Don't go to Sleep
by Iliana Maura
Chapter Nine : Abbils
Despite the urgency of his mission, Jarlaxle could not help but stop and gaze at the stars; they were beautiful. In the Academy, the drow school, he had been taught that everything about the surface was terrible and evil. Certainly, Jarlaxle had since learned better. In fact, he could sympathize with Drizzt's choice to leave the Underdark; Jarlaxle himself would, if he were strong enough to sever his ties with Menzoberranzan.
The sound of voices brought him out of his reverie. He stood in the darkness behind Settlestone's only in, concealed within the shadow it cast in the many lamps festooning the street. There were many people crowded inside, all of them foreigners. He guessed the barbarians who lived in the town took their drink in the massive hall, half stone and half hide, which dominated the center of the town.
Shaking his bald head to clear his thoughts, the mercenary trotted to the back wall of the inn and peered through one of its brightly lit windows, paned as it was in expensive glass. He found himself looking into the kitchen, where a middle-aged human woman, a little chubby but still showing hints of the beauty she must have once possessed, was preparing food. A doorway in the side of the room led to the space behind the bar, and through that doorway Jarlaxle could catch a glimpse of the crowded common room.
A man about the same age as the woman, tall and well built-though showing the beginnings of a paunch-entered the kitchen. His air of humble importance led Jarlaxle to presume he was the keeper of the inn. The two exchanged words-inaudible over the general noise-and the woman walked through the door into the common room, where she was lost from sight. Seizing the moment, Jarlaxle silently opened the inn's back door and stepped inside.
The innkeeper had his back to the door and did not see the mercenary enter. Jarlaxle cleared his throat to get the man's attention.
"Please excuse me, good sir," he said, "but could you spare a moment?"
The man started a little, surprised at the voice, and turned. As soon as he spotted the speaker, the blood drained from his face and he put a hand on the counter behind him for support. His eyes darted nervously to the door leading to the bar, but seemingly without moving, Jarlaxle had positioned himself beside that door, blocking any chance of escape while still being able to keep an eye on the room beyond.
Pretending as though he didn't notice the man's obvious terror, Jarlaxle said, "Could you, perhaps, tell me which room a certain patron is in?"
Shaking, the man nodded.
Jarlaxle beamed at him. "I'm looking for a gold elf, named Arvylyn Quenvath," he told the innkeeper.
"Second floor," the man gasped. "Red door, third on the left."
Jarlaxle thanked him with another broad smile, and turned to leave through the back door.
"Wait!" the man called, apparently finding some source of courage. It diminished greatly when Jarlaxle turned to regard him, but he continued on nonetheless. "Ye-ye can't b-b-be k-killin' my patrons!"
The drow gave him a sweet smile, causing the human to go pale. "Unfortunately, I am under a solemn oath not to harm anyone unless threatened first," he explained. "And unless the gold elf has a great deal more courage than you, I don't believe I'll be in any danger."
Without looking over his shoulder, Jarlaxle slipped back into the night. He paused for a moment to look at the stars again, taking comfort in their beauty and calming his nerves. Logically, he knew that drow elves-his own people -were evil, and surface elves good, and that everything he learned at the Academy was lies.
Logically, he also knew the first lessons learned were the ones that went deepest, but that didn't mean they were correct. Logically, he knew he had no reason to hate Arvylyn Quenvath, unless he was guilty of creating orbb's elghinn.
If only his emotions would listen to logic.
Peering up at the top windows, Jarlaxle selected one that was dark end levitated up to it. Letting is eyes slip into the infrared spectrum, he searched the room beyond for people. Finding none, he turned his attention to the window itself. There was a latch, but it was on the inside, and he didn't want to alert anyone by breaking the glass. Instead, he called on the magic of one of his rings, which allowed him to open a short-distance portal. Awkwardly, he slid through the magical opening-his innate powers of levitation did not allow him to move sideways-and appeared inside the room he had been looking into.
Padding silently across the bare wood, careful to avoid the simple furniture scattered about, Jarlaxle reached the door and laid his ear against it. He could hear the sound of reveling downstairs, and someone snoring in the room across from the one he was in, but otherwise all was silent. He slowly eased open the door.
To his right was the top of the stairs, and stretching away to his left was a long hallway, lit every few feet by thin white candles that flickered in the occasional draft. The floor was wood, but a long narrow carpet ran the length of the hall. At regular intervals were doors leading into individual rooms. No two doors were the same color, which helped light what otherwise might have been a claustrophobic space. Jarlaxle counted doors and approached the red one the innkeeper had specified.
In front of the door he paused, considering his entry. He could teleport inside, and present himself dramatically, of he could simply knock. Jarlaxle's natural flamboyant attitude urged him to teleport, but a slightly more pragmatic side held him back. He didn't think it would be necessary to torture information out of the elf, but if Jarlaxle wished to simply talk to him, jumping out of the shadows was not an option. He would have to knock.
The drow raised his hand a rapped three times on the door with his knuckles, then waited.
And waited.
After a while he knocked again, and again there was no reply. Maybe he's downstairs Jarlaxle thought, in which case he would wait for the elf to come up. He absentmindedly turned the doorknob with his left hand while producing a tiny silver key with the other. The key would unlock any door, but to his surprise, the door wasn't locked at all, and opened easily. Suspicious, Jarlaxle produced a dagger from his bracer and quickly pushed the door open all the way, then jumped to the side.
Nothing happened.
Not frightened, but very cautious, the cagey mercenary slowly entered the room, pulling the door most of the way closed behind him so as not to catch the attention of anyone passing by. The room was almost exactly like the one he had entered through, a window facing the door, and against the other two walls, a bed facing a wardrobe. A square table centered the room.
The room looked empty, and felt so empty Jarlaxle did not even bother to check in the infrared spectrum. There was no one here. But if Arvylyn had left, why hadn't he locked the door behind him? Was confident no one here would try to steal from him?
Jarlaxle questions were answered as he slowly walked around the table. Slumped against the wall beneath the window was the body of Arvylyn Quenvath.
Say'evett and Coss'tul of Bregan D'aerthe crouched on the rooftop of a building, looking down of the corpse-strewn street. Most of the other drow of their high rank did not go "out in the field" anymore, but Say'evett and Coss'tul enjoyed scouting and investigating; it was how they had become such good friends.
As much as friends as anyone in Menzoberranzan could be. Sometimes, they thought-though they never talked about it-more than anyone in Menzoberranzan could be.
The bodies were soldiers of House Nuvin, though who their attackers were no one in Bregan D'aerthe yet knew. Very faintly, the two drow could make out the heat trail the victors had made while leaving, and also a second trail, as though another group had followed the mysterious attackers.
"Bait," Coss'tul reasoned aloud. "House Nuvin sent some soldiers out as bait, and a second group followed their attackers." Say'evett nodded his agreement.
"But did the attackers know they were being followed?" the other drow asked.
Coss'tul grinned. "Let's find out."
The two levitated down from the rooftop and began carefully following the trail of the two groups. They did not speak, nor did they use the silent drow handcode. Years together had formed and understanding that some would say bordered on telepathic. Each one knew what the other was planned, and how they could best complement it.
After an hour or so, the trail began to grow stronger, telling them they were catching up. They increased their pace but heightened their caution.
After only ten additional minutes of tracking, Say'evett stopped and glanced at where he knew Coss'tul was-though he couldn't see him-on the other side of the wide avenue. The other drow stopped as well, also sensing the ambush laid before them. It really wasn't an ambush, they realized, but a hunting party. The "ambushers" whom Say'evett and Coss'tul felt sure were House Nuvin's mysterious attackers, were slowly making their way down the street, searching as they went. They knew someone was following them, and that they were close by.
The two friends waited on the their respective sides, patiently, as the searchers drew closer. Finally, Say'evett decided they were close enough. Reaching to his belt, he unhooked a flask that hung there and downed its contents in a single swallow. Tossing aside the empty container, he rose to his feet, drew his weapons, and charged into the middle of the avenue.
Coss'tul met him halfway. They spun and set themselves, back to back. There were dozens of tiny "click"'s from all around as the searchers fired their tiny hand crossbows, the bolts laced with the famed drow sleeping poison. Say'evett estimated that at least half a dozen sank into his skin, but as much as he longed to pull them out-especially the ones buried in his face-he knew he had to remain on guard. The potion he had quaffed would protect his from the poison, and he knew Coss'tul was similarly protected.
Realizing their tactic wouldn't work, the hunters appeared, rushing from the sides of the street, weapons drawn. Just before he forced to engage, Coss'tul raised his hand to his mouth and whispered a few words to a ring on his left hand. Then their enemies were upon them and he was fighting for his life.
Say'evett scanned the enemy force. There were nearly a dozen, he estimated, and was greatly surprised by the size of the force. Drow rarely moved in such large numbers. He had no time to puzzle over it though. He was quickly fighting three drow directly, and those behind the first row occasionally stuck around their fully engaged companions. He was on the defensive immediately, his two swords whipping back and forth in a skillful flurry that would have made Jarlaxle proud. He managed to slip one of his blades through the defenses of the drow directly in front of him, slitting his opponent's throat wide. That same sword promptly whipped back to fend off the attacks of the drow on his right, while the drow on his left, surprised at his companion's sudden death, let his defenses slip just long enough for Say'evett to score a hit on his forearm. But the move cost him, for the opponent on his right used his distraction to aim a blow at Say'evett's head. He turned his face aside at the last moment, but the keen blade left a deep furrow through his cheek.
His back pressed against Say'evett's, Coss'tul was in an even more desperate situation. He was up against four drow, and towards the back of the press he spotted a drow with a heavy, two-handed crossbow that did not need any poison to kill. Coss'tul sucked in his stomach as a thrust from the side came in; the blade skipped of his fine chainmail. He silently swore as the other three drow continued to attack. Unlike Say'evett behind him, he was not coordinated enough to work his sword and dagger separately. Glancing again at the crossbowman, Coss'tul brought his blades out wide, sweeping aside the weapons of the drow on his far left and middle right.
His opponent in the middle and to the left, overjoyed at the opening, thrust both of his weapons in low. So intent was he on the attack that he did not notice Coss'tul's foot, kicking him in the side and pushing into line with the bolt the crossbowman had just fired.
Coss'tul's victory was short-lived, though, as the drow on his far right repeated his earlier thrust, and this time the blade slid unobstructed into the mercenary's lung.
Coss'tul gasped and dropped his sword, clutching at his side with his right hand. Say'evett, sensing his pain, half-glanced over his should for a split second.
"Coss'tul!" he cried. "Are you hurt?"
"Bad," the other drow gasped. He attempted at weak thrust at the drow on his left, which was quickly defeated, and was forced to dodge a slash from his right. Another attack was coming from the left, and another from the drow directly before him, and he knew there was no way he could block either.
Suddenly, the attacker on his left started, standing rigidly erect, his mouth open wide in shock. He blinked once, moaned, and dropped to the ground. Behind him stood a tall drow, one Coss'tul recognized as a member of Bregan D'aerthe.
The new drow leapt in front of Coss'tul and began fighting. Two more Bregan D'aerthe mercenaries were with him, and along with Say'evett, the four managed to send the attacking drow running. Coss'tul slumped to the ground, gasping for breath and coughing up blood. There were hands on his sides and shoulders: Say'evett, helping him sit upright so he could breathe more easily. Say'evett looked to the tall drow.
"Do you have anything to help him?"
The tall drow glanced at Coss'tul in a disinterested way. "He's only one soldier."
Say'evett narrowed his eyes. "This 'one soldier' is likely your superior, and hand-picked by Jarlaxle."
The tall drow did not seem impressed. "Every member of Bregan D'aerthe is hand-picked by Jarlaxle."
"Which makes us all valuable," Say'evett countered. "Which is why we are ordered to look after other members. Why else did you answer our call?"
After a moment's consideration, the tall drow motioned for one of his companions, who pulled a small clear bottle out of his belt pouch and handed it to Say'evett. The kneeling drow unstopped it and poured the blue liquid down Coss'tul's throat. The wounded drow, barely conscious, managed to swallow, shuddered once, then lay still. For a heart-pounding moment, Say'evett wondered if the potion hadn't worked, or had been too late, but then Coss'tul's eyes opened. Taking a deep breath, he slowly stood, using Say'evett's arm to help him up. His gaze gaze fell on the tall drow, and he gaze humorous smile.
"Took you long enough."