"Did I not just tell you that I reclaimed a dwarven kingdom?" Jarlaxle asked. "And mostly without help. Hear me well, Gent Eman Briar. If you and your friends here try to expel me, your kin will be planting more than crops this season."
It wasn't so much what he said as it was the manner in which he said it, so casual, so confident, so perfectly assured that this group could not begin to frighten him. The men approaching slowed to a halt, all of them glancing to the others for some sign of leadership.
"Truly, I desire no trouble," Jarlaxle said calmly. "I have dedicated my life to erasing the prejudices-rightful conceptions, in many instances-that so many hold for my people. I am not merely a weary traveler, but a warrior for the causes of common men. If goblins attacked your fair town, I would fight beside you until they were driven away, or until my heart beat its last!" His voice continued a dramatic climb. "If a great dragon swooped down upon your village, I would brave its fiery breath, draw forth my weapons and leap to the parapets…."
"I think they understand your point," Entreri said to him, grabbing him by the arm and easing him back to his seat.
Gentleman Briar snorted. "Ye're not even carryin' no weapon, drow," he observed.
"A thousand dead men have said the same thing," Entreri replied in all seriousness. Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the assassin. "But enough banter," Entreri added, hopping from his seat and pulling back his cloak to reveal his two fabulous weapons, the jeweled dagger and the magnificent Charon's Claw with its distinctive bony hilt. "If you mean to fight us, then do so now, that I can finish this business and still find a good meal, a better drink, and a warm bed before the fall of night. If not, then go back to your tables, I beg, and leave us in peace, else I'll forget my delusional paladin friend's desire to become the hero of the land."
Again, the patrons glanced nervously at each other, and some grumbled under their breaths.
"Gentleman Briar, they await your signal," Entreri remarked. "Choose well which signal that will be, or else find a way to mix blood with your drink, for you shall have gallons of it pooling about your tavern."
Briar waved his hand, sending his patrons retreating to their respective tables, and gave a great snort and snarl. "Good!" Jarlaxle remarked, slapping his leg. "My reputation is saved from the rash actions of my impetuous friend. Now, if you would be so kind as to fetch me a fine and delicate drink, Gentleman Briar," he instructed, pulling forth his purse, which was bulging with coins.
"I'm servin' no damned drow in me tavern," Briar insisted, crossing his thin but muscled arms over his chest. "Then I will gladly serve myself," Jarlaxle answered without hesitation, and he politely tipped his great plumed hat. "Of course, that will mean fewer coins for you." Briar stared at him hard.
Jarlaxle ignored him and stared instead at the fairly wide selection of bottles on the shelves behind the bar. He tapped a delicate finger against his lip, scrutinizing the colors, and the words of the few that were actually marked. "Suggestions?" he asked Entreri. "Something to drink," the assassin replied. Jarlaxle pointed to one bottle, uttered a simple magical command, and snapped his finger back, and the bottle flew from the shelf to his waiting grasp. Two more points and commands had a pair of glasses sitting upon the bar before the companions.
Jarlaxle reached for the bottle. The stunned and angry Briar snapped his hand out to grab the dark elf's arm. He never got close.
Faster than Briar could possibly react, faster than he could think to react, Entreri snapped his hand on the bar- keep's reaching arm, slamming it down to the bar and holding it fast. In the same fluid motion, the assassin's other hand came, holding the jeweled dagger, and Entreri plunged it hard into the wooden shelf right between Gentleman Briar's fingers. The blood drained from the man's ruddy face. "If you persist, there will be little left of your tavern," Entreri promised in the coldest, most threatening voice
Gentleman Briar had ever heard. "Enough to build a proper box to bury you in, perhaps." "Doubtful," said Jarlaxle.
The drow was perfectly at ease, hardly paying attention, seeming as though he had expected Entreri's intervention all along. He poured the two drinks and eased himself back, sniffing, and sipping his liquor.
Entreri let the man go, glanced around to make sure that none of the others were moving, and slid his dagger back into its sheath on his belt.
"Good sir," Jarlaxle said. "I tell you one more time that we have no argument with you, nor do we wish one. Our road behind us has been long and dry, and the road before us will no doubt prove equally harsh. Thus we have entered your fair tavern in this fair village. Why would you think to deny us?"
"The better question is, why would you wish to be killed?" Entreri put in.
Gentleman Briar looked from one to the other and threw up his hands in defeat. "To the Nine Hells with both of ye," he growled, spinning away.
Entreri looked to Jarlaxle, who merely shrugged and said, "I have already been there. Hardly worth a return visit." He took up his glass and the bottle and walked away. Entreri, with his own glass, followed him across the room to the one free table in the small place.
Of course, the two tables near that one soon became empty as well, when the patrons took up their glasses and other items and scurried away from the dark elf.
"It will always be like this," Entreri said to his companion a short while later.
"It had not been so for Drizzt Do'Urden of late, so my spies indicated," the drow answered. "His reputation, in those lands where he was known, outshone the color of his skin in the eyes of even the small-minded men. So, soon, will my own."
"A reputation for heroic deeds?" Entreri asked with a doubting laugh. "Are you to become a hero for the land, then?" "That, or a reputation for leaving burned-out villages behind me," Jarlaxle replied. "Either way, I care little."
That brought a smile to Entreri's face, and he dared to hope then that he and his companion would get along famously.
Kimmuriel and Rai-guy stared at the mirror enchanted for divining, watching the procession of nearly a score of ratmen, all in their human guise, trotting into the village.
"It is already tense," Kimmuriel observed. "If Gord Abrix plays correctly, the townsfolk will join with him against Entreri and Jarlaxle. Thirty-to-two. Fine odds."
Rai-guy gave a derisive snort. "Strong enough odds, perhaps, so that Jarlaxle and Entreri will be a bit weary before we go in to finish the task," he said.
Kimmuriel looked to his friend but, thinking about it, merely shrugged and grinned. He wasn't about to mourn the loss of Gord Abrix and a bunch of flea-infested wererats.
"If they do get in and get lucky," Kimmuriel remarked, "we must be quick. The Crystal Shard is in there."
"Crenshinibon is not calling to Gord Abrix and his fools," Rai-guy replied, his dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. "It is calling to me, even now. It knows we are close and knows how much greater it will be when I am the wielder."
Kimmuriel said nothing, but studied his friend intently, suspecting that if Rai-guy achieved his goal, he and Crenshinibon would likely soon be at odds with Kimmuriel.
"How many does the tiny village hold?" Jarlaxle asked when the tavern doors opened and a group of men walked in.
Entreri started to answer flippantly, but held the thought and scrutinized the new group a bit more closely. "Not that many," he answered, shaking his head.
Jarlaxle followed the assassin's lead, studying the movements of the new arrivals, studying their weapons- swords mostly, and more ornate than anything the villagers were carrying.