Chapter 4

"Self-Lies"

As the morning had progressed, the heat and sunshine had faded into a cool wind and a gloomy sky. The breeze flipped the tree leaves backwards, showing their silvery undersides, and thunder echoed through the vaulted grey clouds. Birds chirped and hopped branches with urgency, stopping only to fuss with their wings, and small animals scurried for cover in the increasing darkness of the forest.

Now that midday had arrived, Mordecai decided his main task was to determine his location, and he had given that task to Vren. Once the Secondboy had established their whereabouts, Mordecai sent Vren to scout out the area and look for tracks or other signs of pursuit. The cleric couldn't imagine that Chalithra or Jarlaxle and Pets were far away. If the Jaezred Chaulssin had located and attacked Mordecai in less than twenty-four hours, he knew Chalithra and Jarlaxle and Pets would both find him in less than thirty-six hours. This meant the cleric was out of time.

Given Mordecai's increasingly foul mood, Vren had been more than willing to take the task of scouting. The cleric laughed at the thought of Vren's swollen left eye and bloody lip, and he positively cherished the memory of having sliced off the end of the Secondboy's elaborate braid and then pulling out a chunk of his soft, silver hair. The Secondboy had withstood the endless beatings well, no doubt from over a century's practice at the hands of his sisters, but when Mordecai had taken his hair, the drow had nearly cried. The cleric laughed again, imaging the tears standing in the vain elf's oversized golden eyes as Mordecai had scattered his hair into the wind.

Despite the abuse, Mordecai didn't fear that Vren would run away since the Secondboy was too terrified of the cleric to try. With this assurance in mind, Mordecai located a fallen tree branch and rested while he awaited Vren's return. However, within moments the saplings and grass around Mordecai wilted and died, and the fallen log crumbled into dust, dumping the cleric on his behind. Cursing, the cleric stared at the mirror which was still strapped to the belt pack across his chest. The mirror appeared inactive, but obviously it was drawing power from the trees and plants. Mordecai could not understand it. As a magical item, it should have its own energy source; it shouldn't have to drain nature in order to build power.

One last time, Mordecai cried to commune with Vhaeraun, hoping to ask his deity about the mirror's properties, but the masked god ignored his entreaties. Even more disturbed, and unsure why his god was angry with him, Mordecai stood and brushed himself off. The mirror stole the very life force from the forest, and half of the cleric's entire body was covered in brown scales. What had gone wrong?

The breeze picked up, filtering through the tree branches, and a ghostly, hissing laugh mixed with the shimmering leaves. Mordecai froze and stared into the forest, trying to detect the owner of the laugh.

"Is it so difficult to ascertain?" a hissing voice asked, slurring each s. "Do you not know what kagor ki tamal means? It means 'the mirror of convergence.' Did you not wonder what 'convergence' implied?"

Mordecai's breath seemed to solidify in his chest, and he gasped twice before he could properly inhale again. The voice had spoken in his mind—the voice of a telepath or the voice of a god.

"Who are you?" the drow demanded.

"I am Sseth, the Slitherer Supreme, and I will be your god. You will worship none other than I." The voice filled with disdain. "But you are not a worthy creature, pathetic drow. A Scaleless One does not deserve the right to wield my divine artifacts or cast spells in my name; therefore, I have done what must be done. You will become one of us."

"No!" Mordecai screamed. "I did not realize this mirror was yours, I—"

A lancing pain pierced Mordecai's abdomen, silencing his words and causing him to fall to the ground. The pain intensified, a burning sensation that raced across his legs and then consumed his muscles. The ex-cleric thrashed upon the ground, choked cries tearing his throat, and the pain clouded his mind so that the sounds of ripping cloth failed to register upon his brain.

When the pain had passed, Mordecai lay upon the ground, surrounded by dead grass and withering trees, and stared into the canopy of branches above him. Several minutes passed before he could catch his breath and recover. "What . . . have you done?" he croaked.

"Normally, the Scaleless Ones which my servants put to use must drink an elixir that forces them to understand our ways," the god explained. "Such creatures are called the Tainted Ones. However, since you are the wielder of the Kagaor ki Tamal, you must be something more. The one who converges with me must be of my kind, especially since our joining comes at a time when I must break free from Set's imprisonment of me."

Panic shot through Mordecai's body like a lightning strike, and it granted him the strength to partially sit up and examine his torso. His chest, arms, and entire upper body were humanoid with a mix of black skin and brown scales, but his abdomen and legs had been replaced by a snake's tail. "No," he moaned. "No!"

"Do you see yourself as a monster?" Sseth asked, his whispery voice echoing through Mordecai's mind.

"Scales . . ." Mordecai murmured in horror. "A tail. My legs!"

"You are a monster," the voice taunted, "but it has nothing to do with your outward appearance. Your ebony skin doesn't make you inherently monstrous, nor does your improved skin of scales. Likewise, your maleness does not make you monstrous, or whatever your drow priestesses might call it. No, the monster is in your mind and soul; it's the essence of your being, expressed through your actions, words, and desires. Yes, you are a monster, and you shall serve me well."

Mordecai screamed, and the voice grew silent. No, it wasn't true! It was a nightmare! He was not—!

Vren burst through the tree line and slid to a halt, staring down at the mangled body of the ex-cleric. "By Lady Lolth, what has happened to you?"

Mordecai rolled over onto his stomach, concentrated on coiling his lower half, and then pushed himself into a standing position. After a moment, he found his center of balance and realized he was in command of his body again. "Sseth," he whispered, feeling as though he were only speaking in a dream. "Some reptilian god. He said that . . . he claimed the mirror . . ." The drow screamed again, a haunting roar of terror and agony.

Vren backed away a step. "Destroy the mirror! Or return it to the ruins. Maybe you can—"

Mordecai's anger and panic ripped through the remnants of his self-control. He tightened the muscles in his lower half and sprang forward, cutting off the Secondboy's sentence by grasping his neck. "Silence!" He wrapped both hands around his neck, lifting his feet off the ground and shaking him. Vren tried to yell out, but the chokehold prevented any sound.

"I'm sick of your high-pitched voice!" Mordecai shrieked. "I'm sick of your pretty hair and your prissy gait and your cowardly tactics!" He sprang forward again, trapping Vren against a wilting tree and then jerking back one arm to pummel the Secondboy's face. "If you hadn't slowed me down, if you hadn't destroyed my plans, this wouldn't have happened. It was your fear, your ineptitude, and your pride that caused this!" He grasped Vren's shoulders and thrashed his body against the tree.

"Stop!" the Secondboy shouted, and he tried to kick away from Mordecai, to wrench out of his hands.

Mordecai, however, was strengthened by his rage. He grabbed one of Vren's shoulders and one of his legs and reared back, then he threw all his weight forward, shifting the drow's body so that his spine cracked against the tree. The Secondboy cried out once, then slumped, his injuries too great to bear.

Mordecai tossed the corpse onto the ground and then, with effort, slammed his tail down on the face one last time. His rage temporarily abated, the ex-cleric crouched and wrapped his arms around himself. Why had this happened to him? It wasn't his fault! He'd only been following the orders of the Jaezred Chaulssin, acting upon the communal wishes of his secret house and their agenda. He'd performed his duty to the best of his ability, and even though he'd made a mistake as it concerned Jarlaxle, his error was not so great as to deserve such punishment! It wasn't fair!

He would not accept this fate, Mordecai decided in desperation. Maybe Vren suggestions hadn't been completely ridiculous after all. He would take the Kagaor ki Tamal back to the Ssesartas Ruins, back to the temple in which the mirror had been housed, and return it to the altar. Perhaps, if Mordecai put the mirror back in place and then removed the snake's tooth from the altar, the magical barrier would reform. The ex-cleric couldn't imagine that anything less would truly free him of the mirror's curse.

With that single thought in mind, Mordecai marshaled as much command over his warped body as he could and headed for the saurian ruins.


Steel-grey storm clouds had amassed on the horizon, threatening to douse the forest in darkness, and an occasional flash of lightning backlit the dark clouds. Gazing up through the canopy of tree limbs, Jarlaxle contemplated one such burst of lightning, which reminded him of the mirror his adversary now carried. The drow had spent the morning pondering strategies for fighting Mordecai even as he tried to comfort his recently-acquired cat. Strangely, petting the cat and pre-planning seemed to go well together.

Noon had arrived, but since Mordecai's wanderings suggested he was heading back toward the ruins, Jarlaxle and his companions didn't stop for lunch. With vengeance so close to being realized, none of the four companions lacked energy, so the group decided to eat their rations as they walked. Tai and Nyx volunteered to stop at a stream to fill everyone's canteens and then run to catch up. Although Jarlaxle was willing to stop and wait for them, Entreri continued, bent on wasting no time.

The drow sighed and stayed by Entreri's side as the priest and monk fell out of sight. Perhaps it was just as well, since the two mercenaries finally had a chance to speak without fear of being overheard. Jarlaxle wanted to discuss the tactics he'd devised, but Entreri halted in his track suddenly and stared at him with grim determination, which the elf did not take as a good sign.

"What did you say?" the assassin demanded. "You've been trying to play god again, I can tell."

Jarlaxle continued petting the cat to offset his tension. "What did I say to whom?" he asked lightly, trying to hide his sinking feeling. The hint he'd dropped to Tai had been too heavy, and if Entreri found out . . .

"To Tai. He asked me some odd questions about friendship this morning and said you'd been talking to him." Cold grey eyes seemed to drive stakes through Jarlaxle's chest.

The elf shrugged, immediately latching onto the option of turning the conversation to his advantage. "What? Will you not admit you feel friendship for the poor boy? He's highly intelligent and very wise for his age; what possible drawback could there be?"

Enteri's glower intensified. It'd be two stakes plus a sword, if Jarlaxle wasn't careful. "I warned you to stay out of my business." He turned and started forward again, his terse stride revealing his anger.

Jarlaxle sprinted a few steps to catch up. "I'm not trying to run your life, I promise. In truth, I was really trying to help Tai—the boy's been so uprooted and off-balance. He really needs the sense of solid camaraderie." Which was true, the elf thought to himself, even though the assassin would hopefully never know the specifics of the "camaraderie."

Entreri abruptly halted again and scowled at the elf. "Somehow I find your definition of 'help' suspect, and Tai no more needs your heavy-handed influence than I do."

Jarlaxle grinned and repositioned the cat, which had begun squirming at his irregular motions. "So you're saying my help is too meddlesome?"

"Yes."

The elf chuckled. Do I really have a choice, considering how reserved, sour, and stoic you are? "Is it so terrible to ponder friendship with Tai? After all, we'd both be silly to pretend we don't care about the boy."

Entreri's glare reached basilisk proportions.

"Truly, my friend, are you and I not stronger for our association with each other?" Jarlaxle threw one hand wide. "Why not another? You know we're better off with a cleric in our arsenal. By that logic, what would it hurt to admit that you seek vengeance for Tai as well as yourself? The boy looks up to you and draws strength from your strength."

The assassin snorted, his eyes narrowing with disdain. "Every man should stand for himself and draw on his own strength." Again, the man turned away and stalked forward, his chin titled upward as if to say This conversation is over.

Jarlaxle, however, wasn't finished. "You say that as though it's a weakness to do otherwise," he called after Entreri. "But even a man who relies upon his own strength relies upon something, in this case upon rest and relaxation to rebuild his strength. Why would it be a weakness to rely upon other things?"

"Reliance requires trust," the assassin called back.

The drow shook his head over Entreri's typical response and followed him. The assassin would never admit it, but Jarlaxle knew some bond existed between Entreri and the boy—something shared in their disgust with hypocrites; something mutual in their condemnation of criminals, even if their methods were dissimilar. But most of all, they shared a bond that communicated both pain and courage. The need the two men had for that camaraderie seemed very human to Jarlaxle and appealed to him in a way he couldn't quite name.

When the drow determined that Entreri wasn't going to elaborate, he ventured a more dangerous tactic. "I also think the boy stands for something you find value in. After all, he refuses to be crushed, and he lives by conviction. Like you, he is far too strong and stubborn to stay down or give up."

Entreri bristled and stopped so he could face the elf again. "Did I ask your opinion?"

Jarlaxle drew up face to face with the man and set the squirming cat on the ground. Since he'd admitted long ago that he actually cared for Entreri, the drow found he actually wasn't in the mood to play games. So for once, he dropped all pretense and tried to reach out to the man. "No, but as your friend, I'll tell you anyway. All the questions I've asked lead to a single point: what does Artemis Entreri really want from life? Does he want to be at peace, or does he want to remain angry? He can have anything he wishes, after all, he need only to decide."

"Artemis Entreri wants annoying drow elves to stop asking him questions and trying to rearrange his life."

Jarlaxle smiled but didn't give up. The drow might not understand friendship well, but he did know such a relationship meant that he couldn't allow the assassin to retain this last lie. "What benefit is there to anger?"

"What benefit is there to greed?" Entreri replied. "Annoying questions may go both ways. It is obvious that you've decided to build a surface empire, but how is the eternal search for wealth and power any different than the game you played in Menzoberranzan? Did you not leave the drow in order to escape their hell?"

Jarlaxle was silent for a moment, struck by the truth to the assassin's words. Shortly after Tai had been raped, the elf had realized he might want companionship more than wealth or power, but he had still desired an empire separate from the drow. While he had decided never to return home, he saw no reason to give up his dreams and aspirations, for life had no purpose if he did not reach for the stars. But was it wrong to build a new band among his human comrades? Was it wrong to persuade them to pursue a kingdom of riches?

Entreri had continued speaking. "You believe you're asking me to overcome myself." The assassin smirked. "But I won't let you ask of me something you won't ask of yourself."

Jarlaxle experienced a strange mental image of himself as an orange being nailed to a tree; Entreri had effectively put a sword through his gut. "When did Artemis Entreri profess to have wisdom? Very well, I shall humor you. If we did such a thing, what would we become?"

The assassin sneered. "Why ask? Are you worried?"

The sound of approaching voices alerted the mercenaries to the return of Nyx and Tai, so Jarlaxle picked up the cat and the two resumed walking.

"It might require us to sacrifice some aspect of ourselves," the drow pointed out, the mere thought of a life without dreams causing a cold wave to wash through his chest.

Entreri kept his gaze on the trail and didn't even glance at Jarlaxle as he replied. "I will always be me—practical, logical, and efficient. As to what else I can become, who is to say?" He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "Unlike you, I wouldn't pretend to know, but I can say you'll always be a successful but annoying drow with terrible taste in jewelry and clothing."

The cold wave seemed to recede, and Jarlaxle laughed. "So we're in the act of becoming?"

"I'm becoming," Entreri said. "I'm becoming tired of your heavy-handed influence and want to cut out your tongue and use it for a tassel."

Biting humor to the very end. Entreri would, indeed, always be Entreri. The drow grinned and began petting his new cat again. "And if I become?"

The assassin gave Jarlaxle a slanted glance, a wicked gleam lighting his eyes. "You will become dead if you don't stop 'helping' Tai and me."

The elf shook his head in a dramatic show of exasperation, and despite the touch of drama, Jarlaxle was genuinely unsure how to proceed. "You would deny a friend all chances to help you, would you not?"

"I've already told you that I don't need your help," Entreri said, pushing a tree limb out of their path, "but even if I did, 'help' does not involve revealing things to Tai behind my back. If you want me to assist Tai, then allow me to assist him and stay out of the way."

Jarlaxle smiled, mentally patting himself on the back for how far Entreri had come. Still, the drow knew that this "heavy-handed" influence was no game, as did the assassin, and therefore he silently recanted his mistake. He also thought it wise to apologize so the issue might be settled, by which he hoped Entreri would never find out exactly what Tai had learned. "I beg your pardon. I suppose I grow impatient and, ah, step outside of my bounds."

The assassin raised an eyebrow. "Proving that an old dog really is too senile to learn new tricks. However, you'd do wise to remember this: if I decide to speak to Tai of friendship, or any other topic of concern, I will do so on my own time, and you will have to accept that timing. And if you don't, next time I'll slice off whatever steps across the bounds—your tongue, no doubt—and maybe that will help you to retain your patience."

Having learned to appreciate both Entreri and his companionship, Jarlaxle actually found himself experiencing a moment's remorse. As a leader, suffering unnecessary delays proved difficult, but the elf understood what Entreri was telling him, though he'd never admit it. So with his customary smile, he shifted the cat's weight in order to lift one finger and wag it. "Violence? Now, now—I thought you implied you were overcoming yourself."

The assassin was apparently unimpressed with this rebuke. "You're not dead yet."


Lightning cracked across the sky, causing thunder to rip the air. Black clouds massed on the horizon, rolling like boiling water and beating away the dying sunset. Welcoming the energy of the storm, Mordecai slithered between the trees as quickly as his new body would allow. He was near the ruins—he was sure! He would return the mirror, recommitting it to ancient dust and the press of time, and maybe on the way he could find and kill at least one of his adversaries.

In his mind, Sseth returned once again, using the conduit of the Kagaor ki Tamal to torture the ex-cleric of Vhaeraun further.

"You believe the drow to be the superior race, no?" a soft voice taunted via telepathy. "If only you could see how insignificant you are, but no doubt a Scaleless One hasn't the intellect to comprehend such things. My improvements upon your body aren't enough to change that."

Mordecai stared at the brown scales covering his hands. "I am not a snake now?" he spat.

"Not a snake," the voice corrected. "You are something more than a Tainted One, but always something less than worthy. I will grant you the use of my divine power, however, for which you should be eternally grateful." A hissing laugh raced down the conduit.

Mordecai tried to shut out Sseth's words. The horror of his new body was more than he could bear: not only was his body twisted into some abomination, he had no legs, no feet, and no—no manhood! It was as bad as having been turned into a drider!

Struck with anguish too intense for words, the ex-cleric screamed into the humid air, scattering birds from their perches. Someone had to pay for his agony.

xxx

From the tree cover, Chalithra watched the beast scream. The priestess had experienced difficulty reaching Mordecai, but now that she had, she was stunned by his altered appearance. Obviously, the male had been too weak to handle the mirror's power, but why had the Kagaor ki Tamal, which she had been told was psionic, turned Mordecai into a half-snake?

Ultimately, the reason was meaningless. Chalithra would punish the male, retrieve the mirror, and ascend to the throne of House Tuin'Tarl. Whatever measures her matron mother had taken against her inevitable treachery would fail against a magical artifact this powerful.

Gripping her whip, Chalithra stepped from the shadows and into the path of the beast that had been Mordecai. "You have rebelled against us, so you must die to appease Lolth," she said, taking pleasure in sentencing the upstart male. As she spoke, her breath condensed into little clouds of water vapor, revealing that the air was cooling at an unnatural rate. The drow priestess involuntarily shivered, but when she glanced over her enemy's scaly body, she had to fight off a second shiver, this one of revulsion. "I shall enjoy killing you, for your existence is enough to turn my entrails."

"I can arrange that permanently, if you would like." Mordecai's voice was raspy, his syllables drawn.

"Tell it to the Spider Queen." Chalithra sneered, summoning a surge of divine power into her fingertips. Whispering a command word, she bent to strike the ground with her palm. White lines like strings of light spread across the ground, running over rocks and wilted plants and etching a summoning circle into the ground. Parallel lines intersected, lighting the dirt with a brilliant flash.

With a loud crack as loud as thunder, the fruits of Chalithra's effort rose before her on eight spindly legs—a monstrous black killer graced with thin plated limbs and a single red hourglass painted upon its body.

"Destroy the rebel," she commanded, and the giant spider moved to obey.

Six feet of spider launched at Mordecai, attempting to strike him, but Mordecai's snake-body easily slithered to the side. The spider slid across the ground, its legs digging deep trenches into the dirt. Halting its momentum, the spider turned and scuttled up a large tree.

Chalithra met Mordecai's gaze evenly. She knew he couldn't escape—not with the giant spider up in the canopy.

"Lolth will torture you forever," she said. "Your screams will fill the abyss."

Mordecai didn't answer. Instead, his eyes grew blank, as though he were focusing his energy inward, then his brow furrowed, revealing that his mental task was overwhelming.

Yet within moments, the area around Mordecai froze, ice crystals forming over the wilted grass. Chalithra could only watch as all the leaves on the nearby trees suddenly turned brown, withered, and then fell to the ground. The Kagaor ki Tamal hummed, its surface glowing as it sapped the very life force from the air. Chalithra feel faint, her own strength leaving her, yet the display of power provoked her to take the mirror at any cost.

The spider, now without cover, launched itself from the branches and pounced upon Mordecai. The male seemed to have lost consciousness from his efforts, so he offered no fight as the giant beast stood nearly on top of him. A thin stream of white thread spurted from the spider's abdomen. The creature worked it in its jaws and appendages, wrapping the string about Mordecai and sealing both him and the mirror in an organic casket.

Chalithra, still connected to the spider by the summoning spell, could feel the insect's hunger as it prepared to bite its prey. But before the spider could latch onto the cocoon, a beam of energy pierced the binding. The lightning bolt speared the insect's stomach, shooting out its back and into the sky, where it met with a twin strike launched from a black cloud. The spider shuddered once, then stumbled to the side on wobbling legs. Ooze seeped out from the gaping hole in its stomach armor, working around the burn until bile seemed to pour from every crack in its body.

Chalithra stuttered in rage. "The spider! You mortally wounded one of Lolth's servants!"

Mordecai tore through the webbing, freeing his face. "Just as I will destroy you."

Chalithra growled, wishing to flog the male to death; however, she realized she could not fight Mordecai hand-to-hand or the rest of her life force would be consumed. She had to heal the spider. Summoning more divine power, the priestess stumbled toward the wounded arachnid.

That one step sealed her fate. Chalithra felt Lolth's power drain away from her with such force that she imagined ice crystals forming in her lungs. Shaking, she backed away from the spider. The creature died as she watched, its legs curling up towards the sky like the branches of the dying trees.

From behind the carcass, Mordecai hissed in a sound of victory and tore away the silken strands wrapped about his head and torso. He moved with slow and steady purpose, sticking his chest outward to draw attention to the mirror and pulling his lips away from his teeth in a leer.

Trying to steel herself, Chalithra drew the final remnants of divine power into her hands. She traced a cursed symbol into the air and whispered a spell meant to immobilize the beast. A red glow outlined the symbol, which transferred itself onto Mordecai's chest only to shatter just as the spider's cocoon had. Crimson filaments of light flickered to the ground, disappearing into the dead grass.

In that moment, Chalithra realized with eerie calmness that she would die. A sudden laugh came to her lips. What indignity to die at the hands of a male, to be destroyed by a mirror that absorbed her powers, her ki, and the life force of nature itself!

Chalithra felt the cold whip in her hands, its snake heads dead and unmoving. She had only one chance. No, I won't allow it. I will not die in weakness, she promised herself, taking a breath and sprinting towards Mordecai.

The priestess raised her dead whip above her head and swung it like a flail. A scream escaped her lips, then died just as suddenly as an impact against her stomach stole her breath. Her eyes registered the mirror's flash, a delayed recognition, and the smell of burnt flesh drifted into her nostrils.

The last thing that she saw before she lost consciousness was the madness glowing in Mordecai's crimson eyes and his teeth barred, ready to strike.

xxx

Mordecai descended upon the corpse of the priestess, lashing at the body in rage. He punched her, clawed her, even bit her flesh, tearing away the skin, ripping out chunks of meat, and beating her face until her features were no more than mush. He hated priestesses! Despised Lolth! And more than that, he blamed the goddess and her minions for the fate he had suffered. So he punished the corpse, pummeling its breathless chest, breaking its bones, and ripping out its organs until blood and bile streaked down his arms and chest.

"Bitch!" he screamed. "Pay! Pay for damning me, for torturing me, for getting me cursed by this mirror!"

Faint laughter echoed in Mordecai's mind, and he struck the corpse with his tail, sending it rolling away. He would get rid of the mirror, and as soon as he did, he would exorcise all his rage upon his remaining enemies, beating them until the blood in their throats reduced their cries to mere gurgles. They would all pay for what had befallen him, and he would not rest until their screams became the permanent music lilting in his mind for next seven hundred years.


Entreri stared down at the mutilated corpse of a drow priestess. The darkness of the forest, which had been doused in shadow by the approaching storm, made it difficult for him to see, but the assassin recognized her as the one he'd fought less than thirty-six hours earlier. He knew who her killer had to be.

Jarlaxle, who still steadfastly toted around his new cat, exited the trees and joined Entreri, Nyx, and Tai by the priestess. "I didn't see Mordecai, but he can't have gone far."

"I agree," Nyx said quietly. "The blood isn't even dry yet." She knelt down and touched the priestess's bloody arm. "In fact, the body isn't even all the way cold."

Entreri glanced over at Tai, who took in the sight of the disfigured body with a growing frown. The assassin was loath to admit it, but he was concerned for the boy. In Entreri's mind, Tai deserved retribution—he had every right to watch Mordecai be hacked into small pieces. But Entreri feared the boy might not survive the fight, and this feeling, so strange and new, drove the assassin to want to protect the priest. Even though the impulse was the exact opposite to Entreri's modus operandi, he didn't resist. Something in the feeling, at least as it concerned Tai, seemed perfectly reasonable.

"Compassion gets you killed," Entreri muttered to himself with a shake of his head. Had he not just lectured Tai about the dangers of friendship earlier that day?

Jarlaxle, having picked up the words with his keen ears, looked at the assassin and raised an eyebrow, but Entreri shook his head and pointed to the ground.

"See that strange dragging track?" he said, and the group turned their attention to the mark in the dirt.

"How odd," Nyx murmured.

"You think that's Mordecai?" Jarlaxle asked, sounding unconvinced. He pulled out his magical device with one hand and consulted the blue line upon it. "Yes, you would seem to be correct in your assumption."

"It's headed toward the saurian ruins," Entreri said, and immediately began to follow the track.

Tai sprinted a few steps and matched Entreri's stride. He glanced back over his shoulder and called back to Jarlaxle and Nyx. "Hurry. Haven't you noticed the dead trees and grass? There is more at stake here than just vengeance."

Entreri glanced at the boy and frowned, the pulse of concern hitting him again. However, no time remained for him to waste on such feelings, so he took off at a run, knowing the ruins to only be a few hundred feet to the west.

Time had run out.


A/N: This chapter was again brought to you by the ADWT. That's right, another Ariel and Darkhelmet production! Bless those who enjoy writing about blood and guts and squishing spiders. LOL! ;)

If you liked Vren, please don't kill me. I've started a short fic that's to be set in the past and that involves Entreri's time in Menzoberranzan. Vren is slated to make an appearance. In fact, there's a possibility that Vren might have a good-sized role in the story.

Believe it or not, chapter 5 will be the last chapter, so the story is almost finished. There will be 5 chapters and an epilogue, to be precise.