Don't go to Sleep

by Iliana Maura

Note: Wow, this is kinda funny. I read the old A/N I had for this (written when I first revised it), and it was talking about some really old news--PotWK. Any, that just proves how long it's been since I last did anything with this. You all have my deepest apologies for the (inexcusably long) delay in updating.

Chapter Seventeen : Ahlu

Jarlaxle's mind buzzed anxiously as he left Drizzt's sickroom; he rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease the pressure, to no avail. Instead, an ache spread across the dome of his bald head and settled at the very back, where it throbbed in time with his pulse.

With a groan, the mercenary raised his hand and whispered the trigger-word for one of his rings, while envisioning a certain spot in Menzoberranzan. Changing his mind at the last minute, he turned his thoughts instead towards one of the many tunnels in the Underdark, one that was a particular repository of magical power, and therefore especially easy to portal to.

There was a brief, nauseating swirl of magical energy, and then the dwarven-hewed stone of Mithral Hall was replaced by the cooler, more natural rock of the Underdark. A brief glance around him showed the drow there was nothing living nearby: he was still within the patrol range of the Academy students.

The unending silence, broken only by the occasional drip of water, soothed Jarlaxle's frayed nerves. He ran his mind over the recent events, trying to sort through them. Drizzt's comment came back to him: "You seem in a hurry." Did it stand out that much? The mercenary certainly hoped not; if a fevered invalid could tell something was wrong, how much could Eliek and his Veldrin spies see? Jarlaxle passed a hand across his face and began walking towards Mezoberranazan, letting the rhythm of his feet calm his body. It had been so long since he was in such a disadvantaged situation.

In fact, he was unsure as to what to do at all. Obviously, the threat from Veldrin had to be stopped; but how? They were being hired by Minet Kor'tath--eliminating her seemed logical. But with Bregan D'aerthe's resources so diminished by orbb's elghinn, finding her could be a difficult task, and one conquered too late. Besides the point, Jarlaxle wasn't sure killing the Kor'tath daughter would cause Eliek to cease the attacks; the mercenary was confident that his "peer" had been itching for an excuse to do just what he was doing now.

Attack Veldrin before they cold attack him? The idea was preposterous, but Jarlaxle filed it away as a last resort. With a quarter of Bregan D'aerthe's soldiers incapacitated, and more falling ill with every cycle of Narbondel, open warfare was a risky proposition, and the matrons of the city would be sure to frown upon it. Maybe--

Jarlaxle didn't slow his pace, or give any other indication he was on his guard, but mentally tensed, sensing someone nearby. Without paying any particular attention to his surroundings, he had covered nearly all of the ground to Menzoberranzan, and was approaching the main entrance to the city, though it had yet to come into view. He listened closely, but could hear nothing. Still. . . .

There was a blur of motion to his left. Reacting on instinct, the mercenary jumped straight back, and smiled as a mace swung through the space he had just occupied. He made some room between himself and his attacker, and leaned casually against the far tunnel wall.

The other drow stepped out from a small crevice, his armor disguising most of the telltale heat-traces he would have otherwise left behind. Mentally cataloguing his inventory of defenses, Jarlaxle cocked an eyebrow at the stranger. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well."

The other drow curled back his lips in a snarl. "Save the talk, Jarlaxle. If I wanted a conversation, I'd find someone better at it than you."

The mercenary made several swift mental notes: that the speaker was, in fact, female, and that she obviously knew somethings about him; that she knew he thought of himself as a good conversationalist--and therefore would be vulnerable to insults about that skill--showed she had not met him unprepared. Of course, her insult only made him smile.

"I'm shocked," Jarlaxle retorted, feigning surprise. "Not only have you attacked me, but you have also insulted me! That's no way to go about a first meeting."

The female took a step closer, her features taut and angry. "This is no first meeting, Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe."

As her heat-outlined features clarified with nearness, Jarlaxle realized with a jolt that it was no first meeting. The proud, aristocratic features of Minet Kor'tath resolved in his vision.

"Indeed," he said mildly, trying to hide his surprise. "It would appear it's not." Unable to think of anything else to do, he swept of his hat and made an ornate bow, making sure he could still defend himself if she tried to attack. She made no move, so when the mercenary had straightened, he asked, "What brings you here to the wilds?"

The former noble bared her teeth in an animal snarl. "I'm here for you, iblith!"

Jarlaxle anticipated her first attack easily, a straight rush with her mace swinging in from the right. The mercenary dodged easily, and countered with a stream of daggers from his bracers. Minet caught several with her shield, dodged some, and batted away the others before she closed the distance between them and Jarlaxle was forced to once again slip away.

Minet hissed in anger. "Rath'arg!" she spat. "Why don't you hold still? Are you afraid of being caught between my mace and the hard stone wall, your bones shattered and blood spilt? Are you afraid of what I will do to your soul once I have destroyed you and House Nuvin and regained the favor of the Spider Queen?"

Jarlaxle smirked and took another step back. "Afraid? No, but it is high on my list of things to avoid."

The female growled, and rushed him again, in the same manner as before. Jarlaxle tried to move back, also as before, but at the last moment Minet changed the angle of her attack, and trapping Jarlaxle against the wall. He cursed himself for underestimating her, and dropped to all fours to avoid her blow--the tunnel wall curved in towards the ceiling and there was no room to go up.

Minet's mace clanged loudly off the wall, and the mercenary felt several hot sparks land on the exposed skin at the back of his neck. Not waiting for the female's next move, Jarlaxle caught a dagger from his bracer and slashed at Minet's ankles. She jumped up to avoid the blade, but angled herself forward. It took Jarlaxle precious second to realize what she had done. He scrambled forward, away from the wall, but Minet and her shield crashed on him from above before he had moved a foot.

The air was blasted from his lungs and he was flattened against the ground, the former priestess on top of him, grinding the roundel of her shield into his unarmored back. The mercenary rolled, pushing Minet off him and shoving her back against the wall. She tried to find her feet, but Jarlaxle thrust out with the dagger in his hand, and smiled grimly when he felt it slide through armor and skin. She cried out, and swung her mace wildly at his head; he evaded it easily and regained his feet.

She staggered upright, leaning heavily against the wall for support. Jarlaxle readied the dagger in his hand, but before he could throw, she snarled, "This isn't over, iblith." He caught a word she murmured, and knowing it was a trigger word he threw the dagger, but it only clanged against empty stone; Minet had gone.

"Nothing."

The Companions were gathered in Drizzt's sickroom, looking downcast and worried. Drizzt lay propped against his pillows, his face a sickly gray and his eyes closed in pain. Bruenor looked angry, Catti-brie frustrated, and Regis frightened.

Lady Alustrial sat beside Drizzt's bed. "Nothing at all?"

Catti-brie shook her head tiredly. "Nothin'. We can't find anythin' at all tha' would point us towards whoever killed Arvylyn Quenvath."

Regis counted off on his fingers. "He made no enemies, no one followed him, no one knew of him. . . nothing."

Alustrial furrowed her brow. "You're sure it wasn't something random, like a robbery?"

Bruenor snorted. "Nothin' was stolen, or taken; not a thin' even touched!"

"What about Ivellios?" Regis asked suddenly. The Companions looked at him curiously; Drizzt opened his eyes. The halfling fidgeted but kept talking. "Well, he comes saying he's warning Drizzt--but he's got the gem that infects him in the first place. And he says he doesn't know Arvylyn Quenvath--but he could be lying about that, too."

Drizzt closed his eyes again. "His family was killed by dark elves, he said." The drow paused, and shook his head sadly. "I'm so sorry for him. I don't want him to be the one who did this."

There was a moment of silence, then Catti-brie spoke up. "I'll talk t' him."

"Alone?" Bruenor asked, alarmed.

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "He says he's ill; maybe he's not, maybe he is, but there's no reason fer all o' us t' be botherin' him." She rose to her feet and walked out of the door, and no one saw the way she touched the hilt of her sword as though to assure herself that it was there.