Music

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Throughout the winding suite of rooms Kimmuriel had most recently claimed as his own, there was a sound in the hallway that Jarlaxle had not expected to find in these cool, pristine caves delicately formed of blue-gray stone. The drow mercenary smiled. The bell-like tones of the music resonated with the walls strangely, turning the sound of the piano into a sharper-edged sort of clapping echo that became louder and then fainter again as Jarlaxle made his way through the twisting passage.

It was of his own design, which forced him to take a route that bent, snake-like, back on itself several times through library, study, kitchen, dining nook, and garden alike before reaching the large, arched doors of the room he'd thought, until now, housed some of Kimmuriel Oblodra's more exotic spells and items. He smiled again, wider. Well, it could be that the piano was just one of many exotic things that the psionist had secretly holed away in the room.

The drow mercenary put one hand against the dark wood of the door and listened. The piano was playing a haunting melody, decidedly of human make, for it held none of the sinuous, wailing edge that was the sound of the music of the drow.

My dear Kimmuriel has been busy, Jarlaxle thought. Perhaps he has secured one of the instruments which has been designed to play itself once one has pushed a certain lever. It's doubtful that he would deign to master such a human device himself.

He was expecting Kimmuriel to appear any moment, really, since he knew the psionist could sense anyone and everyone with his talent and the magical items and traps he must've placed around the suite, but the music continued on. In fact, rose to what sounded like a climax of sorts, fraught with frantic energy and desperation and a tantalizing hint of violence.

In spite of himself, his breath caught in his chest for a moment, and he felt his heart beat more forcibly. This emotional response held him motionless in fascination. It was with a note of fearful regret that he realized the notes were growing slower, more painful, fragile with the sense of loss over something held dear.

It occurred to him then that the song might be the vehicle of some sort of spell, and Jarlaxle shook his head sharply to dispel the lingering effects the beautiful sound of the piano had had on him.

He opened the door, which swung out towards him on perfect, soundless hinges, and waited for an invitation to be let inside, not knowing and unable to sense whether Kimmuriel had a precaution in place against being disturbed.

Jarlaxle saw that Kimmuriel was sitting on a bench in front of the piano, his head bent towards it, and his arms moving in slow, graceful gestures. The smile returned to the drow mercenary's face. He was playing the piano, all by himself, and reading from a sheaf of music sitting atop the piano in its holder.

"Ah," Jarlaxle said, narrowing his eyes in amusement at the man's back. "I see even Kimmuriel Oblodra has hidden talents to add to his dazzling array of skills." Since he suffered no ill effects at those words, he walked through the room and put his hand on Kimmuriel's shoulder. "Beautiful song."

Then, and only then, did the thin, aloof drow stop playing. Jarlaxle felt the man stiffen, his shoulder becoming rigid under Jarlaxle's hand. The mercenary's smile turned sad. He withdrew his hand politely.

"Why are you here?" Kimmuriel said. He did not look up from the keys of the piano.

"I didn't surprise you, did I?" Jarlaxle asked.

This was met with silence. The drow mercenary realized he was not going to get an answer to that question, and moments later the psionist said, "I am busy and did not wish to be disturbed."

Jarlaxle switched the topic appropriately to business. "Then I trust that the issues with which you grappled the other day have been resolved?"

He received a curt nod.

"I have come to see for myself whether or not you would be interested in a puzzle of sorts," Jarlaxle said, finally answering Kimmuriel's question.

"I am busy already without one of your irritating conundrums robbing me of the concentration I need to perform my spells," the other man said.

"Ah, but it's not a distraction, it's a form of relaxation!" Jarlaxle held up an index finger, smiling earnestly. "Besides, this one will hone your talents."

Kimmuriel raised an eyebrow expressionlessly in a gesture of skepticism.

"I have a word that I know of in the common language of the humans above which everyone knows, but no one knows what it means, though everyone is taught to use it since their earliest toddling years," Jarlaxle said. "The challenge, whether you choose to take it or not, is to find out what this word means."

"I think it's a trick question," Kimmuriel said, "that you devised with which to mock me when I come back empty-handed."

Jarlaxle held out his hands hastily. "No, nothing of the sort! You will be able to manage this, I am sure. It must mean something. It is a real word, with real importance to these people. There must be a common definition somewhere, but I have been unable to find it. It's impairing my ability to communicate. The only thing I have left is to ask you to cross reference the minds of as many humans as it takes to come up with a working definition for me."

"Sounds like menial labor to me," Kimmuriel said, but the slight peak of interest in his eyes told Jarlaxle differently. The psionist thrived on picking out slim details from people's minds and trying to piece them together into a coherent picture or frame of reference. It was this zeal for detail which led Jarlaxle to be so impressed by him in the first place. However, Kimmuriel knew that Jarlaxle knew this, and so the psionist was wary of being used this way to suit Jarlaxle's ends.

"In return, I am willing to procure something that you have need of," Jarlaxle said. "I never ask favors without being prepared to pay for them."

Kimmuriel frowned. He was considering it. "What, exactly, did you have in mind?"

"Why, my dear friend, anything you need," Jarlaxle said, eyeing the sheets of music in front of Kimmuriel speculatively.

"What is this word? You must at least tell me that for me to be able to begin."

"Of course, Kimmuriel, of course," Jarlaxle said. He grinned. "I have it right here." He tapped his bald head with an index finger. "It's pronounced 'luhvh'."

The psionist sighed. "This is as good a time as any, so I may as well ask if I can request that appropriate payment for this favor be an honest answer to a question." He stirred, putting both hands down on the upholstered bench and swinging his legs over in order to turn to face the man he once considered his superior. Kimmuriel crossed his legs and looked directly into Jarlaxle's eyes. "I have a question that has been plaguing me for over a year. It is inconvenient for me to be so stymied, particularly since it has invaded my sleep."

The drow mercenary was almost unbearably curious. He struggled to maintain his casual expression, shrugging. "Well, I'll see what I can do," he said. "What is it?"

"Why have you allowed me to keep living," Kimmuriel said with a piercing stare, "in addition to granting me half of the organization of which you have been the sole parent?"

Jarlaxle didn't know what to say; he stared back at the psionist in silence. Of all the questions the man could possibly have asked, this one had never crossed his mind. He'd never expected the man to question him. Most drow, when given an opportunity, do not care why it has been given, only that it materialized, and that they can take it. He'd… He supposed he'd counted on the psionist never to take a risk in asking Jarlaxle what it was all about. Therefore, Jarlaxle had never acknowledged any need to understand himself why he had done it.

He reached up and took the brim of his purple hat, jerking it nervously. Well, he'd just have to do as Kimmuriel asked and trade information for information. He couldn't very well enter into a contract with Artemis as he suspected he would be by uttering those words humans deemed so important, if he didn't know what he was swearing to. He'd have to figure out why he did it, and quickly. But the only explanation that came to mind was so contradictory to the drow mindset that he despaired of ever being able to twist it into something Kimmuriel would find believable.

But then, everyone in Bregan D'aerthe knew he was an oddball, so why not just say it and see how Kimmuriel reacted?

Jarlaxle adjusted his hat a final time. "It might not make sense to you, and it may be that it never will. But I'll never be able to kill someone, I'll never be able to see myself with any sort of honor if I don't live down the consequences when there is someone who opposes me who is as right as I was wrong," the drow mercenary said, deadly serious. There was a cost to him to say the words so openly. It reopened wounds of the soul that he'd hoped were long closed.

Kimmuriel stared at him. It was as close as he got to openly gaping in shock.

"You were right, and I was wrong," Jarlaxle said, forcing it out into the open, forcing himself to take the last little damning step. "I should not have done what I did, and everything that I did once that artifact was in my possession," he frowned bitterly, "every little thing that I did was wrong. You should be alive. I should be the one who's standing in my grave." Jarlaxle turned away and started walking, and Kimmuriel didn't stop him.