"Then why tell me?"
"They pose no threat to King Gareth," said Jarlaxle. "And now I know your loyalty there. Indeed, Kimmuriel will force Knellict to behave himself, so consider the efforts of Bregan D'aerthe to be a welcomed leash on the Citadel of Assassins. And an opportunity for you and your sister. Items we consider commonplace and cheap in Menzoberranzan will no doubt interest you greatly for your collections, and will bring a fine price on the surface. Similarly, you can barter goods that hold little value here but will light the red eyes of matron mothers in the city of drow."
"Bregan D'aerthe is a merchant operation, then?"
"First, foremost, and whenever the choice is before us."
Ilnezhara slowly nodded, though her expression remained doubtful. "We will watch them carefully."
"You will never see them," said Jarlaxle, and he pulled himself to his feet and gathered his clothing. "Kimmuriel is not skilled in the ways of polite society. Ever has that been my role, and of course your beloved King Gareth is too small a man to understand the worth of my company. Now, if you will excuse me, good lady. The day grows long already and I must go and speak with my associate." He finished with a bow, and pulled on his shirt.
"He surprised you with his request," Ilnezhara said as Jarlaxle started away. The drow paused and glanced back.
"Or are you simply not used to him leading?" Ilnezhara teased.
Jarlaxle grinned, shrugged, and walked off. He spotted Entreri, dozing against the same rock, shaded from the rising sun and with the western waters before him.
The drow looked all around, then quickly quaffed one of the potions Kimmuriel had given him. He waited a moment for the magic to settle in, then focused his attention on Entreri, considering the questions he might ask to spur the man's thoughts.
Jarlaxle blinked in surprise, for Entreri's thoughts began to crystallize in his intruding mind. The potions facilitated mind-reading, and as images of a great seaport began to flit through his thoughts, Jarlaxle realized that Entreri was already there, in Memnon, the city of his birth.
So clear were those images that Jarlaxle could almost smell the salty air, and hear the seabirds. Entreri's dream—was it a dream or a memory, the drow wondered—showed him a plain-looking woman, one who might have once been somewhat attractive, though the soil and dust, and hard living had taken a great toll on her. Her few remaining teeth were crooked and yellow, and her eyes, perhaps once shining black orbs, showed the listlessness of despair, the empty and weary eyes of a person who had suffered prolonged poverty. The world had broken that once-pretty woman.
Jarlaxle felt a tenderness emanating from Entreri as the man's dream lingered on her.
Then a cart, a priest, a young boy's screams…
Jarlaxle fell back a step as a wave of rage rolled out from Entreri to nearly overwhelm him. Such anger! Passionate, feral outrage!
He saw the woman again, receding into the dust, and sensed that he was on a cart rolling away from her. The tenderness was gone, replaced by a sense of betrayal that filled Jarlaxle with trepidation.
The drow came out of it, shaken, a short while later. He stood staring at Entreri, and he knew that what he had seen when he had insinuated himself into the assassin's dreams were indeed memories.
"Your mother," the drow whispered under his breath as he considered the image of the black-haired, black-eyed woman.
The drow snorted at the irony. Perhaps the kinship he felt toward Artemis Entreri was more rooted in common experiences than he had consciously known.
CHAPTER 15
KING OF VAASA
With Kane's strong arm supporting him, Entreri managed to get up again, but he had little strength and balance. There was no resistance within him as Olwen pulled his arms back behind him and bound them tightly with a fine elven cord.
"Where is Jarlaxle?" Emelyn asked him, and though the wizard moved very near as he spoke, his voice came to Entreri as if from far, far away. And the words didn't register in any cohesive manner.
"Where is Jarlaxle?" the wizard asked, more insistently, and he moved so close that his hawkish nose brushed against Entreri's.
"Gone," the assassin heard himself whisper, and he was surprised that he had answered. He felt as if his mind had disconnected from his body and was floating around the room like a bunch of puffy clouds, each self-contained with partial thoughts that might have once been connected to, but had come fully removed from, any of the thoughts flitting through the other clouds.
He saw Emelyn turn to Kane, who merely shrugged.
"I'll go check it," the distant voice of Olwen said.
"More carefully this time," said Emelyn.
The ranger snorted and walked past, directly in front of Entreri, and he paused just long enough to offer the beaten assassin a glare.
Kane took Entreri by the arm and led him off, with Emelyn coming close behind. As they entered the ascending corridor and wound their way up, the assassin's coordination, mental and physical, did not return, and on several occasions, the only thing that kept him standing was the support of Kane.
They found King Gareth, Friar Dugald, and many soldiers milling about the audience chamber. Gareth stood by one wall, hands on his hips and staring curiously at one of the tapestries, which had been unfastened to hang to its full length.
"Well, now," Emelyn muttered, walking by Entreri and stroking his beard.
"Ah, you have him," Dugald said, turning to see the trio. "Good."
"It is curious, is it not?" Gareth asked, turning to face his friends. "Can you explain?" he started to ask Entreri, but he paused and considered the man before turning a questioning stare at his two friends.
"Kane touched him in a special way," Emelyn said dryly.
Gareth slowly nodded. "Where is Olwen?" he asked, a sudden urgency coming into his tone.
"Confirming that the drow has departed."
"And he has," came the ranger's voice from the tunnel entrance. "Through a magical gate, I suspect. And if the tracks are any indication, and we all know that they always are, then Jarlaxle wasn't the only elf—probably drow—walking about the place. I'm thinking that our friend here, the King of Vaasa, will have some answering to do."
"He should start with this, then," said Emelyn, and both he and Gareth moved aside from the tapestry, revealing it fully to Entreri and his nearest captors. Behind the assassin, Olwen sputtered. Beside him, Kane offered no words, sounds, or expression.
As he gradually began to focus on the tapestry, Entreri became even more confused. The image seemed double, as if the tapestry was coming alive, its inhabitants stepping from the fabric into the chamber.
But then he realized, far in the recesses of his groggy mind at first, but gradually working its way into his general thoughts, that the people portrayed on the tapestry were the very same ones who stood beside him in the audience chamber. For the tapestry depicted the victory of King Gareth over Zhengyi the Witch-King, and with great and accurate detail.
"Well, King Artemis?" Gareth asked. "Why would you decorate your audience chamber with such depictions as these?
Entreri stared at him, dumbfounded.
Kane pushed him to the side, then, and eased him into one of the mushroom thrones.
"He is not ready to speak yet," Kane explained to Gareth. "The mystery will hold for a bit longer."
"As will this one," Gareth replied, and handed Kane a rolled scroll, the same one Kane had noted on the throne in his passing. He took it from Gareth and unrolled it, and again showed no emotion, though the cryptic words were surprising indeed.