Chapter Seven

Jarlaxle stared with abject boredom at the stone wall before him. For a while he'd talked and sung to himself just to feel his chest vibrate, but making the sound without being able to hear it was beginning to spook him. As a result, the oppressive silence had drawn the ringing in his ears into such fine contrast that it sounded deafening.

He'd tried everything: plotting, planning, daydreaming, exercising his arms, popping his neck, rubbing his face, playing with his rings and necklaces, and counting backward from one million to one in two different human languages, alternating each number between each language. Still, six hours had passed according to his internal clock, and now all he was aware of was the silence, the numbing cold that made his ears and nose ache, and the pain in his back and legs from being caught in a standing position.

Left alone with his thoughts for so long, Jarlaxle found himself returning once again to his argument with Entreri and the assassin's unspoken accusation of betrayal. Every time he considered argument, he found himself fixated on the image of himself as a dried up husk, insane and alone in a world of power and wealth but without friends or companionship.

Was it true? Had he really betrayed his allies in his heart? Was withholding his true self really an act of treachery? Was withholding information a lie?

Actually, it was, he admitted to himself, but who could blame him? He had survived centuries in Menzoberranzan this way. The moment he was born, his mother and siblings had betrayed him, and he'd fought oppression and deception all his life, both during and after his creation of an all male organization. What suicidal notion could possess him that would make him express any true part of himself to anyone?

And why would it be different now? Entreri was an assassin—a man who had lived a life much like a drow's. Tai and Nyx were the loyal servants of a vengeance god. Things were safer the way he'd already organized them, and the benefit was mutual, given his own resources. In fact, he'd given Entreri the two greatest gifts he had to offer: the commitment to helping the man enjoy his life, and the knowledge that the way in which one most limits oneself is through self-lies.

"Self-lies," Jarlaxle said aloud, knowing suddenly the path which would take him to either of those horrible future images. And from his memory sprang the words he'd said to Entreri months ago on the night Tai was raped: "'All the internal hells that beings—human or drow—reside in are the result of believing some lie is truth. If you expose and let go of the lie, you will both rid yourself of the hell and empower yourself.'"

That was all good and well, but what was the lie? That his human companions would betray him? That trusting someone would make him sacrifice some aspect of himself? Jarlaxle put his hand on his chest, right over his heart. He was too experienced and self-assured to lose his identity. Besides, he had the mask.

But who was the self behind the mask? Who was the person under the walking armory? Even stripped naked, in bed with a woman, he wasn't defenseless. If he lifted up the mask even an inch to show anyone the person underneath, who would they find? Or was the person under the mask already dead, killed by the paranoia and cruelty of drow society, and all that his friends would find would be a dried up husk, the mummified remains of an elf?

So the image in the mirror might not be the future, but the present.

The truth of that possibility hit Jarlaxle harder that he could have ever imagined. Shocked both by the realization and its impact, he placed his hands against his prison walls, but the stone leached all remaining warmth from his body. It was as though his blood pumped outward from his heart, through his arms, and out into the stone, leaving him frozen and dead. A statue. All his power, weapons, and wealth seemed to fall away from him in that moment, forever destroyed by the pit's magical barrier, and for the first time, he saw something he had only suspected once before: he was empty. Utterly empty.

Suddenly, Jarlaxle felt overwhelmed by the pit's silence and cramped space. His arms, hands, and face burned with cold, and his legs and feet had gone completely numb. The stone walls seemed to constrict, pressing closer inward, and the drow felt like he couldn't breathe.

He gasped and pressed his hands against his chest as though he could force more air into his lungs. He needed air. He needed to move. He needed sound, warmth, and contact with another creature! Anything except this endless silence, the contrasting ringing in his ears, and the burning coldness.

"Artemis!" he yelled with all his soul, but his inability to hear made him feel like he couldn't breathe again. He needed to be set free, now. He needed to be set free forever.

Entreri felt tired. He and Nyx had searched the entire left tunnel, retraced their steps, and then traveled down the right tunnel. How far had Jarlaxle walked? Had he really left them behind to die? In his rage, Entreri had accused him of planning such, but he wasn't sure he'd believed the drow would truly do it. Maybe that had been foolish.

"I see light ahead," Nyx murmured, her voice faint and slurred; he knew she was as tired as he.

Entreri focused on the corridor before him, looking beyond the torchlight to see a flicker of brighter, clearer illumination. Sunshine? He traded looks with Nyx and jogged toward the light, quickly coming upon a new room. This room was small and circular, containing nothing more than a swirling, crimson pattern on the floor and a door with sunlight dancing around its edges.

"It appears to be an exit, so maybe he's left already," Nyx said.

"No," Entreri replied in a tight voice. He pointed to the oversized purple hat that lay at the room's edge. "He would never willingly separate from his hat." A creeping fear tickled up his throat like a scurrying spider. "He set off a trap in here."

The assassin fell to his knees, searching for a trigger. A loose stone, maybe? A wire? A pressure plate? The crimson markings and black circle on the floor suggested a rune, but there had to be a trigger. Entreri drew his vampiric dagger and tapped the floor in several places; after a few moments, a pressure plate revealed itself. With nearly inhuman speed, Entreri set about disarming it.

The crimson swirl on the floor emitted a soft red glow that turned pink and then vanished.

"Did you get it?" Nyx asked.

"Got it," Entreri replied, his gaze zeroing in upon the black circle in the room's center. He realized suddenly that it was no longer a painted mark, but a lid. He jumped up and raced over to the lid, tearing it off the hole. Glancing inside, he saw a small drow blinking up at him from the bottom. The blue, swirling glow at Jarlaxle's feet concerned Entreri, but the swirl vanished and left nothing but a normal stone floor. Had the elf's feet been caught in something?

"Artemis?" Jarlaxle asked, his voice oddly strained. From Entreri's vantage point, the drow looked smaller than normal, almost childlike. He was still blinking and now held a hand above his eyes, as though the sudden light hurt him.

All of Entreri's frustration and anger seemed to swoosh out of him, replaced by an exhaustion that the assassin suspected belonged to parents of overly rambunctious children. "Yes, Jarlaxle. It is I." He stretched his hand downward. "I'll finish taking a strip out of you later. Levitate up here so we can leave this place."

Jarlaxle made a strange choking sound and looked down.

An emotion Entreri couldn't identify shot through his gut like an acidic arrow. "Jarlaxle? Are you injured?"

A long pause. "Yes. It's minor." The voice didn't sound like Jarlaxle's. The strain and fragility in the tone flew in the face of everything the elf projected. "This place dispels magic; I cannot levitate."

"Are you sure? I defeated the trap." The assassin felt almost as though he were trying to draw a wounded dog out from under a cart; the sensation jarred him. He couldn't imagine Jarlaxle hurt in any way, just like Nyx had said—he didn't see Jarlaxle as made of flesh and blood. Entreri shook his head to clear the thoughts. "I will lower a rope, then."

"Allow me to try levitation again first." Now Jarlaxle's voice sounded flat in a forced way, as though he were expending all his energy to control an overwhelming emotion.

"Very well." Entreri felt a surge of worry. Intense, irrational, overpowering worry. For once in his life, he didn't try to bury it, deflect it, or ignore it. He wanted Jarlaxle up beside him immediately so he could ascertain how the drow was hurt.

Jarlaxle touched the Bregan D'arthe emblem on his chest and began to rise; he still wasn't looking up. Entreri didn't retract his hand, however, and when the drow reached the opening, Entreri pulled him sideways and forced him to the ground, so that the drow sat on the pit's edge and Entreri crouched beside him. Jarlaxle still wouldn't meet his eyes, and he seemed extremely tense.

"Let me see your injury," Entreri demanded, and when Jarlaxle didn't respond, he began patting him down, looking for blood and checking for broken bones. To his astonishment, he realized Jarlaxle was faintly trembling, but the assassin didn't indicate he knew it.

Shock? the assassin wondered. He'd need to see if Jarlaxle's eyes were dilated to know for sure, but the drow's skin was cold to the touch. He ran his hands over Jarlaxle's scalp to see if there were any head injuries, and finding none, was at a loss. He'd checked the drow's arms and legs already, but all he'd found were a few cuts on his hands. Maybe a broken rib? He poked down his chest, testing, and found nothing. Perhaps the fracture was in the back of his ribs? Entreri stood on his knees and reached around the drow to run both hands down his back.

Jarlaxle relaxed suddenly, and Entreri was so startled he sat back down. The drow didn't say anything, however; he simply stared at his knees with a tiny, unstable smile on his face.

"I can't find the injury," Entreri said, uncertain how to take Jarlaxle's behavior. He glanced back at Nyx, who shrugged at him. She apparently shared his confusion.

"My ankle," Jarlaxle said quietly.

Entreri considered the drow's swashbuckler-style boots and decided it was understandable that he'd missed the injury. "Anything else?"

The drow's smile was bitter. "Ultimately, no. I need to wait for the circulation to completely return to my legs, but past that, it was simply an effective trap."

Entreri traded a second look with Nyx, who raised an eyebrow and pointed to her head and her heart. She then turned and pointedly looked away, which Entreri thought was odd. When he glanced back at Jarlaxle, though, he decided there might be some sense to her gesture. The drow was clenching his jaw so hard Entreri could see the muscles near his ear ripple.

Feeling entirely awkward and out of his element, Entreri put his hand on Jarlaxle's back again. The drow seemed to unconsciously arch into the touch, because he blinked suddenly then turned his gaze upon the assassin and genuinely smiled.

"I think my ankle is merely sprained. Like I said, a minor injury." Jarlaxle seemed to be trying to flit past his obvious pain, trying to force himself back into his normal behavioral patterns.

However, Entreri saw a hollowness in the drow's eyes he'd never seen before, and for a strange moment he was back in Waylein's dungeon, back in that endless night of being tortured by the sadistic madman. Back in the moment when he'd been returned to Jarlaxle after the torture. He'd awakened and found the drow hovering over him, and he'd looked into the drow's eyes and tried to express his thoughts, only to fail.

Entreri had an impulse he didn't understand and immediately killed it. He sighed and dropped his hand from the drow's back. "Well, can you walk, then?"

Jarlaxle's façade slipped further back in place, but his tenseness and bitter smile returned. "Certainly!"

Entreri experienced an inexplicable moment of anger at himself, and being one who acted first and rationalized later, he allowed the mysterious impulse to return and followed it through. "Hells!" he cursed at himself.

Jarlaxle blinked, but the assassin didn't give him a chance to react further. He stood on his knees again, reached out with both arms, and hugged the drow to him. "You're like a block of ice," Entreri snapped, scowling. "It's a wonder you have any circulation at all, but I guess that's your fault for wearing such flimsy clothes."

For a moment, Jarlaxle was closer to an ice sculpture with his arms caught in mid-motion, as though he'd tried to pull away and reach for a weapon simultaneously. After a long moment in which Entreri wondered if he'd get stabbed, the drow suddenly relaxed with a soft chuckle and slowly wrapped his arms around Entreri's waist and under his heavier cloak. Entreri could feel him completely relax.

Nyx, who was transparently ignoring this breach of the Code of True Manhood, carefully studied the room's upper corner as though the secrets of the celestial realms were written there. Still, Entreri felt awkward and embarrassed, or part of him did. The other part seemed to find it all perfectly normal, which mystified the assassin.

I wonder if Jarlaxle has ever been hugged before, Entreri thought, staring down at the drow's shaved head, which was growing faint stubble. I can't imagine drow do such things. Too kind. Suddenly, the moment seemed surreal, and Entreri couldn't fathom why it was such a big deal to hug another person. Yet during all his adult life, the assassin hadn't let anyone hug him except Dwahvel.

This line of thought told Entreri his defenses were too low, but with the drow melted against him, he couldn't seem to conjure a sense of alarm. All he did was reach up and run a finger across the white stubble making itself known on Jarlaxle's scalp. The drow stirred like someone who had fallen half-asleep, and in that moment Entreri understood that to Jarlaxle, forced isolation was a fate worse than death. He had to have someone to chat with (or at), people to direct, manage, and plan with, and an audience to experience his overly-dramatic fashion, strategies, and humor. In short, Jarlaxle needed others.

Entreri found himself smiling at his wild partner.

"What?" Jarlaxle said, pulling away and rubbing his hand over his head. "Oh, I see. I really do need to shave—I can hardly allow my image to be ruined." In that instant, he had recovered himself like a recharged wand. He was Jarlaxle again, confident, unstoppable, and full of energy.

Entreri now found himself grinning uncontrollably, for in that same instant, Jarlaxle suddenly seemed human. The assassin immediately found his footing, his even ground. Jarlaxle was no longer the impenetrable enigma or the dangerous obstacle; he was a person. Something clicked inside of Entreri's mind, down to his very soul, and he knew what to do now.

Entreri stood and held out his hand, grasping Jarlaxle's firmly and hauling him to his feet. "Come on," the man said impatiently, pulling Jarlaxle along behind him and toward the door that led outside. "I'm not going to carry you out of here."

"Well, I do not need to be carried," Jarlaxle replied with a smile. He pulled away and stooped to retrieve his hat.

Nyx joined them, and Entreri felt so totally grounded, he gave her a mock smirk. She was already smiling, apparently amused by the drow's return to his normal theatrics.

"Don't worry, Jarlaxle," Entreri called over his shoulder. "We already know you're a demigod." He glanced back at the limping but determined drow. "But that doesn't get you off the hook for getting us in this mess."

Jarlaxle sneered, but Entreri just laughed.

Darvin stoked the campfire, waiting for Miri to return from her bath in the nearby creek. The orange flames shot higher, consuming the wood with hungry popping and snapping sounds. Across the fire, Tai polished his dagger and hummed to himself, no doubt pondering what an incredible hero he was. The fool. However, Darvin was distracted from his thoughts when Miri entered the campfire's radius, brushing her wet hair out of her face and smiling.

Darvin stood and smiled back. "Here, warm up by the fire."

"Thank you," she said, kneeling.

"After you're warm, would you please give me a moment of your time?" Darvin asked, pointing to a second clearing just a few yards beyond their camp.

Miri looked up at him, her brow furrowed, then her features softened. "Certainly."

Darvin nodded and wound his way through the trees. He could hear Miri and Tai talking as he left, but he paid it no attention. It was of no matter; soon this entire misunderstanding would be cleared up. And that's all it was: a small bit of flirting piled on top of a misunderstanding.

Darvin stopped in the dark clearing and peered up through the break in the leafy canopy. All of heaven was his witness: the crescent moon and the swath of stars arching across the sky—pinpricks of yellow, red, and white. The heavens would watch as Darvin made the situation clear to Miri and then officially proposed to her. From his astral palace, Hoar would witness this oath as well, and then Tai could not move against it without invoking their god's wrath. Yes, both the natural and the supernatural would oversee Darvin's goal this night. Darvin withdrew the stiletto dagger Tai had lent him and pricked his fingertip, squeezing a drop of blood out for the sake of his oath.

Miri entered the clearing and smiled at him. "What did you need to talk about?"

Without a fuller moon to illuminate her silken blonde hair, Darvin couldn't fully appreciate her beauty, but the starlight and the campfire glow, which filtered through the trees, allowed him to worship her pale skin and curves. "Us."

"Us?" She sounded wary and defensive, and that made Darvin uneasy.

"Yes, us." He frowned. "I saw him kiss you earlier, but that's not the issue. The issue is that I love you, and I know you love me. It's time for us to move past the unspoken and make our intentions official. I'm sorry I didn't propose sooner; if I had, you wouldn't have been seduced."

Miri put her hands on her hips—a bad sign. "Seduced? I'm not some innocent maiden unaware of the wiles of the world or some dimwit who can be charmed into handing herself away." She shook her head. "Besides, there is no agreement between us spoken or unspoken. We are friends. That is all we have ever been and all we will ever be."

Darvin growled. She could be so obstinate! "Women! I swear, I don't understand how you think. Friends are people you flit around with for a season. Admit it. We have always been together, and we always will be. It's destiny."

"Of course I've run around with many friends, but I—" Miri stopped, dropping her arms and clenching her fists. "Wait. Destined? Don't speak to me of destiny! You, of all people, should know better. I make my own decisions, regardless of what anyone else thinks or says! I will not allow anyone—and I mean anyone—dictate to me. Not a prophecy, not my father, and not my friends."

"I'm not dictating to you!" Darvin threw his arms wide in exasperation, and Miri stepped back as the blade of the dagger swished by her face. "Sorry." He dropped his arms to his sides. "As I said," he continued, "I'm not dictating to you. You're right—you're not stupid or naïve. You've known all along how I feel about you and what I wanted for us; don't deny it. Why are you trying to ditch me after all this time?"

Miri slapped her hands against her temples. "Darvin!" She sighed explosively. "I'm a druid, not a mind reader. I grew up with you. I spent every afternoon playing games with you, even learned to read and write with you. You have always been my brother—the only other half elf in our town near my age. I never imagined your feelings for me had become sexual in nature."

Darvin stomped up to her and grabbed her shoulder with his free hand. "You had to have noticed! How could you not have after all I've done for you?"

"So now all your kindness and help are a price to buy my love?" Miri glared at him. "You do not give freely from the heart, but expect something in return?"

"No!" Darvin exclaimed, stung by the truth of his motives, and his grip on her shoulder tightened. Or were her words true? He did all he did out of love. Should that effort not be rewarded?

"Now let me go!" Miri tried to pull away, but Darvin held fast.

"Hear me out." He tightened his grip again. "I love you, and I always have. We are meant to be together! So please be my wife, and break off your attentions to that half-baked priest." He jerked his head toward their camp.

"Half-baked?" Miri stared at him. "You're raging with jealousy! You're so jealous you can't think straight. Tai is a kind, intelligent, thoughtful person. I'm attracted to him, and he is to me. So just leave us alone! It's not like we're talking marriage—I'm not ready to marry anyone. I'm only 17! I want to explore the world first, see the greatest sites nature has to offer! You can't do that with a family. Families require responsibility, stability, and commitment. I'm not ready for that!"

Darvin was astonished. What was her issue? "You're just selfish!"

"No, you are!" Miri finally jerked free of his grasp. "You're not thinking of all the diapers I'll have to change, all the meals I'll have to cook. You're not thinking of the way I'll have to give up being an active druid in order to rear your children, and how I'll no longer have any time to myself. In the meantime, you will still be you, with your job and your identity."

Darvin stared at Miri in absolute stupefaction. "What kind of rant is that? I will not leave you to do all the work alone! I know many women in Faerun have it hard, but it won't be like that with me. I will help you with all the chores. In fact, I plan for us to be well-off enough that we can hire maids and tutors."

Miri snorted. "All men say that they'll help out while they court a woman, and all men plan to be rich. Either rarely happen." She shook her head. "Don't lie to me. Don't say things you don't really mean, and don't make promises you won't keep. Tell me what you really want and expect, and I'll tell you if I can accept it or not." She sighed. "Why are we even talking about this? I already told you I'm not interested in you that way."

Darvin grabbed her shoulder again. "When did you get so cynical? I had no idea you felt this way!"

She yanked away. "I don't know why. I've been making these comments the whole time we've been growing up, watching my aunt slave to take care of me in my mother's absence. My aunt lost her entire life to be the stand-in wife and mother to a family that wasn't hers. All the pain and none of the benefits."

"That was your aunt!"

"And the mother of every one of my many friends you mentioned earlier!" Miri threw up her arms. "I'm telling you—I don't wanted to be married right now, and I don't want to marry you! It would be like marrying my brother!"

"Stop it, Miri!" Darvin grabbed for her again, but she evaded him. Losing his temper, he lunged forward, snatching up her arm with his free hand and swiping at her with his other—completely forgetting the dagger.

Darvin felt the blade impact against Miri's body; she screamed and twisted away from him, falling to the ground face first. He halted, horrified, and raised the dagger to see blood. Panicking, he threw the blade away from him and dropped to Miri's side, pulling her up and into his lap. Blood gushed from a wound in her neck, and she was holding her hand over it in a vain attempt to stop the flow.

Miri smiled at him, a smile without humor. "Or I could just die due to a man's jealous rage."

Darvin's eyes welled up with tears, and a harsh sob cracked out of his chest. "No, please don't. Don't die. I didn't mean to hurt you! I love you."

A brilliant flash of crimson light drew their gaze to the spot where Miri had fallen. A vortex of black and scarlet energy snapped into existence, burrowing through the ground like an extra-dimensional whirlpool. Leaves and twigs circled through the air from the wind generated by the portal, and streaks of red lightning shot from the edges down into the black hole forming at the center.

"No," Miri whispered, her bloody hand falling away from her neck. "I failed! After all this, I failed!"

A/N: As always, thank you to everyone who reads and reviews. One more chapter to go!