one stone to another, his path clear thanks to moonlight flowing down from a break in the canopy over the river and the softly phosphorous buds coming out of the moss. Once he made it to the opposite bank, Entreri looked back at the black and silver water flowing around the faintly glowing rocks. Every touch he'd made on the moss was faintly visible as a dark smudge where he had crushed the glowing buds.
The two drow quickly followed the assassin, neither disturbing the vine handrail with their passage. Both did an excellent job of following in the assassin's footsteps, instinctually minimizing proof of their presence.
On the bank they found more of the moss covered stones that ranged in size, but were all half or more buried. They were spaced relatively the same distance apart and were flanked on one side by an old animal trail. At their highest, the rocks came up to waist height, some only came up to mid-shin, while others seemed to have been removed or shattered long ago, for only a vague, water-filled depression marked their presence.
The three crept into the cover of the trees and underbrush and moved far from the river where the ground became impossible to tread without leaving a mark. They were heading into the swamp and leaving reliable footing behind them. Before the terrain became too treacherous, they called another halt in order for Jaka to look in on Tan's progress.
The lad found Tan quickly enough, the movement of his eyes told Entreri that much. He was again reminded how outmatched the earthbound body was when it came to the speed of thought. He absently stretched his fingers out, noting the physical limitations of the gauntlet he wore.
They learned many things from Jaka's spying. Tan would be spared a division of soldiers to help farmers in the area dig graves, rebuild and replant crops. This was not done out of the kindness of the rebels' hearts, but in order to keep good relations with the locals.
Before Tan's return, Vektch evacuated a representative from Sespech in order to keep her from discovering his interest in having Eles Wianar assassinated by drow and Calishite assassins. Neither Entreri nor Jarlaxle were sure why this was of any concern to the man.
The use of a wizard of Thay was a dominated the discussion and equaled their concerns about their ban from the depths of Chondalwood. General Ashrei's recent variety of brutal tactics and risky attacks had convinced them she believed this was her best and only chance to kill or capture Vektch: the man in question believed Ashrei was right.
During a discussion of the planned retreat and scattering of forces, Narbeli made her appearance. She accused Casteja of using the wood to further his war aims and endangering it in the process. Jaka ended his observations when he read in her mind the intention to let the man use the forest one last time to make their escape, but not until she felt she had made him suffer for the privilege.
Looking no worse for the use of his mysterious power, Jaka rose and fell into step with the other two. He explained quietly to Jarlaxle that Tan's inability to heal Vektch's sprained ankle was due to Vritra's influence; it scattered the man's thoughts every time he began a prayer.
It was the factor that convinced Entreri and Jarlaxle that the item truly did possess a sentience and goals that could be quite different from Casteja's. The conclusion was anything but pleasant and left them wondering what the sword's stake in the uprising could be.
With layers of branches and the tattered veils of hanging moss trailing across and down the ancient swamp's canopy, the only light to see by was the occasional beam of silver moonlight. The moving illumination of the fireflies chased shadows slowly around vegetation. Shadows from the branches and hanging vegetation rippled across every surface, their movement dictated by a humid breeze. The beauty of the scene was all the more remarkable for the nearly overpowering scent of decay and blooming life the area exuded from every corner and crevice. The smell of night blooming jasmine hung heavy and cloying in the thick air, undercutting every breath they took.
The meandering line of old stone markers eventually led them in a slow incline which announced shallower water. And though Jarlaxle knew better, he hoped it would mean a reprieve from the new hoard of mosquitoes he could not slap at for fear of diminishing their secrecy. The hill they sought was not long in following. It rose quite suddenly from the brackish water in a majestic slope that seemed rather unnatural for the area. The usual swamp vegetation crowded the base of the landmark, but further up its mossy banks, valuable stands of hardwoods stood.
Grateful for a reprieve from wading, sometimes thigh deep in alligator and monster infested waters, the three made their way to the hill. It was a quiet place: the droning of cicadas, low calls of night birds, and chirping of insects and frogs seemed muted the higher they climbed among the hard woods and red maples.
The rounded stone markers were interspersed with other crumbled monuments of eras long past. Heaps of moss covered stones, half buried blocks of granite, and other traces of long lost worship were found along the way. All were so old and worn that no identifying feature could be found on them. At the top of they found the shrine and as far as Entreri was concerned, there were few to compare it to.
It was built of weathered granite and closed on all sides but the west, which lacked any sort of wall and was completely open to their approach and the elements. Inside the shrine was a raised altar of the same stone. There were thin candle spikes set along the perimeter of the altar, a few even impaled new-looking beeswax candles of varying length. There were also two porcelain cups filled with water or liquor. A number of vaguely animal-shaped monuments loomed within the structure. Some were fitted with rusted iron spikes meant for mounting more candles.
A huge stone urn sat in front of the altar and was filled to capacity with murky sludge and rainwater. It was the only thing within the altar other than the debris strewn across the grassy floor that retained a semblance of its original color. For everything within the shrine was coated in oily blackness from centuries of burning candles, incense, and other unknown offerings. The strong smell of sandalwood, teak, amber, myrrh and a multitude of other types of incense permeated the top of the hill and drifted out of the small shrine.
"This is the place," Jarlaxle said needlessly, his voice kept very low. The drow had seen many places of worship in his life, many quite old, but the feeling to this one was at once more palpable and more mysterious than most. It seemed to be the shrine of a nature deity of some kind. He turned to Jaka, while Entreri began scouring the structure for traps and any useful features. "Who is this place special to?"
The young drow's lips pulled back over sharp black teeth in a look of surprisingly blatant disgust. "None, the god is dead."
Jarlaxle's eyebrow raised in curiosity at the reaction and the commentary. "It doesn't feel dead."
The young drow gestured to the shrine. "I know this feeling. This place is haunted, not by a deity or mortal spirit, but by the presence of a moment that spans all time. Something has or will happen that is or was strong enough that time has no power over it. Therefore, it has been this way since the beginning of time and will feel like this even after time ends."
A sly look crossed Jarlaxle's visible crimson eye. "You know the god is dead thanks to our friend, Tan? If the god died here, do you think that could be the moment that haunts this place? Or do you think the moment that haunts this place led creatures to worship here in the first place?"
"The chicken or the egg argument," Entreri snorted, walking up to the two drow, who were a challenge to see against the shrine's pitch interior. "Make yourselves useful rather than making pointless conversation."
Jaka looked at a point between the two males as if he never heard the assassin in the first place. Jarlaxle found the pettiness charming as always, but opted to capitulate. "Jaka, look in on Casteja and his group and find out who is coming and when. We need to know what to expect and how long we have to prepare."
The lad nodded and withdrew two small, gray-looking crystals from his piwafwi. He knelt down before the altar to begin another scouting mission. Entreri looked at the crystals and then signed to Jarlaxle, I thought his type didn't need spell components.
The mercenary nodded, They can use crystals to enhance their work, but he's not using those as a focus. You don't recognize them for what they are because they are not floating around his head.
Sudden understanding lit in the man's sharp mind. Burned out ioun stones. Psionicists can use them?
Many hold limited reserves of energy a psionicist can tap into.
"They are twenty minutes distant," Jaka whispered, interrupting the hand signal conversation taking place between the two partners. "Tan, four soldiers, and Vektch. They are highly agitated because… Where is the sword?" The lad's head jerked slightly to one side, but drifted back in place. Entreri and Jarlaxle exchanged cautious looks, trying to guess what the movement portended. "The healing potions you protected not three days ago were all deadly. Ashrei set them up; Vektch lost eight of his highest commanding officers. One was…" The boy flinched again. "One was Tan's wife. He's harder to read now. There is no chain around Vektch's wrist and I can't find the sword."
Entreri was surprised to see a wickedly knowing smile cross Jarlaxle's face with the news. "Poor Master Tan. General Ashrei obviously earned her current position as Wianar's warlord through cunning, rather than her amazing physique. Who knew that all that time, we were just a smoke screen to hide a thrust at Casteja's heart? I think she's a good match for Captain Vektch."
Somewhat impressed himself, Entreri took his partner's shoulder and turned away from the psionicist, to minimize distractions in what was obviously a much more difficult task than normal thanks to Tan's disrupted emotional state. "If that's the case, why is Vektch coming out here? He may think we planted the poison; he knows me as an assassin."
"Let me know when you find the sword and tell me if they are coming out here to kill us," Jarlaxle commanded over his shoulder. "Does it matter? Drizzt's reputation helps our reputation. Besides, we planned to take him tonight if it was our best chance. I don't think it will be easy, but every chance after this will increase in difficulty exponentially. Nothing is turning out the way we thought, but the result is the same; this is our best chance to take him."
Sighing in frustration, the assassin nodded. He preferred to plan for every last contingency and here they had only twenty minutes to formulate a rough outline. The first consideration Entreri made was that things were obviously more complicated than he'd thought. This didn't worry him as a skilled assassin always knew to leave room for the unexpected and in a country he had never been in before there would be many such situations. The next consideration was that General Ashrei was far more capable than he had suspected.
Opposite him, Jarlaxle was just as deep in thought when a terrible keening of such high pitch that both males flinched reflexively came from behind them. They turned as one, weapons flashing under the gaze of bleaching moonlight, only to find the ear piercing whine issuing from between a set of clenched obsidian teeth.
Jaka had fallen backwards from where he knelt before the altar. His shins and feet were still against the ground but his upper body had arched back like he was being electrocuted. His head and shoulders cleared his feet, but writhed in erratic jerks through the grass. The slim drow's hands were rigid claws, rending air like carnivorous flowers and supported by elbows that were digging furrows in the ground below his waist.
The dark elf's chest was heaving out of rhythm, lungs expanding shakily as he inhaled through tightly clenched teeth. Most terrible to behold were his pale eyes that normally yielded a dull gaze to the world; now they were rolled back in an attempt to see what had broken violently through his mental defenses. Rims of yellow were barely seen, shaking minutely underneath spasmodic lashes.
He suddenly exhaled hard; crimson sprayed in a fine mist through the crevices between obsidian teeth. His breath came fast, like a laboring animal and quickly worked the blood limning his snarling lips into a bubbling red froth. His body began to convulse violently, bucking wildly, slamming him against the ground in repeated violent concussions. The blood and saliva foaming at his mouth was joined by dark bubbling gouts that ran down from his nose, to spread across his lower face in haphazard rivulets, formed with little regard to the planes of his face, but according to the course of his convulsions.
Acting on instinct, Entreri seized the lad by his shoulders and tried to jolt him from the unexpected seizure. The grating whine kept coming from deep within the boy's throat as he continued to suck in bloody air through locked teeth. Physical contact did nothing to break the intense strength manifested by the boy's rigid muscles; Entreri couldn't even hold the drow's head still. At a loss, the assassin did the only thing he could think of, he slapped his gauntleted hand over Jaka's heated forehead.
The boy's body continued to buck strongly but the high-pitched keening ceased abruptly. The assassin nearly lost his grip when he tried to hold the youth's head still and Jarlaxle, who was moving over the boy, ended up taking a knee to the gut. Neither the mercenary nor assassin would ever have guessed such a slender form could pack much of a kick, but the impact from the lad's knee knocked Jarlaxle back and stole the wind from his lungs.
By the time Jarlaxle was done gasping wretchedly for air, one of Jaka's flailing hands had bloodied Entreri's lower lip. The assassin was seriously considering letting go and ending the dark elf with his jeweled dagger rather than holding on and taking the abuse. Fortunately for both of them, Jarlaxle had come up with a simple and effective solution.
While Entreri had the struggling dark elf by the shoulders, Jarlaxle deftly moved in again to straddle the lad's waist. From there, it took a minimum of attempts to shove the red eye patch down over Jaka's head. When it was securely in place over one shaking eye the seizing dark elf suddenly fell limp in Enteri's arms.
For a moment all they heard was the sound of their labored breathing after the unexpectedly arduous match. Jarlaxle looked at Entreri with his two crimson eyes and panted wryly, "I didn't see that coming."
The assassin nodded. "Do I kill you for trusting Kimmuriel or Kimmuriel for not preparing the fool properly."
Jaka had wilted over Entreri's thighs until his temple rested against the torn earth. Jarlaxle was still half sitting on the boy, preventing him from falling fully on the ground. Another soft noise became audible as the three remained tangled together. The new sound was very soft, incoherent mumbling. Between the two, Jaka was quickly picked up and set down on his back.
While Jarlaxle withdrew his healing orb, Entreri staunched the slow trickle of blood from his lip and began to clean his face. The orb healed the boy of physical injuries, but the noise continued, only to become a low nearly indecipherable murmur. The words were in heavily accented drow and followed the same repetitive theme. Much of the vocabulary was so dissimilar from the Menzoberranzan dialect that Entreri had to guess at the meaning.
"Not real, nothing's real… Mother... There's nothing, nothing… Where are my fingers…? I'm displaced… There's nothing… nothing…"