Chapter Six

"Melcer!"

Lander raced to his brother's side as he collapsed. He'd been waiting for Melcer to teleport in with the girl, and instead all he saw was a blood-covered figure that crumpled onto the marble floor. For an instant, Lander couldn't draw breath; the panic burnt his veins with such intensity that he went momentarily deaf from fear. If his brother was dead, he would die! He couldn't live without seeing Melcer's smiles and frowns, hearing his laughter or spell-casting. The entire world would be slanted and grey . . .

"Melcer!" He fell to his knees beside his brother and rolled him over, begging Bane to spare his life. He yelled for the servants, who fetched healing potions, but he couldn't think straight until two potions were down Melcer's throat and his wounds had started to heal.

"What happened?" Lander asked, propping up Melcer in his lap and using a damp cloth to wipe the blood from his face.

"That priest . . . who looks like he shares our heritage," Melcer gasped, obviously still in pain. "He's more powerful . . . than I imagined. To be so young . . . He must be . . . Chosen."

Lander frowned. "The part-Mulan priest?" He searched his memory. "Intelligence said his name is Tai Vatoshie." He hugged his brother closer. "I will kill him. I will go get the half-elf myself, and I'll kill that priest for having wounded you."

Melcer grabbed his arm. "Be careful. They are more than they seem."

"I'll be careful," Lander replied. "And they'll be dead."

Jarlaxle sighed just to feel the air leaving his chest. The pit's magical silence was wearing on his nerves, and he couldn't even talk or sing to himself to alleviate it. The ringing in his ears, which he had never noticed before, irritated him, but far worse was the fact that every plan he'd formed for escape had failed utterly. Without magic, free movement, or a pick axe, he couldn't do anything.

His internal clock told him three hours had passed, but of course it had seemed much longer. Having exhausted all his escape plans, he had moved on to general plotting such as how to deal with Entreri's anger. After all, as an optimist, Jarlaxle still believed he would escape the pit. But thinking about Entreri made Jarlaxle consider several unpleasant things, including the room of mirrors and what it had shown him: himself old and decrepit, abandoned and alone.

Suddenly, Jarlaxle remembered Entreri's words on the day they'd fought over Tai's abduction by the wizard Socor. "Do you really believe that you are forging connections with others by simply surrounding yourself with a group of associates? If you cannot trust a single one of them and cannot see them as anything but tools, then you are as alone as I."

He was alone, of course. Both the Night Above and the Underdark had a similar maxim: "It is always lonely at the top." The saying had become cliché in several cultures, but Jarlaxle knew it was true, nonetheless. He could surround himself with lieutenants, allies, or women, but he was always apart from them. Always on guard, always watching their shifts in motivation or desire. He had wealth and power, they wanted it. He had soldiers and resources, they needed them. To stay alive was to not give out information too soon. To stay alive was to hold all the cards. Surrounded, surrounded, but always behind a wall of lies or tricks. The mask.

Entreri understood this. He had understood it even as he'd spoken the words. And yet the man was still at his side, had proven loyal to him during their imprisonment at Waylein's, their fight with Socor, and their battle with Mordecai. Even in a skirmish as small as the one with the allips, Entreri had assisted Jarlaxle, had shown concern for his welfare. This was who the man was when he stepped outside of his own box. Jarlaxle knew this, yet he had no faith in its durability. Such faith could not be chanced.

But the image of a husk of a drow needled his mind: rich but mad; powerful but withered. There had to be another answer.

Jarlaxle shivered, jerked out of his thoughts by how cold he'd become. His legs felt particularly cold, and he knew they were losing circulation. Since he wasn't supporting his weight, his feet didn't hurt, but at the same time, he could feel a tightness that suggested blood had pooled in his extremities. Not good.

Jarlaxle sighed again, beginning to feel stir crazy. He wasn't used to remaining in one location for long, much less being unable to move freely and interact with others. It wasn't that he hated to be alone—he needed time alone to plot and plan. But he preferred company, and he definitely preferred to move freely. What was more, he hated to be bored. He squirmed a bit, trying to ease his pain, but failing miserably.

Then his mind betrayed him and whispered the one thing he didn't want to think: You really need Entreri to rescue you, and he might be unable to find you. What's more, even if he does find you, he might be so angry as to leave you.

A cold sweat broke out onto Jarlaxle's forehead. If Entreri betrayed him at this point, under these conditions, he would die of starvation, slowly and torturously. Since he seemed to have air, that was the only possible outcome unless the Stonars found him first. He wouldn't have to worry about being abandoned and insane in the future; he'd go mad and die in the present.

Jarlaxle didn't pray to any gods, but for once in his life, he was sorry he didn't.

Entreri and Nyx stood before the fork in the hallway, trying to decide which direction to take. Each side of the fork presented them with nothing more than a long, torchlit tunnel.

"Should we split up?" Nyx asked. "We stand a better chance of finding Jarlaxle that way."

"You aren't skilled at defeating traps," Entreri replied. "If you get caught in one, you could get killed."

Nyx sighed. "True. But we could miss him if he doubles back."

The assassin frowned and unsheathed the dagger he kept in his boot. "That's solved easily enough." He pressed the dagger tip into the stone wall, scratching a faint message in the stone: Jarlaxle, if you find this, wait here. Then Entreri stabbed the dagger into the wall by the note. "That should take care of it."

Nyx nodded. "Right or left, then?"

Entreri shrugged. "Left." He walked past the monk, taking point so he could check for traps, and couldn't help wondering what kind of images the mirrors had shown Jarlaxle. What dark memories and fears might the confident elf be hiding?

Entreri sighed as one of his own illusions returned to his mind: the one in which he was an older man abusing his son. The assassin snorted, for it seemed ludicrous to him that he would ever have a child. Despite that, he was angered by the implication that he would treat his own flesh and blood in the same manner his father and uncle had treated him. He was neither that sick nor that pathetic!

Still, Entreri was uncomfortably reminded of Hector, the priest of Tyr he and Jarlaxle had encountered. Hector had accused Entreri of being exactly like his father—a man the assassin had resented all his life. Violent, cruel, selfish.

Entreri scowled, but now, like then, he couldn't ultimately argue the point. While Entreri's father had possessed several traits the assassin didn't have—weakness, perversion, and drunkenness, to name a few—both men thought first and foremost of their own survival, their own needs. And neither acted with any compassion. Likewise, now—like then—even this smallest comparison rankled Entreri's soul. He might not be running the risk of turning into his father, but he wouldn't accept that he had anything in common with that man at all!

Maybe the similarities he saw—the risk that seemed to be presenting itself—was the result of his not letting go. The mirrors in the trap obviously reflected a person's worst thoughts, so perhaps it had shown him what he was holding on to: grudges, pain, and rage. If Entreri released these things and the beliefs they generated, could he find the path he was searching for?

But how does a person let go of unforgiveness? When the anger he felt was the result of genuine injustice, how was Entreri supposed to release the grudge?

Entreri had no idea, so he set aside the question for the time being. His mission for the moment was finding Jarlaxle—a mission he planned to devote all his energy to, lest other images from the mirrors try to assert themselves:

The ones of his childhood.

Tai had left Miri and Darvin in their camp that night and then headed off to be alone for a while. He needed time to think, to reason out what had happened, and Miri seemed to need time to grieve Stormrider.

He had done it again: he reached deeply inside of himself, accessed a burning amount of Hoar's power, and channeled divine energy he had no right to understand or use. It should have been impossible, except for one explanation: if he were the Chosen of Hoar . . .

"But I can't be," Tai whispered to himself, leaning against a tree. "I'm a no one! I'm the most unlikely person."

"Unlikely for what?" asked a soft voice.

Tai whirled around to see Miri standing only a few feet behind him. He hadn't heard her approach.

Miri clasped her hands behind her back and bit her lip. Her pine green tunic drew attention to her green eyes, and her pale blonde hair swirled about her shoulders. In short, she looked both wild and lovely to Tai.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know you wanted to be alone, but I wanted to thank you for helping me escape." She stepped closer. "With your assistance, I was able to do it! I'm sure the divine energy you unleashed killed that Stonar man, which means there's no wizard to do whatever rite is needed to open the portal. So I really did divert destiny."

Tai raised an eyebrow. "The prophecy didn't mention any rites or spells, and the man could have survived. In fact, his brother could be coming for us this very minute. Let's not drop our guard."

"I won't, but without the wizard, it will take the other brother days to reach us. So I have hope we have succeeded." She bit her lip again. "Perhaps I must feel hope, considering Stormrider gave his life for this cause." Miri walked up to him and clasped his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Tai's hugged her to him, but his entire chest seized; it felt like a more pleasant version of the heart attack he'd experienced from Hoar's power and Set's mirror clashing. The heat built in his face, and he knew a blush raced over his cheeks and nose.

Miri leaned back, saw his expression, and smiled faintly. "Seeing that look on your face is enough to help me cheer up." She hesitated. "Shall we be honest with each other? We can't ignore our feelings much longer, can we?" She kissed the tip of his nose. "And I admit, I like that you don't rush in and try to paw me. I've had to break a few arms of some overexcited boys."

"Pawing you doesn't sound appealing to me," Tai managed to say, pushing the words past his tight throat. He placed his hands on her hips, but felt more nervous than ever. She had apparently kissed boys before, but he hadn't kissed any girls. His uncle had lived too far from town and kept him too busy training for Tai to find a girlfriend.

"Good. I approve of you, then, and I believe Stormrider did also." She caught his gaze and held it, and Tai saw the depth of her affection.

Comforted by this thought, Tai reached up to touch Miri's cheek and was embarrassed to see his fingers trembling. Why was it so difficult? Oh, it had always been difficult for him—just being around a girl he found attractive tongue-tied the priest and made him blush.

When Tai's long fingers made contact with Miri's soft skin, though, he found himself emboldened. He caressed her cheek and watched her smile, then slipped his hand behind Miri's head. The softness of her hair enchanted him, and he ran his fingers through it once before clasping his hand on the back of her neck. She'd already lifted her face, her eyes half-closed, and so collecting his courage, Tai brushed his lips across hers.

A lightning bolt seemed to crack inside of Tai's stomach as their lips met, and he inhaled sharply. He could feel the heat in his face, his pulse in his fingertips. Miri leaned into him and wove one arm around his waist, and he closed his mouth on hers again, a soft moan escaping him in the process. He encircled her waist as well, pulled her into him, and parted his lips in order to kiss her better.

Miri felt so happy she tightened her grip upon him. How slender he was! Delicate yet strong, for she could feel the muscles in his chest as she rested her free hand there. Intrigued, Miri slid her hand across the fabric and into the opening at Tai's collar. Warm skin met her fingertips, and she instantly wished he were bare-chested. Pressing against his body, she reached up to grasp his neck in the same way he grasped hers.

That action destroyed the moment for Tai. Miri's tightening grip on him had made him strangely uncomfortable, but the touch on his neck replaced his passion with terror. An icy wave crashed through him, accompanied by the feeling of being strangled, and Tai saw in his mind's eye the dark hallway where Mordecai had raped him. With a choked exclamation, he jerked himself free of Miri's embrace and pressed his hand to his throat.

Miri looked alarmed. "What is it? Tai! Did I hurt you?" She reached out to him, then dropped her arm when Tai backed away.

"Not . . . your fault," he said, his voice a wheeze. "I forgot . . . to—to warn you about my throat." It was a lie, but the priest didn't know how else to explain. He couldn't have guessed that the stranglehold Mordecai had held him in at the beginning of the rape would have had such lasting consequences.

"I'm sorry!" Miri looked so worried. She twisted her hands together and bit her lip, obviously wanting to help but not knowing how.

Tai stumbled backward until he found a log and then sat heavily. He still couldn't breathe well; his throat seemed to constrict further. The priest grasped for a memory—Entreri telling him to breathe, to focus on his gaze. Tai closed his eyes and remembered those dark grey eyes staring so intently at him, pinning him in place. That power of personality, that wall of strength and command that demanded Tai's complete attention. The cold assassin, so in control. Tai could have that control. He did have that control through his communing with Hoar. Touch the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth and breathe deeply, Tai repeated to himself, internally chanting the beginning of his communing ritual.

When the pressure eased, Tai opened his eyes and found Miri standing at his shoulder. Her look of concern invoked a warm tingling in his chest.

"Did someone choke you when you were a child?" she asked softly.

Close enough. "I couldn't breathe at all," the priest replied. "Complete suffocation." He quickly banished the memory of that sensation, not wanting to cause a second attack.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

Tai shook his head and stood. "No, truly. It's not your fault. Just don't touch my neck, and I'll be fine." His face burned with embarrassment, and he really just wanted to get past the moment.

Miri gave him a small smile. "If you say so."

Reaching out to her, Tai grabbed Miri's waist and pulled her close once more. Overcoming his past might be difficult, but Tai would not let his first kiss or his first relationship be ruined. He bent his head, and Miri met him halfway, their lips brushing as they kissed again.

Darvin withdrew quietly from the brushes, sprinted a hundred feet away, and then collapsed to his hands and knees on the leave-strewn forest floor. Tai had kissed her! Kissed! That pretentious, countrified, home-grown mama's boy had kissed Miri!

"Bastard!" he hissed.

An idiot who hadn't even known what the Codex was didn't even come close to being good enough for her! Besides, no one could ever love Miri has much as he did. Darvin had already dreamed their entire future together. They would establish residence in Miri's father's mansion, then they would travel from town to town dispensing Hoar's justice to the weak. Eventually they would settle down and have a family of their own—two boys and two girls. How dare this total stranger and would-be priest march right in and claim Miri's first kiss! Tai barely knew her, and Darvin had loved her for his entire life.

Darvin punched the ground and growled. And Miri herself! What was she thinking? She knew better. Darvin had been protecting her since they were children, and he would save her now. She knew how deeply he cared for her. What was she trying to accomplish by playing around with some poor bumpkin who didn't realize the way she collected and then discarded friends? All her life, she'd flitted from friend to friend, immersing herself in their individuality and then growing bored with them. Her only exception, other than her family, had been Darvin. Darvin would always be the one she never grew tired of. They had always secretly loved each other, and they always would!

He would confront her about it. Not now—he was too angry—but tonight after he had calmed. Tonight he would set Miri straight, and tomorrow he'd make everything crystal clear to Tai. In fact, tomorrow they would part company with Tai permanently.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing! I really, really appreciate it, as always. Your feedback keeps me motivated, and your reactions to characters and their predicaments helps me to fine-tune.