Chapter 3

Some months later, Dwahvel stood in a room full of giants.

Waterdeep was populated with them, as had been Calimport. She'd lived most of her life in a land where everything was too big and everyone was too tall. Looking around at the gathering of humans at Captain Jarrol's home, she was once again reminded that she was out of place in their world.

They were all huge. Although Artemis stood head and shoulders taller than she, these other humans made him look short in comparison. Though, she reminded herself, what Artemis lacked in height, he more than made up for in resolution and in skill. Many a very tall man lay dead in his wake for having underestimated him.

But that didn't change the fact that even Captain Jarrol's twelve year old son Emory looked down on her as they all headed in to the dinner table. With a sigh, she found herself a seat and subtly called upon the power of one of her favorite magical items, her amulet of accommodation, which immediately raised the height of the chair at least enough for her to comfortably eat her dinner with the rest of the group.

Ironically enough, back in her home village in Luiren she'd been much taller than the other girls. They'd picked at her unmercifully and accused her of being part orc. By the time she was seventeen, Dwahvel had known there was no place for her in Luiren.

So, she'd made her way to Calimport and joined the ranks of the expatriate halflings there. She'd learned to disguise herself, always as a human child, and to gather information. She'd learned to be harmless and charming. She'd learned to deflect suspicion from herself. She'd learned to listen and memorize, to watch and interpret.

Now, she sat at dinner at Artemis's side, and partially out of interest, but mostly out of habit she listened to the conversations going on around her.

"We must go to their aid, I say," declared one man down the length of the table. "It simply is not right to allow Luskan to be ruled by the likes of Arklem Geeth."

"I still say it's none of our business who rules Luskan," another retorted.

"But he's a lich," the first replied and Dwahvel recalled his name--Tolliver.

At her side Artemis shifted slightly. Of all the men at the table, she knew that he alone had been in close quarters with a lich. He alone knew what it meant to fight one—to defeat one.

"All of Waterdeep has thrown its support behind Lord Brambleberry and Captain Deudermont against the Hosttower," Tolliver continued in a strident voice. "We must stand ready to follow through with what is needed from us."

"Have you heard any current news of the expedition, Captain Jarrol?" came a request from one of the ladies at the table.

Jarrol gave a little glance to his wife beside him, then spoke up. "The news is that the battle against the Hosttower is going well, but that casualties are high among the civilians. Soon the winter will stop any flow of supplies into the port and the populace will be desperate for relief."

"We owe it to the good people of Luskan to help them fight against the evil that has gripped their city," Tolliver announced in a booming voice.

"I wonder if you can find any good people in Luskan," Artemis quietly remarked to Dwahvel.

"What's that, Entreri?" Tolliver gazed at him in suspicion.

Entreri slowly met his eyes, then said, "I merely wondered if you've ever been to Luskan, Tolliver."

The merchant stared back at him, his eyes beady in his puffy face. "No, Mr. Entreri, I have not. Perhaps you would fill us in on your own particular adventures in the city."

Out of all the men in the room, Tolliver was the one man he'd never worked with. The merchant simply could not afford Entreri's services.

However, out of deference to his other clients and to his host Captain Jarrol, Entreri reined in his irritation at the man's tone and stated, "I have been to Luskan over the years and with every visit I have found it to be a city of piracy and criminal activity. I sincerely doubt that Brambleberry and Deudermont will do anything to change that, no matter who runs the Hosttower."

"There must be some element of decency in Luskan," Tolliver retorted with a disbelieving laugh. "In every city there are some goodly folk, otherwise the entire structure would crumble in criminal anarchy."

Entreri just looked at him. He considered Calimport, Memnon, Menzoberranzan. No goodly core of people made certain law and order prevailed in those places. He considered Heliogabalus, whose paladin king and host of high-minded supporters barely managed to keep the Citadel of Assassins from running the place openly.

Tolliver went on to regale the others of the group with his vision of law and order in Luskan, but Entreri knew it to be a delusion. The city of Luskan would never be ruled by law and order, but only by the most opportunistic and most ruthless.

It was a waste of time to worry over it.

Then Captain Jarrol spoke up. "The Bonfire has been requested to serve as part of the relief flotilla that will be heading out in the spring. Does that mean you will not accompany us, Entreri? I had hoped to sign you on along with Mellisandra as protection for the ship."

Entreri looked down the table at the man who'd smoothed his entrance into Waterdeep. "Captain Jarrol," he said with a nod, "I would not dream of turning you down."

"So you do feel that the relief of Luskan is a priority," Tolliver assumed triumphantly.

"No, I do not," Entreri contradicted him firmly. "I believe it is a useless endeavor that will do no more than prolong the inevitable fall of Luskan into anarchy and pave the way for a new set of rulers just as evil and just as ruthless as the lich of the Hosttower."

"Then why go if you do not believe in the worth of the journey?" Tolliver responded in a scathing voice. "Have you no honor of your own to consider? Or are you simply a mercenary hired by whoever has the coin to pay you?"

All conversation stopped as the merchant's accusations hung in the air. Dwahvel held her breath. Men had died at his hand for far less.

However, her companion did not choose that route, not today. "My honor lies in keeping my word to Captain Jarrol that I will keep his cargo safe, whatever it is, wherever it goes," Entreri answered him, his voice quiet but with an icy resolution.

"And he will do that," came a crackly voice from the other end of the table. "He brought in two thieves with him on this last trip. One who turned in several of his fellows to the City Watch, and one who was dead." Torspur laughed, which turned into a cough, then added, "And my cargo made it to me safely."

The mood at the table turned even more somber with that revelation. Entreri ignored the stares and ate his dinner, unwilling to encourage more discussion of that nature. This was supposed to be a celebration.

The guild had experienced a very successful trading year, a success due in no small part to the activities of Artemis Entreri on their behalf. But Dwahvel knew he did not wish to call attention to himself or remind them of the cost of doing business with him.

At his side, she patted his knee then asked the lady beside her if she'd seen the latest arrivals in Mistress Wallingdam's jewelry cases. Soon, the other ladies had taken her cue and turned the conversation to less controversial and less bloody topics.

Entreri was silent through the rest of the meal, his mind on Tolliver's words. Had he exchanged one type of mercenary life for another? Was he simply a sword for hire to these guildsmen?

What was the difference in protecting Jarrol's cargo to Luskan and retrieving a stolen gem for Pasha Pook? In both cases, he was simply watching over another man's possessions.

Then he looked down the table at the men he'd chosen to work for. They were all honorable, all above-board in their dealings. These were not men who sought to make unfair profit off others. They were not men who took without recompense.

He'd never worked for Tolliver. He'd always been careful to estimate his services at more than the man could afford to pay him. So far, Dwahvel's network of sources had not let him down. Tolliver had never gotten wind that Entreri was carefully pricing himself out of his range.

He did not wish to make an enemy of the man purely as a matter of convenience, but he would not work for him. Tolliver was sloppy and secretive, an infernal combination in Entreri's book.

Then he looked down at old Torspur, aware that he'd done his last job for him as well. The old man had known there would be an attempt on the cargo outside the city, but other than hiring him to guard it, had not given him the information he should have received in order to do his job.

Entreri didn't care what had been in the box. He didn't care who wanted it. But he did care that the men sent to retrieve it had some magical backup at their disposal.

Caravans were routinely shielded from magical attacks, but this crew had found a loophole in using a non-threatening little cantrip. Someone had worked long and hard to exploit this weakness, and the ploy had almost worked.

In Calimport where a job was frequently a test or an ambush, he'd not have expected any more from his employer. He would have expected a ruse within a ruse and knew that no one he dealt with was telling him any more than absolutely necessary. If circumstances dictated, he would be just as prepared to kill his employer and take whatever he was guarding for himself.

But these days he lacked the patience for this sort of game. His time was too valuable to concern himself with the petty machinations and power plays of the insecure. Anything worth doing was worth doing openly, without apology, without hesitation.

He glanced down the table at Torspur again, disappointment coloring his thoughts. For Torspur, the price for Entreri's services had just gone to unpayable.

As they sat around in the salon after dinner in polite conversation groups, Entreri stood back on his own as Dwahvel worked the room with her customary blend of charm and artlessness. He knew she would come back with information ranging from upcoming trade agreements to upcoming grandchildren.

Captain Jarrol's oldest son, Emory, spoke briefly to his father, who then pointed across the room at the swordsmaster. The boy gave his father a respectful bow, then proceeded to approach Entreri.

"Sir," the boy began, "I am to sail with you in the spring as cabin boy. My father said I was to introduce myself to you. I hoped you might be free to take me on as a student."

Entreri looked at the boy, taking his measure quickly. He was not so small that he couldn't wield a sword, nor so overgrown that his clumsiness would present a hazard. However, he'd not taken on a student this young. "Why do you wish to learn the blade?" he asked him directly.

"I plan to go to sea with my father, sir, and I do not want to meet pirates unprepared," came the boy's quick answer.

Emory's reply was satisfactory and the swordmaster made arrangements to work with him. "But understand this, boy," Entreri warned. "You will do as I say, when I say. You will not question me or I will not teach you."

The boy agreed solemnly and stuck out his hand to seal the bargain. The gesture was so commonplace, but so unexpected. No man ventured to shake hands with Artemis Entreri. It was something instinctual inside those he met. They knew without knowing that he would not take their hand in friendship, nor in agreement.

Only Jarlaxle had the audacity to expect a handshake from him, an audacity that was not rewarded as he ignored his request as well.

But Emory was too young to know what he was doing. He was not yet wise enough in the ways of the world to understand that his position in the hierarchy was not nearly high enough to call for that kind of courtesy from Artemis Entreri.

Perhaps it was that earnestness, that innocence, that weakened his resolve, that caused Entreri to gravely shake the boy's hand.

From across the room, Dwahvel watched the interchange with interest. And over the next weeks she watched the lessons unfold. Where most of his students left with various cuts, scrapes, and bruises each day, Emory left exhausted but otherwise unharmed.

"Why do you pull back with him?" she asked after the fourth lesson.

"I don't pull back with him," he replied defensively and the tone of his voice told her all she needed to know. Artemis was not aware that he was pulling back. He was being kind without realizing it. Dwahvel was quite frankly astonished.

Then Artemis looked at her as he wiped his hand across his forehead. "Am I pulling back?" he asked.

Dwahvel did not know what to say. She did not want to disturb the growth of the tender plant before her—the flower of affection for another person that was apparently growing inside him. However, she'd brought it up and now she had to answer for her comments.

"No, of course not," she said breezily, "you are as hard on him as he needs you to be, no more, no less."

Artemis looked at her for a long moment, then went to take a drink of water from the pitcher she kept filled for his students.

"Manfred Jarrol is a valued business associate," he stated at last. "It would not be good business for me to carve his son up like a roasting bird."

"No, of course not."

There was another long pause. Then the bell rang to admit another student for his lesson. This one bore a black eye and several half healed scratches on his neck and arms.

Entreri realized in that moment that he was too hard on the young men who studied with him. He punished them relentlessly until they either dropped off his roll or proved their willingness to do whatever it took to learn from him.

Those that stayed became swordsmen. Cullon and Ballantin had become nearly proficient under his tutelage—and Cullon had proven himself in mortal combat. Though he was never going to be a master, he was solid and reliable in combat and would continue to improve with time. Entreri did not mind fighting beside him.

That realization alone was enough to surprise him afresh.

Artemis Entreri fought alone.

Then he recalled some of the most amazing feats of swordsmanship he'd ever been party to. Each time it had been with another master at his back—Jarlaxle, Do'Urden, even Danica Bonaduce.

The young man came forward, his eyes resolute but with a touch of anxiety. He was improving. He hadn't begged for his life in several weeks. Perhaps it was time to move him to the next level of instruction.

"Anders, I'm going to show you something new today," Entreri began, noting how quickly the young man suppressed the flinch he'd felt. New always equaled painful in Entreri's studio.

But on this day, Anders would leave with a sense of accomplishment rather than additional injuries.