Welcome Gareth, King of Damara.
Welcome Gareth, King of Vaasa.
King of Vaasa, you are most welcome.
"What trick is this?" asked Emelyn, reading over Kane's shoulder.
Outside the audience chamber, a great cheer went up for King Gareth, led by the elated soldiers of Palishchuk.
All looked to Gareth.
"The threat to their fair city is defeated," he said.
Friar Dugald gave a great belly laugh, and several of the others joined in.
"And the drow is nowhere to be found," Emelyn said to Entreri. "Are you the sacrifice, then?"
"A great waste of talent," said Olwen. "He is a fine fighter."
"But not so fleet of foot," Dugald said. "But if we are done here, then let us return to Bloodstone Village. It's a bit too cold up here."
"Bah, you've enough layers of Dugald to fend off the north wind," teased Riordan Parnell, coming in the keep's open door. "Our friends from Palishchuk wish a celebration, of course."
"They always wish a celebration," Dugald replied.
"I do like the place."
"Straightaway, as soon as we are sure the threat here is no more, we turn for home," said Gareth. "We'll leave a contingent to remain in Palishchuk throughout the winter if our half-orc friends so desire, in case the drow has any tricks left to play. But for us, it will be good and wise to be home."
"And him?" Kane asked, indicating Entreri.
"Bring him," Entreri heard Gareth say, and Entreri was disappointed at that, wishing that it would just end.
"Home to Bloodstone Village, where your friend will be executed," Kimmuriel Oblodra said as they watched the exchange in the scrying pool.
"Gareth will not kill him," Jarlaxle insisted.
"He will have no choice," said the psionicist. "You declared Entreri King of Vaasa. If Gareth allows that to stand, he is diminished in the eyes of his subjects—irreparably so. No king would be foolish enough to suffer that sort of challenge to stand. It is once removed from anarchy."
"You underestimate him. You view him through the prism of experience with the matron mothers of our homeland."
"You pray that I do, but your reason tells you otherwise," Kimmuriel replied. "Step away from your friendship with the human, Jarlaxle, for it clouds your common sense."
Jarlaxle shifted back as the wizards ended their quiet chanting and the pool fell silent, its image beginning to blur. Jarlaxle was a drow who usually spoke with certainty, and who backed up that certainty with a generous understanding of others. But he was also one who long ago learned to trust in Kimmuriel's judgment, for never did that one let hope or passion cloud simple logic.
"We cannot allow it," Jarlaxle remarked, speaking as much to himself as to Kimmuriel.
"We cannot prevent it," Kimmuriel replied, and Jarlaxle noted that the wizards to the sides raised their eyebrows at that. Were they expecting a confrontation, a battle for the leadership of Bregan D'aerthe?
"I will not put Bregan D'aerthe against King Gareth," Kimmuriel went on. "I have explained as much to you once already. Nothing that has happened has changed that stance, and certainly not for the sake of a pathetic human who, even if rescued, will be dead of natural causes anyway before the memory of this incident has faded from my consciousness."
Jarlaxle wondered at that last statement, in light of Entreri drawing a bit of the essence of shadow into his blood through the use of his vampiric dagger. He let that thought go for another day, though, and focused on the issue at hand. "I did not ask you to wage war with Gareth," he said. "If I had wanted such a thing, would I have abandoned the power of the castle? Would I not have called forth Urshula to strike hard into Gareth's ranks? Nay, my friend, we will not battle the King of Damara and his formidable army. But he is, by all accounts, a reasonable and wise human. We will barter for Entreri."
A brief flash of expression across Kimmuriel's stone face revealed his doubt. "You have nothing with which to barter."
"You did not see King Gareth's expression when he viewed my gift?"
"Confusion more than gratitude."
"Confusion is the first step to gratitude, if we're clever." Jarlaxle's sly grin brought looks of concern from all around, except from Kimmuriel, of course. "The field of battle is prepared. We need only another point of barter. Help me to attain it."
Kimmuriel stared at him hard, and doubtfully, but Jarlaxle knew that the intelligent drow would easily sort out the still-unspoken proposal.
"It will be entertaining," Jarlaxle promised.
"And worth the cost?" Kimmuriel asked. "Or the time?"
"Sometimes entertainment alone is enough."
"Indeed," replied the psionicist. "And was all of this—the arrival of the troops, the death of the slaves, the magically exhausting withdrawal—worth the trouble for you, a simple game for your amusement merely to run away when the predictable occurred and King Gareth arrived at his door?"
Jarlaxle grinned and shrugged as if it did not matter. He pulled out a curious gem, one shaped as a small dragon's skull, and with a flick of his hand, sent it spinning to Kimmuriel.
"Urshula," Jarlaxle explained. "A powerful ally to Bregan D'aerthe."
"The Jarlaxle I know would not relinquish such a prize."
"I loan it to you as an asset of Bregan D'aerthe. Besides, you will undoubtedly learn more of the dracolich than I can, aided as you will be by priests and wizards, and even illithids, no doubt."
"You offer payment for our assistance in your next endeavor?"
"Payment for that already rendered, and for that which you will still provide."
"When we find your barter for the pathetic human?"
"Of course."
"Again, Jarlaxle, why?"
"For the same reason I took in a refugee from House Oblodra, perhaps."
"To expand the powers of Bregan D'aerthe?" Kimmuriel asked. "Or to expand the experiences of Jarlaxle?"
Kimmuriel considered it for a moment and nodded, and with a laugh, Jarlaxle answered, "Yes."
CHAPTER 21
NEVER THE SIMPLE COURSE
Entreri stood staring at the west, at a cluster of palm trees rising from the rolling dunes of sand. He nodded as he realized where they were, for he was quite familiar with the mountains south of their position. Not much of this region north of the divide was rolling white sand, though south of those mountains, closer to Calimport, the desert extended for miles and miles. The land was almost equally barren, but was more a matter of mesas and long-dead river valleys, but one stretch was the exception. They were along the trade route, and since the mountains stretched out, impassable, southeast of their position, Entreri realized that they were no more than a few days from Memnon. He looked back at the dragon sisters, who were preparing to depart, and offered Tazmikella, when she caught his glance, as close to an expression of gratitude as he'd ever offered anyone.
Off to the side of Entreri, Athrogate sat, spitting curses and pulling off his boots. "Rotten stuff," he said, pouring a generous amount of sand from one shoe. When they came in, Ilnezhara had skimmed low, and the rut the claw-riding Athrogate had cut in the coarse sand could be traced back many yards.
While the dwarf's discomfort pleased Entreri, he shifted his gaze to his other companion. Jarlaxle stood near the dragons with his back to Entreri, his hat far back on his head, completely obscuring the assassin's view of him. Something in the expressions of the two gigantic creatures clued him in that Jarlaxle had somehow caught them off guard. With a cursory glance at the complaining Athrogate, Entreri moved beside his long-time companion.