Chapter 3: Blending Memory

The jaws of mithral threatened to close all around him. Aramil Galaedon jogged backwards to avoid teeth as long as his legs and sharp as the words of dueling nobles. The metallic dragon roared its frustration and prepared, thank Mask, to breathe on him.

He dove forward in a fashion that all adventuring rogue types learned and came up under the dragon as melted mithral spewed all around where he had bee, melting rock upon contact. Aramil could hear it spit and spew as it cooled.

Aramil slashed up with Charon's Claw, not actually sure if he wanted to break open the hard casing to the melted mithral. What he wanted did not matter as hardly even a scratch appeared upon the dragon's smooth surface. The dragon began to stand on its hind legs, to rear up so it could get him with powerful front claws. Suddenly it stopped, a green glow surrounding it in a bright aura. Aramil ran while he had the chance.

"Having some problems?" a fine female voice inquired. He could hear the smirk. Aramil glanced to see Nova standing beside a drow female, a rather transparent drow female. They seemed to be holding hands, and the green glow was coming from that.

"I fear that unlike you and your companion I am mortal and find the idea of being encased in mithral a rather painful proposition."

"It would not hurt long," Nova quipped.

Aramil groaned as he ran up to her. He looked to the drow. "And how do you fare, Lady Wraith?"

"We need to find another way to bind the creature, before I fade away," she responded, sounding weaker than usual as her voice faded in and out.

Silver fire joined the green glow surrounding the dragon, silver fire from multiple sides. Aramil wanted to hide now, truly wanted to disappear. "And how are ye, lad?" Aramil slowly turned his head to look at the Old Mage who had called to him, then towards the opposite side where Alustriel stood.

"Can you hold it?" Nova called out.

"Aye, lass!" the Old Mage responded. Nova and Wraith released hands, both clearly pleased to no longer be channeling positive energy.

Nova came up to Aramil, her cold eyes sparkling. "I was looking forward to my mithral present."

"You will get your present when the dwarves come back," Aramil responded.

Nova's smile vanished. "Aramil," she said softly, "the dwarves will not be able to return."

"Many families did not leave," he pointed out, confused.

Nova looked away as she muttered, "They will need to be dispatched."

"Dispatched?"

She looked to him now, red tears in the corner of her eyes. "This creature must remain secret."

"And how do expect the other dwarves to not return?"

"Alustriel and Elminster will deal with that."

Aramil pressed on in his argument, desperate to help the dwarves. "People will notice…"

"…the dwarves kept this place well hidden from most."

"A dragon is a hard thing to miss."

"Shadow has a brother."

Aramil stared at her for a moment. "Please tell me that this is all a very bad dream."

She shook her head. "Aramil, you need to help me clear the Hall."

"They are innocent, Nova! Some of them are even children."

"You are supposed to be the Assassin Lord," she retorted.

Aramil stood wavering for a moment and closed his eyes. "Alright, but let's make it quick." His mind went blank in preparation for the grisly work; thinking would not be a part of this, just blood.

Artemis Entreri's eyes snapped open. He felt in a panic and glanced around for Jarlaxle. The drow stood on the edge of the camp, thankfully looking away. Entreri forced his breathing to steady and flexed his hands. He had had the strangest dream, a dream of a strange dragon. He sat up and Jarlaxle turned at the sound. It was only then, as he saw the glow of his companion's eye, that Entreri realized the fire had been allowed to burn down.

"Having trouble?" Jarlaxle joked.

Entreri looked up to the sky. "It is well past midnight."

"You were not getting the best of sleep."

Entreri turned sharply to his companion. "Normally you complain that I seem to sleep too soundly."

"You were making a racket."

"I spoke in my sleep?"

"Just mutterings, my friend, though I do wish I could get you so vocal in your waking hours."

"And what did I mutter?"

For the first time Jarlaxle looked truly confused. It was not like Artemis Entreri to lose any control of himself and the idea that a dream would unhinge him was both worrisome and intriguing. "It was not a language I am well versed in," he admitted. "It sounded like a form of Alzheado."

Entreri covered his face with his hands. He muttered something, but Jarlaxle could not quite pick out the word.

Jarlaxle came over to him. "Are you alright, my abbil?"

Entreri looked at him, suddenly disconcerted by the glowing red eye. "Can you take off your eye patch?"

"What? You want me to take off my wonderful and amazing eye patch? Why?"

"As much as your theatrics and drama can be amusing, Jarlaxle, it seems a far simpler request than you give it credit for."

"Ah, but nothing is simple with me, is it?"

"Is it with anyone?" Entreri muttered. He looked around carefully. "I should get to my watch if we want to leave early. You will need to be well-rested."

"I think you overestimate the time I need to actually rest, and I am quite fine for the time being. You are the one having the nightmares."

"They are not nightmares."

"Then what are they?" Jarlaxle demanded. He was now kneeling so he and Entreri were truly eye level. His red eye pierced through Entreri's very mind. He had never known Jarlaxle to be so persuasive, but somehow when he truly wanted to know and was tired of the games he was actually very intimidating.

"Jarlaxle, this is none of your concern." He knew immediately the argument he was up against, and knew that he was unlikely to win.

"It is my concern if you are too exhausted to battle at your best."

"Against the foes we face here there is hardly any need to be at my best."

"There are giants who wander this land," Jarlaxle said in mockery of the heroic bard. "Now, tell me what the problem is and how I can help."

"Give me an hour or two more of sleep and I will be just fine."

"This is not the first evening you have not rested well. What is troubling you?"

Entreri thought it was amazing how quickly Jarlaxle had moved from intimidation to concern. "I don't know," he finally admitted, "but I think I will find my answers in the Moonwood."

"What sort of answers? It is better if I have some idea of what we seek."

"You act so innocent and yet I can see the mischievous glint in your eye."

Jarlaxle laughed. "And look who is being poetic! Perhaps lack of sleep is almost good for you."

"It is not lack of sleep; it is lack of good sleep."

"I understand, my abbil, and will wake you when dawn approaches." He went back to where he had been keeping watch and Entreri slumped back into his bed roll. Jarlaxle was amazed at how quickly his human companion went back to sleep, and intrigued by what lay ahead. Despite his generally paranoid nature he had a certain amount of faith in Entreri and, if nothing else, knew that they played by the same rules.

"Jarlaxle," he heard Entreri mumble. He turned to regard his companion and realized that the man was falling into another fitful slumber, but he seemed to be trying to project. The mumblings continued for a while longer, but while Jarlaxle could hear them clearly they had fallen back into that language he did not know. Jarlaxle greeted the dawn with a headache and was feeling rather vindictive towards Entreri by the time the man came up to him.

"Do you feel better now?" Jarlaxle asked.

"A couple of hours helped a lot," Entreri admitted. "Are you sure you'll be fine with no rest?"

"For one evening I should be fine."

"Perhaps I should take first watch this evening."

"Perhaps, but I would rather if you prepared breakfast."

Entreri nodded and moved over to get a fire going again while Jarlaxle mused. He did not realize how long he was at it until his companion called that it was done. Jarlaxle sat across the human and began to eat the stew slowly, his mind still wandering.

"Alright," Entreri said after a couple of moments, "what's wrong?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You are never this quiet."

Jarlaxle put down his stew. "You were mumbling in your sleep."

"Did I have anything interesting to say?"

"What other languages do you speak?"

"Jarlaxle, you know how horrible I am at learning new languages."

"That is why I am concerned."

"Jarlaxle, I don't remember what I was saying or even what I was dreaming so stop asking me about it."

"What if I repeated some of it to you? Could you understand it then?"

"It could have just been gibberish," Entreri pointed out.

Jarlaxle shook his head. "I know language, and you were speaking in a language."

Entreri continued eating; now ignoring his companion as Jarlaxle began to talk about the complexity of language. Still, it left a pleasant hum in his ears and made everything feel normal. Jarlaxle seemed strangely aware that he needed normalcy and kept talking as they took down camp and began to continue their long walk.

Callahan sat perched on a windowsill, his fine white hair falling across his shoulders.

"Callahan, it's time for bed!" his father called, coming into his room with a smile. His hair was raven black and his eyes were the vivid green common to moon elves. "Are you planning to stare at Sehanine's moon all evening?" he asked as he came up to his son.

"I was admiring the shadows the trees cast," Callahan responded in his musical tones.

"What of the glow upon the ground?"

"The shadows are truer."

"Sehanine is about casting light in the darkness of the future," his father began.

"Thus are the shadows of our doubt created, but from the shadows if you look hard enough you can see both the darkness and the light."

"I worry about you sometimes." His father sat down beside him. "Sometimes you are too like your mother."

Callahan's ears perked up at that. "How am I like my mother?"

"I loved her for her ability to question everything, as well as her love of flitting from shadow to shadow but," his face fell, "that does not make for a romance to last. She hated being pregnant with you, but knew my desire for a child. She stayed just long enough to give you to me. Those were happy days, Callahan, but the sting of losing her was not worth it."

"It gave you me," reminded Callahan.

"And now you desire to leave and ask questions about those best forgotten. I say again, you are too like your mother."

"Perhaps my curiosity would be sated if you would just tell me. I am old enough for the truth."

"As I said, there are things best forgotten."

"Father, tell me about Aramil Galaedon."

His father stood, staring angrily down at him. "You need to cease asking about him. It reflects poorly upon the both of us."

"Yes, General."

"Callahan, please refrain from using my title out of context."

"Yes, sir."

"Callahan, I hate when you do this."

"And I hate when you start talking about how important your reputation is."

Another elf burst through the door. "General Silverbow1, the priestess of Sehanine demands to speak with you!"

"I will be right there!" Callahan's father stood and gave his son one last, long look. "Please, Callahan, do not cause me that pain that your mother caused."

Callahan made no reply, just turned to stare out the window again. The shadows seemed more alive than the rest of the forest.