The Art of Being Entreri

Entreri [1]

David Pontier

Unknown publisher (2010)

Tags:
General Interest

David Pontier

Entreri 1 - The Art of Being

Entreri

Chapter 1

Escape

“You should smile more.”

Artemis Entreri looked up and scowled.

“You should smile, period.”

Entreri rolled his eyes. He did not want to talk with Jarlaxle right now. Of course, he would not have had to if he had not been so careless as to walk into Jarlaxle’s room in the Basadoni Guild House. He was about to leave, but the drow mercenary stopped him.

“You should be celebrating,” Jarlaxle continued unwavering despite his companion's verbal inactivity. “Instead you act like your best friend just died.”

Entreri did not catch the hidden meaning behind that comment immediately, but when he did, his scowl only deepened as he leveled his eyes on the drow. Jarlaxle was of course referring to Drizzt Do'Urden, whom Entreri had killed just a few… How long had it been? A week? A month? A year? Did it matter?

Many people had been on the receiving end of one of Entreri's stares, and none had ever reacted the way Jarlaxle did. The drow mercenary leaned back in his chair and laughed.

This was not the kind of reaction Entreri usually got, and it unnerved him. Jarlaxle seemed completely at ease, without a hint of awareness or caution. When Entreri entered a building, it was not uncommon for people two buildings away to lock their doors.

Despite this apparent lack of respect the drow gave Entreri, the assassin knew the drow mercenary was always on guard. If the human took even three menacing steps toward him, he might not be alive to take a fourth.

Jarlaxle rocked back to a vertical position in his chair, ending his laughter. “I'm sorry, I forgot. Artemis Entreri has no friends, only enemies. Still, you should be celebrating, for have you not killed your greatest foe? Are you not the greatest fighter on all of Faerun?”

“You mock me,” Entreri spoke for the first time since entering the room.

“Do I? You have killed the greatest drow warrior Menzoberranzan has ever seen. You killed the best of the best, does that not make you better?”

“You would so easily relinquish that title?”

“Me?” Jarlaxle laughed again. “Now you mock. I have never claimed to be on the same level as the young Do'Urden, or even a competent fighter.”

Entreri smirked and that comment. Entreri knew Jarlaxle had to be an incredible fighter in order to earn the respect of so many Matron Mothers back in Menzoberranzan. Entreri tried to remember Jarlaxle in combat but could not. Come to think of it, Entreri had never seen the drow fight. Jarlaxle did not need to. He surrounded himself with very competent lieutenants who did all his fighting for him. Still, Entreri would not allow himself to view Jarlaxle as anything other than deadly. His eyes reflected this.

“You don't believe me? Sure, I could kill you right now.” The statement was said with little conviction, and neither man truly believed it. “But does that make me a better fighter? It surely makes me more prepared and perhaps better equipped, but half the mages in the realms could strike you down without ever having picked up a sword in their lives.”

Entreri knew there was not six inches of space on Jarlaxle's body that did not contain some sort of magical item. Entreri's arm rubbed casually along his side, feeling his dagger secured snugly against it. It was the only magical item he possessed, and it was only effective after he had struck an opponent, offering nothing to his fighting skill.

“You had never thought of it that way, had you?” Jarlaxle said, seeing the light come on in his friend's eyes. Was the assassin, his friend? Jarlaxle hoped so. Despite his previous claims, the drow did not wish to be enemies with the deadly human.

“Even Drizzt,” Jarlaxle continued, “was ensconced in magic. Just being an elf – and a dark elf at that – gave him an advantage that would make you unstoppable. But beside that, his blades were some of the finest in the realms, his magical panther was always at his side, and the bracers he wore on his ankles allowed him to move faster than the wind itself. On top of that, he wore armor made by the best craftsman in the North. Do you even wear armor?”

Entreri felt the weight of the thin leather vest he wore under his jacket. To his memory it had never once prevented a hit against him.

“Despite all these obvious advantages, you beat him. You are the greatest fighter to have ever lived!”

“You do mock me.”

“You mock yourself!” Jarlaxle replied sharply, his humor suddenly gone. “Is that not what you were after? Is that not what all humans strive for? You live pathetically short lives and try to grab all you can before you die. Well you had your sights set extraordinarily high, and now that you're there, you find it is not what you had hoped.”

“I am forty,” Entreri said bluntly.

“Happy birthday. I had no idea. You'll excuse me if I don't have a present for you. Preparations for the party will begin at once. I shall call the best baker in all of Calimport, and yo-”

“It is not my birthday.”

“Then we shall celebrate mine,” Jarlaxle said without missing a beat. “I'm not exactly sure when it is, but today is as good a day as any other.” Jarlaxle stopped his rant to look closely at Entreri. “Please don't tell me you are going through a mid-life crises. I too am halfway through my life span, though I am ten times your age.”

This comment brought a startled look from Entreri. He, of course, knew how old elves became, but he had never thought about it. The idea that Jarlaxle was 400 years old disturbed him more than a little.

“Actually,” Jarlaxle continued, “I have no idea what my life span is. Frankly, I hold the strong belief that drow are immortal. Do you know that in Menzoberranzan, a city of ten thousand, there has never once been a drow that has died of old age.”

Jarlaxle had hoped for some type of reaction from Entreri at this comment, but the ever-present scowl remained. “Have you ever smiled?”

The corners of Entreri's mouth began to curl upward and then stopped before his lips had even made a straight line. “It hurts,” he replied and left the room.

Jarlaxle stared at the closed door for several seconds after Entreri had left. He was worried. Entreri was a vital part of Jarlaxle's power structure in Calimport. If he should continue down this road of depression, his apathetic views would be very detrimental to Jarlaxle's efforts. Maybe he would tell Entreri that Drizzt still lived. Jarlaxle would have to do something.

* * * * *

LaValle sat up in bed, unaware of what had woken him. Life had never been relaxing in Calimport, and serving as a prominent guild's wizard did not make it easier. Still, things had settled down somewhat in the past month. Entreri had returned and assumed control of the Basadoni Guild. There were rumors that the old assassin had some mysterious magic about him that had facilitated his takeover, but LaValle had paid little attention to those rumors. Artemis Entreri did not need magic.

As that thought floated through his mind, LaValle turned back to the question of what had woken him. His private quarters were designed to keep him safe. Wizards were not known for their battle prowess, and LaValle was the poster-boy for that philosophy. Thus, his room was designed to give him the maximum amount of protection possible.

LaValle realized as he looked about his dark room that his security had been violated. He doubted any of the thieves in his guild had either the intelligence or stupidity to try and break into his room. That left only one possibility.

LaValle spoke a power word, and his room was flooded with light. Artemis Entreri stood over him, less than a foot from his bed. The wizard shrieked in horror, for there were few things more frightening to wake up to. As LaValle flung himself to the far side of his bed against the wall, Entreri remained motionless and only moved when the wizard began to unconsciously mumble the beginnings of an offensive spell.

Entreri's hand moved ever so slightly toward his jeweled dagger, and LaValle quickly ceased his incantation. “Is this how you great an old friend?” Entreri asked, a bit of sick humor creeping into his voice.

“I should ask the same of you,” LaValle responded, finally regaining some of his motor skills. He sat up slowly, his back firmly pressed up against the wall, and his legs folded in front of him. “Creeping up on someone in the middle of the night is not the traditional way that friends great each other.”

“And I would hardly call us 'traditional friends.'“

LaValle agreed and had only used the word to mirror what Entreri had said. Their relationship had never been one of real friendship. Instead they had used each other to survive in the dangerous world of Calimport. Now that LaValle thought about it, though, he could not really remember the last time he had used the assassin. It was more of a one-sided relationship. A relationship LaValle would be wise to keep.

“What do you want of me?”

“How do you know I didn't just drop in to say hi? It has been a while.”

LaValle had never been one for jokes. “It is not easy to break into my room, though the frequency in which you perform the task often makes me reconsider that idea. Still, you can not possibly do so without considerable risk to yourself, and thus would not do so unless you had a considerable reason. What do you want?”

Entreri admired LaValle. He had been through several Pasha's in his time, Entreri being one of them, and had seen many a dangerous moment, yet he had survived. Now he faced the most dangerous man in Calimport – Entreri might not believe Jarlaxle's claim that he was the realm's best, but he would grant himself this city – and did not back down.

Entreri also realized that he was beginning to talk like Jarlaxle and quickly changed gears. “I wish to leave this city.”

“Then leave. I shall not stop you.”

“Nor could you, though you can aid me.”

LaValle cocked his head at this.

“I wish to leave without being followed,” the assassin explained.

“You want me to magically smuggle you out of the city? It is rumored that you have strong, new ties that have much magic about them. Why not ask them?”

Entreri said nothing, wondering how much the rest of Calimport knew about his union with the drow. In actuality, what LaValle had said, was the full extent of his, or anyone else's knowledge.

“Let me guess,” LaValle said. “It is from these new ties that you wish to escape. Entreri is not often known to run from his problems.” As soon as he had said it, LaValle knew that he had erred. If Entreri had not needed him, he would have killed him.

“I fear no one,” Entreri said emphatically, his eyes piercing LaValle's false sense of security. “I want a change of scenery and do not wish to be followed. My allies need me ten times more than I need them, and they would not take kindly to my walking out on them. And with that piece of information, you know infinitely more than anyone else in the city.”

LaValle did not know what to make of this. Entreri was confiding in him. Though he had told the wizard very little, it was far more than LaValle needed to know. “Where do you want to go?”

“Away, far away,” was all Entreri said. “It would be best if I didn't even know.”

This was the time LaValle would normally bring up the matter of payment, and the wizard paused considering this.

“I have already paid you by telling what I have,” Entreri said. “You know as well as I do that information is the most valuable commodity in this city.”

LaValle nodded. “I will do as you ask, but it will take time.”

“I am not getting any younger,” Entreri replied.

It was an odd statement, and he would not have made it if it had not been for the conversation he had shared with Jarlaxle earlier that day. The comment made LaValle begin to wonder. How old was Entreri? No assassin on the streets had prospered like Entreri, and consequently, none had lived as long. Most of them had met their unfortunate end in pursuit of Entreri. It was always too late by the time the other hopefuls realized they had no business calling themselves rivals of this man, and that their lives would have been much longer if they had become a bard instead of a killer.

Because of this, Entreri had an air of immortality about him. He had started his trade when he was barely a teenager and had continued well passed most men's prime. He had then disappeared for a decade, only to return a few months ago without missing a step.

LaValle often lost track of time. He was well over 100 years old and planned to live at least another 50 before signs of his advanced age would begin to show. A bit of magic and the fact that he had one-eighth elf blood in him had allowed him to outlive exactly 13 Pashas. Looking at Entreri, LaValle realized the man must be nearly forty, an unheard of age for a man in his profession. Was Artemis Entreri entering retirement?

“You frequent the Copper Ante.” It was more a statement than a question.

Entreri nodded.

“Go there in two days time, and I will have prepared something for you. Now, I wish to go back to sleep.” LaValle, with Entreri still standing in the same spot he had been when LaValle had turned on the lights, turned them off and lay back down.

The wizard refused to look at where Entreri now stood in the darkness and instead strained his ears to hear the assassin leaving. He heard nothing. On the contrary, he felt Entreri's penetrating gaze on his back. LaValle endured this extreme discomfort for several minutes before he could stand it no longer.

“Why don't you leave!” he shouted and turned the lights back on. The room was empty. “I will be glad when that one is gone,” he said to himself as he turned off the lights and tried to go to sleep.

* * * * *

The Basadoni Guild house had undergone many changes when the drow had moved in. For one thing, it had become far less crowded. The need for guild members diminished when you had the backing of Bregan D'aerthe, Jarlaxle's band of drow renegades. Most of the former guild members had been killed in the take over, including Pasha Basadoni, the guild's namesake.

Because of this, Entreri had the ability to choose any room he desired. It was not as if anyone could stop him from taking what he wanted even if Pasha Basadoni still lived, and of the drow, only Jarlaxle had set up a room for himself in the guild house. The other drow lieutenants spent more time in Menzoberranzan than anywhere else. The ease at which the dark elves traversed the huge distance between the drow city and Calimport frustrated Entreri to no end.

Entreri had not chosen the guild master's room, taking instead a much smaller room toward the ground level of the guild house. Entreri required few luxuries and went out of his way to avoid the many intoxicants available to him, whether they were drink, drug, or female.

He sat in his room in the late hours of morning, having returned from LaValle's room the previous night. He expected a visitor, and the predictable drow obliged him. His doorknob turned without a knock, and Rai-guy Bondalek stepped cautiously into the room. The drow priest was powerful, but not stupid enough to enter the assassin's quarters with too much confidence.

The two hated each other. It was not that either of them really liked anybody, but the level of animosity they showed toward each other they shared with no one else.

“You left last night,” Rai-guy said as his greeting.

“And you spied on me,” Entreri replied, knowing that Rai-guy had no idea where he had gone. Despite the friendship Jarlaxle spoke of earlier, Entreri knew that he had Rai-guy and Kimmuriel Oblodra, his psionicist, watching the assassin's every movement. Entreri knew of a few places in the city that were shielded against such magical prying, and by moving from one area to another, he was able to stay mostly hidden from the drow. If he could only extend that protection outside the city, he would not have come back last night.

By telling Rai-guy that Entreri knew all about his scrying efforts, he forced the priest to admit that he had not been able to track him last night. “Where did you go?”

“Why must you know?”

Rai-guy did not wish to battle words with this human. Drow did battle in much different ways, and therefore did not excel in verbal sparring, Jarlaxle being the only exception Entreri knew about. “It is of great importance to the success of our ventures on the surface that we know were everyone's loyalties are.”

“Are you accusing me of treason?” Entreri asked. “I go for a simple walk in the night and you turn it into an act of betrayal.”

“Nothing you do is simple.”

Entreri and Rai-guy stared at each other for a few moments, each only a heartbeat away from launching a killing attack.

“Jarlaxle wishes to move up the time table,” Rai-guy said. “He is impatient and wishes to draw out the guilds who stand against us.”

“I can answer that question without the meeting Jarlaxle wants. They all stand against us. This city is not so different from your own. The only truces that are in place are signed only so the other side of the treaty won't expect an attack.”

“Is it the same way with you? Are you only working along side us so you can stab us in the back with your trusty dagger when we least expect it?”

Despite his comments to Jarlaxle, Entreri smiled. “I want you to know, Rai-guy, that when my dagger sinks into your flesh to steal the last of your life, you will be looking me full in the face.”

“So you do plan to turn on us?” Rai-guy tensed himself.

Entreri laughed. “If I talk peace with you, you think I am lulling you to sleep for the kill. If I make threats, you believe I will carry them through. There is no way for me to win. Tell Jarlaxle that I will hold his meeting for him, though he is probably listening to us right now, so don't bother. I will hold the meeting the day after tomorrow, though I doubt few will come and fewer still will stand to listen to what I will say.”

Off in the upper room of the guild house, Jarlaxle smiled. “They will listen,” he said to himself. “You underestimate yourself, my friend. They will listen. They will listen, or they will die.”

* * * * *

Dwahvel Tiggerwillies was the owner of the Copper Ante, and while you could not really call the establishment a guild house, Dwahvel often held as much power as a guild master yet had a talent for avoiding being made a target. She dealt in the information trade and excelled at allying with multiple guild houses, often to their misfortune but never her own. There was only one ally to whom she had never been disloyal.

Entreri walked into the Copper Ante and could almost feel the prying eyes of the drow leave him as he entered the protection of the tavern. Dwahvel was, as were most of her clientele, a halfling, but Entreri felt little discomfort as he walked through the crowd of short patrons. As much as he stuck out in this crowd, he knew that within these walls he had no enemies.

Dwahvel smiled as she watched the assassin walk toward her. She had hoped that the longer their relationship lasted, the more it would positively affect Entreri's constantly sour mood. If it was working, Entreri worked hard not to show it. The two took a seat at a table in the corner.

“A friend of yours dropped something off here yesterday. I assume that is why you have come.”

Entreri nodded. Dwahvel produced a small box, three inches by three inches by six inches. She laid it gently on the table between them. “Do you know what is in it?” she asked.

Entreri shook his head. “Do you?”

“I resent that you think I would open it.”

“Did you?” Entreri persisted.

“Of course I did, though I have no idea what it is.”

Entreri picked up the box and opened one of the ends. He tipped the contents into his hand and discarded the box. It was a finely polished ivory cylinder, maybe an inch and a half across and roughly the length of the box. The surface of the white shaft was immaculate with out a hint of a scratch or any other marking.

“Do you know what it is?” Dwahvel asked again.

Again Entreri shook his head, staring intently at the magical item trying to discern its function. “Though I have faith it will work.”

“You are leaving, aren't you?”

Entreri looked up from his examination. “Remind me to kill LaValle next time I see him.”

“He told only me, and I have told only you. Will you go far?”

“That is yet to be seen.” Entreri slowly reached into his jacket and produced his jeweled dagger. “I will not be able to take this with me,” he said as he laid it on the table.

“Yes you will,” Dwahvel smiled and produced an identical dagger to that of Entreri's.

“How…” Entreri started, thoroughly confused.

“When I heard that you were leaving, I took it upon myself to ensure your safe departure. This weapon is identical to yours in every way but it's ability. It has the same magical signature, so if anyone looks for yours, they will find this first, as long as you go far enough away.”

“And how will they find it?” Entreri asked, slowly putting his own weapon back in his jacket.

“All you need to know is that it has been taken care of.”

Entreri looked unconvincingly at Dwahvel and then to the fake dagger. “Remind me that when I see you again, I will have to kill you too.”

“Will we see each other again?”

Entreri shook his head. “If all goes well, no.” He rose swiftly from the table. “Before I start to think things through, I must leave. Can I use one of the back rooms?”

Dwahvel gestured to the room that used to belong to Dondon, one of Entreri's old acquaintances. “Be my guest.”

Without so much as a “thank-you” or a “good-bye,” the assassin walked into the back room, leaving Dwahvel wondering why she liked him so much. Entreri closed the door and brought the ivory cylinder in front of him. There was no way to discern what he was supposed to do with the object, but he had been around other such magical objects and knew how to prod them with his mind.

Entreri held the cylinder firmly in his hand straight up and down, two feet in front of his chest. Closing his eyes, he focused his concentration on the object in his grasp. Images of fire and gold instantly flashed through his mind, and Entreri opened his eyes quickly. The short rod in his hand was glowing dimly white.

“If this is a trap, LaValle…” Entreri let the threat hang in the air as he closed his eyes again. The same images blurred though his mind's eye, but he pushed them aside as he tried to concentrate on the glow of the cylinder through his closed eyelids. Entreri could feel his outstretched arm begin to twist under its own power. He tried briefly to fight against it, but the power was too strong, and he was forced to let go of the ivory rod or have his arm twisted out of its socket.

Entreri opened his eyes and watched as the small cylinder hung in the air where he had let go of it and was slowly tuning in circles. It sped up quickly, and the rod itself was indistinguishable inside the shining white disk it created. Entreri watched entranced as the disk slowly grew in diameter until it was six feet across.

The disk was made up only of the blurred motion of the cylinder, but Entreri saw that as the cylinder slowed its rotational motion and began to shrink back to its original length, the shining white disk remained. Soon the cylinder was suspended motionless in the center of the disk where Entreri had originally released it.

He tentatively reached toward it to pluck it out of the air. The assassin's hand tingled slightly as his fingers passed through the insubstantial disk. Instead of grabbing the cylinder, he pushed his hand through the disk, noticing a substantial temperature increase on the other side.

The disk was too wide to look around and see if his hand was coming out of the other side, but Entreri was pretty sure it was a portal. He had no idea where it led, but he was going to find out. With his arm leading, he carefully stepped through the disk, grabbing onto the cylinder with his other hand, pulling it through and closing the portal behind him.

* * * * *

“Where is he?” Jarlaxle asked for the dozenth time.

“We are looking, and your continual questions are not speeding the process,” Kimmuriel responded. The drow psionicist was peering into a scrying circle that Rai-guy had brought into existence on the tabletop. Both drow were searching desperately for Entreri who had left the previous morning and not returned.

“He is supposed be holding a meeting with the rest of the guild masters in half an hour,” Jarlaxle said angrily. “He knows better than to cross us.”

Rai-guy looked up from his work. “I told you he could not be trusted.”

“And I told you to find him. Human's do not just disappear.”

Rai-guy looked past Jarlaxle briefly to see Berg'inyon Baenre smiling. The youngest son of the now deceased Matron Baenre was enjoying this spectacle. He no less hated Entreri than everyone else, but he held the human in a unique respect. Entreri was toted as Drizzt's equal, and Berg'inyon alone understood the true depth of that comparison. He was the only one in the room that had ever met the renegade drow in battle.

Rai-guy looked back down into his circle. “The problem is that there is nothing to search for. He has done well to build his strength within himself, and he has very little projection into the magical plane.”

“That,” Kimmuriel continued, “and his mind-set is so similar to that of every other cursed human in this wretched city that it is impossible to pick him out.”

“What of his dagger?” Jarlaxle asked, knowing the assassin was never from his only magical possession.

“It is a strong weapon but does not stand out that much in the magical plane,” Rai-guy explained. “It has no magical will of its own but relies on that of its wielder to guide it. In the hands of anyone else, it would not retain half its worth. Besides, if he left it in the Copper Ante, we will not be able to scry it.”

“We've had the worthless tavern searched,” Jarlaxle said, “it is not there, and he would not leave it behind. It is more than likely that he is no longer even in the city.”

“I think I have him,” Rai-guy said finally. The scrying circle had backed off the city, rising to a height far above so more of the countryside was visible.

“Where?” Kimmuriel asked so he could better focus his psionic probe.

“Fifty miles south of the city,” Rai-guy said, bringing the scrying circle down to the area in question. It was a barren stretch of land, covered with sharp rocks and sun bleached sand. Rai-guy focused on a section of rocky cliffs and brought the circle within visual range. Soon bodies were visible.

“Mountain lions,” Jarlaxle said, looking at the bodies. He was the only member of the group serious enough about their surface exploits to have studied the creatures of this new land.

“They are dead, whatever they are,” Rai-guy said, looking at the three motionless forms baking in the harsh badland sun.

“I do not sense Entreri's presence anywhere,” Kimmuriel protested. “What drew you to this area?”

“The dagger is there,” Rai-guy said, pointing into his circle at the lions.

Berg'inyon pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to look at the scene. The lions were impressive, roughly the same size as Drizzt's Guenhyvar. In their natural environment their tan fur would be invisible against the sandy backdrop, and their padded, yet clawed, paws would tread imperceptibly on the cruel terrain.

As imposing as the dead creatures looked, Berg'inyon laughed. “Drizzt would never have fallen to only three such creatures.” Berg'inyon had seen Drizzt take down three hook horrors on a patrol while the two of them had been in the academy together.

“He is not Drizzt,” Rai-guy responded harshly. The drow priest did not hold a fraction of the respect for Entreri as he did for Drizzt. And he did not hold Drizzt in that high regard either.

Jarlaxle had been forced to endure the argument of who was better with Entreri; he did not want to do the same with his lieutenants. “Take us there,” Jarlaxle told Kimmuriel, not taking sides in the argument, though inwardly he agreed with Berg'inyon.

Kimmuriel muttered something about the heat and bright sunlight in the area of question, but using the dagger's presence as a focal point, opened a portal to the cliff ledge. The four drow pulled their hoods up and stepped through the magical doorway and onto the wind blown outcropping.

The lions were quickly creating sand drifts, as the fine rock dust was heavy in the wind. Their wounds were deep and clean, definitely caused by a short sword or dagger. Kimmuriel used his psionic powers to flip the heavy beasts over, and Berg'inyon examined the killing blow to the largest of them. The drow warrior bent over the lion and pulled the dagger from the thing's throat. “A fine killing blow.”

“But where is the assassin,” Jarlaxle repeated above the constant sound of the wind.

“Any blood trail left by Entreri would have been covered with sand by now,” Kimmuriel pointed out. He caught sight of Berg'inyon beginning to protest and cut him off. “Even your beloved Drizzt would have be injured in such a battle.”

Berg'inyon decided not to argue, but pocketed the dagger and began to scout out the area. He dragged his foot from side to side through the loose sand that surrounded the battle scene and felt as his foot collided with a solid lump. He crouched to the ground and fished the clump out with his hand. It was a small piece of reddish mud.

Jarlaxle watched the young Baenre and walked up behind him. “It could belong to the lions too.” He turned away as Berg'inyon began to fish more clumps of blood out of the sand. “Rai-guy, could you please clear this area for us,” Jarlaxle asked.

Berg'inyon looked up at the comment but did not vacate the area in time. The gust of wind from the drow priest threw him from his feet and slammed him against a flat, rock wall. Berg'inyon leaped from the wall, his twin swords in his hands in an instant. He began to charge Rai-guy, but stopped cold as he looked around at his surroundings.

The magical blast of wind had cleared off the light surface sand, and now Berg'inyon could see that the ground was covered in reddish lumps of sand. Jarlaxle whistled low. “This must have been some battle.”

Blood was spread around the ground in no discernible pattern, and even though the entire area had just been cleared, Berg'inyon could see that the sandy winds were already beginning to recover the evidence. He quickly found the edge of the blood bath where a solitary trail of red clumps led away from the grisly scene. The trail was fast disappearing, but after twenty seconds of following it, the drow knew where the injured Entreri had ended up.

Jarlaxle saw the cave too. He and Berg'inyon walked side by side along the wide ledge that skirted around the edge of the rocky outcropping and led to the cave. Upon entering the dark cave, both drow removed their hoods and quickly allowed their eyes to adjust to the change in light.

In the cave another lion lay dead with a familiar dirk sticking out of its spine. Next to the dead beast a human form lay crumpled on the cave floor. Berg'inyon flipped the man's body over with his boot, and Jarlaxle swore. Though it was hard to make out for sure through the deep cuts and gashes that covered his face, Jarlaxle spit on Entreri's dead body.

“What in the nine hells was he doing out here?!” Jarlaxle said with cold fury. Berg'inyon wisely backed away. He had never seen the mercenary leader this angry before. “If he were not already torn, I'd rip the flesh from his hide myself!”

Rai-guy and Kimmuriel walked into the cave and looked upon the body of their nemesis. Jarlaxle turned to the priest. “Please tell me that is not our assassin, and this is just a cruel joke he has played on us. In which case he'll wish this was his body!”

Rai-guy was too glad to see Entreri's bloodied face to spend enough time on his divination spell. If he had, he might have noticed that there was a strange aura hanging over this body, as if it had never been alive but was just a magical construct. Instead, he saw what the construct was designed to make him see. “It is him.”

“Blazes!!!” Jarlaxle cursed as he viciously kicked the bloodied head of Entreri. He started to turn about to storm out of the cave, but stopped. With his back to the dead body, he took a deep sigh and said nothing.

Berg'inyon toed the body. He smirked. To Entreri's credit, there appeared to only be only one critical wound. His face was scratched badly, but the killing blow was a fine claw mark across his neck. Berg'inyon had spoke quickly back in Calimport when he had seen the three dead lions, but in truth, he would not want to be the one to face four of them out here in the dessert.

“What are we to do now?” Kimmuriel asked, speaking carefully. He knew Jarlaxle was on edge. Where most would have flown off the handle at this discovery, the mercenary leader was keeping a steady composure. Even so, he was not happy.

“The meeting with the guild leaders is lost,” Jarlaxle thought out loud. He had not contemplated this turn of events, and so had not thought this line of reasoning out before. Oh, he had a contingency plan if Entreri tried to run out. The assassin would have quickly ceased in his status of equal partner in this surface venture and would have just as quickly become a puppet.

“The meeting is a loss, as is our ability to communicate effectively with the other guilds.”

“What of the woman?” Rai-guy asked, referring to Sharlotta, one of Basadoni's old lieutenants who had survived the drow takeover.

“She is respected among the other guilds,” Jarlaxle admitted, squinting out of the cave into the barren wasteland. He turned around. “But she is not feared. She is seen as the loosing side in what the rest of the guilds see as Entreri's takeover. Entreri's position in the city has increased tenfold since our arrival and assistance. If anything, Sharlotta's has decreased.”

Jarlaxle looked down at the corpse on the cave floor. “If we plan to rule this city, we need the other guilds to respect us and fear us. Without fear, there is no hindrance to rebellion.”

“They will fear us,” Rai-guy said, and evil grin curling on his face. He loved killing humans.

“Perhaps you would like to be the first line of defense when the rest of the city learns that drow elves have invaded Calimport,” Berg'inyon said.

Rai-guy shot him an evil glare. “He's right,” Jarlaxle interrupted. “Not only will Calimport revolt, but all Calimshan will be at our throats.” Jarlaxle contemplated retreat for the first time. Inside one of the numerous pouches that hung on his body, Crenshinabon, the Crystal Shard, spoke to him, “Oh but we could have some fun in Menzoberranzan.”

Jarlaxle nodded. “Our time here is done. Kimmuriel, please get us out of hear. As they stepped through the portal, Berg'inyon thought he caught a glimpse of reflecting metal on one of the distant cliffs. He paid it no mind.

A small form watched the disappearing act from the peak of a distant cliff. The halfling lowered the eyeglass with a smile on his face. “Dwahvel will be pleased,” he said to himself. He left his perch, climbed onto his dwarf camel, and headed back to Calimport.

* * * * *

Artemis Entreri stepped through the portal and froze. Entreri now knew why there had been such a temperature difference on the other side of the portal. Calimport's greatest assassin was staring right into the eyes of a huge red dragon.

Entreri had not known fear often, if ever, and was not comfortable with the feeling. He quickly dismissed his fear and replaced it with anger. What had he ever done to LaValle to deserve this type of treatment? The idea that the wizard would send Entreri to his death was so outrageous, that he began to analyze his situation to make sure everything was as it seemed.

The dragon's existence was not in question. Entreri stood less than twenty feet in front of the sleeping maw. From chin to nose, the mouth was as tall as the assassin, and the huge mouth was twice that in length. Beyond the head, the body reclined on an enormous pile of wealth that filled a space easily as big as a city block in Calimport.

The head of the dragon so dominated Entreri's view that he could not accurately judge the size of rest of the worm's body. Heat rolled of the slumbering creature in intense waves, and Entreri felt like he should feel each blast of air as the creature exhaled – but he did not.

Everything Entreri knew about dragons, which was very little, said they were acutely alert when asleep. Some slept with one eye open, but they all had a keen sense of awareness. With Entreri standing frozen in front of this great beast, barely more than a dozen feet from the huge nostrils, the dragon surely must have smelled him. Not only did the red make no move to recognize the intruder, but it made no move of any kind.

Entreri slowly began to relax as he realized what was going on. The dragon was dead. How it could still be producing heat was a mystery to Entreri, but dragons did not follow the normal rules of nature, and perhaps their magical bodies took years, if not centuries, to completely cool.

Entreri let out a long sigh and, against every impulse in his body, took a step closer to the dead dragon. He took several more until he stood right next to the great jaws. An idea of how he had gotten here began to form in his mind, and he had to satisfy his curiosity.

Entreri placed the ivory cylinder in one of his jacket pockets, grabbed the upper lip of the dragon with both hands, and heaved upward. The row of teeth was very impressive, but Entreri saw that at least three of them were missing. Keeping the mouth open with one hand, he reached back into his jacket and held the white cylinder up next to the remaining dragon teeth. It was an exact match.

One tooth could easily produce five or six of the cylinders, and Entreri wondered if LaValle had the rest of the tooth, or had only stumbled across the carved cylinder. The assassin was willing to bet on the former. LaValle had probably even visited this cavern several times. Entreri laughed at the idea of the guild wizard keeping this place a secret to all the Pashas he had served under. There was more wealth in this cave than Calimport's greatest guild master could amass in several lifetimes.

The difference when LaValle visited was that the wizard no doubt had a way to return back home. That thought led Entreri to wonder how far from home he was. Entreri discarded that line of thinking for consideration at a later date. Right now curiosity about this enormous dead dragon filled his mind.

Entreri walked a complete circuit around the dragon and could find no reason for death. It was possible that this dragon could have died of old age, but Entreri doubted it would still be as hot as it was. Perhaps a powerful mage or a substantial poison. Whatever the reason, Entreri felt he would probably never find out.

When he had left Calimport, Entreri had not brought much money with him, only a small bag of coins, knowing full well that money was not something he had to struggle to find in his dark trade. Now, as he looked around at the piles and piles of gems and coins that lay scattered about the cave like so much sand in a dessert, he knew wealth was not ever going to be a problem.

Entreri had never valued coin much anyway, but he was not blind to the immense usefulness of this cache. Apart from LaValle, he was probably the only person who knew of this cave's existence.

Before that thought had even left his mind, Entreri heard voices. The soft red glow from the dragon's cooling body was plenty to light up the cave, and Entreri spotted a small opening halfway up the cavern wall that emptied onto a narrow ledge. The assassin quickly hid himself between piles of wealth, making sure that he had a clear path to move in so he would not rustle on the coins.

Two men appeared on the ledge a minute later, one of them holding a lantern. Entreri had a good idea that the one who was empty-handed had never been here before. The look on his face must have been similar to what Entreri had worn when he had first arrived. The difference was that this man had surely been told what he was about to see while Entreri had stepped out of the Copper Ante and into hell.

“I told you,” the one with the light said.

“A-are y-you sure it's d-dead.”

“Of course I'm sure. Do you think I'm an idiot.” The man put the lantern down momentarily and picked up a rock. He hurled it at the dragon's belly. It flew directly over Entreri's head and fell well short of the terrific beast, splashing loudly in a bed of coins.

The sound of money and the reassurance that the dragon was indeed dead brought both of the men to life. The leader picked up the lantern, while his friend pushed past him and hurriedly scampered down the steep descent of the cavern ledge. “Master Cailring will be ecstatic when he sees this,” the second man said as he tripped down the slope.

The man with the lantern was more careful. “I already told him that I had found a treasure hoard, but I didn't mention the part about the dragon. I wanted that to be a surprise.”

“Well, Riechen, Cailring will almost surely promote you to the head of the guild for this,” he stopped when he reached the bottom of the ledge and saw the wealth at eye-level, “for this… this… whatever you want to call it.”

“I like to call it a retirement fund, Trent.”

“And I like to call it mine,” Entreri said loudly as he rose from his hiding spot and walked out from behind the pile of gems. He had watched closely as the two men had descended the ledge and noticed with interest their clumsiness. Even Riechen, in his caution with the lantern, had made more noise than Entreri would have if he had run across the bed of coins at full speed.

Trent drew his sword quickly. “Who are you?”

Entreri eyed Riechen as he spoke, for he felt he was the more reasonable of the two. “My name is not important. What is important is why you are hear, when will you leave, and with how many body parts still intact.”

“I'm sorry, stranger,” Riechen said, stepping past Trent, “but this treasure belongs to the thieving guild of Karenstoch, under the direct rule of Master Cailring.”

Entreri looked around the cavern as if searching for something. “I don't see your guild's name anywhere. As far as I can tell, I got here first and claim the treasure as my own.”

“You thieving, rotten,” Trent started until Riechen turned to quiet him. “Just let me kill him, Riech.”

“It's funny that you should call me a thief when you just declared yourself to belong to a thieves' guild.”

“I did no such thing,” Riechen said, turning back to look at Entreri. “I merely told you who this treasure belonged to.”

“Me,” Entreri countered.

“I am going to have to ask you to yield to our superior claim on this treasure, stranger. You are out numbered, and we will not back down.”

“Then we are at an impasse,” Entreri said.

“No,” Trent spoke up, “you are dead.”

Despite Riechen's restraining hand, the younger man burst out from behind him and charged. Entreri had not drawn a weapon yet and did not now. The thief's short sword was barely a yard away from Entreri when he finally moved. The skilled assassin sidestepped the weapon, allowing the blade to thrust itself in front his chest, parallel to his shoulders. Trent collided hard into Entreri's side, but with the older man's elbow extended, the thief took the brunt of the blow.

The air left Trent 's lungs in a rush, and he dropped his sword. Entreri grabbed the extended sword arm and quickly stepped around the stunned man, pinning his arm awkwardly and painful behind his back. He gave the appendage a sharp tug, resulting in a yelp of pain from Trent. With the thief straightened in pain, Entreri placed his foot in the small of the shorter man's back and kicked out hard. The thief's feet left the ground briefly under the shove, and he stumbled headfirst into a pile of coins fifteen feet away.

Entreri noticed that there was a golden battle-axe lying half-buried in the pile right next to Trent 's landing site. After making sure that the thief had also seen it, Entreri turned his back on him. “Like I said,” Entreri spoke to Riechen, “we are at an impasse.”

Trent tried to be quiet as he pulled the axe free of the pile, but to Entreri's expectant ears, it sounded like a waterfall. With his back still to Trent, Entreri slipped his toe under the pommel of Trent 's dropped sword and kicked it up to his hand. He caught it and turned in one smooth motion. Like Entreri had predicted the axe was far too heavy for the small thief, and Trent could not stop his charge in time.

Continuing in the same motion of his spin, Entreri slapped the axe harmlessly away, spun completely around again, and slammed the pummel of the stolen sword into the side of the thief's face. Trent stumbled under the blow and dropped the axe. Catching sight of a small crack in the floor, Entreri changed his grip on the sword and stabbed it down along Trent 's back.

At first, to Riechen, it looked as if Entreri had delivered a killing blow. Entreri did not wanted to kill either of these men yet, knowing they were the best chance for beginning his new life. Instead of stabbing Trent, the assassin had slipped the end of the blade inside the back of the thief's waist line, thrust the weapon down through the bottom of his trousers, and secured the tip of the sword into the crack in the cave floor.

Trent was forced into an awkward sitting position by the strength of the move. He tried to rise, but he was stuck fast to the floor. His inflexible arms tried to reach back to the pommel of his sword in the small of his back, but he could not attain a substantial grip on it.

“If you can't control your friend,” Entreri said to Riechen as he walked away from Trent to pick up the fallen battle-axe, “I will have to tie him down.” Entreri casually tossed the axe back onto the treasure pile.

Riechen stared on in shock. Trent was actual one of the better young fighters in the guild and this man had just treated him like a child without so much as a scratch to show for it. “What do you propose?”

“As I see it, I feel my claim is valid beyond anything you might have to offer, and you undoubtedly feel the same way about your claim. One option I have is to kill you both and hope you have not told anyone else about this cave's existence. To save your own life, you will of course say that everyone else in your guild knows about it and I don't stand a chance against them.”

A loud ripping sound came from behind Entreri, and the assassin did not need to turn around to know that Trent had given up on trying to pull the sword out of the rock. Instead, the stupid thief had stood up, ripping the entire backseat out of his pants. Entreri did not fear another charge by the young man, for in order to run, he would need both hands to hold up his pants.

“Whether there is any truth in your claim that the rest of your guild knows about this place is irrelevant. In either case, you will be missed, and I will be found. So I have no choice but to accept your claim on this treasure, but at the same time, there is nothing you can do to keep me from taking what I like whenever I like.”

“Master Cailring will not be in agreement with you. He will insist that you pay back each coin taken from here with a quart of your own blood.”

“And who will drain it from me?”

“You need not boast of your skills, stranger. I have eyes that work. I saw what you did.”

Entreri was waiting very patiently for this dim-witted thief to put things together, but it was painfully slow.

“There is only one way for us both to be happy,” Riechen finally said. “If you claim that this treasure is yours and the guild claims that it is theirs, the only way to reconcile the difference is to make the two one.”

“You wish for me to join your guild?” Entreri asked skeptically. This of course had been his plan, but now that it was presented to him, he was not so sure he wanted it. If it turned out to be Calimport all over again, he could always leave. If Trent was an example of the guild's skill level, Entreri need not worry for his own safety.

To Riechen, this encounter only sweetened the pot. The treasure was great indeed, but he doubted Master Cailring would ever dip into its wealth much more than a sampling. To flash too much of it around the city of Karenstoch was to make yourself a target.

So while the gold was nice, Entreri's blade would probably be better. What good was wealth if you did not have the means to protect it? Gold would make the other guilds jealous, but skill with a blade would make them fearful. When you are feared, you are respected. You might still become a target, but that was always an inevitable result of success.

Entreri agreed to the conditions. “For now,” he said. “I do not often stay in one place long, but I shall see what your guild has to offer. But realize that the entire time your guild employs me, you will be paying me with what I believe to be mine already.”

Trent walked angrily up behind the pair, having rigged a shoddy belt out of a piece of rope he had been carrying. He tossed Entreri an evil glance, and the assassin realized he would have to kill him before too long. Such was life.

The maze that led back out of the cavern made Entreri glad he still had the ivory cylinder. To find this place again through conventional means would not be easy. The way out joined other passageways continually, and while the trip was a straight shot up to ground level with little choice in what tunnel to take, the trip down would present numerous choices.

After almost half an hour of travel, they came to the cave exit. The three men stepped onto a small ledge that barely ran the width of the narrow opening. The cave opening was three-quarters of the way up a steep cliff wall, some 80 feet above the canyon floor below. The opposite side of the canyon was barely 35 feet away, rising a good 20 feet above the cave's wall.

The most important aspect of these surroundings to Entreri was the sky. It was filled with stars. When Entreri had left the Copper Ante less than two hours ago, it had not yet been noon. Now it was the middle of the night. While most of Entreri's travels had been north and south along the Sword Coast, he could understand that traveling east and west would change the time of day. To have changed it by twelve hours, Entreri must be on the other side of the great sea. Jarlaxle would never find him.

There were two repelling cords bunched on the ledge that the thieves had used to climb the wall. Riechen turned to speak to Entreri for the first time since leaving the dragon's cavern. “We can not use the cords to descend. There would be no way to detach them once we reach the bottom, and we can not mark this spot for others to find.”

“It looks like you will not be able to follow us back home after all, stranger,” Trent said with a smug face as he attached one of the repelling cords to his mock belt and put on spiked climbing gloves.

Entreri eyed the wall below them and thought he might be able to walk down it. However, he decided to impress these men with a different skill in his repertoire. Before Riechen retrieved the second repelling cord, Entreri picked it up. The cord looked to be 150 feet long, almost twice as long as the decent and perfect for what Entreri planed.

He untied the grapple, which had a foot and a half long shaft, and found a good-sized rock. Entreri walked a short way into the cave and pounded the grapple into a soft patch of the tunnel so it looked like a short metal tree. He looped the middle of the repelling cord around the “trunk” of the short tree and tossed the rest of the cord down the cliff wall.

Without a word to his new friends, Entreri literally threw himself off the ledge with both lengths of rope in his hands. His feet first touched the side of the cliff wall halfway down, and he was standing at the bottom of the canyon barely five seconds later. Entreri looked up and was pleased to see that with the ledge in front of the cave protruding as far as it did, it made the cave opening completely invisible from below.

Riechen eyed the setup, smiling. “Clever.” He could see that by tugging on one of the cords, this stranger would be able to bring the entire cord down quite easily.

“The grapple will mark this cave for others to find,” Trent said, though he did not really believe it.

“I can barely see it now, and I'm standing five feet from it,” Riechen remarked. The old, steel grapple was nearly invisible against the gray stone of the cave, and even though it was night, the canyon ran north and south, never seeing any direct sunlight.

Riechen took the two cords in hand and began to make his way down the cliff. Trent huffed in frustration and began to climb down manually. Entreri watched the man's slow descent and realized he was not as clumsy as he had shown himself in the cavern, but there were few thieves in Calimport that would take as long as he to climb down the wall.

Riechen yanked the cord Entreri had rigged down and had the entire length of it looped and on his belt before Trent made it to the bottom. The tricky descent was one of the reasons Riechen had not shown this site to anyone else until now. Though Cailring had begged to see it, his gluttonous habits had left him less than nimble. Now the decent was easy enough that even he would be able to make it. The climb would still be tricky, but Cailring might be able to manage it.

When Trent finally reached the canyon floor, the three men walked to the entrance of the narrow crease. Entreri took careful notice of the surroundings, wanting to acquaint himself with this new land as soon as possible. The canyon emptied into rocky foothills that grew to a small mountain range behind them.

Half a mile through the unfriendly terrain brought them to the edge of a forest. The trees were thin in the rough soil, but Entreri saw they got denser as they left the shadow of the mountain. As the canopy above them became thicker, blotting out the night-lights in the sky, both Trent and Riechen drew their weapons.

Riechen had relit the lantern after the descent from the cave, and Entreri could see worry written on his face. Woods were not unfamiliar to Entreri, though he preferred the alleyways of a city. “Goblins,” he asked, guessing at the source of their disturbance.

Both men stopped and turned to look at the assassin. “Goblins?” Trent asked, making sure that Entreri heard all the disrespect he had thrown into the word. “You've been reading one too many bedtime stories, my friend.” Without further explanation, Trent turned around and continued through the forest.

“Bears,” Riechen clarified, still puzzled as to why Entreri thought goblins were in this forest, or even existed at all.

Entreri nodded, taking the rebuke in stride. Where had LaValle sent him? Was he still on Faerun? He had heard tales of the stars in the night sky being suns for different worlds, but he doubted LaValle had access to that kind of magic.

They walked for another hour before they came upon a road. The two natives to the area relaxed visibly once the troop was safely walking down the road. Entreri thought he noticed a light through the woods and pointed it out.

“Elliorn the Ranger,” Riechen said. “We'll not be bothering her.”

Entreri frowned at the women's chosen profession. Riechen noticed the look of disgust. “She has her uses. For one, the wildlife in this area has become much tamer since she moved into her cabin.”

“Makes it good for the hunters when you can sneak up on the deer without needing a bow,” Trent said. Entreri doubted the stupid thief could sneak up on a dead deer, but did not say so.

The sky was getting light in the east when they started up a small rise. Peaking the rise, Entreri was given his first look at the city of Karenstoch. It was smaller than Calimport, but trying to compare the two cities on any level other than size would be pointless.

Calimport was a hive for thieves and killers in the middle of the dessert. This city was a settlement on the edge of a dense forest with rolling farmland and prairie as its other borders. The sky was brightening to Entreri's left, telling him he was looking south. A quick glance over his shoulder told him the mountains they had come from were mostly north west of the town. A good size river that came out of those mountains to the west cut through the center of the city.

The city itself looked shiny and new. This was probably because Entreri was used to the sandy streets of his old home. There was a wall along the two sides of the city that bordered the forest, but the south and eastern sides were open to the prairie. The large buildings in the center and forest edges of the city reduced in size in a pretty constant slope, dissolving into the poorer section of the town and eventually thinning into the occasional farm house separated by acres of fertile fields.

The river ran from west to east through the city, with several bridges connecting the larger buildings to the residential section of the city. All in all, Entreri guessed the population of this city to be half that of Calimport, perhaps twelve thousand.

Riechen noticed his new companion's long look at the city as they crested the hill, and realized that he had no idea where this man was from. “First time to Karenstoch?” he asked. There were a few rugged settlements around the mountain range, but this man did not look like an outdoorsman.

Entreri just nodded. Riechen shrugged. He did not even know this man's name. All would hopefully become clear when he introduced him to Cailring. The three men walked down the gradual slope of the hill, staying on the road and heading for the main northern city gate.

Entreri was interested to notice that there were no guard towers along the wall. Apparently the wall was just used to keep the non-existent goblins and such out of the city. As they dropped down from the hill, Entreri also noticed that he had misjudged the size of this city. The tallest buildings in Calimport were maybe five or six stories high. Karenstoch boasted dozens of buildings that topped ten stories easily.

The main gate consisted of only two guards and neither one protested the trio's entrance into the city. The walk through the streets consisted of only two turns. Unlike Calimport's haphazard structure, this city was laid out neatly in square blocks with few dark alleys.

The city was just waking up when the three men ended their walk by entering a tavern on the bottom floor of a seven story building. The tavern was called “The Pale Ale.” While the tables were all empty, Entreri could tell by the barmaid's activity and the smell of bacon and sausage from the back kitchen, they were expecting a good-sized morning crowd.

Riechen moved right to the back of the restaurant, through a door, and to a stairway. Instead of up, like Entreri had expected, Riechen led them down. A doorman eyed Entreri suspiciously, but allowed the three men into the basement of the guild house.

A short hallway led to the main room. There was a large table, at which three men ate while being waited on by two young serving girls. Four other men stood by, armed and watching the three arrivals closely. Entreri picked out Cailring easily enough.

“Care for a bite, Riechen,” he said, stuffing a wad of waffles in his mouth, syrup dripping down his chin. “I trust my treasure is still secure. Please have a seat.”

Cailring wiped his chin and looked up at the group, seeing for the first time who had accompanied Riechen. “Who's your friend?”

“We found him in the cavern when we arrived,” Riechen explained.

Cailring had reached for a goblet and was ready to take a sip but paused dramatically. He placed the glass down and looked hard at Entreri as Riechen continued.

“He claims that the treasure is his, and he will not give up that claim.”

The other two men who were seated opposite each other, stopped all motion and looked at the their boss at the head of the table. “Really?” Cailring said. “And why is he still alive?”

“It didn't seem wise at the time to g-” Riechen started.

Cailring was not interested. “And why is he still alive?” Cailring asked again, looking this time at the four guards in the room. The guards reacted immediately to their master's command.

“Hold!” Entreri said loudly. For some reason, the four guards paused with their swords halfway out of their sheaths. They cast a questioning look at Cailring, and he shrugged. The guards pushed their weapons back down, for now.

“What is your claim to my treasure?” Cailring asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Entreri responded.

“And if you do,” Cailring responded, “there will barely be enough left of you to feed my dogs. Now answer my question.”

Entreri thought of several ways he could approach this situation. He could maintain a tough guy image, but he knew Cailring's type and that would not get him far. The other end of the spectrum was to beg acceptance into the guild. That might work, but it would put him at the lowest rung in the organization.

As it turned out, Entreri did not get to pick an option. Cailring waited five seconds for a reply before he spoke. “ Trent,” he spoke up, “could you please kill our guest.”

Entreri knew the thief stood less than three feet behind him. The assassin spun around quickly, delivering two hard punches to Trent 's face before he could even clear his sword. When he finally did, Entreri delivered a third punch to his stomach and easily wrenched the sword from the stunned man's grasp. With a flip of his wrist, Entreri reversed the blade and plunged it into Trent 's chest.

The whole encounter took less than three seconds, and Entreri spun back around. His short cape flared out as he spun, hiding the entire fight from Cailring. All the guild master saw was Entreri spinning around and one of his best men falling dead to the floor with his own sword in his chest.

The four guards pulled their swords out cleanly this time. “Hold!” It was Cailring who stopped them now. “Who are you!”

“My name is Artemis.”

“Well, Art, what are we going to do with you?”

“You are going to make me a lieutenant in this organization. You are going to give me the finest room available. I shall come and go as I see fit. I shall decide when my tenure with your guild is at an end. At which time, I will be able to walk away from this city free and clear.”

The laughter was expected. The rest of the room was deathly still, but Cailring roared. “I shall make you a guild jester perhaps!” The laughter was forced, and he recovered from it quickly. “Please tell me, Art, why should I do this for you? Tell me quickly for my food is getting cold, and my guards are impatient.”

Entreri turned to Riechen, who was still staring stunned at Trent 's cooling body. “How many people did you show the cavern to?”

Riechen was too much in shock to think his answer through. “ Trent was the only other one who kne-” he paused in his answer as he felt a tingling sensation in his chest. As he looked down he saw the briefest glint of steel as Entreri returned his dagger to its hidden sheath inside his jacket. Entreri had told the man this exact event was going to tale place and how he would need to answer to save his life. He had failed. “- the location of the-” was all he managed has he fell backwards, the red stain on his shirt growing quickly.

The guards moved quicker than Entreri had expected, but then, so did Cailring. “Wait!” he yelled as he leaped up from his chair and ran around the table over to Riechen. The man had died before he had hit the floor, and the cavern's location had gone with him.

Cailring did not bother to crouch down next to the dead man, seeing he was not going to get the information he needed. Instead he turned on Entreri. The assassin did not back down from this man, who outweighed him by close to a hundred pounds and was half a foot taller.

“You are playing a dangerous game, Art.”

Not half as dangerous as you are, if you keep calling me Art, Entreri thought. “There is very little keeping me from walking out of here. If you want your treasure, you better make it worth my while to stay.”

“You would never make it ten steps if you tried to leave this building,” Cailring said in a low growl.

“What would you do? Kill me?”

“I could find the cavern on my own,” Cailring said, thinking he might let the guards have their fun with this stranger. On the other hand, he had just seen what Entreri was capable of, and he wondered who would really be having the fun.

“I don't think so. I don't even know how our old friend Riechen found it.”

“But you did?” Cailring asked. Entreri nodded. “And you can find your way back?” Entreri felt the bulge of the ivory cylinder in his pocket and nodded again. “Suppose I make you bring my guards out to the cavern so they can see you are not lying.”

“Suppose I kill your guards and keep all the treasure for myself.”

Cailring's fists were opening and closing at his side with enough force to crush a piece of charcoal into a diamond. Entreri was braced for action at the slightest hint of an attack. If Cailring had been so foolish, he would have found himself on the floor next to Trent and Riechen, with his four guards soon to follow.

Cailring finally stepped back. “Crane,” he spoke to one of the guards, “take our guest upstairs and show him to Riechen's old room.”

Crane stepped forward with a look of disgust on his face. Entreri smiled pleasantly at him. “And the rest of you,” Cailring said, gesturing to bodies on the floor, “clean this mess up. I'm trying to eat in here.”

Chapter 2

Karenstoch

Entreri spent most of the day going through Riechen's stuff. The man was well read and had many books detailing the history and geography of the area directly around Karenstoch. This city was not that old, maybe 150 years at best. The majority of the population on this continent lived further south, either alongside one of the numerous rivers that criss-crossed the vast prairie or along the coast.

Entreri searched for over an hour through a dozen books before he found a big enough map of the great seas that bordered either side of the continent to show the Sword Coast. None of the cities showed up on the map, but Entreri recognized the topography well enough. He was over 15,000 miles from home.

“Well done, LaValle.”

Entreri was also able to put to rest his concern about the way Trent and Riechen had reacted to his question about goblins. The continent across the sea was a far harsher land than this one. Entreri had visited the harsh climate of the Spine of the World, the dark Trollmoors, and, of course, the desserts of Calimshan. This new land had nothing even comparable to those violent areas. Instead, it had vast grasslands that were speckled with great forests the further north you went.

Some of the history books hinted that the land used to have its fair share of goblin kind, but as the human population slowly filled the vast continent, the other races were shoved into the northern woods where the elves were waiting. The ensuing clash between the goodly elves and the evil races effectively wiped both sides out, allowing the humans to move into the northland and set up shop.

Now, all other races were assumed to be fiction, recorded in books more like fairy tales than history. Entreri wondered how the discovery of the dragon had affected Riechen's view of things.

Entreri found little in Riechen's room about the workings of this guild or what the other forces in the city were. From Riechen's window on the fifth floor, Entreri watched the city go about its daily routine. There were street venders dealing their wares to commoners as they walked freely along the streets. There was no sign of any organized control of the streets, whether by the city guards or this thieving guild.

Entreri also spent considerable time with LaValle's gift. He became very good with the device, finding ways to open it to twice its normal size or half of it. He also found that if you did not remove the cylinder from the middle of the disk after it had been formed, the portal would remain open indefinitely. This meant Entreri was able to move back and forth between his room and the cavern a dozen miles away. Entreri also took careful notice that if anything was halfway through the portal when it closed, it would be sheared in half cleaner than the finest blade could reproduce.

By nightfall, Entreri's stomach told him it had been too long since his last meal. Setting a cruel trap on his door with one of Riechen's daggers, Entreri slunk his way through the halls and down to the tavern on the main floor. Entreri smiled at the serving maid and ordered the place's most expensive meal. After a few trips to the cavern, money was not something he needed to worry about for a while.

As he ate, the assassin eyed the clientele of the room with interest. This was not a seedy part of the city, and from what Entreri could see from his window, there were few unsavory sections in all of Karenstoch. Still, he was surprised at the level of nobility in the room.

Everyone was well dressed and sociable. There were a few loud mouths sitting at the bar, but Cailring's strong arms were always standing at the ready to diffuse any potential situation that could arise. Entreri even saw Cailring making his rounds about the room, talking with everyone he could. The assassin wondered if he was running for public office.

After the meal, Entreri left a nice tip and made his way back up to his room. There was a little blood just outside his door that someone had made a hasty effort to wipe up. Entreri sighed as he cracked his door and slid his dagger along the jam. The trap had been poorly reset, but it did not look like the room had been vandalized to any extent. Everything in the room had belonged to Riechen, and Entreri cared little for any of it.

The next few days Entreri roamed the guild house more openly. Word spread quickly, and everyone avoided him. Few gave him evil stares, though most avoided eye contact all together. On the third floor, Entreri was intrigued to find a good sized practice room were most of the younger members of the guild practiced fighting. He watched the practice sessions several times each day, always amazed at how little skill everyone had.

Entreri realized that because this was not a harsh land they lived in, there was little need for battle readiness. In order to travel abroad back home, one needed to be able to wield a sword well, or you would not make it far. The streets of most cities were just as harsh, if not more. Here, everyone was calm and peaceful.

When Entreri finally realized the full extent of the advantage his skills gave him, he decided it was time to pay Cailring a visit. The guild master had his room on the seventh floor of the building. Entreri noticed two guards playing cards in a room just adjacent to Cailring's. They were doing their best to make Entreri think they did not notice him, but the more they tried, the more obvious it was to the experienced assassin.

Without knocking, Entreri opened the door to Cailring's room and strode in. It was early morning, and the stocky man had just returned from his basement breakfast. With him were the two men Entreri had seen during his first meeting with the guild master. They had been eating with him then, and they had apparently done so again.

Cailring rose dramatically from behind a large desk at the unannounced entry and looked like he was about to call out for the guards. He noticed who his guest was, however, and sat back down. Entreri was a good student of human behavior and realized that no one was usually allowed to enter as he had just done, but Cailring had apparently given his guards specific orders concerning him.

“Please come in,” Cailring said graciously. “Have a seat.”

The two other men turned to look at him as they sat in front of the desk with their backs to him. Entreri declined a chair and moved to stand between the two seated men. “Let me introduce you to my two lieutenants, Chancy and Untrul.”

“You mean your two OTHER lieutenants,” Entreri corrected.

The assassin referred to the fact he had pronounced himself as one of Cailring's lieutenants. The guild master recognized this reference immediately. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

“You are holding a guild meeting, and I was not invited.”

Cailring looked at the other two men, not sure where he was supposed go with this. “I give out information to those who have proven their loyalty and usefulness. So far you have killed two of my best men and are blackmailing me with my own treasure. So unless you have something valuable to contribute-”

Too fast for any of the men to react, Entreri's right hand disappeared into his open jacket, removed a small gem bag, and tossed it onto the desk. Cailring had started for his weapon but saw that Entreri was not going for his dagger. He also saw that if Entreri had wanted to attack, there would have been little any of the three others could have done about it.

Cailring carefully opened the bag on his desk and gasped at the wealth inside. “That is a taste of what can be yours,” Entreri said. “There are a million more portions that size waiting for you. All I ask for is a piece of this.” Entreri waived his arms about the room. “I want to know what you do?”

Cailring was finally able to pull his eyes away from the gem bag and regarded Entreri's request. “Very well. This guild deals mostly in unique taxation. It is a tax that very few citizens realize they pay, and they never pay more than they can afford. There is much wealth in this city, and very little of it is spent on anything of value. Right now, I have been informed by Chancy, that one of my enemies has raised the stakes, and we are deciding what should be done about it.”

It looked like Cailring was going to leave it at that. “Explain,” Entreri prompted.

Cailring looked between his lieutenants. Chancy stood suddenly and walked three quick paces away from Entreri before he spoke, not liking the assassin's proximity above and behind him. “Wallace Kierston owns the lumberyard in the southwest corner of the city. He owns several restaurants and shops in the city as well. He is one of the wealthiest and best-liked men in Karenstoch. He is liked best by those who know him least and vice versa. We know him very well.”

Chancy looked for a moment at his boss. Cailring nodded. “Master Cailring's son, Griecen, has his eyes on Kierston's only daughter, and by all accounts, the feeling is mutual.”

Cailring spoke up. “I do not care for the girl's father, but I will not stand in front of my son. Kierston on the other hand…”

“Griecen came home three nights ago heavily bruised and carrying a message that he was never to lay eyes on Callie, Kierston's daughter, again. Our men responded in fashion, setting a small fire at his lumberyard. It did little real damage, but we let him know we were responsible.

“Last night two of our men did not come home. We got word this morning that they were detained by the city guard and will not be released.”

“That,” Cailring emphasized by slamming his open palm on the desk, “is an outrage! We have a good deal going with the city guard that profits them very well. Only Kierston has the influence to bring the city guard down on us.”

Entreri soaked this information in. It was a little different from most of the feuds he was used to, in as much as neither side had lost lives yet, but the foundation was similar. All fights started over a very small matter and escalated so quickly that the cause for the fight was usually forgotten within days. “And what is your retaliation going to be?”

“We are going to call him out,” Untrul, the other lieutenant, said. “We will meet him tomorrow morning and settle this thing once and for all.”

“You will kill him?” Entreri asked.

All three men looked at each other before Chancy spoke. “If it comes to that, though we doubt Kierston will want to bring blades into the negotiations. He has little experience in fighting. We will present him with a financial offer that he will be a fool to pass up.”

“You plan to buy his daughter from him?” Entreri asked.

Cailring laughed. “We won't phrase it like that, but yes. Do you approve?”

Entreri did not like the tone of the guild master's voice but held his weapons in check. “It is your guild,” Entreri said. “Run it how you will.”

“Will you come with us tomorrow morning?” Untrul asked.

“Your ace in the hole?” Entreri asked. None of them said anything. “I will be there.” Entreri did not wait for a response and left.

* * * * *

The Kierston Lumber Company was hard at work by noon.

Men with barrel chests and arms as big as the logs they wrestled maneuvered the felled trees with minimal assistance from mules and ropes. The trees were cut down deep in the forest and then dragged to the edge of the clearing where they were stripped. Two men with large hatchets worked the trees, one from each end walking toward each other. They each had two hatchets and whirled them about as they walked along the broad trunks, hacking off each small branch.

Men with much bigger axes then attacked the larger branches, allowing more men to turn the tree a quarter turn so the hatchet men could walk the trunk once more, picking any branches they might have missed. It took less than five minutes for a tree 60 feet in length to be turned into a clean log.

Smaller men then scrambled amongst the brutes, collecting the branches. They would be sold to a peasant farmer for a roof, firewood, or, if the farmer was unlucky, both. The larger branches would be sold as more reliable firewood, or, the straighter pieces, would be cleaned up and sold to a wood craftsman. They would be resurrected into furniture, a fence, or any one of a number of practical items.

The real treasure was the tree trunk. Some were hauled off to a corner of the lumberyard, but most were rolled into the wide river that bordered the lumber facility. These would be floated down the river and sold to several different towns and cities that lived on the water highway further downstream.

However, before any of the trees were moved and after their branches had been stripped, they were beat upon by short poles. Three, sometimes four men, walked the length of the log, pounding on it repeatedly with the two and a half-foot long pounding rods. As they did, the tree unleashed all of its stored wildlife. Ants, termites, tree rodents, and thousands of insects came pouring out of the logs. After they were cleaned in this fashion, they were ready for the river or storage pile.

There were two tree-cleaning units and four tree-dragging teams at work today. Each dragging unit consisted of three men and a team of mules. Deeper in the forest, the real work was being done as the sound of wood chopping and the occasional cry of “Timber,” echoed out of the forest.

Entreri watched it from a high perch in a tree across the river, safe from the mighty lumberjacks. Entreri not only watched the work area, he also paid special attention to the collection of small buildings at the entrance to the lumberyard. There was a significant wall that separated the eastern edge of the yard with the western edge of Karenstoch. To the south, a natural cliff stood about 200 feet from the river, giving the woodsmen a large area in which to work. To the west were the woods, and to the north was the river. There was a shoddy fence on the western edge of the yard keeping the woodland creatures out, but it would never keep a determined thief from entering.

It was lunchtime, and the workers took their first break of the day. Entreri noticed that while most of the men stayed in the work area, sitting down on their logs and producing their noon meals from scattered packs, there were three men that left the group and headed to the buildings near the entrance to the yard.

Entreri climbed down his tree and moved secretly into the woods. He found a shaky rope bridge and ran easily across the river. He approached the workers casually, not knowing what their reaction would be to a stranger interrupting their noon break. Entreri purposefully stepped on a twig as he exited the protection of the forest and several men turned to look at him.

A few men reached quickly for their axes or hatchets, but Entreri tried to calm their fears – a task he was not normally good at. “Whoa, please, settle down.”

His voice was shaky and had a little fear thrown in it. Most of the men stopped reaching for their tools, but those who had already grabbed them, did not let them go. “Who are you and what do you want?” one of them spoke up.

“A friend. Please, put down you weapons. The last thing I want is a fight. I was wondering about how I could get a job.”

All the men were at ease now, and they all dropped their axes. The speaker casually flipped his hatchet once in the air, caught the handle, and buried the head into the log he straddled. “What would you want to work here for?”

“Why does anyone work?” Entreri responded. “For the money.”

“My question still stands, stranger.”

“Surely the pay here is good,” Entreri insisted naively. “I've been watching you guys for the last hour or so. You each do the work of two men.”

“And get paid as if we were each a half man,” one of the other men spoke up.

Entreri turned back to the main speaker for confirmation. The man nodded. “It's true. There are a dozen professions in the city that offer better wages with much less work.”

“Then why do you do it?” Entreri asked.

“Don't think we haven't looked for work elsewhere, but Kierston has put the bug in every merchant and farmer's ear that we are his and no one will offer us a job. He's got a nice little scam going here. We are the best, there is no doubt about that, and I doubt there is a lumber company in all the realms that can match our daily output, and we probably get paid the least.”

“You tell him Druane,” one of the other men spoke up.

“Why don't you slow down?”

Druane looked hard at Entreri. “We are not thieves,” he said sincerely. “Kierston might treat us unfairly, but to return the favor would be wrong. Besides, his foremen ride us too hard.”

“The three men who left to go to the company buildings?” Entreri said as much to himself as asking Druane.

“Yes,” the lumberjack replied. “Shreik, Lorance, and Porrik are very close to Kierston. He's got one of them with every group. If you've been watching us, you've seen Shreik at work. He walks the trees faster and cleaner than I've ever seen. I swear he does it with his eyes closed, his two hatchets moving so fast and accurately, half the branches that come off do so in fear.

“Lorance works with the draggers. He can push mules to the brink of collapse with his whip. He's killed five mules this year alone simply from working them past their threshold. But he's magic with that whip. He can take a fly off a man's back without either of them knowing about it, the man because he doesn't feel a thing, and the fly because it's dead before it knew it was in danger.

“And then there is Porrik, the only true lumberjack in the group. He is also probably the biggest man in all of Karenstoch. He can chop down a tree so fast, he'll be clean through on a second one before the first hits the ground. For as hard as all three of them push us, they push themselves equally. That doesn't change the fact that they are company, and we are not.

“So, stranger, if you still want a job, you need to go to the main office building, but if you want advice, I say you go to the slaughterhouse and get a good paying job.”

“Is there anything that would be able to change your working conditions?” Entreri asked.

“New ownership would be a start. Kierston won't ever sell though. The only way he would give up ownership is if his daughter married some rich noble who could take over. He's got two sons, but they are about as thick headed as the trees we cut down.”

Entreri soaked all this in, thanked the men, and left the way he had come.

* * * * *

Entreri sat on the roof of Cailring's guild house, watching as the stars came out. The night had a cool breeze with a pleasant pine odor. Entreri still was not used to the stars. They did not seem to hang in the sky quite right, but being 15,000 miles from home probably had a lot to do with that.

He was at a crossroads. What he did in the next few hours would define how he planed to function in society. He could walk away from the city tonight and never look back. Entreri knew Cailring had people watching him even now, but they had no idea whom they were watching. If the assassin wanted to be unseen, the thieves would never be able to find him.

This world – for Entreri considered this place to be an entirely different world – functioned far differently from Calimport, or any city along the Sword Coast. Chaos ruled in Entreri's homeland. The races interacted chaotically, the weather was chaotic, the magic was chaotic, and even the law was chaotic.

Here, there was organized crime. There was no magic. There was no racial diversity. While there were social classes, they were not as evident or as problematic. Entreri had two choices: he could change this land, or he could let it change him.

He had been viewed as a master in Calimport, but here he could be a god.

There was a chance the land and people would reject him for who he was. Entreri believed that even Cailring might throw him out if he realized what the assassin was capable of. It was a difficult thing to deal with because back home, Entreri was a prized possession by any guild house that was foolish enough to claim they owned him.

Entreri laughed as he thought of Drizzt. The drow had been rejected because of his skin. People saw what they wanted to and persecuted him. Drizzt had finally donned a mask to hide what he really was so he would be accepted. Would Entreri be forced to wear a mask too? Would he have to hide his dark profession under a veil of civility in order to be accepted?

The comparison to Drizzt was not a good one, for once the people of the Sword Coast learned that the dark elf was not as he seemed, he was not only accepted in the many cities, but often celebrated. Entreri was exactly as he seemed, and the deeper people looked, the more he would be rejected.

Entreri stood and walked to the ledge of the roof, looking down on the rest of the city. “Are you ready for me?” he asked quietly to the streets of Karenstoch. “Are you ready for Artemis Entreri? I might not be able to change you, but you shall definitely not change me.”

* * * * *

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“A splash.”

“We're next to a river, you idiot. Of course I heard a splash. There isn't a second that goes by that I don't hear that bloody river, but I've already pissed a gallon tonight, so I'm trying not to think about it.”

Alex ignored his partner. “No, Jreck, I mean a weird splash.”

Jreck looked at him like he was insane. “No, Alex, I did not hear a 'weird' splash.” Jreck pushed away from the log pile he had been leaning against and picked up his lantern. “I'm going to do another sweep of the storage sheds. You just stay here and listen to the river.”

Alex watched as Jreck walked off into the night, disappearing as he moved in between the small collection of buildings along the cliff face. Alex's head snapped around as he thought he heard another splash. He stared off into the darkness at the river. It was almost full of logs now, the huge trees held in place by a massive netting of rope that crossed the width of the river.

Alex and Jreck were city guards, and by patrolling Kierston's lumberyard they were breaking several city ordinances. The city guards were supposed to patrol the city, not private property. They were not guards for hire. They were not mercenaries. That is, not unless someone paid them enough. Kierston paid plenty.

Alex had not figured out why anyone would want to rob this place at night, or at all for that matter. It was not like a store where you could pocket the merchandise and walk off with it. Alex stepped away to look at the log piles lined up a dozen feet from the cliff. There were two dozen massive logs staked up in each pile, held in place by two thick ropes per pile.

Another splash. Alex spun around, taking several steps away from the log pile he had been leaning against and toward the river. He looked back and forth as he crept north toward the water. He was scared either an animal was going to come tearing out of the woods or Jreck and the other city guard that was here tonight would catch him leaving his post.

Alex left his lantern back at the woodpile as he made his way across the tree cleaning area. He tried to be as quiet as he could, but the ground was littered with small twigs and leaves. It was not like there was any cover for him to move amongst either. The cleaning area was wide open.

The river's bank was almost fifty feet away when he heard the splash again. He knew he was not making it up now. It sounded like someone was throwing rocks in the river. The starlight kept the night from complete darkness, but with a forest so near, shadows seamed to be everywhere.

Alex tried to pick out a human form somewhere near the edge of the river, but he either saw nothing, or every shadow held a thief ready to spring out and take him. All he was doing was tracking down a splash, but the city guard drew his sword and held it out in front of him to ward off whatever the night might hold for him.

The splashing had come from the western edge of the logjam, up river and the opposite side from where the rope netting was. There was a four-foot drop off to the river at the edge of the cleaning area. Alex stood three feet from the edge, looking down at the river, daring it to make another splash.

Alex was just about to leave, convinced that it had just been a fish, when another splash came right in front of him. The water flew two feet in the air. It happened about five feet from the edge of the floating logs, and was definitely not a fish. Someone or something was throwing rocks into the river.

The guard still could not see anything. He crept right up to the edge of the four-foot ledge and realized that there was a small hollowed out section under his feet. Alex slowly got to his hands and knees and leaned slowly over the edge to look under the lip. Entreri grabbed the stupid guard by his collar and pulled him into the river.

Alex tried to scream, but by the time he realized what was going on, he was already underwater. The current was swift and pulled him toward the stationary logs. Alex's head broke through the surface, but Entreri, armed with a long branch, was there to push him back under.

When Alex tried to break through the surface again, he found the river had a very heavy lid. He was under the logs! Alex panicked, blurting out the little air he had been holding. He desperately tried to swim back upstream, but he wore heavy armor and had little swimming skill. Instead, he tried to focus his energy on the logs above.

Entreri watched as an arm came up from between two of the logs. The guard tried to pull two of the massive trees apart to push his head through, but his strength was quickly failing and even fresh, he probably could not have moved the huge trunks. The arm gave one last spasmodic shove on the unyielding ceiling and then sank slowly back into the water.

Entreri had wondered if he was going to run out of rocks before Alex finally responded to the splashes. The assassin carefully jumped from the bank hollow onto the floating logs. Keeping his balance on the rolling wood was not as difficult as other stunts he had pulled in his life, but having so recently seen what failure would mean, made him extra careful.

The climb up to land was made with an easy leap, and Entreri fell low to the ground as he surveyed the scene. There was a light moving about the buildings to the southeast and another light more directly east. To Alex, the cleaning area had looked like an open field with no cover available, but to Entreri the area was full of hiding spots. There were patches of dark grass against which, the assassin's cloak hid him better than other patches. There were several small areas that were relatively clear of twigs, allowing silent travel. Also, the lights from the city across the river highlighted different areas of the clearing more than others.

Entreri moved quickly across the open field as quietly and as invisibly as the cool night breeze.

Jreck walked back to the woodpile, seeing Alex's lantern, but not Alex. The lantern sat off to the side of the woodpile, and Jreck set his down next to it. He remembered Alex saying something about a noise in the river. Jreck looked off in that direction, wondering if something had happened to him. “Alex,” he called out in a harsh whisper. As soon as the call left his lips, he laughed at himself.

What sense does it make to call out in a whisper? Besides, who else was out here to hear him? Despite what common sense tried to tell him, there was a reason he had called out in a whisper. Jreck felt a sense of dread creeping into his body, as if death was waiting for him somewhere in the lumberyard. It seemed foolish. Alex was probably just wandering near the river.

Jreck walked in front of the woodpile, wondering if he should climb it to look around the whole area. Instead, he turned his back on it and looked toward the river, straining to hear the phantom splashes. After a minute of listening, he heard nothing but had gained a sudden urge to pee.

Turning toward the woods to do exactly that, Jreck heard a snap from behind him. His urge left him quickly and he took a step toward the woodpile to identify the sound. Nothing in the pile moved, but Jreck sensed a feeling of terror creep through him. Then he saw it. It was one of the support ropes that held the stack of wood in place. It was cut.

Before Jreck could react to his find, Entreri's dagger cut through the other rope and the stack of logs fell apart. Jreck was standing right in front of it and cried out as the first log rolled over his foot an ankle with a stomach turning crack, ensuring the man would never walk again. That was the least of his worries, for a second later, another log bounced heavily on his head, ensuring he would never breathe again either.

This kill had not been as silent as Entreri had hoped. The logs had made little more than dull thuds as they fell and rolled, but Jreck had been able to cry out before he died. Entreri spotted the third guard long before he spotted the assassin. The guard had his sword drawn and was on the alert.

Entreri stayed perfectly still. The two lanterns had been unharmed in the logslide, and they both stood less than ten feet away from the assassin, but the master of shadows was invisible to the guard until he was right on top of him. Entreri exploded into motion as soon as the guard's eyes found him.

The assassin had only his dagger drawn, and the guard used the split second it took for Entreri to produce his dirk to set up some kind of defense. The city guard thought himself lucky, for he intercepted Entreri's initial flurry of six strikes in half as many seconds.

The guard quickly realized luck had nothing to do with it for as he thrust his weapon out to intercept the next strike, he realized the assassin had just been setting him up. Entreri rotated his dirk at the last second to avoid contact with the larger sword. With suddenly nothing there to support the guard's sword so soon after the initial volley, he was extremely off balance. The doomed man stumbled in the direction of his missed parry, taking a dagger in the side and a fine cut across his gut.

The guard tried to cry out, but in a heartbeat the dagger went from his side to his throat. A few seconds later, the guard's heart no longer beat at all. Entreri wiped his blades on the dead man's clothes and placed them back in their sheaths. He had spent the majority of the night watching these men, and knew there were only three guards. He also knew their routes and that they would soon be missed if anyone in the office buildings was paying attention.

Like a shadow, Entreri moved off toward the equipment sheds.

* * * * *

“Something is wrong,” Shreik said, pulling aside the drapes and looking out a window in one of the smaller office buildings in the lumberyard. The three foremen had come to work early that morning at Kierston's request. They were going to add a little muscle to the meeting with Cailring and his guild. “Jreck should have made a pass through the sheds half an hour ago.”

“You think he fell asleep?” Porrik asked.

Shreik scowled at the huge man. “Not everyone is as stupid as you.”

Porrik growled at the comment and took a menacing step toward the smaller man. Shriek just casually dropped his hands to the pommels of his twin swords. Porrik paused. He had seen Shreik wield his two hatchets during the day, and knew the man was no less accurate with his short swords.

“Shriek is right,” Lorance said, stepping into the argument. “Something is wrong.”

Porrik looked back and forth between the two men, yielding to their assessment of the situation. “Okay, what do you want to do about it?”

The three walked out of the small building and made the short trip to the main offices. Kierston had the main offices set up much like his home in the central part of the city. He rarely visited that home, spending most of his time out here.

It was still dark outside, but dawn was less than an hour away, and there was activity inside the house. Kierston, his two sons, and his daughter all sat around the main table, sipping tea and discussing the meeting they were going to have with Cailring and his men.

Kierston had told no one but his foremen about the hiring of the city guards, and few outside of the lumber company even knew about the foremen. Cailring and his gang of petty thieves were going to walk into this meeting thinking they had the advantage, but with six sure fighters and his two sons, Kierston would not be an easy man to bargain with. The rich man fully expected the meeting to end in blood, and he had given his men specific instructions that if only one person felt steel, it was to be Cailring's thieving son who was chasing his daughter.

Kierston looked up as his three foremen entered the large room. He knew something was wrong immediately. “Sir,” Shreik said, “there is no sign of the guards. They are long overdue on their routes.”

Kierston rose from the table and walked over to his men. “You and Lorance check it out. Porrik, you stay here. If the guards have skipped out on me, Lionel Cairon will here it from me,” Kierston said, dropping the name of the chief of the city guards. “I paid him good money for those men.”

“And if they didn't skip out?” Lorance asked, his fingers playing with the whip hanging on his belt.

“I sincerely doubt anyone could have disposed of all three guards without raising the alarm, but if Cailring is playing some kind of trick here, I won't play along. Dispense with whatever you find. I trust your judgment.”

The two foremen left, and Kierston turned back to the table where his family sat. “Dad,” Callie, his daughter, said, “you need to be more diplomatic. You can't just beat up everyone that doesn't agree with you. There are better ways to handle these kinds of situations.”

“You heard the report,” he replied. “I am either being attacked or betrayed. Yet you want me to roll with the punches and talk peace.”

“You are receiving nothing that you didn't bring upon yourself.”

“Bite your tongue, daughter, or I'll find someone to bite it for you!”

Kierston's two stupid sons laughed at the rebuke and received a sharp rap on their heads for it. “You two shut up also. If we are going to get into a fight, you should get ready.”

The two young men nodded and left the table to get their weapons.

Outside, Shriek and Lorance crept slowly up to the equipment shed. This is where one of the guards was supposed to be stationed all the time. Another one was positioned at the log piles, while the third one roamed between the two.

“Something is not right,” Lorance said, stopping and sniffing at the air. “Someone is here.”

From where he hid inside the shed, Entreri could see that he would not be able to remove these men in the same fashion he took out the careless guards. Any simple trap he tried would likely back fire. Without a sound, he stepped into the center of the shed, in plain view of the two men.

“You have made a bad choice this night,” Shreik said, snapping out his twin swords in front of him. “And it will be your last.”

Shreik walked toward him quickly, but Entreri's focus was on the other man, Lorance, if his memory served him. The assassin had fought against very few people who used a whip and had heard many great tales about their extreme usefulness in battle. Entreri engaged Shreik's blades in a half-hearted defensive stance, keeping the corner of his eye on Lorance.

Entreri suddenly rolled to his side, a snapping sound filling the spot where his head had just been. Shreik paused only briefly at the missed whip attack, but Entreri knew he had just come very close to losing an ear. The assassin also knew he would not be able to fight both men at once if Lorance stayed on the outside. He was using a black whip at night. It had only been pure instinct that had told Entreri to roll out of the way when he did.

Entreri jumped up from his roll, and executed a furious attack routine against Shreik. The swordsman had never seen anything like it and backpedaled desperately, barely catching every other attack with one of his blades. With his opponent off balance, Entreri pulled his eyes away from the attack to find Lorance and ducked just in time to keep his left eye.

The whip snapped above his head, and Entreri was able to move Shreik between him and Lorance. The assassin now watched the whip master over the other foreman's shoulder as he easily parried his blades. Entreri had seen Shreik at work during the day and knew he was an expert, but the branches he hacked off never moved and never blocked. Entreri did both better than almost anyone alive.

Shreik launched a double strike, one sword high, the other low. He then reversed their direction after Entreri had deftly leaped back, and brought them together like a giant pair of scissors. Entreri glanced quickly at the ceiling, adjusted his feet, and swung his dirk into the center of the “V” attack. With both of Shreik's blades engaged with one of Entreri's, the assassin brought his free dagger around the blades, aimed at the foreman's exposed side.

Lorance's whip snapped out viciously at the exposed dagger, ripping it from Entreri's grasp. Entreri was not phased and pushed his dirk up high, forcing Shreik's arms up also. He kicked the foreman hard in the gut, and the larger man fell back.

Entreri spun around to face Lorance and saw that his dagger was lying halfway between him and the whip master – right where he had planned it. “I whip donkeys all day,” Lorance said, rearing his weapon back for another strike, “and you are no different.”

Entreri had heard a lot of stories on how effective a whip was at long distance attacks, and they all said the only way to defeat one was to get inside its range. Entreri rolled forward as the whip snapped above his head. He came out of the roll and reached up to grab the whip before it retracted.

Lorance was startled at how easily Entreri had avoided his attack and did not pull the whip back in time. Neither did he let go of his end when Entreri grabbed the middle of the weapon and tugged hard. Lorance took several clumsy steps toward the assassin under the force of the hard tug and impaled himself on Entreri's waiting dirk. “I am no ass,” Entreri said into Lorance's ear before he shoved his body back.

Entreri's dirk stayed in the man's chest, for it was too deep to remove without extra effort. Shreik had scrambled back to his feet and saw that his enemy no longer had a weapon. Entreri had rolled to where his dagger had fallen. He knew exactly where Shreik was, picked up his dagger, and flung it toward the man as he turned.

Shreik saw the move coming in time and stopped his charge as he dodged. The dagger flew over his left shoulder and thudded into the wall behind him. “You missed,” Shreik said, not knowing that the dagger had cut cleanly through a support rope when it had struck the wall.

Entreri did not say anything and just glanced upward. Shreik's eyes went upward also and watched in horror as the huge tree felling axe Entreri had rigged earlier swung down from the ceiling, blew through his pathetic parrying attempts, and sunk its blade deep into Shreik's chest. The big man was lifted from the ground by the force of the blow, the blade of the huge axe protruding from his back. The deadly pendulum swung back and forth with its victim still attached while Entreri retrieved his sword and dagger.

Before leaving the equipment shed, Entreri picked up two of the pounding rods he had seen the yard workers use the day before to rid the trees of insects. Entreri cleaned his two blades on Shreik's swinging corpse and sheathed them. He stuck the two pounding rods into the back of his waistline under his cloak, and he made his way to the lumberyard's main office.

* * * * *

Kierston looked nervously out the window. Lorance and Shreik should have been back by now.

“I hope your thugs haven't met an unfortunate end, father,” Callie said from the table. Her two brothers and Porrik stood behind Kierston and threw the girl an evil look.

Her father did not bother to turn around. “I don't know what you have against them, dear. They are both fine men, and either one would make a good husband.”

“Actually, dead men make very bad husbands.”

Everyone in the room turned around at the new voice and saw Entreri standing there. “Who are you?” Kierston asked.

“I am all your nightmares come to life.”

“Porrik…” the old man started, but the huge brute had already drawn his incredible broadsword. The man kept it strapped to his back, and Entreri quickly realized if he had worn it any lower on his body, it would drag on the floor. Despite the sword's incredible size, Porrik swung it about his body as if it weighed no more than Lorance's whip.

Entreri had struggled mightily under the weight of huge axe in the equipment shed when he had rigged the trap that had taken out Shreik, yet this man swung one of those axes for hours every day. The huge sword swept back and forth in front of the giant as he stalked the much smaller assassin.

The swipes had no discernible pattern, and were very basic in their structure, but Entreri knew if he tried to parry one of them, his weapon, if not his entire arm, would be ripped away from him. Instead of fighting him straight up, Entreri circled the room, staying just out of reach of the big man until he tried to work out a plan.

After a few seconds of cat and mouse, the assassin found himself in a corner. Kierston saw the look of terror on the stranger's face and looked on with glee as Porrik swung a tremendous strike aimed at Entreri's waist. The blow was too low to duck, too high to jump over, and there was no room to backpedal. Entreri was not worried. He leaped up a short ways, placing his left foot on one of the walls in the corner. He pushed off and kicked his right foot against the other wall, throwing himself much higher than Porrik had ever guessed possible.

The huge man tried to follow the elusive assassin as the smaller man flew passed his shoulder, delivering a vicious strike to the brute's arm as he did. Porrik shrugged off the blow and brought his weapon over his shoulder as he turned, preparing to cleave the assassin from top to bottom.

Entreri was already rolling out of the way as he landed, taking time to slash out at the big man's calf as he did. He did not roll far from Porrik, though, and sprang up from the floor standing right next to the giant. Like the whip, the huge sword was most effective when the opponent was farther away. Unlike the whip, the sword could still parry at close range.

Entreri was amazed at how quickly Porrik could move the big weapon, deflecting well over fifty percent of Entreri's attacks. The rest found their mark, though, slashing and cutting into the big man until his tunic was more red than gray. Entreri pricked him especially hard with one attack, and the huge man kicked out with his foot to drive the little man back.

Entreri complied and leaped back four feet. Porrik was finally able to swing his mighty weapon again, but with has many hits as he had taken, the attack was much slower than before. Entreri waited patiently for it to pass in front of him and then leaped back inside it. Porrik tried to bring the hilt of the weapon back in time to deflect Entreri's attack, but was too late.

The jeweled dagger slid firmly in between Porrik's ribs, but the big man was not finished yet. Though the hilt of his weapon had not been in time to block the blow, it was still coming in from the left, forcing Entreri to step to the right. As he did, he drove his dirk deep into the giant's side and stepped back.

Porrik stood for a brief moment, both weapons still stuck into him, and it looked like he might be able to swing his weapon one more time, but the dagger was stealing his life energy and his strength. Entreri stepped in quickly again as the big man fell, removing his dagger before it was buried under Porrik's tremendous bulk. He stepped back away just in time to avoid the man's collapse.

Entreri stowed his dagger inside his jacket, and reached behind his back to pull out the pounding rods. As he expected, the two brothers came at him with their swords drawn. They both swung at once against the assassin, and Entreri deflected each blow smoothly, dedicating one rod to each brother. He rolled his blocking rods over their blades, and poked them each hard in the face.

Entreri hit the eye of one brother, and gave a bloody nose to the other. Entreri had stepped right between them, and turned to meet their next charge. Both were too stunned and inexperienced to press their attack, and Entreri did not waste time. He was on them in a second poking and pounding on them repeatedly.

The brothers were at lest two moves behind the assassin as they tried to catch up to the lightening strikes. Their blades never came close to the rods, nor did they come close to Entreri. Instead, Entreri covered the brothers with bruises, doing no lasting damage, but inflicting plenty of pain.

The two sons realized they were being played with and did not like it. They stopped trying to block the attacks, for they knew they never could, and initiated their own. Entreri took a step back at the change of strategy and snapped his rods out wide, blocking the weapons below the hilts. In doing so, he smashed their fingers, and both swords clattered to the floor.

Entreri stepped back forward, both rods jabbing ahead three feet apart. The jabs sunk deep into the brothers' guts, stealing their breath and doubling them over. Entreri stood quickly after his mid attack, snapping his weapons up this time into the boys' descending chins.

The brothers stood erect at this attack, dazed and in pain. Entreri dropped to a crouch and swept their legs out from under them. They fell hard, still without breath and with their heads spinning.

One of the brothers tried to rise, but Entreri cracked him in the head as he stepped past him, sending the boy into unconsciousness. The other son wisely stayed down. Entreri walked toward Kierston quickly. Through the corner of his eye, he could see Kierston's daughter smiling at the spectacle.

The old man thought about drawing the small dagger he kept on him, but Entreri shook his head. “Please, make this easy on yourself. I do not want to kill any of your family out of respect for my employer.”

“Your employer?!”

“Yes,” Entreri said, walking right up to the older man. “It seems his son is in love with your daughter, and if I killed you or your pathetic sons, that might put a damper on the wedding, don't you think?”

Kierston was aghast that Cailring had been able to employ someone as skilled as the man who stood before him. Frankly, he was even more surprised that such a man even existed. “Now,” Entreri said slowly, “Cailring will be here in less than an hour. I believe we have a lot to talk about.” As he spoke, Entreri pulled out his dagger. “I hope you will be able to live with my proposal.”

* * * * *

Cailring arrived at the gate to the Kierston Lumberyard at the appointed time, shortly after dawn. Chancy, Untrul, his son, and two more heavily armed members of the guild accompanied him. Cailring was very disappointed when Entreri had not shown up as he had promised. Both his lieutenants had expressed their dislike of the man, and one of them had snuck into his room last night with the intent of ending his stay with the guild, but the assassin had not been home. In fact, no one had seen the man since the previous night.

Cailring was also perturbed that Kierston had not shown up yet. He was just about to suggest that they enter the lumberyard when Kierston finally walked through the gate, followed closely by Entreri.

“Artemis!” Cailring was too shocked to use his nickname for the man. “What are you doing?”

“I have taken the liberties of doing a little negotiating with our friend here,” Entreri replied. “It turns out he is very cooperative.”

“How dare you proceeded in the guild's name!” Untrul shouted. “Why you ar-”

“Shut up, will you!” Entreri bit back. “Will you let me tell you what we've worked out before you criticize my methods. Kierston has agreed to sell you his entire logging company under one condition: your son must marry his daughter as soon as possible, and the two will run the company together.”

Cailring could not say anything. He just stared dumbfounded. He did not know if he should laugh at the preposterous claim or not, but with the way Kierston was hanging his head in shame, Cailring almost believed it.

“I figure this way everyone is happy,” Entreri continued. “Your son gets what he wants. Kierston's daughter gets what she wants. You increase the guild's holdings by an extraordinary amount. Kierston keeps the company in his family, and yet retains a very substantial payment.”

“And what was the price you agreed on?” Cailring asked, seeing the catch. There was no way his guild had enough money on hand to pay off Kierston.

“I've taken care of it,” Entreri smiled.

“With your own money?” Cailring asked, but then remembered the obvious.

“Not exactly,” Entreri said. “It was quite a hefty sum. I'm sure Kierston here will be busy the rest of the week counting it.”

Cailring was immediately furious that Entreri was so flamboyantly giving away his treasure to his worst enemy, but then he stepped back and really looked at the situation. From Riechen's report, there was enough gold in this mysterious treasure cavern to supply several kingdoms for hundreds of years. Though he was sure Entreri had dipped liberally into it to pay off Kierston, he doubted the difference would even be measurable as a percentage of the whole.

Then he looked at what he had gained. Everyone in the city knew that almost all of Kierston's wealth came from this lumberyard, and now it was his. Plus his son would be able to marry a noble daughter, raising his own name even more than it was.

Cailring slowly nodded. “What about his men? Will they willingly accept a new owner?”

“I'm afraid you'll have to hire a few new men.” Entreri explained. “Kierston's foremen suffered a few accidents tonight.”

Cailring nodded, missing nothing. He would definitely have to have a long talk with this Artemis fellow before he killed everyone else in town.

* * * * *

The next few days were busy ones. Cailring promoted a few of the lumberjacks to foremen and, under advisement, increased everyone's pay by 25 percent. The result was a much more dedicated work force that produced one of the best river shipments on record.

The wedding went smoothly. The local temple was distinctly divided down the center aisle with Cailring's people on one side and Kierston's on the other. The banquet afterwards took place at the lumberyard and it was the last time Kierston or either of his two sons would ever stand on the property.

The social promotion was good also. Cailring had mixed with the upper class before, but had always done so as the head of the thieving guild. Now he did so as the father of a legitimate businessman. Though Griecen, his son, officially owned the logging company, Cailring really ran it, and everyone knew it.

There was one problem, or more accurately, six problems: the bodies. Five of them were found the day of the ownership transfer, the sixth one a few days later, tangled in the rope netting in the river.

The dead foremen were not mourned, but they were examined. Porrik had so many cuts and stab wounds covering his body that most of Cailring's people bet he would have died even if Entreri had stopped his beating of the man halfway through. They figured the only thing that had kept the big man fighting through the beating was pure adrenaline.

The other two men had only one mark on them. Granted, in both cases, the killing wound was very traumatic and gruesome, but there was only one. They had been killed with efficiency.

Porrik had been a huge man, known for the way he pummeled not only trees, but anyone who riled him while drunk. Entreri had killed him in like fashion, beating him to within an inch of his life, and then pushing him a foot further. Shreik and Lorance had been polar opposites, cool and calculating. Entreri had treated them as such. The assassin had beat each man at his own game and had done so without obtaining one scratch.

While no one mourned the city guards either, Cailring and his people were worried. One had drowned while another had been crushed beneath a pile of logs. Both of these could be passed off as accidents, leaving the city to explain why they had men on patrol inside Kierston's Lumberyard.

The only thing keeping the guild from making that accusation was the fact that the third guard had his throat cut open, with two other obvious blade wounds. The city guards knew what had happened and the guild knew what had happened, but neither could levy charges against the other because they were both dirty.

Cailring knew the city guard would come for answers eventually. Three of their men were missing, and while Lionel Cairon, the chief of the city guards, had been the one to accept the bribe and assign the men, he would soon come to his senses and say that they had been acting on their own. Killing a city guard, regardless of the man's activity during his death was a capital offense.

Cailring was scared. Cailring had no problem offering the city guards Entreri as the murderer, but it was not the guards he was scared of. Cailring knocked on the door to Entreri's room once and entered. The killer was sitting in a chair juggling five diamonds each worth about two months pay for one of his men.

“Please come in,” Entreri said, rising from his chair and bowing slightly, never stopping his juggling act. “It helps tune your muscles and your mind,” Entreri said, “the juggling does. It allows you to act reflexively while both your mind and body remain in control.”

Entreri fired all five diamonds towards his bed. They landed in a small pile at the foot of it, less than three feet from where Cailring stood. “Go ahead,” Entreri said, gesturing to the diamonds, “their yours.”

“The city is talking.”

“Let them talk. What do they know?”

“They know enough,” Cailring said sharply. “They know that my ownership of the lumberyard, while legal in all respects, did not come about through 'normal' negotiations. They know that three of their guards died that night, and they are holding me responsible.”

“The guards put themselves in harm's way,” Entreri replied. “They had no right to be there.”

“That's not how the city sees it. Sure, they know the guards should not have been there, but that does not change the fact that even though they were illegal, they were still city guards, and you killed them.”

“No one knows I exist.”

“And that only makes it harder for me,” Cailring said. “No one knows about the foremen except the Kierstons and a few of the lumberjacks, but that won't last. When that comes out, people will know that the night before we took control of the lumber yard, six fighting men died. No one will be believe me when I tell them it was the actions of one of my men who acted without my knowledge. One man can't take down six, especially six trained fighters.

“Instead of your actions being seen for what they were, people will say that I orchestrated a violent take over plan involving half my guild. Oh, the stories will grow, have no doubt. And when they do, my credibility will disappear and all my enemies will make accusations against me that will be believed. I will be ruined.”

“What do you want me to do?” Entreri asked.

“Don't kill anyone else!” Cailring said firmly. “You are too violent. There are other ways to do business in this city. Our only hope is that Borrel and Torrin, the two brothers you beat up tell the story how it happened. They are known for their bar talk, though rarely are they believed.”

Cailring picked up one of the diamonds from the bed and looked at it closely. “I need you to stay low and keep out of sight. Until this all blows over. I will figure a way out.”

“If the guards come to you, will you give me up to them?”

Cailring looked at Entreri, knowing there was only one correct answer. He wisely stayed silent.

“If you do,” Entreri said quietly, “you will do so at the cost of your own life.”

It was a threat Cailring really should have responded to. No one should be allowed to talk to the guild master like that. Cailring did not reply for he knew it was not really a threat. It was reality.

* * * * *

That night, Entreri sat in the tavern, the cowl on his cloak pulled over his head. This was not Cailring's tavern, or one of Kierston's, but Entreri did not want to make his face a familiar one anywhere. He sat at a table in the corner of the tavern, watching the bar intently. A man sat there, drinking heavily. The man was young but big. He wore nice clothes, and his face was covered with bruises. His name was Borrel Kierston.

Entreri had followed him here, wishing to know exactly how much this man talked about what had happened. Entreri was too far away in the crowded, noisy tavern to hear what the man said, but he could read lips and body gestures well enough to know what was going on. The bartender was insisting on some sort of payment before he would give Borrel his next drink.

“I think ye've had enough,” the barkeep said, “though even if you were to continue, I'd like to see some coin first.”

Borrel was beyond drunk. He held up his hand to stop the bartender, even though the man had already finished his speech. “Say no more, say no more, good man. I understand.” Keeping his one hand up, he reached into a pocket. The man's face went through a variety of expressions as his clumsy fingers examined each item in his apparently vast pocket.

Suddenly Borrel's eyes lit up as his fingers settled on something of interest. He yanked the item out of his pocket and held it before the bartender. “Will this do?”

Entreri took one look at the item, cursed, and got up from his table.

The bartender's jaw dropped open at the sight of the black sapphire gem. The older man's eyes seemed to loose themselves in the sparkle of the precious stone. It was worth about a year's worth of drinks, though the way Borrel consumed alcohol, maybe only a month's worth.

Before Entreri could get to the stupid Kierston boy, someone else beat him to it. A strong hand clamped onto Borrel's wrist. “That's a very interesting stone, boy. Mind telling me where you got it?”

Entreri slowed his approach to the bar, taking stock of this new participant. It was a woman. Her hands were not delicate, nor were her features. Her eyes were hard and her jaw firm. She used her hands to make a living and was not embarrassed of the fact.

“I said,” she repeated, twisting the arm holding the sapphire so it was between her and Borrel, “where did you get this?”

“Excuse me,” Entreri said, matching the woman's tone, “is something a matter here?”

“Nothing that involves you, stranger,” she said without looking at Entreri. “I have business with Kierston here.”

“So do I,” Entreri said, slapping down a dozen coins on the bar to pay for whatever Borrel had drank with a nice tip left over. “He has had too much to drink, and I am going to take him home.”

Borrel was in a daze, his eyes shifting from his gem to the woman who held his wrist in a grip he could not quite comprehend. He still had not recognized Entreri's presence behind him.

The woman looked away from Borrel and his gem for the first time to regard Entreri. “We really must be going,” Entreri told her. “Perhaps you can continue this conversation later. Maybe when Kierston here is more sober.”

“Maybe I should be talking to you then,” she said, finally releasing Borrel's arm. The young man held his arm in the same position, trapped by the glitter of his own gem. “Maybe I should be asking you why you are so protective of where our young friend found this gem?”

“Why should you care where he found it?” Entreri asked, looking around the bar with his eyes. They were attracting a bit of attention.

“Probably because I belong to Karenstoch's Prospectors Guild, and if I find out that Kierston or his sons have been doing unsanctioned mining in the mountains, or have stolen from my guild, there will be serious repercussions.”

A prospectors guild? Entreri did not know if this was a good chance to smear Kierston's name or if he should collect the young man and usher him outside. He did not get a chance to decide.

“No, no mine,” Borrel was talking again, if you could call his drunken mumblings talking. “We didn't mine this. It was given to us.” Entreri was desperately tugging on the man now, but the woman held him back. “Yes, it was given to us. As payment, yes, that was it.”

Borrel's mind was working overtime to come up with the answer he was searching for. Entreri was working twice as hard to tug the big man away, but his limp body and the strong arm of the prospector held him back. Entreri would normally have no problem getting Borrel out of the bar, but in order to do so, he would have to cause the woman bodily harm. In Calimport most women needed a good beating, and it was often encouraged. Here, Entreri thought a few people might object to it.

“Cailring!” Borrel finally said a little too loudly. “Cailring paid this to us.”

“It's time to go, son,” Entreri said, yanking hard on the man. He stumbled away from the bar under Entreri's strength.

The woman let go of him. “That's it, isn't it? You don't work for Kierston. You work for Cailring. He's been stealing gems from our mountains.”

“Hey,” Borrel complained, picking himself off the floor. “Watch it bud-” the young man froze as he locked eyes with Entreri. The man became instantly sober and dropped the gem in shock.

The prospector wasted no time with this new encounter, but deftly swept up the dropped item and slinked out of the bar. Entreri wished to do the same but found himself suddenly surrounded by a crowd of people.

“It was you!” Borrel shouted. “You are the one! You killed them all!”

“What's going on here?” a voice from the crowd asked.

Entreri turned to see a soldier step into the small circle around the two men at the bar. Entreri cursed silently when he saw the crest of the city guard on the man's vest. “Nothing officer,” Entreri said calmly. “This man has had too much to drink and is turning wild. If you will let me take him outside we ca-” Entreri reached for Borrel's arm but the young man retreated violently.

“No! Get away from me! You are the devil! You killed them all!”

“Speak some sense boy!” the guard interrupted Borrel's string of shouts.

“That night in the lumberyard,” Borrel started, and Entreri knew the game was up, “that night he killed all the men.”

“What men?” the guard insisted, and Entreri could see three more city guards working their way through the crowd. The guards knew what men. They knew they had lost three men in the lumberyard; they just wanted Borrel to say it.

“He killed the foremen, and he killed the guards, and he-”

That was all he needed to say. He did not even need to say which guards. The city guards needed a scapegoat for their dead men, and now they had one. The main guard turned to extract a confession from Entreri, but the assassin was already on the move.

There was no way Entreri would be able to leave through the crowd without killing an awful lot of them, so instead he stepped up on a barstool and vaulted over the bar. He smashed a few drinks in his leap, but he had a clear path to the back door. He pushed through the double doors and found himself in a poorly lit stock room.

Behind him, Entreri could hear the noise of a pursuit being organized. He ran through the well-stocked shelves, pulling them down behind him to clutter anyone's path who gave direct chase. It took him a moment to find the door to the back alley, and Entreri had a few worries there would not be one. There was, and he burst through it.

He looked down the alley quickly. One end was closed off, while the other was filling with city guards. Entreri ran toward the dead end, weaving as he did. He saw one and then two crossbow bolts skip off the wall in front of him. He ran right into the corner and performed the same move he had done when fighting Porrik.

Entreri planted one foot one the tavern's back wall, leaped up, and pushed off the wall that closed in the alley with the other foot. The maneuver brought him eight feet into air, and he grabbed onto a window ledge on the second floor of the tavern. Without slowing, he heaved himself up and led with his head as he broke through the window.

Entreri somersaulted through the window and landed in a bed that was already occupied. The couple had been vigorously involved in something before the assassin's dramatic entrance, and even though he showered their insufficiently clothed bodies with broken glass and rolled on top of them, he did little to slow their pace.

Entreri rolled off the bed and into a run, opening the door in front of him without bothering to turn the knob. He ran down the hall, ignoring the varied activities and sounds that came from the rooms on either side of him. The steps at the end of the hall went up and down. Entreri went up.

He did not stop until he reached the eighth, and top, floor. This part of the building was furnished with private apartments, but privacy did not concern the assassin. He burst through the first door he came to. If he remembered correctly, the adjacent building was one story shorter.

Entreri paid little mind to the old lady that yelled at him as he ran through her living room and leaped through her window. Entreri pushed off hard on the windowsill and easily cleared the ten-foot gap between buildings. He landed as light as a cat on the graveled top of the other building.

Entreri took a moment to get his bearings. The skyline of this city varied dramatically in most parts, but this area was near the river where the buildings began to decrease in size and turned into houses. Entreri looked about to try and figure out which way he should run when he heard a shout from behind him. He spun about and saw two guards standing at the window he had just leaped from.

“He's here!”

Entreri did not have time to make a choice and just ran. The next building in line was the same height and Entreri leaped for it without thinking. He barely caught the ledge of the roof with his fingertips. He hoisted himself up and continued to run.

Behind him he could hear the two guards yelling out street names and buildings that Entreri did not recognize. He did not recognize the names, but he understood the intent. They were herding him.

As he came to the next ledge his choices were clear. There were two buildings to which he could leap. One was the same height, while the other one was three stories lower, an impossible jump. Entreri knew which route they wanted him to take. Instead, he took off his cloak and tossed it off the building.

“Let them think I can't jump,” he said to himself and then turned toward the shorter building.

When Entreri had worked with the dark elves of Menzoberranzon, they had given him a magical cape that was capable of flight. He no longer had that cape, and although his current cape was not magical, it had a very practical use.

Entreri leaped off the building, seven stories in the air, reaching back and grabbing the corners of his cape. The black cape snapped tight against the wind and slowed his descent somewhat. He landed on the rooftop, three stories below, in a controlled roll.

The assassin got up slowly, worried that he might have just sprained his ankle. He tested it and decided it was only slightly twisted. He stood up and could hear the river plainly now. He ran to the next and last building in line, jumping the small gap with little difficulty. There was open air before him now, but Entreri raced to the edge of the building and threw himself off. He grabbed onto his cape again, gliding though the night air over the short docks and then plunged into the river.

* * * * *

Entreri entered the lumberyard though the forest, trusting that the gates were guarded by now. He had stolen another black cloak after immerging from the river and used it to slink across the log cleaning area. He made his way to the equipment shed right away. His time in this city was quickly nearing its end. He always carried his weapons and the dragon tooth cylinder with him, but he was going to need a few more supplies if he was going to hit the road.

He was busy getting what he needed, when he heard a sound behind him. It was the click of a crossbow bolt being locked into place. Entreri dropped the rope he had been coiling and turned around slowly. Cailring stood there with four other men; two of them had crossbows trained on him.

“The city guard is at my gate demanding that I hand you over to them,” Cailring said.

“Tell them I'm not here, and you don't know where I am,” Entreri replied.

“Why don't you go tell them yourself,” Cailring said. “Drop your weapons and turn around.”

Entreri leveled a gaze at Cailring that made the big man very nervous. “Remember what I said would happen if you turned me in?”

“Drop your weapons and turn around!”

Entreri slowly drew his sword, dropped it on the floor, and turned around.

“Your fancy dagger too!”

Entreri sighed. He had more than one dagger on him. With his back still turned to the five men behind him. He took a dagger from inside his shirt and balanced it carefully on his shoulder under his new cloak. In the same motion, he pulled his jeweled dagger and dropped it on the floor.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

Entreri did as he was told and looked at the floor where an approaching shadow told him a thief with a piece of rope was walking towards him. Entreri waited until the man was right on top of him and casually shrugged his shoulders. The dagger that he had balanced on his shoulder fell off, traveled down the long sleeve of his cloak, and into his waiting hand.

The thief that was preparing to tie the assassin was shocked when a dagger magically appeared in Entreri's hand. He had no time to react as Entreri struck blindly backwards, slicing the man through the gut. He spun around as soon as his blade struck flesh, pulling the weapon out as he did.

Both crossbowmen fired instinctively, hitting the already wounded thief in the back. Entreri spun the dying man and shoved him in the direction of one of the crossbowmen. The targeted crossbowman had already begun to fumble with another bolt, and discharged it prematurely into the bulk of the man that tackled him a second later.

Entreri fired his secondary dagger at the other crossbowman. He too was working on another bolt, but receiving a dagger in the throat hampered him more than a little. The fourth thief charged the unarmed assassin. Entreri is never unarmed.

The thief swung his long sword at Entreri in a very wide sweep. Entreri swiftly stepped forward inside the sweep, deflecting the swipe with a chop to one arm while delivering a punch to man's face with his other hand. The man stumbled and Entreri brought a knee up into groin. The thief doubled over now, his sword arm going limp. Entreri delivered a right and left to the man's vulnerable jaw, and he fell like a sack of grain, out cold.

The first crossbowman had recovered from the first victim's flying tackle, but his crossbow was broken. Instead he grabbed a sword from the dead man and, against better judgment, charged Entreri.

The assassin stooped to pick up his weapons and met the man's charge. The thief struck high and fast, trying to chop off Entreri's head. The two swords clashed back and forth rapidly high in the air for several moments before the thief jumped back. He smiled at being able to fend off the deadly man in the initial sequence and then fell over dead, an ugly red stain growing quickly on his vest. The thief had been so preoccupied with his attack, he had forgotten Entreri used two weapons and had not even felt it when the jeweled dagger did its dirty work.

The man Entreri had knocked down with his fists stirred at his feet, and the assassin drove his dirk down aggressively into the back of his neck. He did not even bother to wipe off his blades as he walked away from the scene, his eyes never leaving Cailring. Other than their first meeting, the guild master had never seen Entreri fight. Truly this man was the devil.

Entreri feasted off the fear he saw in Cailring's eyes. “You remember what I said?” Entreri asked. Cailring was too frightened to even nod, his whole body quivering in terror. “I've changed my mind. I'm going to let you live knowing that if you would have accepted me, you could have been the greatest man in this entire city. I want you to know that you made the first move against me. I'm going to let you live with the knowledge that somewhere in the mountain range to the northwest is a cavern containing a dead dragon and his hoard of treasure. You will never find it.”

Entreri walked right past the stunned man. Without turning around he said, “Oh, and I wouldn't spend the little trinkets I've given you so far too openly. I believe the prospectors guild is on to you.”

The yard wall was not meant to be climbed, but Entreri had no intention of using the gate with the hoard of city guards waiting for him. He scaled the wall and slipped silently back into the city. Entreri found it much easier to move through dark streets when he knew no one was magically searching him out.

Against rational thought, Entreri crept through the streets back to the thieving guild's main headquarters. The city guards had this building staked out as well, but Entreri found his way into the building with little trouble and totally undetected. His room was also guarded, but the room above it was not and Entreri purposefully left his window unlocked.

Once inside his room, Entreri quickly opened his dragon tooth portal and shoved several of Riechen's history and geography books into the distant cavern. Entreri grinned, as he was fully becoming aware of the incredible gift LaValle had given him.

Entreri was back on the streets of the city within minutes. He needed to leave town, but before he did, there was one small piece of business he needed to attend to.

* * * * *

“Sir,” the city guard saluted before his chief, “we tracked the killer to the Cailring Lumberyard, but…”

Lionel Cairon, the chief of the city guards knew what the man was going to say and cut him off as he stood up from his desk and walked to a window in the main guardhouse. He looked out onto the dark streets five stories below.

“Sir?” the guard still stood at attention behind him.

“Do you know where he is?” Cairon asked without turning around.

The man shook his head, but the chief did not need to turn around to get his answer. “He killed four more of Cailring's men,” the man explained. The chief did turn around at this. Hadn't the man been a member of the thieving guild? What kind of animal turns on his own guild members? “We found Cailring lying on the ground in front of his equipment shed where the other four had been killed. He seemed uninjured, but he was shaken badly. He swore he had seen the devil.”

“The devil,” Cairon scoffed under his breath. “He is only one man. Find him.”

“He might be planning to leave the city,” the guard dared to hope.

“Then you better order a perimeter around the city. I want him caught!”

“Yes, sir.” The guard turned and left, leaving the chief alone in the office.

“Only one man,” he muttered under his breath. He moved to the side of the room where a pot of coffee sat. He poured himself a cup and moved toward his private quarters in the back of the office. “They can't catch one man,” he continued to mumble.

Though he mocked his men's effort, inwardly he wondered what type of man could best four of Cailring's men at once. Where had Cailring been hiding him all this time? There were a lot of unanswered questions.

The chief entered his room and moved to light the lamp. “You better hope he hasn't left the city yet.”

“Don't worry, I haven't.”

Cairon reacted on instinct, hurling his hot cup of coffee at the voice even before he turned. The mug shattered against the wall. Cairon reached for the sword that hung on the wall over his bed and turned to look at the rest of the room. It was dark, and the wind blew in from both windows of this corner room.

There was a flutter of motion to the left, but when he turned to investigate, only the curtains moved. The door slammed suddenly, but again there was nothing there when he looked a second later. Another flutter of cloth came from behind him, but knowing where the second window in the room was, he did not turn. Cold steel nestled sharply against his throat.

“You should've turned this time.”

Cairon tried to bring his sword up, but he felt suddenly weak, and his sword clattered to the floor. The dagger pressed firmly against his neck, barely scratching him, but stealing his life force none the less. “A-a-a-rtemis?” Cairon had gotten the name from Cailring.

“At your service,” the assassin replied. “Why are you hunting me? What have I done?”

The chief could not think. He could not move. He could only answer the questions this man asked of him. He felt as if he had no choice in the matter. His life seemed forfeit either way. He had never felt this helpless. “You killed the guards.”

“They had involved themselves in a business that was not their own. They got in the way. It was their own fault.”

The chief of the guards wanted to speak. He wanted to defend his men, but he could not. Not only was this killer right, he was holding the chief's life in his hands, and Cairon did not feel like pressing his luck.

“I am going to leave now. When I am gone, you will order you guards to call off their search. If you do not, I will return, and your family will be cut into little tiny pieces before your eyes. Then I'll do the same to you. Do you understand?”

The chief did not answer right away. Entreri cut the man across the collar. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the petrified man squeaked. His knees and bladder suddenly weakened, and Entreri let him slip out of his grasp and fall to his knees. Entreri took a step back and kicked him in the back of the head. Before Cairon could even think about getting back up, Entreri was out of the room. The chief did not get up. His men would find him the next morning much like they had found Cailring: crumpled on the floor in a pool of his own sweat, mumbling that he had seen the devil. In Cairon's case, he had never seen the assassin, and his mind created horrible images that haunted his dreams till morning.

Chapter 3

The Ranger

The fire burned low for Entreri did not want to draw attention to himself. The sun was just creeping over the rolling plains to the east and was too slow – in Entreri's estimation – in removing the night's chill. He had stolen a horse from the poor section of Karenstoch and had ridden through the night. He had not noticed the cool temperature, but now that he had stopped to give his horse a rest, he noticed the stiff breeze and thus had built a fire.

The sun cleared the hills suddenly and hit him full in the face. He squinted, turning away from the glare. Entreri moved his position in front of the fire so his back was now to the rising sun, letting the powerful rays heat his black cloak. Within moments he was sufficiently warm and was able to relax. The memory from the sunrise was still vivid in his mind and the blotches had not fully left his vision.

Entreri's thoughts went suddenly to his long time nemesis, Drizzt. He knew the stories about Drizzt's journey to the surface and his struggle for acceptance. He had made several enemies and friends immediately upon his emergence from the underdark. In the years after Entreri's own escape from the Underdark and before his return to Calimport, the assassin had spent a lot of time researching the dark elf's history, wanting to know more about the only fighter he considered his equal.

While Entreri had not found out everything about Drizzt, he had found enough, and knowing what he did about the drow, he could fill in the rest. Drizzt must have gone through hundreds of painful sunrises, ten times more painful than what Entreri had experienced. His rejections from each town and city he visited were also far more trying than what Entreri had just gone through.

While Entreri had not appreciated his rejection from Karenstoch, he also knew it was his own fault. Drizzt's rejections had all been unjust. Still the dark elf had searched and searched until he had finally become accepted, not as an evil drow, but as a ranger and a protector. He won the praise and acceptance of the most powerful and respected people in the north, and through their acceptance, the entire Sword Coast welcomed him with open arms.

Entreri smirked at the idea of any city welcoming him into their gates. Likely, if Karenstoch had known the true depth of the man they had rejected, they would hire an army to fetch him and rid the evil presence from their land. At this thought, Entreri looked up, back west, wondering if anyone would give chase. Entreri remembered hearing about the ranger – Elliorn, Riechen had called her – that lived in the north woods and began to worry.

Entreri tried to think of a good reason why the people of the city would go to the trouble. Entreri counted to twelve – the number of bodies he had left behind. They were not all good reasons for chasing him down, but three of them had been city guards, and the last four had been sent by the guards to collect him.

Nothing was visible to the west, but Entreri knew that he would be hard pressed to out-run a ranger no matter how far behind she might be. If Entreri's long-lasting struggle with Drizzt had done anything, it had given him a well-founded respect for those of the elf's profession.

Entreri kicked dirt over his fire and saddled up his horse. He had stopped on the edge of a copse of trees several hundred feet south of the river and the road that ran along side it. Entreri had looked at the maps he had taken from Riechen's room and knew there was another small town about four hours further to the east.

Entreri rode swiftly, suddenly having a bad feeling he might have left too many witnesses back in Karenstoch. For the rest of the trip, he constantly looked over his shoulder. Several times he swore he saw someone, and a few times he almost convinced himself that he should wait for whoever it was. He did not, and he reached the town an hour sooner than he had expected.

The small town, for it could not really be called a city, was a miniature version of Karenstoch. The roads were not dusty, but paved with hard clay. The buildings were all less than four stories and positioned in a structured layout, divided into rectangular blocks. This town was little more than a rest stop for travelers moving between larger cities.

There were two taverns, and Entreri picked one at random. He knew that if anyone was following – a possibility he had finally managed to convince himself was remote at best – they were at least twelve hours behind him. The assassin had not eaten since the tavern the night before when he had run into Borrel Kierston, and then he had not been able to finish his meal. He ordered a drink and some stew and took a seat in the corner.

Entreri was so lost in thought he did not notice the woman's approach until she was only ten feet from his table. Though he was taken completely by surprise at his lack of awareness, he had such complete body control, that if anyone was watching him – there were several around the room – they would have only thought he had found a tough piece of meat in his stew.

At first Entreri worried that the ranger had been much quicker in her pursuit than he had thought possible. One look at the woman as she walked to the other side of his table and sat down assured Entreri that his worries were completely unfounded. Unless being a ranger in this strange land meant something far different than it did back home, this woman was not one.

She looked far more interested in peddling her wares, wares of which she had an ample supply. Wares that she flaunted boldly with a tight, low cut top and barely more than a hand towel of a skirt. She was undeniably beautiful, which was Entreri's first clue that something was wrong.

Beautiful women did not become whores. They did not need to. Prostitution was a last resort. Back home, a dangerous land were only the strong could survive and prosper, women had a hard life. But even then, if you were attractive and young, you could always find a dozen potential husbands in every city block. Besides that, several women took it upon themselves to start their own businesses or proved they were just as strong or resourceful as most men and had no problem surviving. Sharlotta Vespers and Catti-brie came to mind most readily to Entreri.

It was only the fat, ugly, old, or dim women that needed to resort to the profession of which Entreri's new companion pretended to belong. Back home, the men who did not make it became beggars and the women became prostitutes. But here, in a land that was not as harsh by far, women no doubt had a much easier time of it. Entreri knew that to think for a moment that the woman across from him had to resort to prostitution to survive would be one of the gravest mistakes he could ever make.

The woman moved with supreme grace, and though she had few places on her body where a weapon could be concealed, he doubted she was without protection. Then he saw it. It was a move that most men would never catch. While most men would have their eyes focusing much lower on her body, Entreri was looking at this woman's eyes. They made a brief motion to the side and then returned to her prey.

To the trained assassin, the quick glance was as obvious a sign as if she had stood and pointed to the two men in the center of the room and said, “These men are with me, and if you try anything funny, you will get hurt.” The woman did not notice Entreri's perceptiveness, but instead smiled and glanced at his mug, the amber liquid inside barely covering the bottom.

Entreri fought against every hormone in his being as he pulled his eyes away from her face and worked on cleaning off his plate. She was insanely beautiful. “It looks like you need a refill,” she said coyly.

Entreri sighed. Why was it that trouble always gravitated toward him? Of course, looking at this situation from a logical point of view told him it had nothing to do with his dark profession and everything to do with the fact that he looked like a rich traveler. If the woman only knew how rich…

Entreri wiped his mouth and looked casually at the bartender, though his eyes were searching out the two men the woman had earlier pointed out to him. The troupe probably worked half a dozen travelers a week. This town was called Halfway, for it was halfway to at least five different cities. Each was a little less than a day's travel away, and this town made a nice stop over for anyone traveling between them.

Entreri looked back at the woman and smiled. “But alas, I have spent my last coin on what you see before me, and I do not have the means to refill my glass.”

The assassin said the words with more than a little theatrics, and the woman laughed. “Indeed you look like a beggar from the streets, one who can only scrape together enough money for one meal a week if you're lucky. Well then, beggar, consider yourself lucky.” The woman motioned to the bartender. “Please, good sir, could you refill my friend's glass.”

The bartender looked quickly at Entreri, for while the woman had made the order, the bartender was not so foolish as to think she would pay for it. “You may refill my glass with what I had originally ordered,” Entreri said. The bartender nodded and came over with a full glass.

Entreri lifted the large mug and drained half of it in one swig. The woman's eyes went wide at this display; Entreri would be drunk in no time. “Thank-you good woman, for surely the road was dry this morning.”

“The road?” the woman asked, feigning confusion. “I thought you were a beggar from the street?”

Entreri tried to show shock, but acting had never been his strong suite. Instead he moved to more pressing matters. “And to whom do I thank for this generosity?”

“My name? My name is Alice, but that is not important. What is important is that you have a pleasant stay here. That is my job.”

“Your job is to buy drinks for weary travelers. Is that the only service you provide?”

“It is one of many,” she said, leaning forward toward Entreri so he could see clearly down her top.

Entreri indulged himself for a brief while, for it was an incredible view, and then drained the rest of his drink. The empty glass was no sooner back on the table, and Alice was beckoning for another. “And how much do these services cost?” Entreri asked as another full glass was placed on his table.

The woman sat up straight, becoming suddenly modest. “They are not too expensive, but, alas, you are but a beggar and could not afford them.” Entreri thought this looked like an easy way to get out of this fix and went to work on his third glass. The woman saw this reluctance and quickly went on, leaning forward again to make sure Entreri knew what he was passing up. “Though for a beggar as handsome as you, I might be able to offer a discount.”

“Flattery?” Entreri asked, amazingly draining the last of his glass again, a consumption rate that should have knocked out most men.

“Honesty,” the woman said, though she was no longer looking at him, but instead had her eyes searching out her friends again. “Perhaps we could go discuss our terms in a more private setting.”

“I like it right here,” Entreri said, his speech starting to slur. He was staring intently at the woman now, and she was giving him plenty to look at.

The woman watched as her two big friends got up and began walking toward their table. “But it is so crowded. I don't think you want a bunch of people watching us, do you?”

The two men behind Entreri were sitting down at a nearby table, and the woman leaned back in her chair, pulling her top even tighter against her full chest. She slid one of her thumbs under a shoulder strap and playfully pulled it down her smooth arm. “Come on, let's go upstairs.”

Entreri's eyes were now glazed over and he slumped in his chair, his mouth so wide open that his female companion wondered if her two friends were not going to have to carry his drunk body upstairs before they robbed him. As Entreri slumped in his chair, he stretched his leg out under the table. With the seductress still leaning back in her chair, Entreri exploded into motion.

His outstretched foot kicked up hard against the bottom rung of the woman's chair, toppling her backwards to the floor. Entreri, too, rolled to the floor, and both men who had been waiting behind the couple stood suddenly, worried something was up. Entreri stood suddenly on the other side of the table with Alice 's head secured tightly in an arm lock.

“Let me go you drunk bastard!” she pounded on his arm with both fists. “Get your mitts off me!”

Suddenly she felt a small prick in her side and all fight went out of her. “That's better,” Entreri said quietly in her ear, his dagger twisting slightly in her side. She gasped sharply at the twist and inhaled the aroma of his breath. Apples? She looked back to his empty glass on the table. “I like cider,” Entreri laughed into her ear. “Now tell your goons to back off.”

The woman was so terrified by the trick that had been played on her and by the dagger that was stealing her soul, she had not even noticed that the rest of the tavern had gone completely quiet and her two friends were standing with swords ready. She was unable to speak, but the look on her face told the men plenty.

“Let go of her,” one man said. Neither of them realized that Entreri knew what their game was. They thought he was a drunk that had lost control and just wanted Alice 's company without paying. “We have rules here stranger and women are not to be treated so.”

“But men, especially strange, rich men, are to be treated like free gold. Is that it? Was I just supposed to blindly follow your fair maiden upstairs where you could jump me?”

The two men panicked briefly and then regained their composure. “I don't know what you're talking about. Are you accusing us of trying to rob you? That's preposterous. You are assaulting a lady, and when we jump to her protection, you accuse us of a crime.”

Entreri jabbed his dagger a little deeper into the woman's side, drawing a nice trickle of blood down her bare midriff and reducing her to little more than a quivering, limp body. “Please, your friend here deserves better than the punishment you force me to place upon her. I wish nothing but to pass through this town without incident.”

“I don't see how that will be possible now,” one of the men said, the tone of his voice letting Entreri know the men were no longer pretending innocence. “Why don't you let her go before we are forced to kill you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Entreri saw motion and dropped. He tossed the woman to the side and rolled to the ground as a crossbow bolt came at him from the side and thudded into the wall above him. Entreri had his sword out to accompany his dagger and met the charge of both men as soon as he rose from the floor.

They attacked in unison well, one creating a hole and the other attacking through it. They blocked each other and took turns on offense so as not to get in each other's way. They did very well, meaning they lasted four entire seconds.

Entreri swept both initial attacks aside with his dirk. He then continued to turn around, letting his cape flair out as if he was turning to run. Instead, he came completely around, jabbing forward with both weapons. The men had gone for the fake and had shifted their weight forward in pursuit when Entreri thrust forward. Their weapons were raised and were not in a position to block the attack.

Both men fell to the side, and Entreri chased them by throwing his weapons out wide. The dagger sliced cleanly under one man's upraised arm and the other caught Entreri's sword hilt in the back of the head. Entreri stepped through the hole the men had made for him and went straight for the door to the tavern.

The man who had taken the cut across the ribs dropped his weapon and grabbed his bleeding side. The other man stumbled under the head blow and tripped over Alice where Entreri had dropped her. Neither was quick to give chase.

Entreri burst through the batwing doors, cut through the rope that tied his horse to the hitching rail, and leaped onto the animal. He raced down the street for a block and then turned the horse down an alley. He rolled off his mount and took a position at the corner of the alley, peering back at the tavern. He waited for over a minute but no one came out of the tavern, and no one appeared to be giving chase.

Entreri relaxed, sheathing both his weapons and turning to calm his spooked horse. He could have killed the men back in the tavern. It was a thought that hung with him as he slowly climbed back into the saddle. He could have very easily jabbed his dagger a little deeper or reversed his dirk so that his blade and not the hilt had connected with the other man's head. Not only had he not made any killing blows, but he had consciously withheld them.

In Calimport, if you did not kill your enemies when you had the chance, you gave them the opportunity to ambush you latter. It was not a boxing match. There were no second or third rounds. Once both sides were called out, it was finished then and there.

While he had no intention of staying in this small town more than a day, Entreri did not want to leave the same bloody trail he had left in Karenstoch. It just was not smart. Besides, there was no reason to kill those men back there. They were not real fighters and worked mostly on rolling drunks. They would realize that today they let one get away and would leave it at that, learning from their mistakes and moving on. At least that was what Entreri hoped.

The general store was a half mile down the main street and then left on a much smaller side street. While Entreri had access to an incredible amount of weapons and tools in the dragon cave, most of them were coated in gold or decorated with gems and diamonds. He needed things that would not call that much attention to himself.

Entreri tied his horse with the shortened rope and entered the store. Few people needed traveling supplies, for the towns were spaced so it never took more than a day to get anywhere, but Entreri thought it best if he stayed out of cities for a while until he could come to terms with what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

The selection was not great and without the help of the clerk behind the front counter, it took Entreri half an hour to find everything he wanted. In the chaotic mess of the store he located a collapsible shovel, a hatchet, a few rudimentary cooking supplies, a saw, and an old tarp that was not torn too badly. Entreri could have just as easily walked out of the store with the items, but he paid for them and then made his way to the door.

His horse was gone. Entreri just about lost it right there. Would they ever just leave him alone? It did not matter how many times he showed them he was not to be messed with. The more lessons he gave, the more people came after him. It had taken years for the city of Calimport to realize that you did not stand in the way of Artemis Entreri. If he was just passing through, you would do nothing to hinder him and everything to aid him, thankful that he had no business in your neighborhood.

Entreri slung the pack of his new belongings over his shoulder and walked a short ways from the front of the store. His horse had not been led far, and his sharp eyes picked it out at the end of a dark alley. The trap was clear, and Entreri hoped the people he was dealing with knew that. If they expected him to believe his horse had just wandered into the darkest dead-end alley on the block all by himself, then Entreri would not bother with them and would walk out of town.

The horse was eating from a cart of hay that just happened to be at the end of the alley, and Entreri walked up to it. He threw his pack onto the back of his horse and turned around. There were five men with weapons bared blocking the alley entrance. Two of them held short bows and the other three held swords. In front of them stood Alice. She wore a cloak now, covering up her occupational attire.

Entreri was at his wit's end. He never got into this many fights in a month back in Calimport. “I offer a lot of services,” Alice said, her voice very different from before. “Perhaps you'll like this one better.”

Looking back, maybe he should have followed her upstairs. The men probably would not have injured him, plus there would have been the chance to see more of Alice. Entreri discarded these thoughts as soon as they entered his mind. That had been the one difference between him and everyone else in Calimport. He had a dragon's treasure at his disposal, and the few dozen gold coins he had on him now were hardly worth counting. Still, he had fought for them like they were the last riches he would ever see.

Most other killers he had known would have willingly given up twice that amount for a chance alone with Alice, even knowing that it was a set up. The difference was pride. Entreri just could not give in when he knew he was the stronger. That pride had lifted him to the top for he would always repay any infraction, no matter how slight, with the severest of penalties. After a while, no one ever crossed him.

If he just rolled over any time someone slighted him, even though the infraction had no repercussions at all, it would have opened him as a target for all others. Now Entreri looked at the five thugs in front of him and their female leader. Could he take them out? Probably. Would it gain him any respect? In Calimport, definitely. Here, probably not. Here fear did not spawn respect like it did back home.

What if he succumbed to these people? Entreri honestly did not know what they would do. He would find out. “How much do you want?” he asked.

Alice looked surprised. “How much do you have?”

Entreri reached behind him and detached the two coin bags that hung from his belt. One contained silver coins, the other gold. He tossed them both to the feet of Alice who stood a little over twenty feet away.

“Is that all?” Alice asked, though Entreri could tell she was impressed by the weight of the bags. Entreri nodded. “And if we search you and find more?”

Entreri stiffened. They would never search him. No one had ever searched him. It was his pride, he knew, but he would not relinquish everything in this encounter. Baby steps. Still, he flipped up his cape and turned around showing them there was nothing else hanging from his belt but his sword and nothing inside his vest other than his jeweled dagger. He had another dagger strapped to his left calf and a set of lock picks on a chain around his neck, but they did not need to see everything.

“What about the dagger?” Alice asked. She had felt the blade against her side, and even if she did not suspect it to be magical, she knew it was part of this stranger's repertoire. She had been humbled, and now she wished to return the favor.

“What about it?” Entreri asked. He felt he had been very reasonable so far.

“Give us the dagger and the two bags and you can go. Just remember that if we ever catch you in our town again you will not get off so easy.” The men behind her relaxed, not once guessing that this man would turn down such an offer when he was so outnumbered. Everyone watched as Entreri's left hand went slowly for his dagger and failed to see his right creep back for his pack.

He pulled the dagger out slowly. “You want this? You can have it… after you take it from my corpse!” His right hand yanked the tarp out of his pack and flung it directly in front of him. The sheet opened up to its full ten by six-foot size, hiding the assassin from view momentarily.

Both bowmen shot into the tarp instinctively, but Entreri was already running around the side of it. He had both blades drawn and ran directly at Alice. She had pulled out a throwing dagger, but froze in fright at the sight of death running straight for her. He bowled her into the man behind and then spun to meet the two men that had stood to her left.

One of the two men had a bow and the other a sword. Entreri locked swords with the one man and sent a leg out to disrupt the bowman. The swordsman took a step backward, disengaging their weapons realizing the further he could spread the fight, the harder it would be for Entreri to take them both on.

Entreri turned his back on the swordsman to focus on the bowman. Despite his realization that he needed to spread the fight, the stupid fighter could not pass up the chance to hit Entreri in the back. He charged in quickly and swung high to cut off the assassin's head.

Entreri dropped to a crouch and spun about with both arms out wide. His sword knocked the short bow out of the hands of one opponent, while the dagger impaled the charging man from the other side. The man had swung high, his blade passing just over Entreri's crouched head, and now he fell forward. Entreri withdrew his dagger and stepped back, rising again.

He looked forward and saw only the tip of an arrow aimed right at his chest. He fell as quickly as he had risen, rolling forward over his first victim. The archer across the alley had been so startled to get a clear shot that he had not thought it through and fired. The arrow zipped over Entreri's rolling form and nailed the other bowman to the wooden wall behind him.

Entreri came out of his role and kicked the man Alice had originally knocked over. He stepped over him and approached the last two men. One of them came at Entreri with his sword while the other hastily knocked another arrow.

Entreri unleashed on this swordsman, dealing more blows to him in the first two seconds of the battle than the man had taken over his entire life. He had not even managed one offensive attack before Entreri had placed at least five fatal wounds on him.

The bowman behind thought he would have at least two seconds to load an arrow, but when looked up after that time, his dead companion was falling back into him. The dead man's back struck the tip of the knocked arrow and the startled archer released the other end of the shaft. The bowstring snapped taunt, driving the arrow even further into the man's back.

Entreri did not slow at the sight in front of him, but spun around with his sword warding off the expected attack from behind. The kicked man had risen, and Entreri's sweeping blade disarmed him – literally. The arm was severed just below the elbow and the man howled in pain as his sword fell naturally to the ground.

The killer did not pause in the slightest, continuing to spin around and launching his dagger at the stunned archer. The man futilely tried to dodge the strike by pressing his body tight against the alley wall, but realized too late that the dagger was not swinging at him but thrown. The twelve-inch blade sunk deep into his neck securing itself into the wall behind him.

Entreri spun about once more, completing the two revolutions, and sending his sword on a mission to find the remaining thug's neck. The injured man had barely recognized his massive wound and had only started to grab his bloody stump of an arm when Entreri's dirk cut above his shoulders, placing his head and, soon after, the rest of his body on the ground next to the severed arm.

Alice had witnessed this entire display from the ground, wisely not rising to meet Entreri's blades. She watched now as he walked slowly over to pull his dagger from the neck of the second archer. The man's body slumped to the alley floor, his hands still clawing at his gurgling neck as if he might be able to stop the awful flow of blood.

Entreri turned his back on the man, bending only briefly to wipe his blades on the shirt of one of the other less fortunate ones. Then he spotted Alice. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and tried to scoot away. Entreri stepped on her leg, and her hand slipped in the gravel, slamming her back to the ground.

Entreri jumped on her quickly, straddling her waist. His dagger quickly clipped the two ties that closed the front of her cloak and revealed her risquй outfit underneath. Her face was terror stricken, and Entreri placed the tip of his dagger into the soft skin under her chin.

“Know that I could take you right now,” he said coldly, looking briefly down at her shapely body, “but I won't. Know that I could kill you right now, but I won't. Know that I offered you a very fair deal a few moments ago, but you refused. Know that you brought this upon yourself. Know that you are responsible for this massacre not me. I was just a traveler that deserved none of the attention you paid me. Know this and tell this to anyone who comes after me asking question. Know this and live. Forget this, and I will come for you.”

Entreri stood quickly, looking briefly at the two bags of gold. He shrugged his shoulders, walked back to his horse, and rode out of the alleyway. Ten short minutes later he was headed southeast out of town, one of the few directions where one would not find a town within a day's ride.

He had now left three very clear signs in his wake. Cailring, Cairon, and now Alice. All three would show any potential tracker clearly what kind of man they chased. All three were told to tell a story that left Entreri guiltless. All three also clearly showed what would happen to anyone who might catch the assassin. Entreri hoped that if he was being followed, the tracker would see these signs for what they were. He hoped they would leave him alone.

* * * * *

The fire was long dead. There was no heat left in the sticks and only by sifting through the dirt that covered the pile could you tell that it had ever even been a fire. There was a fine ash mixed into the dirt. It was not blatant evidence but to the eyes of a trained ranger, it was clear enough.

Elliorn stood up from the old fire pit, brushing the dirt from her knees. She looked about the area wondering if she could find any other clues to explain her prey's intentions. So far she had gathered very conflicting stories about the man she followed.

It had been over a day ago when Lionel Cairon had come to her cottage in the woods. She had dealt with him several times before, mostly when she had complaints about some of his men hunting in her woods for sport. But he had also come to her on occasion for advice or help in dealing with the northern tribes of wilderness men. This was the first real time he had come to her for help involving substantial action on her part.

There had been a rash of random killings in the city; at least that is what he had said. After even a cursory investigation, Elliorn could see that there had been nothing random about the killings at all. Chief Cairon was a proud man and for him to come and ask for help in this matter was a substantial gesture. The fact he had come to a woman, and a ranger at that, said even more.

Elliorn could see more than Cairon could ever know. She heard his tale of the murders this man had committed, but when she had asked the chief if he had ever seen him, he denied any encounter. She kept her thoughts private, though she knew without a doubt that this killer had privately threatened the chief of the city guards in some way. Maybe they had not met, but the assassin had definitely injured his pride.

Normally, injuring such a man as Chief Cairon would inspire an all out manhunt resulting in a very public execution. That Cairon wanted keep this manhunt private meant there was something else the chief was not eager to disclose. Elliorn had not been able to put her finger on it right away, but after half a day in the city, it became pretty clear. It was fear.

In everyone she had talked to there was one over-riding factor that never changed: fear. This man, Artemis by name, had the ability to instill fear in everyone he encountered. In addition to Cairon, she had talked at length with Garin Cailring and Wallace Kierston. Both men said the same thing Cairon had been too proud to admit. The man was the devil. He had probably left an outstanding threat to at least Cairon, but probably Cailring also, that any pursuit or continual persecution would result in a painful death. Both men had families and the threat had probably been extended to them as well. While Elliorn did not have extensive experience with men like this Artemis, she was familiar with the procedure.

Cairon had come to her only after he had assured the safety of his family and made sure that Artemis was out of the city. The stranger had most likely told Cairon that he would be safe as long as he did not peruse, but that kind of assurance coming from a cold-blooded killer was rarely enough to let the threatened sleep at night. The common phrase was, “Show me his head, and then I will consider the threat ended.”

Elliorn did not like the title of “Head-Hunter,” but neither did she like ruthless killers. She had spent a short while searching the town and came to believe the same as the chief: Artemis had left. She spent a short while searching his room in the thieves guild and, with the help of a few of Cailring's men, identified the books this killer had taken with him. They were mostly maps and geographical history books, adding credence to what the ranger had suspected already: Artemis was a stranger to this area.

She had played with the idea briefly that he was a demon that had been cast out of the nine hells, cursed to take human form. Every eye-witness to his killings – there were few, and each knew they had only survived because Artemis had willed it – said that he was the devil, and none of them had ever seen him take so much as a scratch in battle.

Elliorn doubted it. The elves that remained in the forest were rarely seen, and while they had trained her, she had not seen one in over a year now and only three times since her training had ended. But if there was a demon walking the streets of Karenstoch, she was sure they would know about it and would have either told her, or engaged the demon directly.

Elliorn stood from the old campsite and knew no demon had built this fire. The fire had been built a safe distance from the trees, and had then been put out with enough care to make sure it was definitely out. By Elliorn's estimation, Artemis had left Karenstoch two nights ago and would have gotten to this spot around dawn, hardly the time to set up camp. The only plausible reason for stopping would be to rest the horse. Either the man cared nothing about potential pursuit, or, more likely, he wanted to make sure his horse stayed in good shape. He was not a demon.

Then what was he? He traveled several hundred feet from the road. This made it easy for him to avoid contact on the busy road, but traveling through the tall grass also made him easy to track. Everything about this man said, “Leave me alone!” He had killed those who stood in his way, but after the threats had been over, he had stopped killing, telling whoever might remain that they should leave him alone.

Elliorn was torn between her duties as a ranger and her common sense. Common sense said that he was far away by now and no longer posed a threat to her city or her forest. Of course, as a ranger, she had a duty to track down the killer and bring him to justice. There was a third motivation that broke the tie: curiosity. Who was this man? Where was he from? How had he attained this incredible fighting skill that made people compare him to the devil? She had heard tales about legendary fighters from across the great seas. Was this such a man? If so, what was he doing here? Most importantly: Would he kill again?

As Elliorn saddled her horse and moved it toward the town of Halfway, she knew the answer to the last question. He would kill again and probably soon. This man had likely never known a week in his life without killing. It was a way of life for him, and while he might not look for trouble, it found him.

It was late dusk before Elliorn made it to the streets of Halfway. She had left Karenstoch early in the morning, and true to what all the city councils claimed, Halfway was only a day's journey away. The ranger did not find what she was looking for until she entered the second tavern. After spending half a day in Karenstoch investigating this man, she knew what to look for.

The woman was sitting by herself at a table, trying to drown herself in ale. Elliorn had been to Halfway many times and knew what this woman did for a living. While the ranger did not approve of her occupation, it was not her job to stop it or to pass judgment on the woman. She would leave that to someone else.

Elliorn moved her tall frame through the seated crowd, sat at the small table across from the woman, and ordered a glass of water from the barmaid. This woman worked as a thief, playing the role of a seductress and luring unwary travelers up to her room where they were robbed. Not only did Elliorn not see any of her male companions in the bar, but there were at least half a dozen travelers in the tavern who looked plenty rich.

To someone as trained as Elliorn, the mark of Artemis was very clear. “Excuse me ma'am,” the ranger said quietly, alerting the woman to her presence for the first time, “I'm looking for someone, and I think you can help me.”

The woman looked up, very intoxicated. “Not likely.”

“Can you tell me your name?”

“ Alice,” the woman responded.

“My name is Elliorn. I'm looking for someone you might have met.” The barmaid came with Elliorn's water. “Could you bring my friend a strong cup of coffee please?”

“No!” Alice said suddenly, stirring from her alcoholic trance. “More ale.”

“Coffee,” Elliorn said earnestly to the barmaid, “and please hurry,” she added, placing two gold coins in the maid's hand. The barmaid rushed off to perform her task.

Alice looked back down at her mug, swirling the remaining drink in lopsided circles. She raised the glass to her mouth, but a strong hand grasped onto her wrist. Alice strained against the iron grip for a brief while, and then gave up, yielding the glass to her new companion.

“I don't want to talk to anyone. Please leave.”

Elliorn reached back across the table and lifted Alice 's chin so she looked the ranger in the face. “I am looking for a man. He is a few inches below six feet, has a goatee, long hair, and carries a short sword and a dagger.”

Alice said nothing, but Elliorn could read recognition in the woman's eyes rather easily. She had seen it in her eyes before she had asked the question, before she had even sat down. “What happened?”

The barmaid set down a cup of coffee in front of Alice. The woman inhaled the aroma and took a tentative sip. The caffeine seemed to take immediate effect. “We made a mistake and we paid for it.”

“What do you mean?”

Alice looked up from her cup. “He knows you're coming.”

“ Alice you need to tell me what happened. I'm not here to pass judgement on you; I am here to find this man. You need to tell me everything that happened.”

Alice took another sip from the steaming beverage, put the mug down, and told Elliorn the entire story. She told her how they had identified him, how he had tricked them, and then how he had killed them.

“You said he told you he knew I was coming. What did he say to you?”

“He said that the killings were my fault. He had offered a fair arrangement and then we had asked for more. That's the way business is done. You never take the first offer. It's a sign of weakness.”

“Do you think that is why this man killed all your companions? Do you think he wanted to show you he wasn't weak?”

Alice shook her head, taking another sip of coffee. She did not look up as she spoke. “Do I think he was showing off? He doesn't need to flaunt his skill. He killed my five best men as casually as you might stroll through a park. We just pushed him too far. We made the first strike, but he made the last one.”

“Is that what you've learned from all this?” Elliorn asked, waiting for Alice to look up before she continued. “Is that what you think the stranger wanted to show you? The most important strike is not the first one; it is the one that is never made. The best use for your weapons would have been to sheathe them, take the money, and walk away. He offered you a peaceable solution and you insisted on fighting.”

“Don't preach to me!” Alice said, her voice growing louder. “My men are all dead! What am I supposed to do now!? You trying to tell me my lifestyle is what brought this upon me? Is that it? If I were a submissive wife or a humble barmaid instead of a thief this wouldn't have happened. That's easy for you to say. You're not me!”

Elliorn had thought to herself earlier that she was not here to judge this woman, but that was what she had inadvertently done. Actually, she thought, Artemis had shown Alice the error of her ways. He had shown her that you never enter battle unless you are willing to take a loss. This woman obviously could not take loss and had no business in the thieving business.

Elliorn tried to think of something else she could say to the woman, but she was not in a position to listen right now, and Elliorn had nothing to say. The ranger rose gracefully from the table, dropped five more gold coins onto it, and left.

Artemis had been there about 36 hours ago. He was definitely no longer in town. Elliorn tried to think of everything she knew about the man. He had entered Karenstoch, tried to fit in, and was forced to flee. He came to Halfway minding his own business and ended up killing five men. He was probably not too eager to find another town.

She knew he had maps of the area. If he did not want to find another town, she knew what direction he had probably chosen. Elliorn rode southeast out of town for an hour and then set up camp. She hated sleeping indoors.

* * * * *

Entreri heard the sound long before he came upon the source. The river was large. It was over fifty feet across, and Entreri could tell that it was very deep. It was not fast moving and barely looked like it was moving at all, but Entreri did not want to risk a crossing. He was not sure how good a swimmer his horse was, and if he lost his horse, he would be lost.

The assassin had not yet decided whether he had a tail chasing him, but if he lost his horse, he would find out soon enough. Dismounting, Entreri pulled out one of Riechen's maps and began searching out this mysterious river. Now that he knew it was here, it showed up easily on the map, though before it had looked like a road or even a crease in the thick paper.

Before Entreri put the map away, he looked at the entire countryside. Directly south of Halfway, along a road, was another city, Farrion. A road left Farrion going south-southeast and intersected this river at another town, Mastin. The river flowed east-northeast. Entreri was a good day downstream from where the road crossed at Mastin, where there was no doubt a bridge.

What Entreri took particular interest in was that directly north of Farrion half a day from Halfway, a large wooded area showed up on the map. The woods were not wide, maybe two dozen miles, but shrouded the rest of the road to Farrion.

If someone was chasing Entreri and knew the land well, they would have taken a more south-southeast path out of Halfway, skirting the woods to the east and then heading straight south. That path would be a much more direct route to Mastin, where Entreri now needed to go.

The assassin thought about this. He figured he was at least a day ahead of any pursuit, probably more. He now had to back track west along the river and that would give any tracker a twelve or eighteen hour advantage. Entreri did not think it would be enough to catch him, but if he stopped in Mastin for any length of time or ran into any kind of trouble, he would be playing things too close.

Entreri looked again at the map, wondering if he could follow the river east-northeast. It was another two days until the river intersected the river that left east out of Karenstoch. There was a good sized city at the intersection, but Entreri knew they would be trading partners with Karenstoch, and it would be too big a risk.

Instead he looked at the river back to the west toward Mastin. The landscape changed along the river, and about thirty miles upriver, the ground became much rockier. Entreri thought he read that a substantial ridge bordered the river. Another ten miles later, there appeared to be a waterfall. Looking closely, Entreri saw a faded dotted line crossing the river at the falls.

There might be a crossing before the town, and though Entreri's food supplies were low, he really did not want to enter another town just yet. Entreri went to the river, filled a pot of water for his horse, and then got a drink for himself. After a fifteen-minute break, he saddled up and set a brisk pace.

* * * * *

Elliorn watched the glinting metal disappear behind the ridge when she was still two miles from the river. It was second nature for her not to have any metal showing to the sunlight when traveling on the open plain. This Artemis had not been so trained and had either a metal clasp on his boot, a dagger strapped to his calf, or some metal in his stirrup.

The ranger was sure she had not been seen. Her auburn cloak and brown horse blended nicely into the tall grass. Besides, she should have been two days behind this man, and she doubted he really knew he was being followed. She had traded horses at the southern corner of the Halfway Woods with a farmer she knew and had ridden through the night, sleeping in the saddle. Besides that, she had taken a much more direct path to reach the river.

Elliorn now had two choices. She could change her course slightly and head for the beginning of the ridge. This would place her at least three miles behind Entreri. On the plains she would be able to make up this distance very easily, but across the river (she knew about the waterfall crossing) was a very hilly and rocky terrain, and it would not be so easy to make up the distance.

Besides that, once they were in the hills, it would be much easier for Artemis to see her as she would be unable to avoid skylining herself on the top of each hill they crossed. She would also not be able to light a fire without detection, and her cold rations would run out quickly.

The other option would be to maintain her course and skirt the top of the ridge hoping to catch her prey before he reached the waterfall. While she would be very visible to Artemis, he too would be an easy target for her longbow. The trip down the ridge face was not an easy one, and if he made it to the falls before she could catch him, it would take her a long time to resume the chase.

If that happened, not only would Artemis probably be alerted to her presence, but he would have also gained a much larger lead than three miles. Then Elliorn would be in the same position before, tracking him through the hills, only at an even bigger disadvantage.

The only favorable outcome would be to cut him off before he reached the falls. With that in mind, Elliorn kicked her heels into her horse's flank and sped toward the ridge in front of her.

* * * * *

There were two different riverbeds: one that ran full during the spring and one that ran full the rest of the year. It was early summer now, and Entreri rode on the fifteen foot flat the spring rush had created. Long ago this river had cut a path through these hills, and while it had sheared one side into a very steep ridge, the other side was more gradual and had grass growing up the side of it.

The ridge to Entreri's right did not go straight up, but it would be neither an easy climb nor descent. There were a few ledges that ran diagonally across the ridge face that made the assassin think it might be possible to get a horse down the side, but the rider would have to be far more skilled than Entreri was at controlling the beasts.

The sun was going down in the west, and the ridge cast a long shadow across the river and up the other side. Entreri still kept up his habit of looking behind him as he traveled, though he did it less often now. It was not until he was less than two miles from the falls when he saw the moving shadow projected on the hills across the river.

Elliorn knew she was outlining herself against the setting sun and had tried to keep her distance from the edge of the ridge to keep her shadow on the ground next to her. But as the sun continued to drop in the west, her shadow became longer, and in order to keep it from appearing in the river canyon below she needed to travel at least twenty feet from the ridge, cutting off any angle for her bow.

The risk was determined acceptable, and she had watched Artemis look back twice already without seeing her shadow. The third time he looked, Elliorn noticed a visible change in the way he rode his horse. The ranger was over two hundred feet behind him and fifty feet above him, but she could see his posture clearly.

Every minute that Elliorn waited, the canyon grew darker, and Artemis hunkered lower under his dark cloak. The waterfall became visible to Elliorn long before Artemis saw it, though he had heard it miles ago. Sound traveled well in canyon, so when Artemis broke into a gallop, it sounded like thunder to the ranger.

Elliorn responded immediately, kicking her horse into a run also. She took up her longbow and stood in the stirrups. Her prey would be to the falls in a matter of minutes now, and she would not get another chance. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and flexed her knees, keeping her upper body relatively motionless as her horse ran over the uneven terrain.

Entreri did not look back anymore, but kept his eyes trained on his goal. He was only half a mile from the falls when an arrow struck him in the thigh. It passed painfully through his tensed muscles, just missing the bone and piercing the flank of his horse.

Elliorn grimaced as she watched the horse below rear up in pain and fall to the side, pinning its rider to the ground. She had hoped to hit Artemis in the bone, protecting the horse from injury, but considering the conditions, she was thankful to have hit him at all. She slowed her mount and dismounted.

The sun was just about down now, and Elliorn did not look forward to walking down the ridge in darkness. She finally found a ledge that ran down most of the ridge face, intersecting another a ways down that would get her safely to the river below. Checking the ledge one last time, she decided to take her horse with her. It was not her normal horse, but she trusted in the farmer she had traded with and felt confident they would be able to make it down together. Besides, in order to take her prisoner into Mastin, she would need to put him on a horse, and with an arrow through his thigh, he would never be able to make the climb if she left the horse on top of the ridge.

It took her half an hour to climb down the ridge leading her horse by the reigns, and when she had, the stars were out with the moon shinning brightly. The river glowed with the night-lights, and Elliorn's elf-trained eyes could see clearly. She approached her prey slowly. A frown crossed her face when she saw that the horse had still not moved from where it had fallen and did not appear to be breathing.

Elliorn had a strong bow, but she knew she would not have been able to kill such an animal with one shot even if the Artemis's leg had not slowed the arrow. The next thing she noticed was that while it had looked like the horse had pinned Artemis's leg to the ground when she had been up on the ridge, she now saw that he merely lay beside the dead animal.

Elliorn became extremely cautious as she dew within twenty feet of the motionless pair. The ranger had a six-foot quarterstaff across her back and her bow slung over her shoulder. She made no motion to ready either and crept closer. When she was still ten feet from Artemis, she carefully rolled a stone toward the man.

Entreri had his back turned to the approaching ranger, but his ears were sharp, and he exploded into motion at the sound of the rock decoy. Both his weapons slashed hard through the empty air before Entreri saw his opponent backpedaling quickly, already twenty-five feet away. She had her bow ready and an arrow knocked.

Elliorn was confused. The man had moved like a cat, showing no ill effects for his wound and not favoring the leg in the slightest. She saw the hole and blood stain on his pant leg clear enough, but he appeared to have fully recovered. Both his weapons were held comfortably in front of him, and Elliorn noticed that the dagger did not glint as it should in the bright moonlight. Her eyes sought out the dead horse, and she saw a vicious wound in the horse's chest right above its heart. Had he killed his horse on purpose, or had it been an accident? Either way, it did not explain how he had emerged uninjured.

Entreri took a few slow steps forward, and Elliorn maintained her distance, pulling her bowstring tight. “Stand down, killer. I would not miss from this distance even if I was blindfolded. So unless you have some spell about you that makes you impervious to arrows, I suggest you drop your weapons.”

Entreri smiled at his little mystery, glad once again for his dagger's abilities. He did not drop his weapons, but took a few more steps toward his enemy, pretending to limp on his bloody leg. Elliorn did not buy it, and lifted her bow higher, pulling the string tighter still. “I am warning you, Artemis. I will shoot you down.”

Entreri sheathed both weapons and held his arms out wide. “Please, ranger friend, my heart awaits your arrow with eager anticipation – if you think it will do any good.” Entreri took a few more steps forward.

Elliorn wondered about this strange man as she countered his approach with steps of her own. She could not sense any protection spell on him, but her magic detection ability was not nearly as acute as had been her tutor's, and she could not be sure. “I will not have to kill you, stranger. You and I both know that another arrow to your leg will slow you down.”

Despite his healthy condition, Entreri had to concede that the blood on his leg showed he had been hurt by her first shot. Still, he continued to walk forward slowly. Elliorn took yet another step backwards, her foot landing on a loose rock only Entreri had seen. Her posture faltered momentarily, and Entreri sprang forward. He took five quick steps to the right and then five quick steps back left, ending his charge in a diving roll that would bring him right in front of the ranger.

To Entreri's credit, Elliorn did not hit him in the leg like she had hoped, but to the ranger's credit, her arrow did cut deeply across the assassin's side. The wound would have normally slowed Entreri considerably, but having so recently stolen his horse's powerful life energy to heal his other arrow wound, this second one only brought him off of that energy high and back to reality.

Elliorn did not even play with the idea of pulling another arrow from her quiver and simply held her bow in front of her as she retrieved the staff from her back. Entreri had his weapons out as he came up from his roll and swiped at the offered bow, cutting the string and knocking the shaft from the ranger's hand. Before he cold press his attack, he had to duck a wide sweep from the quarterstaff and then leaped back as the long weapon swung low. Elliorn too leaped backwards, and the two fighters took stock of each other.

Elliorn noticed that Entreri's right side where the arrow had sliced him was bleeding slowly. It was a wound that should have doubled over most men. In some cases, if not treated properly, it would bleed to death. In this man's case, he barely noticed it. He held a short sword and a beautifully crafted dagger. His stance alone told Elliorn more about his fighting ability than any story she might have gotten off someone else.

Entreri did not rush in, but instead tried to discern the ranger's fighting style. Her quarterstaff was six feet long, nearly as tall as she was. Though tall, the woman was not slight, and Entreri would not under-estimate her strength. The staff appeared wooden, but Entreri could tell it was only painted to look that way and had streaks of adamantium laced through it. The composite staff was probably enchanted, and Entreri held no illusions about being able to break it. Also, instead of having blunt ends, each tip was worked to a fine point and coated with metal.

“Again I ask you to stand down,” Elliorn said, spinning her staff in front of her. “I know you are a fighter of some reputation, but I warn you, I have been trained by the elves of the Northwood and have never been bested in battle. I have fought against trolls, goblins, and giant-kind. I do not want to kill you.”

Entreri just smirked.

Elliorn took a step toward Entreri holding her staff horizontally in front of her. “Put your weapons down and I promise to treat you fairly.”

“The only reason I would have for putting down my weapons is to make this fight fair,” Entreri replied gruffly and charged. With the staff held as it was, there was no opening for an attack, and the assassin merely went through an offensive flurry to see if the ranger was as skilled as she claimed. She was.

Elliorn rotated her wrists as her staff swung about in front of her, creating an impenetrable disk. Entreri's blades were batted harmlessly aside, feeling like they were being blocked by enchanted blades, not a wooden staff.

Entreri sprang back from his flurry, having gained plenty of information. He had battled few people who used such a weapon and almost all had been wizards or mages. The spellcasters had either run out of spells or had not been able to prepare one before Entreri attacked. In each case, the fight ended quickly and poorly for the magic user. They often only used staffs because they were much lighter than metal weapons and were often involved in their magic.

Elliorn did not use her staff because of any weakness. If she decided never to go on the offensive, the fight would last a very long time. Besides the defensive bonuses, there were clear offensive bonuses. By releasing her grip on the staff during a swing and grabbing onto the end of it, the weapon could double in length in a split second. Also, each attack could always be followed by a second right behind it as the staff rotated completely around, forcing Entreri to hold each block longer than he would like and throwing him off rhythm.

There were also negatives. All the attacks had to be made in a circular fashion. She could not swing straight across without stabbing herself in the stomach with the other end of the weapon. Since the weapon was much longer than her arms, and she held it in the middle, she could only attack by rotating it about herself.

This limited her attack maneuvers. She could not thrust straight ahead. Nor could she swing straight down, unless she did so off to the side of her body, leaving the other side wide open. Entreri took a brief moment preparing himself, realizing he would have to alter his fighting style slightly. If he attacked high and low, a move that would defeat almost anyone holding only one weapon, all Elliorn would have to do is rotate her weapon vertically to block both. Also each block could turn into an attack with a flick of her wrist.

Entreri walked in slowly, hoping Elliorn would attack first. “I warned you,” she said, suddenly spinning her staff insanely fast in front of her. It lashed out of the spin with a chop right for Entreri's collarbone.

Entreri nearly fainted at the speed and suddenness of the attack, but recovered in time to get his dirk up to block the blow. Then, moving as quickly as he could, he kept the two weapons engaged and sidestepped his opponent. His dagger flashed toward Elliorn's unprotected side, a move that should have ended the fight right there.

The ranger used the leverage of her long weapon to shove Entreri's blocking blade down, crossing his arms and forcing him to turn away from the dagger attack so the magical weapon could no longer reach the woman's side.

Entreri released the block to free his weapons and rolled to the side as the opposite end of the staff swept by unblocked. Staying low, Entreri swiped his dirk at Elliorn's legs. The ranger easily swept her weapon down to bat the attack aside and then rotated her grip to bring the weapon down on Entreri's prone head.

The assassin's sword came up to meet the staff, barely an inch above his head, the force of the blow almost pushing his own weapon into his scalp. Like Entreri had predicted, though, attacking from above had forced Elliorn to move her staff to the side, opening the other side of her body. With his dirk holding off the staff, his dagger searched out her knee.

Elliorn would never be able to get her weapon in line for a block, but she had known this before she had attacked and had already scripted the end of this fight. Using Entreri's blocking sword as a fulcrum, she leaped high in the air, flipping over the crouched assassin just ahead of his deadly dagger. Her staff stayed parallel with her body as she flipped over, and as she landed behind her opponent with her weapon vertically in front of her, she thrust it through her legs.

Entreri had predicted that she would not be able to thrust the weapon at him because her body was in the way, but as her feet landed behind him, slightly spread, he realized his mistake. He stood quickly, but the ranger was a few inches taller and her legs even more so. If she took full advantage of her height, Entreri would still catch the pointed end of the staff in the small of his back. Working his legs for everything they were worth, Entreri leaped into the air, feeling the tip of the staff rip out the crotch of his pants.

While she had not thought the assassin capable of such a quick adjustment, she was also not unprepared for it. Elliorn rotated her body onto one foot, sweeping her staff out from under her other rising leg. The weapon collided with the inside of Entreri's knee and spun him as well. While both fighters turned in the air, Elliorn did so in a coordinated cartwheel while Entreri landed rudely on his side.

The air was briefly knocked out of the assassin as he hit the ground, but he was not so disoriented to know he was vulnerable. He rolled quickly away from the ranger just as the staff stabbed into the ground where he had been. He tried to rise, but a low sweep from the long weapon kept him low and rolling. He knew he was too far away from the ranger for a traditional attack and anticipated Elliorn well.

The woman let her weapon slip through her hands as she swung down on the rolling assassin, grabbing onto the end of the weapon before fell completely out of her grasp. The point of the six-foot weapon was aimed right at Entreri's chest, but the trained fighter knew it was coming before even Elliorn did. He rolled to his left, letting the side of the staff hit his upraised right arm. The staff slid off his arm and fell parallel to Entreri's back, the tip hitting the ground.

Before Elliorn could retract the weapon, Entreri rolled back on top of it and sat up, his weight snapping the other end of the weapon from Elliorn's grasp. Entreri sprang from his sitting position in a rush, both blades swinging.

Elliorn's mistake was obvious – Entreri's not as much so. The assassin thought the ranger to be unarmed. Elliorn had little time to pull the throwing dagger from her vest, but the rushing fighter did not prove a difficult target. Entreri barely saw the glint of steel in the moonlight and nearly tripped over himself as he sidestepped his charge. The dagger flew harmlessly through the air, but Elliorn's other hand, fitted with a studded leather glove, delivered a hard punch to Entreri's face. The assassin was not caught completely off guard and managed to sweep his dirk across the ranger's side as he stumbled past her.

The cut was not too deep and neither fighter was hurt badly, but Elliorn now truly was unarmed. Her staff lay on the ground in front of her, but she dare not take the time to pick it up with the assassin at her back. Instead, she dove to the ground as if to pick it up and then rolled quickly to the side.

Entreri was there in a second, and his dirk sunk deep into the soft, springtime riverbed where Elliorn had just been. Before he could pull the blade back out of the ground, Elliorn spun on her back and kicked out her foot at Entreri's head. Entreri rolled with the blow, leaving his sword in the ground but managing to scrape his dagger across Elliorn's calf.

The ranger's steel tipped leather boots were not as soft as they had appeared, and Entreri had to shake the cobwebs from his head as he rose from the ground. As he did, he watched Elliorn pull his sword from the soft ground. Entreri rose slowly, as Elliorn made no immediate move to charge the dangerous man.

Both were panting hard, but Entreri saw that his last attack to Elliorn's leg had done more lasting damage than her kick had done to him. Entreri pressed the attack before Elliorn could adequately realize this. He swung his dagger in his left hand high, from right to left, pivoting to come back down diagonally across his body, then right to left low, and finally completing the hourglass cut by coming diagonally back up.

Elliorn hit the dagger twice during the routine, not realizing the flurry was not meant to hit her, but to get her blade up high so Entreri could punch out with his right hand beneath it. The fist took the ranger hard in the stomach, stealing her already sporadic breath. As she stumbled backward, she swung her stolen weapon hard down across her body, fending off a charge. Entreri was caught off guard by the strength of the woman, despite his initial pledge not to be, and since the dirk was locked into batwing hilt of the assassin's dagger, the smaller weapon was ripped from Entreri's grasp.

Even though Entreri no longer held a weapon, Elliorn was off balance, her sword low at her side. The assassin pressed his attack, launching two more punches, one at the woman's head, the other at her side. She managed to duck the one aimed at her head, but took the other in her shoulder. Elliorn rolled with the blow, careful not impale herself on her sword.

Entreri leaped to straddle her, intending to pummel her prone form with a flurry of punches, but noticed at the last second that she had rolled exactly to where his jeweled dagger had fallen. He landed over her, but had to leap away just as quickly as the enchanted weapon sailed through the vacated space. He did not have time to scout his landing sight, and his right foot landed on the forgotten quarterstaff. The weapon rolled under him, and he went down.

Elliorn felt her strength fading, and she knew she had to press the attack before Entreri could gather himself. She sat up quickly and did not duck in time to avoid the quarterstaff that came swinging at her head. The sound of the weapon against her forehead was like the crack of a falling tree. Elliorn fell back and watched the stars above her disappear into blackness.

* * * * *

Elliorn awoke to the sound and smell of burning wood. Her eyes came open slowly, her head pounding like she had been run over by a stampeding herd of horses. She remembered suddenly what had happened, and she came to her senses.

She was sitting upright, her legs extended in front of her with her back leaning against a pole. A brief examination of the pole confirmed her suspicion that it was her staff thrust into the soft ground. Her hands were tied behind the pole, but beside that, she was not restrained in anyway.

Elliorn spent a short while examining her bonds. She could untie them in less than two minutes, she thought, but as she watched Entreri walk about on the other side of the fire, she knew that he would see her. To untie herself without detection would take considerably longer. Artemis knew how to tie a knot.

She spent a while watching the man, not alerting him to the fact she was up. He was stripped to the waist, and she took great interest in his muscular form. He was not a big man, a few inches shorter than she was and weighing no more, but his muscles were honed to such perfection, she doubted there was an inch of fat anywhere on his body.

As he went through the supplies that were in her saddlebags, she also saw that he had bandaged up the wound on his side from her arrow. Apparently he was not impregnable after all. He also had a rising welt on his cheek were she had punched and kicked him. Everyone she had talked to said this man had never taken a scratch in battle. Even though she had been defeated and was now tied to her own weapon, she took a little pride in the fact she had marked him.

Entreri glanced briefly back at her as he was cinching her pack closed. Elliorn tried to remain still, but he noticed her improved posture and walked over to the fire. He sat across from the light source, and the ranger noticed for the first time there was a small rabbit carcass roasting over it. She looked back to her horse and saw the man had restrung her bow.

Entreri did not speak. He just stared at Elliorn from across the fire. “Why am I not dead?” she asked. Entreri shrugged. “Can not kill a woman?”

“I've killed more women than you have killed goblins,” he bit back.

“Are you bragging?”

“Bah,” Entreri said angrily, getting up from the fire and retrieving a small bowl of water. He returned and began to sprinkle the water on the rabbit.

“You do not seem like a proud man,” the ranger pressed. “Bragging does not become you.”

“Aren't you the one who said you had never been bested?” he countered. “Oh, and I'm sorry for having broken that streak, by the way.”

“Has anyone ever beaten you?”

Entreri looked up from his work. “Yes, as a matter of fact, someone has.”

“Only one?” Elliorn mocked his supposed confession. “And where is he?”

“He is dead.”

Elliorn could not tell if Entreri was joking. If he was, he did not do it often and was not any good at it. “And why am I not dead?”

“Do you want me to kill you?” Elliorn did not respond. “I didn't think so, so stop asking. I need some information from you.”

Elliorn's ears pricked up at this.

“Why were you following me?”

Elliorn saw no reason to lie to this man. “Chief Cairon came to me shortly after you had left Karenstoch and told me what you had done. I investigated your handi-work briefly and then came after you.”

“You still haven't answered my question, and you must think me a fool if you thought I hadn't guessed that much already.”

Despite herself, Elliorn was beginning to like this man. It would not last. “I wanted to find out what kind of man could inspire so much fear into people that I had thought strong. I needed to find out what kind of man could engage so many good fighters in mortal combat yet emerge without a scratch.”

“Please,” Entreri said, interrupting, “you insult us both by calling anyone in that city a good fighter.”

Elliorn smiled at this. “I needed to find out if you are indeed the devil, as so many people claimed.”

“And what did you find?”

“I'm not sure,” she replied.

“I am not the devil,” Entreri replied quietly. “I was brought up in a harsh land and respond to threats and danger accordingly. I have asked people to leave me alone. They don't listen, and they die.”

“There are many people in this land who wish to be left alone,” Elliorn said. “Very few of them am I asked to track down. There is more to you than that.”

“I did not keep you alive so you could question me,” Entreri said gruffly. “If I let you live, will you continue to follow me?”

“Will you continue to kill people?” she asked back.

Entreri exploded over the fire, clearing the flames and the roasting meat easily. His dagger was at Elliorn's throat before she could even gasp. “The next time you answer a question with a question I will cut off an ear.”

Elliorn tried not to show fear, but it was very difficult. She was beginning to understand why the people of Karenstoch said what they had. She nodded.

“Will you continue to follow me?” he asked again, his dagger still pressed against her throat.

“Probably,” she said.

Entreri stood slowly. “Your honesty is admirable, though it won't add a second to your life.” He started to walk back around the fire.

“Are you threaten-”

Entreri spun about, and the question stuck in Elliorn's throat. She believed in every fiber of her being, as she looked into his black eyes, that she had just died. The assassin's glare did not leave her as he spoke. “I'm sorry, were you going to ask me something?”

Elliorn hated this feeling of helplessness, but she could not find the strength to fight against it. She weakly shook her head. “That's what I thought.”

Entreri took his time walking back to his spot across the fire, letting the elf trained ranger wallow in her fear. He sat back down and continued to sprinkle water on the roasting rabbit. “You spoke of fighting goblins, trolls, and giants. In all the books I've read and from all the people I talked to, they are said to be mythical.”

It was not really a question, but Elliorn had learned her place and responded as she should. “It is my job as a ranger to make sure they stay that way. There are very few tribes of the evil beasts in the northland. I know where these tribes are, and I make sure they leave the people of Karenstoch and the other northern cities alone. If they don't, I fight them until they do. I do not hunt them without cause though.”

Entreri wondered if this last statement was meant specifically for him, but he did not press the point. “And the elves?”

“They stay in the woods, and although they battle the goblins occasionally, they never travel near the human cities. Since my training ended ten years ago, I have seen them but three times.”

Entreri could tell that she was burning with curiosity but wisely kept her mouth shut. “Where in this land might someone who wishes to be left alone go?”

“That depends,” Elliorn dared to respond.

Entreri did not like this answer, but looking at her from across the fire, he realized the ranger needed more information to answer the question adequately. He nodded. “What do you want to do?” she asked after receiving permission.

“Suppose I want to take up farming. It seems like a good honest profession.”

Elliorn rolled her eyes. “The direction you are heading now is good,” she responded. “The south eastern portion of this continent is full of farmland. The network of rivers makes trade very easy and the ground very fertile. However, if you went south to Mastin and further, you will run into land more like what you saw in Karenstoch. There are a few goblins and the like hiding in mountain caves, and the people are still trying to establish a functioning and profitable society. An extra sword is always welcome.”

She could not help throwing in an editorial at the end of each of her answers. “I'm sure those struggling communities are also protected by those like yourself who would love to take up the chase for you.” Entreri paused dramatically before he asked the next question. “Is there any town that would accept me for who I am?”

Who are you? Elliorn wisely did not ask the question out loud, but her eyes asked loudly and clearly enough. She paused to let the unspoken question sink into the assassin before responding. “No. Not unless you want join up with the goblins. I don't know what you did before, but no one finds the need to kill each other around here. We settle our disagreements peaceably when we can. If it comes to fighting, it is done so honorably. Attacks are not made from the shadows, but out in the open. We rangers and paladins do the killing that is needed. So unless you want to become-”

“Very funny,” Entreri cut her off. “Drizzt would've gotten a kick out of that.”

“Who?” she asked before she could retract it.

Entreri did not notice the infraction. “If you live long enough and travel far enough you will hear about him. He credits your kind.”

“Can't wait to meet him.”

“You can't,” Entreri said, getting up from the fire and moving to her horse. Elliorn made the connection immediately. Only one person had ever beat him, and now he was dead. She watched him return with a knife and plate. He carved up half of the rabbit and sat down to eat.

Elliorn watched him silently. She was very hungry but she was not about to ask him for any. Instead, she started to slowly go to work on her bonds, careful not to wiggle too much. “Stop that,” Entreri said, only moments after she had started. She looked up at him and saw that he was still eating, not giving the slightest indication that he had even looked up. “I will be gone soon enough and then you can wriggle free all you want. If I tied it too tight just tell me.” He looked up after this, daring for her to complain. She kept her mouth shut.

Entreri finished his meal in silence. He got up and put away the few eating utensils he had procured and resecured the pack on the back of the horse. He checked the bandage on his side and put his shirt back on. After his jacket and cape were also put on, he donned a black hat and looked ready to leave.

Instead, he walked back to Elliorn. He dropped her bow next to her, but neglected to give her back the arrows. They were in the fire. The ranger sat with her legs crossed, trying to look as composed as possible. She had no idea what this man planed to do to her. If he walked away now, she could be to Mastin by morning, obtain another horse, and likely catch up to him within two days.

“Spread your legs,” Entreri commanded.

“What?!”

“You heard what I said.” Entreri slowly crouched down in front of her. “Uncross your legs.”

Elliorn slowly complied, very confused. Entreri manually pulled her knees apart and squatted between them. He pulled out his dagger and began to cut off her pants up by her waist. “You sick dog! I can't believe you would-” Elliorn stared to stand up, pulling away from the assassin.

“Sit down and shut up!” Entreri commanded, reaching up and pulling down on her shoulder. “Do you think I'm going to rape you? Is that it? After all this you think I am just a sexual delinquent? Is that what the woman from Halfway told you?”

Elliorn retreated visibly at Entreri's tone. She could see that he was a hair's breadth away from killing her right there. Suddenly she wished that he would only rape her, for she feared much, much worse. She had not thought there could be worse, but looking into Entreri's eyes, she saw horrors she had never even imagined.

Entreri let his wave of anger pass and went back to work. Soon he had exposed her left thigh, allowing her to keep her modesty in the process. Without warning he shoved his dagger into the exposed flesh.

Elliorn sat up straight at the searing pain, but was too shocked and afraid to cry out. That changed as Entreri twisted the blade. Her cry was high and loud, but soon faded as the dagger did its dark work. She could feel her life force draining out of her through her leg. She could also feel Entreri getting stronger.

In that instant she felt she understood this man. She knew what he was and was terrified all the more. This had been a kid who had kicked over ant piles for fun. He flipped turtles onto their backs just to watch them struggle and laugh at them. Elliorn was not an anthill or a turtle; she was much more. She was a living, breathing human being, and this man was immersing himself in her pain. He was feasting on her very essence, raping her on a level he could never even approach physically.

In that instant, she knew that, if she lived, she would hunt down this man to the ends of the earth. She would hunt him, and she would kill him. His skill no longer frightened her. He was an incredible fighter, but so was she. If she had aimed to kill when she had first shot him, his body would be fully cooled by now. Elliorn smiled at that thought and ignored the pain coming from her leg.

Entreri removed the dagger after no more than a second, though in Elliorn's memory, it had lasted several minutes. He had not intended to steal her energy and had only done so on a small level. He removed the dagger and blood poured from the wound. “I will bleed to death,” she said, her voice cold, not showing any pain or concern.

“No you won't,” Entreri said, not taking notice of her change in demeanor. He turned around and retrieved a stick that had been lying partway into the fire. Elliorn knew what was coming, but instead of flinching as Entreri applied the burning end to her wound, she embraced the pain and used it to fuel her hatred.

The wound seared shut only after several seconds of intense heat. Entreri was a bit worried that the ranger was not crying out in pain, but he shrugged his shoulders. That was her problem. “It will get infected,” she said.

“Probably,” Entreri agreed. The wound was still bleeding a little, and he was in the process of turning the rest of her pantleg into a bandage. He wrapped her wound with little resistance from his patient, tying the pant leg as tight as he could manage.

“I won't be able to ride for weeks.”

“I'm counting on that too,” he said. “But you won't die, will you?”

Elliorn stared at the assassin, hating him all the more. Some how he figured that as long as he did not kill her, everything was okay. As if murder was the only sin worth punishing.

“Will you?” Entreri repeated, his dagger poised above her.

“No,” Elliorn said with plenty of conviction, “I will not die.” She said it more in defiance to Entreri than in agreement with him.

Entreri stood up and looked down at her. He really should kill her. He was beginning to notice the change that was coming over her, and he did not like it. Unless he was badly mistaken, they would meet again. Yet, if he killed her, he would never be free from pursuit. Every ranger in the area would track him down. He decided one enemy he knew about was better than a dozen unknowns. Besides, he needed someone to replace Drizzt. Entreri laughed at this and turned to leave.

The laugh hung in the air like a putrid odor, and Elliorn inhaled every last bit of it. She watched him climb onto her horse and ride off into the night. She watched for a long time straining for the sound of hoof beats in water. There was a narrow shelf at the base of the waterfall, and Elliorn strained to hear him cross it. Her head was ringing with so much hate and pain that she would not have heard a cannon if it had fired right behind her.

She stood carefully, bending at the waist and raising her hands high above her back and over the top of her staff. Two minutes later she was untied and eating the rabbit meat Entreri had left for her. The assassin had won this contest, but she vowed to herself it would not be the last one.

Chapter 4

Garrilport

Garrilport was not a huge city. It was maybe half the population of Karenstoch but twice the size. It had not started to grow up like the northern capitol. Trees did not hinder its expansion and the city planners took full advantage of this. There were mountains to the west, but only the foothills slowed growth. The actual mountains were half a day further away.

Garrilport was named such because it sat at the headwaters for the largest river on the entire continent. The Garril River was named after the man who had discovered it, and it was the lifeblood of the southern half of the continent. The river came through the foothills and was barely more than a stream most of the year. It gained most of its size and furry downstream as it was joined by many different tributaries. That had all changed when civilization moved in.

A brilliant scholar had designed a series of locks to bring the river out of the foothills under control. The locks brought the river down over 100 feet. They did two things that transformed the formerly small town of Garril into the bustling city of Garrilport. What had been swift rapids coming out of the hills in the spring and half of the summer, turned into a calm and very consistent river. Also, by backing up the spring floods and releasing them slowly throughout the rest of the year, a huge man-made lake was created nestled in the hill valleys.

Industry sprouted along the lake over night. Someone had the bright idea of filling the lake with fish and they flourished. There was a lumber mill on the northern edge of the city before, but now with shipbuilders setting up shop around the lake, two more mills sprang up within a week. Now, farmers, prospectors, trappers, and all other sorts of traders no longer had to travel south to deliver their goods to the rest of the continent, but could use this man made port.

The locks operated twice a week, lowering ships into the river for a modest fee. Most of the ships were brand new and were sent down the river to another city for purchase. Some were already loaded with goods, and some were both. With the prosperity and business the locks brought, the rest of the city expanded on its own.

Blacksmiths, tanners, carpenters, butchers, and others were needed to change the raw goods brought in by the traders into finished products that were sent down river. Taverns and gaming houses made an effort to skim a bit of the money being made by offering visitors and residents alike a chance to spend their money on pleasure. Respectable restaurants and hotels were also needed.

Government had moved into the city of Garrilport also. Garril, the city's founder had died of old age several decades ago and there had been many mayors since. One bright mayor had set up a city council. Together they set up a tax and tariff system. The people nearly tore the city apart as a result, but when the council began to hire city guards to keep the crime rate down, the people understood the wisdom of the tax. The council also offered low interest loans to businessmen who wanted to set up shop and add a new commodity to the city.

The council organized city fairs and celebrations a few times a year. They held contests and honored prominent members of the city. In the end, the citizens willingly paid their taxes, for they hardly needed all the money they made.

A few dozen years after the initial boom, the city slowly separated into two distinct sections. There was the northwestern half of the city, which was rough and dirty. This was where the lumbermills, shipyards, refineries, slaughterhouses, and fishhouses were. The southern portion of the city was more residential. It sold the goods made in the northern half, but wanted nothing more to do with it.

The taverns and inns in the north half were rough and always rowdy. Death was not uncommon, though it was not too frequent. The industries in the foothills and lower forests were hard and dirty, and the men who worked in them reflected this. The guardhouses were quickly moved to the center of the city in an attempt to keep the north half of the city in the north half. Few people worked in one and lived in the other, and they were not always accepted when they came back home. After a while, people began to accept the fact that the northerns, as they were called, were not going to refine their ways. They also realized that without them, the city would crumble in financial ruin.

Not only did they build the ships that were the backbone of the community, they also made a much larger tax contribution than the rest of the city, for they more often frequented the heavily taxed gaming houses and brothels that densely populated the north half. In the end, though, it was the northerns that kept the city from growing into capitol city status. Instead of setting up shop in the city, one could make two trips a week and still make the ships south.

Entreri thought this would be as good a place as any. He had crossed the waterfall after leaving the ranger, but instead of continuing southeast, he had hugged the river back west and stopped for a short while in Mastin. There he had supplied himself for the mountains, changed horses, and set out.

He had seen several towns like Elliorn had described, rough and struggling to survive. While they had not found goblins yet, they had found precious minerals. They were pulling gold, copper, and silver as well as traditional iron ore. Entreri could see little use for such metal up in the mountain communities. When he asked the question he always got the same answer: “We take it to Garrilport.”

Entreri reached the city ten days after he had left Elliorn by he river. Several times he had almost turned around to find her and kill her, but each time he had stopped himself. He had to stop some time. Now as he walked into a new city, probably the most diverse he had found yet, he realized he did not have any marketable skills.

Everything he knew how to do related to his dark trade. He could work for a locksmith and design an unpickable lock. We could work for the circus and dazzle people with his juggling and tight-wire acts. He could try to be the weapon master for the city guards. He supposed there were a lot of things he could do, but only one of his skills allowed him to work independently: killing.

This city was the roughest he had found, at least half of it was, but the action in the northern half was not based in anything rational. Calimport had been dangerous because guild-houses struggled for power. They laid claim to sections of the city. The more they controlled the more taxes they could pull. The more money they had the more killers they could hire. The more killers they had the more area they could claim and defend.

The northern half of Garrilport was not like this at all. They did not get into fights and kill each other for power or money. They killed each other because they were drunk. They killed each other because they had the same IQ's as the fish and cattle they killed and cleaned. They killed each other because one of them looked at the other in the wrong way. Entreri wanted no part of that. Besides while the northerns made the city all its money, the northerns themselves had very little and none would be able to afford the assassin.

The city planning office was located in the southern half in a very clean section of the city. There were no homeless or beggars in the city. If you tried to settle on the outskirts without registering with the city, you were driven away or forced to pay a penalty. Everyone was taxed. In order to maintain this fairly, everyone had to register.

The council was proud of the city they had created and would not put up with anyone leeching off the system. You did not have to have a business, although it was encouraged, and those who maintained a taxable business got a break on their personal taxes. Once a week, beggars and peasants were rounded up and either escorted out of the city, or, and more frequently, they were escorted to the northern half. There they either absorbed the drunken furry of the rowdies, sparing a contributing member of the city, or they became a contributing member by filling a job position vacated by someone who had met with an unfortunate end. Anyone was allowed into the northern half, but to return to the southern half you had to be registered with the city guards and have good reason.

Entreri stepped into the city planning office and looked around, wondering if this was all just a big mistake. The majority of the office consisted of a lavish waiting room with comfortable couches and serving girls. Entreri took a number and a drink and then sat down to wait his turn. There was a very well drawn and painted city map that took up one entire wall of the waiting room.

Entreri also took notice of the rest of the people in the room. There was a young couple who spoke more in snickers and giggles than actual words. The assassin guessed they were newlyweds and were looking for a new home away from their parents. There was a man who was dressed much nicer than Entreri, but who looked like he did not have half as much money as he wanted people to think. He looked nervous and was probably hoping this city of opportunity had a place for someone with his skills, whatever those skills might be.

It took half an hour, but Entreri was finally ushered into the planner's office. The man had just dealt with the giddy couple and was happy to see someone his own age and apparent demeanor. The man rose from behind his desk and shook Entreri's hand. “Welcome to Garrilport, my name is Leron. What can I do for you today?”

Entreri decided to play this easy. His normal business style probably would not work too well. “I'm looking for a place to settle down. I've been through the northland and have heard good things about your city.”

“I see,” Leron said, still trying to figure this man out. He talked to dozens of people everyday, and he was pretty good at identifying them. Businessmen were all the same. The first words out of their mouths were always, “I make the finest wooden sculptures in all the realms,” or “My candles burn longer and brighter than any you've ever seen.”

Entreri was well dressed, his goatee well kept and his shoulder-length hair tied together behind him under his black bolero. His handshake had been strong and his gate sure. His posture was perfect and his face relaxed. He was either insanely rich or he was a mercenary on the run. Either way, as long as he paid his taxes and did not cause trouble, he was welcome in Garrilport.

“What kind of place were you looking for?”

“What kind of places do you have?” Entreri asked, not really knowing how to go about this. He had always just lived in a room in a guild house. He did not know anything about buying a place for himself.

“Well, a few shops just opened up. Their former owners either left or went out of business. Two of them are in a very good location right-” Leron began to turn around to motion to a map of the city behind him, but Entreri cut him off.

“Shops?”

“Yes,” Leron replied turning back to look at his guest. “Are you a merchant? Do you have a trade?”

Yes, thought Entreri, but I don't need a shop. I mostly make house calls. “I thought I would just find a place to live first. I have many talents and just want to live quietly for a while before I set up shop.”

“Well can you give me an idea of what you plan to do? Location is everything in this town. Perhaps I can reserve a place for you.”

Entreri shook his head. “I'm just looking for a place to live.”

Leron shrugged. He had tried anyway. “I have several nice apartments in the center of town. The rent runs a bit high in some, but they are well furnished and some have added luxuries.”

“I kind of like my privacy, do you have anything on the edge of town?”

Leron raised his eyes. Maybe he had judged this man wrong. “Yes, but they aren't all very nice.” He pulled out a rolled up map from under his desk. He only had the main section of town on the map behind him on the wall. “There are a few small cottages on the edge of the commercial district,” Leron said, not sounding very enthusiastic about it, “but if you get much further away, you begin to get into the poor section of-”

“What about here?” Entreri pointed to a lot that was on the very edge of the map.

Leron nearly fell over. “No, I don't think you want to live there. Why, the streets aren't paved. There are no sewers. It smells, and you will be surrounded by peasants just scraping to get by. I'm sure you'd prefer to live-”

“Sounds fine by me,” Entreri said. “Like I said, I like my privacy.”

Leron was sure he had him pegged now. This man was dirt poor. He had probably stolen the clothes he wore and thought that if he could just get into the “glorious” city of Garrilport he might be able make his fortune in the gaming houses. Maybe he planed to steal his way to a fortune. Whatever his ploy, Leron doubted he would last thirty days.

The lot Entreri had chosen did not even have a number. Leron scribbled one in. He got out the paperwork and began to fill it out. Entreri spelled his name for the man and answered a few other trivial pieces of information such as age, family size, and so forth. “There is a fee involved,” Leron said, hoping that he would be able to throw away the deed he had just written up and get to more important customers.

Entreri reached behind his back and pulled out a coin bag that was easily twice as big as any bag Leron had ever carried himself. Leron's mouth hung open as Entreri set it on his desk and then produced a twin bag to sit next to it. “M-m-more than enough,” Leron muttered. “Much more. Are you sure you don't want an apartment? Or maybe even a river front chateau? I have a very nice house available. It has its own dock, sixteen rooms, servant quarters, seven-”

“The plot I chose will be fine for now. Remember I just want to get a feel for the town.”

“Right. Right! Of course, sir! I understand.” The rest of process went smoothly and quickly.

* * * * *

Entreri took one look at his new home and wondered if he should go back to the planner and get the chateau he had talked about. And why not? Entreri had the gold. Entreri had never wanted to live as a pasha, though. He had despised and then killed Dondon for giving into pleasure and luxury; he would not do the same.

The shack, for it could not be called a house, was made of two rooms. There was a tiny outhouse in the back with an only slightly bigger shed next to it. All of the windows had been broken, and dust and dirt lay thicker on the floor inside than on the ground outside. There was no furniture to speak of, and neither were there doors. Loren had given him the plot and everything on it for 20 gold pieces. Entreri had eaten meals in Calimport worth twice that. At the time he thought Loren was giving him a deal, but now having seen the place, Entreri realized if someone had swindled him like this a year ago, the man would have spent the last ten seconds of his life looking for his small intestines.

The city should pay him for taking this off their hands. It was noon, and Entreri had little to do. He rode back into town and bought a small cart for his horse. He then filled it with windows, doors, straw, sheets, a broom, nails, and a hammer. Three hours later his shack had doors, windows, very little dirt inside, and a small straw bed. The rest of the day was spent pounding nails into the floor every time it squeaked.

That night he lay on his scratchy bed wondering what he was doing. He was the most deadly man alive and he had decided to live a peasant's life on the edge of a very wealthy town. Entreri had always known he would have to stop killing eventually, but he had thought it would result from someone else's blade and not from boredom.

Entreri knew what kind of fighters lived in this new land. Elliorn had been good, but Entreri felt confident he would continue to come out on top if she refrained from shooting him in the back with her longbow. There were others like her, but Entreri knew they were in the minority. Most of these people had never faced mortal combat. Sure, some of them had killed, or been involved in fights where someone had died. But walking into a one-on-one fight knowing only one will walk away is a completely different thing.

So what was he going to do? The only thing he did not want was to grow weak with age. Dondon had done that. The halfling knew he could never go outside and that he was done being a thief. His answer was to gorge himself. Entreri knew he was done being an assassin, but that did not mean he had to loose his edge.

Entreri did not shy away from hard labor like some killers he had known. He was not afraid to get his hands dirty and realized the physical benefits that came from a hard day's work. This place needed plenty of work. That's what he would do. He would spend the next ten days working on this shack until it resembled a home, not because this is where he was going to spend the rest of his life, but because he needed something to do.

Working on the house would give him a chance to meet several merchants and get a good feel for the rest of the city. He would talk to his neighbors and see what they felt about this area. Maybe Elliorn was wrong and this city did have a use for his skills. He would never find out unless he stayed. If he stayed he needed something to do, and working on this place was as good a task as any.

The next five days went by quickly, and Entreri almost forgot who he was. He worked on the property first. He did not have a lot of land at his disposal, but he set up a fence around all of it. Cool breezes came off the mountains, but it was summer, and the sun beat down on him. Back in Calimport, if anyone had told him that when he turned 40, he would spend his days driving fence posts, he probably would have killed them. Now he enjoyed it.

The assassin's body had been honed to be as efficient as possible in everything it did, and it did not take long before he was driving in each post with only three shots from his sledge. It took him all of one morning to do one side of his square lot. He finished the rest of the posts in half the time that afternoon. The rest of the day involved nailing the slats to the posts that made up the actual fence. He added a small corral for his horse and then built a hay loft and water trough.

There was a well a hundred yards from his house that fed the entire eastern edge of the city. He purchased a water tight wooden tank that could hold fifty gallons. He propped it up on a wooden stand on the edge of his house, and used a pulley system to fill it. It took an entire morning to fill, but by piping a faucet into his house, he had running water that only needed to be filled once a week. He sowed grass into his dirty, weedy property and watered it sparingly.

While working outside, he had a chance to meet his neighbors. The closest house to his stood sixty feet away. They were a poor family with a young son about eight years old. They had a small garden that the mother tended. The father disappeared each morning and returned late each night. Entreri figured he worked in one of the northern industries. The son tried to sell his mother's vegetables in front of their house, but this was not a high traffic area.

Entreri saw few other people. No one came out to the area unless they lived there and few were poor enough to do so. There were trees growing around the houses, and there might have been more families past them, but Entreri did not check.

The inside of his house took more work. He coated and sealed the floor and did the same to the walls. Now that he had running water, he spent a few coins on a new wash-sink and sprang for a new wood-stove. He got curtains for the windows and half a dozen rugs to cover the ugly spots in the floor. The house was open to the ceiling, and Entreri installed a full loft.

Entreri did not spend too much on furniture, buying only what was necessary. Still he got looks from those living in squalor around him as he hauled in a bed, a few chairs, a table, and a few lamps. These people had practically nothing, but what they did have, they built for themselves. Here was a man living in the most rundown house in the most rundown section of the city, and he appeared to have money to burn.

On the morning of the fifth day, Entreri was ready to do some real work. He took a small amount of pride in what he had done thus far and almost laughed when he saw other peasants following his lead by hauling fencing posts and wood sealant down the dusty road. He had spent the days so far repairing or improving, now he wanted to build.

The two rooms of the house were barely enough hold the few pieces of furniture he had, and there was plenty of room on his property for more. He also wanted to get another horse and needed a bigger shed.

He awoke early, but before he could get out of the house, a rap on the door brought him to attention. He walked slowly toward the new door, a hand reaching into his vest for the jeweled dagger. Old habits die hard. The man at the door wore a Garrilport crest on his coat and had a pleasant smile on his face. “I like what you've done with the place.”

“What do you want?”

“Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Entreri.” The man took a step back and saluted. “I am here representing the city council to collect the monthly tax.” The man laughed at his own absurdity. “I talked with Leron, and he told me about you. Said you would have little trouble paying.”

Entreri handed over the pitifully small sum. “Is there something wrong?” Entreri asked. The man seemed almost drunk.

“It's a beautiful summer morning,” the man replied, a huge smile on his face, “the birds are singing, the cool breeze is blowing, and I have to collect taxes from the poorest section of town. Things couldn't be better. I figured I'd start my day with you and work my way downhill. Good day.”

Entreri watched the man walk to his neighbors and turned to lock his door. “Like anyone's going to rob me,” he thought as he snapped the lock closed. He went around back to get his horse, but then thought better off it. He was going to buy much more wood than his small cart could carry and not from the same cheep wood-yard half a mile away. He was going to need quality wood if it he was going to build an addition to the house that would last.

As he walked down the street to town he could not help but overhear the taxman talking to the poor wife next door. “What?!”

“I'm sorry ma'am, but the local official assigned to this section saw your son set up shop on your property. We've been over the city regulations with you several times before, and I've been ordered to enforce the rules this time.”

“But we can't afford a merchant's tax, we are too poor. My husband barely makes enough to put food on our table.”

“Well maybe instead of breaking city zoning laws by setting up a store outside of the commercial district, you should keep your vegetables for when you husband can't provide for you.”

“But my son didn't even sell anything!”

“The system is not based on profitability, only on availability. It is not our fault your son did not sell anything, you still broke the law. I should be evicting you, but I do ha-” Entreri sighed as he moved out of earshot.

The money meant nothing to the city. Entreri knew how much these people had to pay in taxes, and it would take a thousand such payments before the total tax amounted to anything. They said they were being kind in not evicting them, but in actuality, that was exactly what they were doing.

These people did not contribute to the city, but were not worth the trouble to bring the city guards out to toss them. Instead the city bled them dry until they had to leave on their own. Soon, as the taxes got high enough, the entire poor section would be evacuated and the city could expand its upper and middle class sections.

By removing the peasants, you removed a large part of the northerns' work force. This would force them to clean up the city to attracted more respectable workers. It was a nice plan, but Entreri had lived long enough to know there was always a bottom rung to every ladder. It did not matter how many rungs you broke off; you still had a bottom one. The only solution was to have one rung. Then you had a monarchy.

Despite the city's treatment of his neighbors, Entreri had to admit they had done a nice job with the rest of the city. As he moved into the wealthier sections, the streets were clean and smell-free. The buildings were well kept, for if a merchant let his building go, the city would force him to fix it up or evict him so someone else could.

Entreri was a student of the people. He watched as a woman hung laundry on top of a three-story building. Another woman swept off the porch to a lamp shop. Two men were busy loading kegs of something out of a building and into the back of an open cart. There was a small boy standing on a ladder nailing a new rain gutter onto the front of another building.

Entreri saw them all and tried to imagine that he was back in Calimport. He tried to imagine that the woman hanging clothes was really a guild house lookout, and as soon as the target man exited the shop across the street, she would give the signal to the men loading the kegs. They would in turn stop what they were doing, pull out daggers, and follow the target into a dark alley, from which only two of the three would exit.

The woman sweeping was also a lookout. She was watching for a particular buyer to come down the street. When she saw him or her, she would signal inside for her partner to get the illegal merchandise out of the safe and ready so their valued customer could be on their way quickly.

Entreri enjoyed this fantasy for a while but could not think of anything for the boy on the ladder. He walked close to young worker. The boy turned on his ladder to look at Entreri also. As he turned, his hand slipped, and he lost his balance. He suddenly stood straight up on the ladder, his arms waiving in circles beside him. It looked like he might be able to save his balance but leaned one inch too far back and fell.

Entreri had been ready to catch him the whole time, seeing the hand slip as the boy had originally turned. The boy fell into his arms, and he quickly lowered him to the ground. “Boy,” he reprimanded, “you need to be more careful.”

The child was badly frightened and nodded his head.

“What's your name?” Entreri asked.

“B-B-Billy,” he responded.

“Well, Billy, if I hadn't been here you could have had a serious accident.” The boy continued to nod frantically. “Do you promise to be more careful now?” Entreri had his hands on the boy's shoulders as he spoke down to him. The boy nodded some more. “Good.”

Billy watched Entreri turn away from him and start down the street. He smiled. Turning away from the street and stepping up onto the porch, Billy slowly pulled his right hand out of his jacket. It held Entreri's heavy gold pouch. “That was too easy,” he thought. “You'd think he'd miss something this heavy.”

It had been a good morning so far. He had taken four other coin pouches, but this was by far the richest. He reached around under his jacket to his belt where the other four pouches hung and looped his new prize through a belt loop. He was a little concerned his pants would not be able to stay up under all the weight. If that were the case he wou-

Billy stopped. The other pouches were not there. He patted himself down, wondering where they could have gone. He turned around and looked at the ground where he had almost fallen. The ground was empty. He looked up. Entreri stood there holding the four pouches in one hand. “Looking for something?”

The kid thought about trying to grab the pouches from this strange man, but turned to run instead. Entreri was too quick, his free hand snaking out and grabbing the Billy by the wrist. The assassin hauled him off the porch and into the street next to him. He crouched down in front of him and grabbed onto the kid’s collar.

“None of these bags are yours, are they?”

The boy shook his head.

“Talk boy!”

“N-n-no, sir,” Billy stuttered.

The kid had been acting before, but now he was truly frightened. Entreri had just beat him at his own game so badly it was like a man off the street out performing a circus diver and then emerging from the pool with dry clothes.

“Stealing is not a very safe profession if you are not good at it, and you are not good at it. I don't know what blind cripples you took these off of,” Entreri raised the four pouches, “but they probably are so stupid they still haven't realized they've lost them.”

Entreri watched a small puddle begin to form under his captive, and he repositioned his feet to keep his boots dry. “I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do. I don't usually like to spill blood this early in the day, so I'm going to let you go, but only if you bring these four bags out to the eastern edge of town. Pick four run-down houses and give a bag to each. In particular, search out a gray shack with a garden out back sitting next to a house with a new fence. Tell them a wealthy merchant in town died, and his will said that a small portion of his money was to be given to some poor families because that is how he started in this city.”

The boy nodded quickly. Too quickly for Entreri's liking. “I will check up on you.” Entreri stared death at the boy now. “I will check to see if you've done this, and if I find that you have lied to me as well as trying to rob me, I will punish you.”

“B-b-but, s-sir, m-my m-master will k-kill me.”

“Better him than me. Trust me, for your sake, better him than me.” Entreri tossed the four pouches into a dry spot on the street and turned around, though not before reclaiming his own pouch. The kid would do as he was told; Entreri had faith in his skills of persuasion. Across the street, unseen by either of the two, a city guard smiled at the exchange that occurred and stepped out from behind a parked wagon. He watched Entreri briefly, but decided to follow the boy instead.

The lumber store was just down the street. Entreri placed his order and paid to have the wood delivered to his house as soon as it was ready. He took an early lunch in a nice restaurant while the order was being filled and then rode down with the delivery boy back to his house. The boy affirmed the address with Entreri and then said he did not know why anyone would want to spend money on a house out there.

Entreri ignored the comments, and the two of them unloaded the wagon once they reached his house. Entreri took particular notice of the cries from his neighbors. They were very happy about something, and Entreri was glad he would not have to hunt down the young thief. Entreri thanked the delivery boy and then went to work.

* * * * *

Quinton Palluge heard the snap of the whip and boyish scream through two closed doors. “What is going on now?” he muttered to himself as he got up from behind his desk.

Quinton pushed his office door open and walked quickly down the hall, taking time to look out the hallway window at his latest ship going down the Garril River. The sound was coming from one of the rec rooms. He opened the door and saw one of his lieutenants whipping a boy.

“What's going on here, Draick?”

The lieutenant quickly turned around at his master's words. “Sir,” he said, surprised he had not heard Quinton enter, “Billy here has robbed us.”

Quinton squinted at the young pickpocket he employed. The boy had tears coming from his eyes and several welts along his back, though none of them looked serious yet. “Is that true?”

Billy shook his head furiously, still sniffling too hard to speak. Quinton turned back to Draick for his side of the story. “We sent him out as usual with ten gold pieces and he returned just a few minutes ago with nothing.”

Quinton turned back to Billy, his eyes demanding a verbal answer this time. The young boy inhaled deeply, trying to remove the jerky breathing of his sobs. “I didn't steal it, honest. I paid the people on the street so they would look the other way, like you said, like I always do. They never call the guards on me if I give them a few coins.”

“You know not to return unless you have made a successful pick and at least doubled the money we gave you,” Quinton said sternly, waiting for the rest of the story.

“I got way more than double,” Billy said quickly. “Four full pouches and almost a fifth.” Quinton frowned. Billy saw the frown and quickly explained. “This guy caught me and took all of the coins I had gotten so far.”

Quinton stood up scowling, both at the man who had robbed his boy and for his best lieutenant beating the boy for it. “What did he look like?” Quinton asked Billy, though he looked at Draick. Draick understood that he wanted the man found.

Billy understood the look also. “Oh, no, he gave the bags back to me, except for his, of course.”

That was the wrong thing to say, and Billy realized it as Quinton leveled an evil gaze on him. “Where is my money?”

“Th-th-the man made me give it all back,” Billy was close to sobbing again.

“He made you track down all the people you picked and return the money?”

“N-no, he made me give it to the poor people on the eastern edge of town.”

Quinton found this even harder to believe. “He brought you to the peasants and forced you to give the money to them?”

“Oh, no, he didn't follow m-”

“He let you go, and you did it anyway! You stupid rat child! Why did you do it?!”

“H-h-he s-said he would ch-check up on m-m-me,” but Quinton was not listening.

He turned back to Draick and nodded. “You may continue.” Draick smiled and raised the whip for a strike. As he swung forward, Quinton caught his arm and held it fast. Despite his master's age, Draick was always surprised at his strength. “But work on your follow through,” Quinton said. He glanced over his shoulder at Billy's red back. “You'll never become captain of the guards if you can't bring blood from a child's back.”

Draick smiled and nodded. Quinton left the room and closed the door as Draick continued his punishment and Billy continued his screaming. The older man paused outside the closed the door, listening to the pitiful cries for a moment and then moved back toward his office.

He stopped at his window again, his ship just disappearing from view behind another section of his large river front residence. He had built quite a fortune for himself in this town, and it kept growing larger. He had a piece in just about every northern industry, yet still held respect and favor amongst the people in the more civilized section of the city. He dealt in gems and precious metals, buying them and trading them with the southern cities along the river. He owned several ships of his own and rented the extra space on them to several other merchants who wanted to send their cargo down river.

Besides his honest business ventures, though even they were scandalous at best, he had half a dozen children roaming the streets, picking pockets and stealing jewelry. Billy was one of his best, and if he learned his lesson today, he would become even better. Quinton also had several city guards drawing pay from him, though the city knew nothing about it. These guards were very apt at looking the other way when Quinton's other men made a hit on a less than cooperative business partners.

Quinton sighed and walked away from the window. If only he was on the city council. Several of the men on the council were near death, Quinton suspected, for they had been in the ruling body for decades and had to be weak with age. The ambitious entrepreneur had often thought about taking measures into his own hands and bringing those members of the council even closer to death, but he had stayed his hand thus far.

Quinton would gain the position honestly, with no questions asked. That was the only way he would be able to do what he wanted. Once on the council he could rewrite the trading laws in his favor. He could create tax loopholes for himself, and burden others so they would be forced to use his ships. He would then buy even more vessels, and soon, he would control all trade that left Garrilport.

Until that time came, he would have to continue to throw parties in his lavish home, inviting all the influential merchants who had voting privileges to elect new council members. He would continue to attend their parties and continue to deal with their businesses at a loss to gain their favor.

“Any day now,” Quinton said as he opened the door to his office. Two men were inside, one was howling in pain, grabbing his right hand. His entire limb looked like it had been dragged through a fire very slowly. “Parnid, Trevor,” Quinton said, addressing his two best thieves, “what's going on and why does it need to take place in my office.”

“It's that cursed magician,” Parnid, the uninjured one, said.

“He nearly burned my whole arm off!”

“What did you do to him?” Quinton asked. Nothing was ever as it seemed among his men.

“He's locked himself up in that room of his for almost a week,” Parnid explained. “We thought he might be hurt or gone or-”

“Up to no good!” Trevor had to throw in.

“His lock looked easy enough to pick,” Parnid said.

“The bolt of lightening nearly killed me!”

“Bolt of lightening?” Quinton wished Trevor would shut up and let his partner tell the story without interruption.

“Trevor hadn't been working on the lock for more than a few seconds, when this bolt of energy – it looked like lightening – came shooting out of the key hole, traveled the length of his forearm, and then blasted into the wall behind him.”

Quinton stood in silence. He had hired the magician several months ago for entertainment purposes only. The man was a big hit at his parties, making eggs disappear in a puff of smoke, lighting candles with his fingers, and several other slight of hand tricks. Quinton had never gotten the man to tell him how he did it. Reillon, the magician, insisted that it was magic.

Quinton suffered the eccentric man because he entertained the voting merchants. If he started hurting his best men for no reason, something would have to be done. Besides that – a lock that could shoot out lightening! – Quinton had never thought Reillon capable of such a feat. If the magician really had magic about him and was hiding his true power from Quinton, there would be hell to pay.

“Let's go pay him a visit,” Quinton said.

The three men walked back down the hallway, down a flight of stairs, and stopped in front of the infamous locked door. Quinton could see the charred section of the wall opposite the door lock clearly enough. “Reillon! Open this door!” No response. “Parnid, knock on the door.”

“With all due respect sir, I am not touching that door.”

Quinton expected as much; he was not touching the door either. A dinning room was just down the hall, and Quinton quickly retrieved a wooden chair. The two thieves backed away, and Quinton banged on the door with the legs of the chair. A jet of flame shot out of the peephole in the center of the door, igniting the bottom of the chair.

Quinton furiously banged the chair to pieces on the floor and stamped out the flames. Now there was a much bigger burn mark across from the door. “Reillon, you will open this door right now, or so help me, I will get an axe and break it down myself!”

Quinton waited, coughing a little on the smoke. The door slowly opened, snapping the chain lock tight after it had swung only a few inches. Reillon was a frail man, and having spent a week inside his room, he looked very haggard and pale. His beady little eyes peered at his angry master through the barely opened door. “Yes?”

“Open this door, magician! I want an explanation from you!”

“I'm sorry, sir, but it will have to wait. I'm in the middle of something.”

Behind him, Quinton's thieves blanched at the magician's boldness. “It will have to wait?” Quinton repeated in quiet furry and then exploded. “You nearly burned down my entire house and did destroy my best thief's hand! What good are you if you do more harm than good?! And what kind of tricks are you hiding from me? If I had doors equipped my like yours, I wouldn't need half the guards I employ. I want an answer now!”

“Sorry, sir, but this interruption alone has cost me six hours of preparation. I need peace and quiet. If no one touches my door, no one will get hurt. You will have all your answers and much, much more in two days time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Before Quinton could scream in outrage, the magician closed the door and locked it again. “Do you want me to get an axe?” Parnid asked.

Quinton shook his head. “We'll give him his two days, after which, if I still don't have an answer…” he left the threat hanging.

They turned to go, but the door behind them opened suddenly and then quickly closed before they could turn all the way back around. On the floor, just outside the door, was a small vile filled with a pink salve. Quinton picked up the glass container and read the label on the outside. “Apply twice a day for five days. Heals burns.” Quinton smiled, handed the healing salve to Trevor, and went back to his office.

* * * * *

Jerathon Alexander read the report and frowned. The southern portion of the city along the river was becoming too crowded. It was the widest section of the river below the locks and had the most extensive dock network. It was, therefore, the best place to load and unload ships, but the section had originally been built as residential long before ship trade became the most important commodity.

A few prominent traders had been pushing for several months now to have the apartments and houses torn down and turned into warehouses. This would make it easier for merchants to bring their items to the docks for shipment. Right now, ships only left twice a week because it was too difficult to operate the locks on a full time basis. This meant all the merchants had to come to the docks at the same time to get their items on the ship. This was way too much traffic as it was, but with all the locals roaming about their homes, it made it even more difficult.

With warehouses to store items for shipment, merchants could bring their goods down any time during the week. Plus, shipments that came up river could be stored in the warehouse also, meaning all the deliveries did not have to be made as the ship pulled in but could be done over the course of the week.

It was a very good idea, and the council supported it, especially since the traders had agreed to foot the bill for the warehouse construction. They would be able to process ships much faster and would easily make up the costs of the buildings in a few months. The council was also willing to accommodate the few hundred people that currently lived in the area by setting up another section of the city for them to live. The problem was that there was no more room.

The displaced citizens would no doubt want to stay along the river, but the further south you went the poorer and more rundown the neighborhoods became. To remodel that portion of the city to meet the needs of the wealthy citizens that were to be relocated meant lots of money. The sewers needed to be extended, street lamps needed to be installed, the streets needed to be paved, they would need to encourage more shops and markets to open in the area, and a host of other things, not the least of which was to find somewhere else to move the people already living in those poor sections.

It would cost money and it would take time. Jerathon scribbled a note to himself to meet with the traders and merchants to see if there was anyway to raise taxes for a short while until the cost of such a relocation could be recovered. Pay a little now; make a lot later. It was a simple principle, but it took a keen grasp of commerce to accept it, especially when you were the one that had to pay now.

Jerathon also penned in a meeting with Leron, the city planner. They would need to find a place to put the peasants they displaced. They could not just keep pushing them south or else they would have to move the again in five years when the riverfront property continued to expand. The eastern part of town was open, but there were trees there, and the northern lumberjacks kept pushing the limit as to how far south they were willing to go.

Jerathon knew that in time, he would have to yield to their wishes and allow them to harvest the trees in that area. It would need to be done if the city was going to expand anyway, but it meant moving the people that lived there. Maybe it was time to jump across the river. So far the entire city lay east of the river, but there was always talk about expanding west.

The problem was that there was absolutely nothing over there. It was a lot easier to upgrade the poor sections of the city than build entire new ones. They would have to dig a new sewer system, layout all new streets, set up zoning laws, and, most expensive of all, build bridges. It was not easy being the mayor of Garrilport.

Jerathon pulled a cord next to his desk that rung a bell out in the hall and would bring his page. The knock on his door came far too soon to be the result of his summons. “Enter.”

The boy opened the door and walked quickly to the mayor's desk. The mayor handed him two rolled parchments one before the other. “Take this to the city planner's office. And take this one to one of my scribes and have them make enough copies to deliver to all the members of the merchant's council. I believe there are seventeen members now. You probably know their names better than I do. When the scribe is finished, deliver the notes.”

The boy took the notes and waited. “Your response to my bell was very impressive. Were you avoiding your other duties and just waiting outside my door, or were you on your way to my office for another reason?”

The boy just stood there. Jerathon smiled. The boy was well disciplined. “You may speak.”

“Captain Irenum is waiting down stairs.”

“He is early.” The boy simply nodded. “Send him up and then do as I bade you.”

The boy left. John Irenum, captain of the city guards, entered the mayor's office a few moments later and closed the door behind him. “When I set times for meetings, I expect them to be upheld. I'm a busy man,” Jerathon said, shuffling paper around on his desk.

John looked at the reports and notes scattered across the mayor's desk. “Can they wait?” he asked, motioning to the desk.

“Can't you?” he replied.

“I was waiting, but your mute page directed me to your office early. I assumed you were ready for me. But please, if I am intruding, I have nothing better to do but wait for your free time.”

Jerathon smirked at the sarcasm. “You seem to be in a good mood, by which I mean an irreverent one.”

The captain took a seat across the desk. “You should have seen it, Jerry,” John started, continuing down the road of disrespect. “It was great.”

Jerathon sighed, leaned back in his chair, and motioned for his guest to continue. “You know the pickpockets I've told you about?” Jerathon nodded. Some scoundrel was using children to rob the members of his city. He could not very well throw the kids in jail, but he had been unsuccessful in tracking down their master. “Well, I saw one of them get caught today. He was a young kid, maybe nine or ten. He had this great scheme going where he pretended to fall off a ladder and land on passing victims. They would catch him, and in the confusion, he slipped their purse.

“I only got to see him do it successfully once and was about to put an end to it when this stranger walked by. He made a very striking figure, as if he had an air of superiority around him. Anyway, the kid fell on him and took his coin pouch. I was about to confront the kid, when he turned around and saw this stranger holding four pouches.

“While the kid had taken his pouch, this guy took all four that the kid had picked thus far. Well the kid tried to run, but the stranger caught him and gave him a little talking to. When they parted, I followed the kid. I don't know what this stranger said to him, but that kid turned around and gave those stolen pouches to four poor families on the east edge of town.”

“Did you manage to tail the kid further?” Jerathon asked.

The captain shook his head. “He went back into the city and slipped into the sewers. I don't know how those kids get their heads through the grate. Anyway, I went back to the edge of the town, and it turns out this other guy actually lives out there. He's in the process of fixing up the worst house in the area.”

“So why did you tell me this story?”

“I don't know, you asked me why I was in such a good mood. Besides, I thought there must be more to this guy. I mean I've seen some of these pickpockets at work. They are very good. Some guy off the street couldn't just beat them at their own game. Besides that, he seems to be made of money by the size of his coin pouch, but he's living in the worst house in the entire city. Something's odd about him.”

“John, there are over 8,000 people in this city, and most of them are odd. I can't investigate all of them. If he is not breaking any laws and he is paying his taxes, he can do whatever else he wants.”

The rest of the meeting involved more serious talk about keeping the complex city of Garrilport safe from itself. At the end of the meeting, Jerathon had forgotten all about John's story.

* * * * *

Leron got up from his chair and began to pace back and forth behind his desk after John finished recounting the story he had told the mayor. The city planer had just finished a meeting with the mayor and the captain had shown up right after.

“I assume you met him when he registered with you. I just wondered what you thought of him.”

“I remember him well,” Leron said, stopping by a small liquor cabinet and pouring himself a drink. “I think his name was Artemis Entreri. Yes, I remember him.”

“Well,” John prompted, growing impatient, “what did you think of him?”

“I think he is hiding out in the open.”

John looked confused. “That sounds like a contradiction in terms.”

“Tell me, Captain, do you ever loose your keys.”

John laughed, not noticing the change of topic for now. “All the time. If it wasn't for a miracle each time I find them, I'd probably never be able to lock or unlock my house, not to mention getting into any of the guardhouses.”

“When you can't find them, where do you look?”

“I look everywhere,” John replied, his eyes rolling back in his head as if he were reliving one of the many moments. “I look under my bed, behind by bed-stand, in all of my pants, and I've even looked in the bushes beneath my bedroom window.”

“And where are they usually?”

John smirked. “On my dresser right where I always put them,” the captain's smile grew, realization dawning on his face, “hiding out in the open.”

“I think this Artemis is running from someone. It might be the law or it might be mercenaries, but he is running from someone. I think he feels he has a big enough lead now, that he can stop running. If whoever is chasing him stumbles upon our fair city, they will comb the taverns and gaming houses. They will look in every dark alley and search the northern section of town. These are the places where people can disappear. They might even wander through the downtown area, asking store clerks and shop owners if they've seen this man. They will doubtfully look in poor sections of the town where even the residents don't want to be there.”

“Do you think he deserves any attention or am I just over-reacting?”

“Who knows? He told me he came from the northland, and he apparently still feels there is some danger from his pursuers even though he's on the other side of the Great Range. Travel through the mountains is not easy, and if he is still being chased, then he must have done something extreme enough to warrant it. If you watch him walk, you know he is a fighter. He could be dangerous or he could be an asset.”

“Hire him to clean out the northerns?” John thought out loud.

“No one can clean out the northerns, but you get my point. Who knows, check him out, it can't hurt anything.”

* * * * *

Entreri was taking the morning off. He was making some good headway on the addition to his new home, and he felt he deserved a break. He was finally calling it a home. The name meant more than just the fact he had raised the shack to a higher level of existence. It also meant he had an eerie sense of security. He had not killed anyone in over three weeks, which was approaching a record for him. People were finally leaving him alone.

Entreri walked slowly through the edge of the residential district as the houses gradually turned into shops. There was a small park that took up an entire city block and held little more than shade trees and benches. A small pavilion on the edge of the park cast shade over a farmer’s market that was taking place. Entreri smiled as he saw his neighbors selling their produce. Since Billy’s charitable donation to the assassin’s neighbors, the mother and son now had enough money to pay the small set up fee and were easily recovering that fee and more.

All it took for some was a little nudge in the right direction to get over the hump. Entreri could see that they were doing well by the number of customers they had crowding around their table, and they would be able to expand their garden.

The former assassin did not take so much pleasure in their sudden prosperity as he did in the fact they were no longer poor. He despised poor people. Entreri so no reason to be poor, for everyone had something to offer. It was only laziness or ineptitude that held people down.

Entreri had been hired to kill several such people and always felt a small sense of satisfaction when he completed the job. If the people did not contribute to society, they had no right to exist in it. Entreri thought back to his last such job.

He had just returned to Calimport and the Basadoni guild had claimed him. They meant to demean him by giving him a job far below his capabilities. Then, like now, he had not responded with violence, but had given the poor family money to cover the fee they owed. He had not acted out of compassion, but pity. He had not wanted to waste his energy killing the poor creature, and would rather see them flourish against Basadoni’s wishes. He had acted the same way now.

Entreri found a nice restaurant in the center of town and decided to eat his first good meal since leaving Calimport. He had cooked for himself mostly, and though he knew the difference between flour and sugar, he was no chef.

This restaurant was one of the richest in the city, and Entreri waited for the host to seat him. Entreri had entered this restaurant for two reasons. He wanted a good meal, but he had also noticed that someone had been following him for several blocks. It was hard to shadow someone in this type of establishment. It was Entreri’s way of calling out his pursuer. And it worked.

John Irenum, Captain of the Garrilport Guard stepped into the ritzy restaurant a bit tentatively a couple minutes after Entreri. He had never been in this particular restaurant before, but he had heard stories about it. He knew the mayor frequented it and that the prices were way out of his meager range.

He was off duty at the moment, and his dress was casual so he did not stick out too much. The host recognized him. “Well, Captain Irenum. I don’t believe we’ve ever had the privilege of serving you before. Are you here alone?”

John was too busy looking around at the lavish decorations in the foyer and needed the question repeated. “Oh, uh, no. Actually I am with the man who just entered.”

The host nodded. “Ah, yes. He did say he might have a friend joining him."

“He did?” John looked behind him to see if this unknown friend was still coming. It took him a few moments to realize that he was the friend and he had underestimated his prey’s abilities.

“Is something a miss, Captain?” the host asked, perplexed by John’s behavior.

“No, not at all,” John replied, thinking that everything was a miss.

“Will there be more members of your party coming?”

“No,” John replied. At least I don’t think so, he added silently. “It will just be the two of us.”

“Right, then.” The host picked up a menu. “If you’ll follow me.” The host led John through the small entryway and into the main restaurant.

The place was amazing. John was used to bars and taverns where all the tables were spread across a wide open wooden floor with a huge bar long the back wall. In here, the floor was covered with lush, blue carpeting that seemed almost too sacred to walk on. Unlike the taverns he was used to, space seemed to be cheap as each table was set up far from the other with plants, partitions, or some other obstacle to give the diners their privacy. The lighting was done by lavish lamps hung strategically over each table that seemed to only illuminate the diners, leaving the space in between the tables in a mysterious darkness.

Entreri was seated in a corner, already sipping at a delicate glass of wine. The host sat John down with a flourish. “What would you like to drink this afternoon, Captain?”

“Uh,” John stammered as his eyes went from the host to Entreri, who seemed unaffected by this intrusion. “Just a glass of water will be fine.”

The host looked disappointed until Entreri jumped in. “Nonsense, Captain,” Entreri spoke up as if he and John were long-time friends. “Bring my friend here a glass of this exquisite wine.” He raised his glass up to the candlelight above the table so he could see the bubbles filtering through the red liquid. “I’ll not let him dine in squalor despite his reluctance.”

The host smiled, bowing slightly toward Entreri. “As you wish.”

As he walked away, Entreri lowered his glass to take another small sip and place it on the table. John was still very uncomfortable by this whole situation. He had thought he was being careful as he had followed Entreri through the city, but this man had been aware of him the whole time. He was sitting in a restaurant that made him very aware of how much money he had, or more appropriately, how much money he did not have. Yet through it all, the man sitting across from him acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I am going to assume you have not dined here before, Captain,” Entreri spoke first. “I would ask you what is good, but you probably don’t know.”

John did not know what to say. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he kept thinking of and then rejecting opening lines. Entreri paid him no mind as he slowly leafed through the extensive menu. “This looks good,” he said suddenly, finding something he liked in his reading. “Fresh trout. ‘Only the finest filet of trout, simmered in white wine and butter sauce, served with a squirt of lemon and a side of steamed vegetables.’” Entreri put the menu down momentarily as he looked at his silent dining partner. “It’s so hard to get good fresh-water fish in the dessert. We got plenty of sword fish and lobster, but I was never a big fan of anything that lived in saltwater.”

John was still opening and closing his mouth as Entreri raised the menu back in front of him and continued reading. The young waitress came by with John’s wine and placed it beside him. “Are you men ready to order?” she asked pleasantly.

Entreri put the menu down. “Yes. I’d like the trout. May ask how big it is?”

“About six ounces, sir.”

“Right. You better give me a double portion then. Can you recommend something to drink?”

“With the lemon squirt on the fish,” she explained, “you’ll probably want to stay away from the traditional wines. The fruits clash. I recommend our barely ale. It is much lighter than your traditional tavern drink, and goes down very smooth.”

“Sounds perfect.”

The waitress turned to John who was still in a bad state of confusion. She saw he had not yet opened his menu. “Are you ready to order sir, or do you need a few minutes?”

“Beef,” John managed. “Stew.”

“Beef stew?” the waitress repeated, hoping she had heard wrong.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Captain!” Entreri nearly shouted. He turned to the waitress. “My disturbed friend will have a sixteen ounce steak, medium rare, with a large mug of your best dark ale.”

The waitress smiled at the correction, wondering if they even had beef stew. “Will this be one bill or two?”

Entreri put his hand beside his mouth as he whispered, though he made sure John could hear him. “You better make it one.”

She giggled as Entreri winked. “Right, sir. I’ll be right back with your salads.” She removed the menus from the table and departed.

With nothing for Entreri to read, he placed his arms on the table and stared at his guest. John had stopped his jaw exercise by now and was beginning to come out of his perplexity. “You knew I was following you,” John said, a bit of an edge creeping into his voice.

“Please,” Entreri replied, noticing the edge and taking another sip of his wine. “You don’t want to fight in here, do you?”

John did not know what he wanted to do. He had followed this man out of curiosity, and was now twice as curious as before. Supposed criminals were his usual targets, and since he was good at his job, he was rarely mistaken. When discovered, John invariably had to fight his prey, and they invariably ended up in jail or in coffins. This was different, and it took John a little while to realize this.

John was out of uniform and was not wearing his sword. He did have a dagger. The man across from him seemed unarmed, but he had underestimated Entreri several times already and he would not do so again. Besides, he tried not to think about fighting right now.

“So,” Entreri continued, “what do you want to talk about, Captain? Have I done something wrong?”

John had not planned for this. He had wanted to follow this man, not interrogate him. He had done nothing wrong, and there was no reason for the Captain of the Guard to pay any attention to him, but he could not quite walk away from this now. “I noticed you’ve taken up residence on the eastern edge of town. Nice area, though I don’t see too many of your neighbors around here.” John gave a cursory glance around the room to let Entreri know what he was talking about.

“Oh,” Entreri looked startled and concerned, “I thought you were going to pick up the tab for this meal. You think I have money?”

In the poor light of the dining room, John was momentarily taken in by Entreri’s horrendous acting ability. “It had crossed my mind,” he replied. “The city planner might have mentioned it.”

Entreri shrugged, conceding the point. Instead of replying, he took another drink of his wine, handing the topic of conversation over to the captain.

John decided the best way to approach this now that he was caught, was to be straightforward. “I am the Captain of Garrilport’s City Guards, and it is my job to make sure this city is safe for the general public. I spend most of my time chasing down criminals and exposing them to Garrilport’s severe justice system. I do, however, whenever possible, like to stop crime before it happens. This means I spend some of my time simply observing the people of this city to try and predict what they will do or how they will act.”

The waitress returned with the salads. Entreri covered his leafy entree with dressing and dug in. John ignored his, having never eaten a salad in his life, and continued talking. “So far I know very little about you, but everything I do know concerns me. You seem to have a lot of money, yet live in the poorest section of the city. You seem to be very sure of yourself and have made marvelous improvements to your squalid shack, yet show no signs of wishing to enter the functioning portion of society. I also was privileged enough to watch your little encounter with a young pickpocket the other day and am willing to place a bet that your past has not always taken place on the right side of the law.”

Entreri took momentary pause at this, looked like he was going to say something, but drained the rest of his wine and continued eating.

“I am not accusing you of anything, yet, but men like you do not often enter this city, and when they do, they usually bring trouble with them.”

“Have I brought you trouble?” Entreri asked, looking up finally. John did not respond. “As I can see it, all I’ve done so far is brought you money. I’ve spent quite a bit of gold since arriving in your precious city, yet have asked nothing in return. Here I’m even buying you lunch, and yet you accuse me of potential crime. Which reminds me, are you going to drink that?”

John looked at his untouched wineglass and shook his head. Entreri swiped it up, took a sip, and placed it next to his empty one. “You should have said so earlier. It’s not as good warm.”

“What are your plans?” John asked bluntly, trying to ignore Entreri’s antics. “Are you on the run? Are you hiding?”

“I’ve been in your city for almost two weeks, so if I’m running, I’m not going very fast. And if I’m hiding, I’m not doing a very good job, seeing as how I’ve attracted the attention of the Captain of the City Guards.”

“Do you have a trade?”

“I am an assassin that specializes in killing mages, royalty, and dark elves,” Entreri said flatly.

John frowned at the reply, not enjoying Entreri’s supposed sarcasm. “Where did you get your money?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I have access to a dragon’s hidden treasure via a magical portal that I carry with me everywhere I go?”

“Not likely,” John replied.

Entreri shrugged, pushing his empty salad plate aside. “You can’t say I didn’t try.”

The waitress arrived with the main course. She took one look at John’s untouched salad and cleared it before she set down his succulent steak. Despite his unwillingness to touch anything that had been set in front of him thus far, John’s willpower evaporated as he inhaled the steak’s rich aroma. He took a deep swig from his ale and began to cut into his meal. “And where do you come from?”

“I come from across the great sea, about 15,000 miles away, from a land that is filled with trolls, goblins, and halflings.”

“Halflings?”

“They are quite remarkable,” Entreri explained. “They grow to about four feet tall, and are unusually plump. They are extremely good thieves, and surprisingly dexterous. Oh, and don’t forget the giants. There are lots of them were I come from too.”

“And dark elves,” John added to this fantastic tale.

“Ah, yes, the dark elves,” Entreri repeated, his voice falling away as if recalling some distant memory. “I never did like them. But they were nothing compared to the ilithids.”

“Haven’t heard of that one,” John remarked, his mouth half full of steak.

“And a good think too. They are hideous creatures with squid-like heads. They are extremely telepathic, and know exactly what you are thinking. They can paralyze you with a mental blast, and then eat your brains by sucking them out of your ear.”

“Charming creatures.”

“Not really,” Entreri countered, getting a laugh from John. John cut his chuckle short as he peered into his companion’s eyes, wondering for the first time if Entreri was telling the truth. He shook his head.

“So,” John started, wishing to change subjects, “with such an interesting past behind you, what do you plan to do with your time now?”

“Right now,” Entreri answered in between mouthfuls of fish, “I plan on continuing to work on my house and keeping out of trouble. I wouldn’t want you and your men to worry about what I was doing. I like to keep a low profile. Actually, I’m getting to a point in my work where I need a good blacksmith. I’ve seen several shops around the city, but you know as well as I do, anyone can set up shop, but the good ones are in few supply.”

John nodded, an idea slowly forming in his head. “I know a very good one, actually. His name is Buster. He does all the work for the city guards and a few of the wealthier merchants. What did you need?”

“I’m adding on to my house and I’d like to give the floor a metal framework so it lasts longer. Where is your blacksmith located?”

John gave Entreri directions. They continued to eat in silence for a while, occasionally commenting on the weather or the different aspects of the trade that went down the river. Entreri asked a few questions about the northerns that peaked John’s interest, but all in all, the captain learned very little about the man he had been following.

At the end of the meal, Entreri paid for it and left a healthy tip. He thanked John for his conversation and departed. John stayed at the table for a while as the waitress came buy to clear the dishes. “Who was that?” she asked innocently.

“His name is Artemis Entreri,” John responded.

The waitress shrugged. “He was very interesting.”

“That he was. That he was.”

John left the table and walked out of the restaurant. Entreri was nowhere in sight, but the captain had no intention of following him further. Instead he set off in the direction of the blacksmith he had recommended. Buster had come to Garrilport several years ago from a monastery in the Great Range, the mountains to the north. John had never questioned the former monk on why he had left his religion, but was glad he had.

The large man was a great blacksmith. He also had a few other interesting talents. One of which was determining a man’s moral disposition with surprising accuracy. Buster claimed it was a priestly talent, but John had never been a big believer in magic of any kind. He marked the ability up to just a good awareness and common sense. Either way, Buster had helped him with several investigations by identifying criminals or by telling John he was barking up the wrong tree and the man he was chasing was as pure as the wind driven snow.

John figured Buster would have a good time with Artemis. The man was definitely hiding something and John hoped the blacksmith would be able to say if it was a good secret or a bad one.

The captain pushed open the door to the blacksmith’s shop and triggered a small bell that hung above the door. “I’ll be right there,” a voice called from a back room.

John looked at the small entry portion of the shop. The walls were covered with dozens of common items that you could buy and a few examples of custom made tools to show the customer what Buster was capable of. John walked across the floor toward the counter and winced as the floor creaked loudly beneath him.

“I really got to get that fixed,” Buster said as he came through a door behind the counter. “Customers are beginning to think my floor is an example of my work. I try to let them know I did not build the place, and it is almost older than I am, but some don’t listen.”

John finished his walk across the noisy floor and nodded. “Yes, you do need to get that fixed. Tell me, what makes a floor squeak?”

“Loose nails, bad wood, or both. The noise comes from the wood pivoting on the metal nails. If the nails are tight or the board doesn’t flex, it won’t creak. But I doubt that’s what you came here to ask.”

John shook his head. “No. I just recommended a customer to you.” John gave the big man a brief description of Entreri.

“A customer or a suspect?” Buster asked, ever cautious.

“Hopefully the former,” John replied. “This one’s got me baffled. Everything about him tells me he’s trouble, but I just got done having lunch with him, and he seems like the nicest guy I’ve ever met. I just don’t know. He’s not a suspect in the fact there’s a crime I’m trying to tie him to. I just want to know if I should consider him for future investigations. You understand.”

Buster nodded.

“And he’s got a lot of money,” John continued. “So give me a favorable report and do a good job on what he asks of you, and we’ll both be happy.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“That’s all I ask,” John said and turned to leave. He tried to tip toe across the floor back to the exit but made more noise than he had when he entered.

* * * * *

“What are we doing down here in the sewer?!” Parnid cursed. “You know I hate it down here.”

Quinton Palluge looked at Draick and then at Parnid. The two men had accompanied him through the lower basement of his riverside chateau and into the sewer. Reillon, Quinton’s magician had promised an explanation to explain his odd behavior two days ago, and Quinton was eager to get answers. The prominent merchant had asked his two best men to accompany him so they could all judge what Reillon had to show.

The magician stood in front of them, looking even paler than normal. He had a willowy frame to begin with, but having spent the better part of the last two weeks locked in his room with little if anything to eat did not help matters. He wore a billowing, dark blue robe, which hid the majority of his slight frame, but his bonny hands and slight neck stuck out, reminding anyone who knew him that this man was not one who inspired fear. Reillon was about to change that.

The area in which the four men stood had been hollowed out by Quinton’s men and was relatively dry. Reillon stood facing the other three men across the twenty-foot hollow.

“Okay, Reillon,” Quinton finally addressed the man who had led them down here, “what is this about?”

“Three weeks ago,” Reillon started, his speech coming as a raspy whisper, “your men returned from a prosperous raid with a very valuable chest. You took from it all the gold and valuable jewels and, at my request, let me have the rest. Inside were over a dozen scrolls that belonged to Charistim Kwoll, a renowned battle mage who lived over a hundred years ago.

“I have spent the last two weeks studying those scrolls, teaching myself the ways of the mighty Kwoll. I now stand before you as the most powerful man in all of Garrilport, and maybe the world.”

Quinton did not know if he should laugh or be appalled at such an outrageous claim. His men did both for him. Draick was a member of the city guard, Quinton’s best fighter, and likely, one of the best fighters in the city. He laughed long and hard.

Parnid, Quinton’s head thief now that Trevor was recovering from his failed pick attempt on Reillon’s door, was beside himself with anger. “That’s preposterous. I hope you have more tricks up your sleeve than just rigged doors, because I could run you through in a heart beat, scarecrow.”

Reillon shook his right hand free from his huge sleeve and snapped his fingers. In the middle of his emaciated palm hovered a small flame. Parnid had seen Reillon’s parlor tricks before and was not impressed by this. “You’ll have to do bett-“

Before Parnid could even finish his accusation, Reillon twirled his wrist, turned away from his audience, and hurled a huge fireball down the corridor of the sewer. The ball disappeared from view, but the three onlookers heard it explode against the wall, and the expanding flames licked hungrily at the edge of their hollow. The flames dissipated quickly and the men could see all the water had been evaporated and the walls scorched black.

Draick had stopped laughing by now, but Parnid was still agitated. He turned back to look at the magician who had his index finger extended in front of his face with the small flame still dancing. He blew it out, and a small wisp of smoke trailed from his finger.

“I can do the same thing with a jar of oil, a rag, and flint, and my flames will last longer.”

“Perhaps you would prefer a more frontal attack,” Reillon bated.

Without asking permission, Parnid charged the weaponless magician turned battle mage. With his right hand still poised in front of his face, Reillon shook his left hand free of his robes and hurled three tiny magic missiles at the rushing thief.

All three projectiles took Parnid in the chest and sent him sprawling backwards. Draick and Quinton looked on as Parnid lay on the dirty ground, sparks of energy jumping from his arms and legs as he went through a few moments of spasms, before laying still. A groan came out of his mouth to let the two men behind him know he was still alive.

This groan shook Draick out of his amazed trance, and he pulled his sword to charge the mage. Quinton grabbed his lieutenant’s shoulder, holding him back as he spoke to Reillon. “Promise me you won’t kill them.”

Reillon stood with his arms crossed in front of him and nodded.

Quinton accepted this answer and turned to his fighter. “Kill him.”

Draick did not need any more encouragement and rushed the mage. Reillon did not move a muscle as Draick approached him with his sword upraised. The prone form did not hinder Draick’s aggression, and the city guard swung full into the wizard.

Draick was executing his fourth strike on the mage before he realized he was doing no damage. There was a faint shimmering around Reillon, and the stone skin was preventing any of Draick’s attacks from getting through.

The protection spell could only absorb so many hits, so while Draick was dispelling the stone skin with his fifth and then sixth attack, Reillon reached out and touched the occupied fighter on the forehead with a glowing red hand.

Draick’s entire body went rigid by the stun touch as if he had just been dropped in a tank of freezing water. With the fighter motionless in front of him, Reillon summoned a magical war hammer with his right hand and slugged the man in the chest, sending him flying backwards.

Parnid watched the display from the ground, recovering from the magical attack that had been cast against him. Seeing that the mage now held a weapon, the quick thief leaped to his feet to attack. Reillon was not a fighter and hurled the hammer at Parnid to free up his hands. Parnid rolled under the throw and continued his charge.

Quinton winced as the hammer exploded against the stone wall of the hollow, sending rock fragments flying. He had asked his magician not to kill his men, but if Parnid had not ducked, Quinton did not think the thief would be drawing breath, much less have a head to draw breath with.

Reillon had already begun another attack with his left hand as his right had thrown the hammer, and as Parnid came out of his roll the mage unleashed a prismatic spray at the thief. Five colorful bursts of energy flew from the fingers of his left hand, one of which took Parnid in the shoulder, spinning him to the ground.

The thief was not badly hurt this time, for the spell was only used to knock down a group of attackers while the mage prepared a better spell. Parnid jumped back up and saw a circle of blue flame dancing around Reillon’s feet. He was a little hesitant approaching the mysterious flames, but as Reillon’s left arm coiled back to unleash another spell, Parnid had to strike.

He leaped forward and sliced his short sword across the wizard’s chest. Instead of cutting up Reillon, Parnid felt a searing pain in his own side as if someone had scraped a red-hot poker across his side. Reillon held his next spell in check as Parnid, doubled-over in pain, foolishly attacked again, shoving his blade straight forward at the mage’s chest.

As the tip of the blade struck home, Parnid howled in pain again, dropping his sword and clutching his chest. The fire shield only reflected the pain of the attempted attacks, and not the actual wounds or Parnid would be vainly attempting to stem a fountain of blood from his chest. The thief quickly realized this, but was too weak to do anything but wave his arms in a pathetic means of defense as he lay on his back in front of the casting mage.

Reillon finally unleashed his hold spell and watched as Parnid’s frantic arms ceased their motion, his mouth paused in mid scream. Reillon walked out of his protective fire shield, the spell disappearing without him, and moved over to Draick who lay moaning on the ground. The mage stood over the prone fighter, no spells prepared and no protection, but Draick did not dream of attacking, instead his eyes kept glancing over at Parnid whose body was frozen in a frightful position. Fear and pain were plastered across the face of the thief as his body was locked in place by the mage’s spell.

“Enough,” Quinton said before Reillon could begin a new onslaught. “Will he be okay?” he asked, motioning to his petrified thief.

“I did as you wished and withheld my killing spells. Everything I used here was meant to stun or paralyze. I am much more powerful than what you just saw.”

Quinton was not so sure he liked this new ego that came with Reillon’s skills, but he could not deny the claims. “Will you still serve under me?” Quinton knew if any of his other men had this kind of power, they would want to be in command or at least break away on their own.

“It is not the mage’s calling to rule. If it were not for you, I would have no home, no money, and no men to back my abilities. If it were not for you, I would have never had the opportunity to gain these powers. You are in command, though I would like a bigger room.”

A sudden yelp came from Quinton’s left and he turn to see Parnid coming out of the hold spell, finishing the scream he had started several minutes ago. There were no lasting wounds on his body and the pain had faded to a dull throb. He sprang up looking for his enemy, but Quinton stopped him with a word.

Draick and Parnid collected their weapons, and came back to stand next to their master, giving Reillon evil looks the whole time. Quinton knew they would hold a grudge for a while, but from now on they would be working beside the mage and not against him. They would get over it.

“I think it is time I joined the council,” Quinton said, laughing as he turned to leave the sewer and return to his office to plan his rise to power.

Chapter 5

The Plot Thickens

“Come in, come in. Don’t stand out there in the cold.”

John Irenum did not think the cool night breeze constituted cold, but neither did he want to argue with the maid. He nodded and stepped into the mayor’s home.

“May I take your cloak?” the middle-aged woman asked.

John shrugged off his thin cloak and also unbuckled his sword belt. Though the maid had never asked for it in his many trips to the mayor’s house, Jerathon had told him repeatedly he did not want anyone at his table to be wearing a weapon.

“They’re waiting for you in the dinning room,” the maid said before she disappeared into a back room to store John’s belongings. The captain walked quickly through the house, realizing he was late and paid little attention to the fabulous home.

Jerathon was indeed waiting for him, as were the rest of the dinner participants. The invite was not uncommon, and John had gotten used to the special treatment. Of course, the mayor’s fondness for the strong man was mostly due to the fact that he had an unwed daughter. Ellen was the only child of the mayor and his wife. Most men in Jerathon’s position would regret not having a son to take up his family name and continue in his leadership role.

Ellen was aware of this. She also knew that her father loved her and would trade her for nothing. This knowledge made her much tougher than she would have been if she had been surrounded by brothers. She was independent and a free-thinker, but not rebellious. She knew how things worked and would never be slighted.

It was this free-thinking and unwillingness to accept the role common to most women in the town that had kept her unwed. She was not stunningly beautiful, but she was far from homely. At the age when most girls were being courted, she had gone to school. As the only child of the mayor, this was not unusual, but she pursued her education for reasons other than tradition. She took a genuine interest in her father’s job and was willing and able to offer him advice on several occasions.

The men of Garrilport saw this and felt they would rather marry a woman they could easier bend to their will and passed Ellen over. John had heard the phrase: “A woman is either a daughter, a wife, a widow, or a whore.” While John did not necessarily agree with the statement, he could understand that Ellen’s unwillingness to fall neatly into one of those categories made her less desirable to the men of the town. She was closer to 30 than 20 and was fast escaping “daughter” status. Also, Ellen’s father tended to scare men away.

John nodded to Ellen and Esther, her mother, as he sat at the table. There was one other man at the table, Torril, one of Jerathon’s aides. “Good evening.”

“Glad you could make it,” Jerathon said, glancing at the tall grandfather clock in the corner of the large room as he spoke. John knew he was late, and decided not to try and come up with a lame excuse.

The butler came out of the adjacent kitchen and prepared to set the feast on front of them. “I hope you’re hungry, Captain,” Jerathon said. The mayor insisted on always calling John by his title whenever his daughter was present. John doubted it was by accident.

“Actually, I might have to trim down my appetite tonight.”

“Don’t even pretend that you are going on a diet. I won’t hear it.”

“He does appear a little chunky, Father,” Ellen quipped.

“Ellen!” her mother scolded, but John knew it was in jest.

“No,” John chuckled, “it’s nothing like that.” He really did like her. “I had a very nice lunch today – something I usually don’t do.”

“Where did you eat?” Ellen asked. She was not one to take a backseat to any conversation. John hardly noticed anymore, but Esther gave her a stern look.

“The Golden Bell,” he responded.

The response of the others at the table was one of shock and lived up to John’s expectations. “I didn’t know we paid you that well,” Torril said. The aide looked at his boss, but Jerathon said nothing, knowing that more was coming.

John obliged. “Remember two days ago when I told you about the man I saw foil a pickpocket?”

“Vaguely,” Jerathon replied. “Most of what you say I tune out, and I consider myself a smarter man for it.” Ellen laughed at this. John took interest in that Esther gave her daughter another stern look, but totally disregarded the actual comment. This was the double standard Ellen was fighting, and John applauded her for it.

“I followed him this morning to see what he did. He entered the restaurant, and I followed. It turns out he knew I was following him and had set up a nice trap to bring me out in the open. He bought me lunch, and we had a nice long talk.”

“And did he warrant your earlier suspicion?” Jerathon asked, thinking he did remember their conversation a few days ago.

“Probably more than I had thought, though I don’t think it’s anything you need to worry about.”

“Good,” Jerathon said, filing the information into the corner of his mind he threw all the other useless junk he was bombarded with each day.

The meal was in full swing now, and the mayor moved to more important business. “I met with the merchants today, and they expressed immense dislike at the tax proposal we presented them.”

John nodded, as if he knew exactly what tax proposal Jerathon was referring to. The captain came over to the Mayor’s house maybe twice a month, and Jerathon always wanted to talk about stuff that did not concern him. Only with the last few visits did John realize that inviting him merely gave the mayor cover to present the ideas with his daughter present. More often than not, she was the one who ended up giving meaningful advice but was nice and clever enough to always present the idea as if it were John’s.

“The sailors and dock workers have been complaining that the docks are too congested with residential buildings and want to move everyone south along the river. This costs money and we only have one means of revenue.”

John now did understand and also understood all the problems that went along with the proposal.

“We tried to explain to them that the tax hike would only be temporary,” Torril jumped in, “but they didn’t want to hear it. The only avenue we have left is to place tariffs on the incoming shipments, but that would hurt the dock workers, and they’ve already agreed to take upon themselves the cost of the warehouses they are proposing once we move the homes out of the area. I can’t see hitting them twice.”

“What if you moved the docks instead?” Ellen asked.

Torril shook his head. “No good. The docks are at the widest part of the river now and they need to stay there. Moving them south instead would not work.”

Ellen turned to John. “Is there anything wrong with moving the docks to the other side of the river?”

John shook his head. “I don’t see why we couldn’t. We’ve always talked about putting new homes over there, but I don’t see why we couldn’t put the warehouses there instead.”

“Good idea,” Torril said to John, as if he had thought of it.

“What about bridges?” Jerathon asked. “That has always been the thing keeping us from expanding before. The ships that come out of our shipyards are often very tall, and any bridge we build will have to be equally tall.”

“Why not go under the river?” Ellen offered.

“How?”

“Are there sewers dug near the river?” Ellen asked.

“Yes there are,” John replied. “I don’t see why one section couldn’t be cleaned out and extended to the other side. It would be far cheaper than building a bridge.”

“Let me get this straight,” Torril started, putting his silverware down as he thought. “We don’t need to relocate all the people living in the dock area. All we need to do is to set up zoning for the other side of the river and allow the dock workers to build their warehouses. The only cost on our part would be to extend the sewer and clean it up.”

Torril outlined the plan and then looked up at John for clarification. John was putting forth very little effort into this conversation and wasn’t quite clear about the plan himself, but he nodded.

“We’ll need to get in touch with the engineers to find out how deep we need to dig,” Torril went on, “but I don’t see how this proposal could be rejected by anyone. Everyone gets what they want and we start populating the other side of the river. Good idea, John.”

“Thanks,” he replied, but was too embarrassed to meet the eyes of anyone else. He just kept his attention on his plate, wishing just once that the ideas he was credited with at these dinners could be his own.

* * * * *

Ellen enjoyed the cool morning air as she walked through the streets of one of the smaller sections of town. The buildings were not as tall here and there was barely any pedestrian traffic to speak of. She was headed to her favorite fabric shop and was taking her time.

Her mind was full of things this morning. Last night had brought no surprises, but she was thinking about John Irenum more than usual. He was not typical of the other city guards that served under him. Most were cocky and head strong, bragging and telling stories that were so far from the truth it was laughable. John was not an expert on everything and did not pretend to be. She liked that.

Ellen paid very little attention to her surroundings as she walked down the street, but her surroundings paid quite a bit of attention to her. Trevor sat on the flat roof of a near-by building and watched Ellen coming down the street. His grin was sickening to look at.

Trevor has still not fully recovered from his failed pick attempt on Reillon’s magically locked door, but that did not mean Quinton was hesitant to push him back into service. Quinton was planning his rise to power, and his thieves and ruffians had a big role to play in that rise. Quinton wanted to instigate an operation of terror. His men would hit the town and hit it hard. The people would scream to the mayor for relief and Quinton planned on being the person to offer it. The town council would reward him with power, and then, with his mage’s help, he would strike, taking all that had not been given to him and more.

Trevor cared little for his boss’s high aspirations, but did enjoy his role in the first part of the plan. He knew who Ellen was and who her father was. What better way to get the mayor’s attention than to attack his own daughter! While he was at it, he might as well have some fun to. As he moved to the side of the roof to get into position, he hopped Billy was keeping up his half of the task.

The young pickpocket saw Ellen at a distance too and understood Trevor’s birdcall to mean that she was to be their target. “Help, help!” he cried as he ran up to Ellen.

The young woman stopped as she watched the child run toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“Please, ma’am, you’ve got to help me. Please, hurry!” Billy tugged hard on Ellen’s arm, and she took a few hurried steps after him.

“What’s wrong?” she repeated. “Why do you need help?”

“He might die, miss, he might die. We have to hurry.” Billy half-dragged, half-led Ellen into a dead end alley. “You have to help me.”

Ellen thought it best to slow, but something in the young boy’s voice kept her trotting after him. It was not until she saw a man slumped against the wall of the alley hidden behind a large dumpster that she recognized the urgency. She released herself from Billy’s grasp and easily stepped past the child and over to the fallen man.

Trevor moved like a snake, his left arm snapping out from his slumped position and latching onto Ellen’s wrist. His other hand held a wicked dagger, and has he pulled her toward him, he pressed the weapon into the soft skin just beneath her ribcage. “Scream and it will be the last noise you make.”

Ellen was not trained in any type of fighting, for the action she saw on a regular basis was intellectual in nature, and she was trained thus. She knew there was nothing she could do here that would not result in pain and possible serious injury. Hopefully all this thief wanted was her money. Hopefully.

Trevor found it difficult to look away from his prey now that he had her within reach, but he threw a quick glance over her shoulder to Billy. “Go stand guard. I don’t want to be interrupted.”

Billy swallowed hard and nodded. He ran very quickly away from the scene behind him. He did not totally understand what Trevor planned beyond robbing the woman, and he did not want to know. He had seen the men in Quinton’s organization bring women into their rooms on several occasions and the noises they made behind closed doors had always scared the young boy.

Billy had also seen some of the older pickpockets come of age and have women in their rooms. He hoped he never had to do any of that. As it was, he did not enjoy this part of his job, but he had been assigned to Trevor, and he would do as he was told. He did not want another whipping.

The more Billy though about what Trevor might do to the woman, the faster he ran, and as he came out of the alley, he ran smack into someone else. “We have to stop running into each other like this,” the man said as he grabbed onto Billy’s shoulders to keep the young boy steady.

The man’s grip became much stronger, for as Billy looked up into his face, the young thief’s knees when limp and it was all the man could do to keep Billy from falling over. Entreri smiled at the kid’s reaction. He had not received that look in a long time and it brought back old memories. Entreri had instilled weak knees in more than his fair share of victims, and it only made his job easier.

The assassin lowered himself to look Billy in the face. The kid showed admirable constitution by not fainting dead away. “I, I, I, d-did what you said. A-a-and I g-got beat for it.”

“That’s good,” Entreri said with a cheery tone, making Billy wonder which of his sentences the man was happy about. “Now you can do something else for me, and perhaps you’ll get beaten again.” Entreri decided to add that last bit just to illustrate how much control he had over the situation. He had blatantly told the kid that he would probably get punished for helping the assassin, yet Billy was nodding furiously anyway, knowing that punishment at the hands of one of Quinton’s men was a far better thing than the horrors he saw in Entreri’s eyes.

“Where is the woman you led into that alley?”

Entreri had seen Billy’s encounter with the woman and had recognized him as the pickpocket from several days ago. It was not Entreri’s goal to end crime in this city, but he did want to find out as much about it as possibly. If not to join it, than to make sure he could always avoid it.

“T-T-Trevor is in there.”

That was all Entreri needed to hear. It did not exactly answer his question, but the long time resident of Calimport had already guessed as to the nature of this encounter. He had half a mind to walk away from the situation. After all, what concern was it of his if some woman he did not know got raped? It was probably happening at least a dozen times back in his home-city right now.

Entreri looked at Billy. “Stay here.” Billy nodded furiously, and Entreri knew it would take a dark elf with a ready crossbow aimed at the kid’s heart to make him move.

Entreri entered the alley for no other reason than exposure. He was getting bored with his life as a carpenter and wanted some action. He had already interfered with the thieves once, and had made his mark on Billy, but the young pickpocket did not carry the weight that this “Trevor” probably did.

Entreri did not want to lose his edge and the only way to do that was to keep in his trade. Whatever came out of this encounter would do far more to get him back in than if he had kept walking.

As he walked down the shaded alley, it was hard to believe he would ever lose his edge. With his dark cape shrouding him, he was invisible to all but a hawk. He was no more than a mobile shadow as he crept up on the pair in the rear of the alley.

Trevor had started the encounter on a strictly professional level, and Entreri saw Ellen’s valuable gold pouch lying on the dirty ground. The encounter had then escalated beyond professional as Entreri saw the woman’s jacket and the majority of her torn skirt lying next to the pouch.

As long as Trevor kept his dagger at the ready, Ellen wisely kept her mouth shut. She could easily see that Trevor was sick enough to do what he wanted regardless of the condition of her body. But as long as Trevor kept his dagger at the ready, he only had one hand to work with. And while Ellen did not cry out, neither did she make it easy for her attacker.

Entreri toed a stone and launched it at the dumpster. The clang echoed in the alley, and Trevor quickly threw Ellen beneath him as he stood in a crouch. He tossed a glance toward the mouth of the alley and then several more at the rest of the alley before returning to his task, counting the noise as nothing.

Entreri sighed as he realized he was too well hidden to be seen even after the stupid thief had been alerted. This guy would not last one minute in the streets of even Waterdeep, to say nothing of Calimport. The next rock took the thief in the back.

Entreri stepped from the shadows and was spotted immediately. “What do you want?” Trevor asked. “Leave. This does not concern you.” He stood with his dagger in front of him, trying to look as scarry as possible.

Entreri was worried for a moment that the woman would try to attack the thief with his back turned. If she did, Entreri knew there would be little he could do to protect her. Ellen wisely kept still, gathering what remained of her clothes about herself. “I want a piece,” Entreri said bluntly.

Trevor looked down at the gold pouch and then at the woman behind him. He smiled. “Of what?”

“You,” Entreri smiled back.

Trevor launched himself at the assassin who stood a little more than fifteen feet away. Entreri waited until the last second and sidestepped the hurried attack and pulled Trevor’s leading arm into the wall behind him. Entreri’s dagger would have sunk deep into the hard wood. Trevor’s blade broke.

Entreri could have easily shoved the thief’s head into the wall too, but the assassin wanted the man to report this fight back to his superiors in detail. If Entreri had sent Trevor’s head into the wall, it was likely the man would not even remember his own name. Instead, Entreri stepped away from the man, allowing him to draw his short sword.

“I don’t know who you are, but I’m giving you one more chance to leave before I spill your blood.”

Entreri said nothing but raised his arms in an inviting gesture. Trevor took the invitation. Still without a weapon drawn, Entreri spun away from the attack, his cape flaring out as he did, hiding his sidestep. Like a bull trying to attack a gladiator, Trevor charged through the cape to attack only air.

Being played with did not sit well with Trevor, and he stopped his charge, dropped to his knee, spun about, and thrust at where Entreri had just been. Entreri easily avoided the attack, but did not move out of the short weapon’s range. Trevor attacked again and again, stabbing his weapon out at Entreri’s elusive body. The assassin did a little jig in the alley, easily avoiding each lumbering thrust. He ended the dance with a nasty kick that took the thief under the chin.

Trevor came up hard and fast like the afore mentioned bull, and executed a nice forehand thrust, backhand swipe combination. Entreri avoided the thrust and spun out of the way of the swipe. As the assassin swept by the thief, Trevor felt a sharp pain in his arm. He spun to face Entreri, but the dark fighter held both his empty hands out to see, his dagger back in its sheath as if it had never been drawn.

Entreri was back up against the wall, and Trevor did not contemplate the phantom wound too long. The next attack was also easily avoided, and as Entreri stepped past his attacker, he thrust his dagger a little deeper into the thief’s side this time before returning it to the concealed sheath.

Trevor felt the soul-wrenching tug of the awful blade this time, and his fear only increased as he turned to see Entreri still apparently unarmed. “What are you?”

Entreri just smiled as he wondered what must be going through the man’s mind. He advanced this time, as Trevor was now against the wall. The sword absorbed very little of Entreri’s attention, and he paid it no mind as Trevor swung it in front of him. The assassin had punched the man twice before the sword even came close to Entreri, and when it did, Entreri was so close, that only the hilt hit him in the shoulder.

With his prey up against the wall, Entreri worked his magic. His two fists worked up and down the helpless man’s body as they took turns with the deadly dagger. Entreri punched him in the face with his right hand, as his left pricked him in the gut. He then switched the blade, punching him in the shoulder with his left, and pricked him in the leg with his right.

Trevor saw and felt both fists attacking him, but was at a loss to explain where the mysterious energy stealing stabs were coming from. Regardless of where they came from, they had the desired effect. Trevor dropped his useless weapon and soon followed it to the ground.

Entreri sheathed his dagger with its identity still unknown and stooped to pick up Trevor and his weapon. The assassin pinned the man to the wall with his forearm and placed the lousy short sword at his neck. “I am not one to be trifled with. You will leave and not look back. Is that understood?”

Trevor nodded weakly, his eyes trapped within the black pupils of his tormentor. “You will pick up your little pickpocket on the way and never return to this part of the city. Understood?”

The man nodded again. Entreri stepped back and returned the thief’s weapon by thrusting it into its sheath and pointed toward the open end of the alley. “Go.” Trevor went.

The thief’s loyalty was not in doubt, and Entreri turned his attention to the other occupant of the alley. Ellen was as frightened of Entreri as Trevor and Billy had been combined, for not only had she witnessed exactly what Trevor had, but she realized she was next.

Entreri saw the fear in her eyes and did not advance. Instead he tossed a half full coin pouch toward her. It landed next to her own. “It belonged to your attacker,” Entreri said. The theft had been easy. “Buy yourself some new clothes.” With that, Entreri turned and left.

“Thank-you,” Ellen wanted to call out when she realized his honorable intentions, but she was still too unnerved by what had taken place. Ellen took a moment to gather herself and her thoughts. Her jacket was torn and dirty, but it was salvageable. Her skirt now showed a bit more leg than she wanted, but if she tore it to make it look even, she would not catch too many strange looks. She had been on her way to a fabric store anyway.

Ellen took much longer to gather her thoughts. It was just now dawning on her how close she had come to being raped. It was also clear how easy it would have been for the second man to complete the job. Instead he had given her money and asked for nothing in return.

As she rose, she felt a sharp pain shoot up her leg from what must be a twisted ankle. “He could have at least asked if I was okay.” She picked up her two coin pouches and limped out of the alley.

* * * * *

Quinton looked at Trevor and could not believe what he was being told. Trevor could hardly believe it himself. This far removed from the incident that morning, Trevor could barely believe his story either, but every time he closed his eyes he saw Entreri staring back at him, his black eyes promising the worst kinds of death imaginable, and he knew his memories were accurate.

Quinton had talked with Billy and knew that this was the same man that had hit him before. Under normal circumstances, he would focus himself on the task of finding this phantom warrior, but he had more important things to worry about. In a few days, he would be the most powerful man in the city and a hundred such men could not dethrone him.

The rest of his men had been successful in mugging and assaulting several rich and prominent members of the city. So far no blood had been shed. That was all about to change.

* * * * *

Parnid looked at the quiet house from across the street. Ever since Trevor had failed in his lock-picking attempt on Reillon’s door, Parnid had taken over the top spot among Quinton’s dedicated men. Draick was Quinton’s right-hand man, but the trained fighter was also a member of the city guard, and his time was split between the two organizations.

The house was not as big as most of the council member’s homes, but this member was relatively young. He had been voted onto the council not because of his wealth or experience, but because most people in the city viewed him as the smartest man they knew. His grandfather had been one of the men who had designed the locks that had created the Garril River. His father had been on the council until a tragic boating accident had killed him. Now he was on the council and most believed he would be the next mayor after Jerathon retired.

Fredrick Strum was about to die.

“Are you ready?” Reillon said as he stepped up behind Parnid. The thief was still not comfortable with the willowy wizard, but he knew that, unlike in the sewer, they were on the same side in this battle and everyone hence. He nodded. “Let us proceed.”

It was night, but streetlights abounded around Fredrick’s home. This was a rich section of town and several people were about. Despite what Reillon had promised earlier, Parnid was a bit worried about the light.

“Trust me,” Reillon spoke up, “no one can see you. You are invisible.”

Parnid looked down and could still see his entire body, but as he moved under a street light, he did notice that he left no shadow. The two moved up the steps to the front of the modest home and to the front door. Before Parnid could attack the lock with one of his many tools, Reillon waved his hand in front of the knob, and the thief heard the lock snap open.

Parnid threw a look up at the tall mage. Was there anything this guy could not do? Just a month ago his best tricks were making eggs disappear, a slight of hand trick that Parnid could do twice as convincingly. Now he could summon fireballs, make people invisible, and unlock doors with a wave of his hand.

Parnid shook off any fear he might have and pushed open the front door. The entry was quiet and empty. The pair moved through it and into the nice living room. The house was small, but the young couple knew how to fill it. The furniture was very nice, and several expensive paintings hung on the wall.

This room was a thief’s dream, but Parnid quelled his desires and moved through to the dinning room and finally the master bedroom. Parnid motioned for Reillon to stay back as the thief entered alone. Both men knew whom Quinton had placed in charge of this mission, and the mage obeyed the instruction.

It took Parnid no more than thirty seconds, and he reappeared, wiping his dagger on a confiscated pillowcase. “They have two children upstairs.” Parnid said. Quinton had made it clear that everyone in the house was to die. Parnid had not wanted to kill the wife and wanted to kill the children even less.

Reillon noticed this and looked up at the ceiling, above which the children slept peacefully. He motioned with his right hand and looked at Parnid. “It is taken care of.”

Parnid looked at him skeptically and moved toward the stairs. “I wouldn’t go up there,” the mage said, but Parnid ignored him for the moment. Halfway up the steps, he smelled a very acrid odor and saw a greenish haze creeping down the stairs. Parnid thought about it and then decided to trust the mage. Poor kids.

The pair moved back through the house toward the front door. Parnid looked longingly at the thousands of coins worth of decoration that adorned the room but kept his greedy hands in check. He was just about to leave when something caught his eye that he could not pass up. On the mantle above the fireplace was an exquisite crystal sculpture. It was a miniature ship consistent with the dozens of ships that the city produced each month. It was the symbol of the city’s prosperity and a similar sculpture was given to each of the council members when they were voted in.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing this anymore,” Parnid said as he moved around the end tables and sofas to get to the mantle. He scooped the item off the wooden shelf and placed it in a pouch in his jacket in a practiced gesture.

Reillon said nothing, knowing that Quinton had said to kill the family and nothing more. The act seemed innocent enough. The two men moved silently out of the house and down the street, unseen by all.

* * * * *

John Irenum, Captain of the Garrilport City Guards hated his job at this moment.

“What do you think, Captain?”

John turned to one of his lieutenants. “I think we have a very sick man on our hands.” John turned back to look at the bed where Fredrick and his wife lay dead. Who knew what the color of the sheets used to be, but now they were deep red. The wife’s neck had been cut clean, almost to the point where her head had been completely removed. If she had woken during the deed, which was unlikely, her vocal cords had been severed, disabling her from warning her husband of the killer.

Fredrick had been killed with a single stab over his heart. A pillow had been used to hold his head down as he had obviously woken from the attack. He had maybe lived for five or ten seconds after the killing blow but had not managed much of a struggle.

John did not want to, but his job dictated that he examine the wounds closely. They had both been made with a dagger – probably the same dagger, though that could not be determined. John wanted to think that this was the work of one man only because he did not want to believe that there existed two men who were capable of this. As it was, he was uncomfortable with the idea that there was even one.

“Captain,” one of his men pulled him away from the grizzly scene. “I think you should come upstairs. There is something you need to see.”

“What is it?” John asked, glad to be pulled away from the master bedroom.

“It’s the kids, sir.”

John steeled himself as he walked up the stairs but was still overcome with horror when he saw what waited for him. There was no blood in the children’s room, and both kids still lay under their sheets, but they were obviously quite dead. John was at a loss at how to describe the bodies.

“It looks like they were melted,” one of his men said.

John nodded. They looked like they were wax mannequins that had been exposed to intense heat for a very short time. Their skin had lost the youthful glow and had a very chalky texture. John had seen something similar when he had been forced to exhume a body several weeks after burial to examine the murder wounds. But this could not be decomposition for they had only been dead for at most 12 hours.

John had seen enough. “You men look around for any clues that this killer might have left behind and then turn the bodies over to the morgue. Maybe Priest Kellens can tell us something about these kids and how they died.”

John’s mind was racing. He had been a member of the city guards for over ten years and had never seen anything like this. He had investigated dozens of murders, but they had all been vagrants or homeless that had been left in the street. A few merchants had been killed, but the murders had usually been public with the killer identified by several witnesses.

The cool efficiency with which this act had been carried out sent chills down John’s spine. It seemed that this killer could have just as easily walked into any house in the city, the mayor’s included, and killed whomever he wanted.

This was definitely something new to Garrilport. Had anyone come to the city recently? It was a stupid question for a killer like this would hardly make his arrival in town public. John thought of Artemis and almost as quickly dismissed him. He had stopped worrying about him. Over lunch he had claimed to be a professional assassin who killed royalty, but in light of this, that seemed a joke in very poor taste.

Someone else had entered the city recently, and John needed to find out who. Artemis had registered with the city planner, and if the killer was living in the city, he would have had to do the same. However, if he was living in the northern half of the city, he would be much harder to find. John had friends up there, though. He just hated paying them visits.

* * * * *

Cal Grotciem saw the man as soon as he entered the tavern. Despite the man’s attempt to slump in his posture and clothe himself in rags, the seasoned northern could spot John Irenum in a heartbeat. The captain moved slowly through the crowded tavern, careful not to bump into anyone. The last thing he wanted was a fight.

Cal respected the man. John was personally responsible for placing Cal in the northern half of the city, but that could probably be said about half the men in the tavern right now. When you were caught by John and his men, you went to prison. Upon release, you had two choices: leave town, never to return again, or seek employment in the northern half of the city and try and work your way back south.

The way John presented it, it all sounded so simple. Just work hard and you will be promoted within your work cell. If you earn enough respect, you will be accepted back into the southern part of the city. To Cal ’s knowledge, no one had ever done it.

John sat down at the northern’s table in the corner and took a drink from a barmaid whose revealing outfit alone would get her kicked out of the seediest tavern in the southern half of the city. “I hear you have quite the murder on your hands,” Cal said, knowing full well why John had arranged this meeting. Cal had often been able to help John with his murder investigations and always profited from it.

“This one is bigger than anything I’ve come to you with before,” John said solemnly. “I need to know anything you can give me.”

“It will cost you,” Cal said, taking a long gulp from his frothy mug.

“If you have a name, tell me your price, and I’ll pay it right here, right now.”

Cal laughed, spiting foam at the captain. John moved very slowly and deliberately as he wiped the cheap ale from his face, his gaze never leaving Cal. The northern knew that while John did not want to get into a fight, if the captain had his normal two-handed sword with him, he could whip any ten men in the tavern.

“Sorry,” Cal said, his mood somewhat sobered. “I never know names; you know that.”

John knew that Cal never told him names, but he doubted the crafty spy never knew them. It was a way for him to cover his ass, if he was ever found out as John’s informant, and it was a necessary ploy. As Cal looked around the room he could see at least five men who were here because of information he had given John.

“I don’t care about what you never used to know, if you know it now, you will tell me, or you will wish you had been the one in Councilman Fredrick Strum’s bed last night. Don’t worry about retribution, I’ll make sure this killer never again sees the light of day, or anything for that matter.”

Cal swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

John nodded, accepting this as the truth. “Here is what I do want you to know by tomorrow night. I want you to know about any unusual murders that happened in any city on any map that you can find. And if you can’t find any good maps, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with maps that detail every city within a thousand miles.”

“That will be tough in only a day and a half,” Cal said, already running through a list of about twenty people he knew who had just come in from all over the countryside.

“You know full well that word of this murder will travel along the trade routes faster than the fastest horse alive,” John countered. “If something like this happened elsewhere, you’ll find out.”

“It might cost extra,” Cal foolishly tried.

“But it won’t,” John assured him. “I gave you a chance to name your price a minute ago, but you had nothing to tell me. I have other people gathering information for me too. By dealing with several competing suppliers, I’m always guaranteed the lowest price.”

Cal looked confused. He had people following John all the time whenever he ventured into the northerns, and he had no reports of the captain meeting with anyone else. He would look into that as well. His pocketbook depended on his monopoly of the information.

* * * * *

Buster was happy. He had been the city’s best blacksmith for over five years now and business kept getting better as his name spread down the river and along the trade routes. He had exclusive contracts with both of the ship building companies, the city guards, and countless businessmen. He had hired and trained a dozen apprentices that had worked for him over the past few years. Only half of them still worked for him, the others all starting their own shops. The did well and maintained a lot of the business that they had when they worked with Buster, but the old blacksmith still got all the big jobs and all the new business.

Buster had spent most of his life at Saint Georgan Monastery in the Great Range, the mountain chain to the north. His parents had sent him there at a very young age, but he had always resisted the order’s teaching. It was not that he disagreed with it, he just did not want to live a life of seclusion high up in the mountains. How was he supposed to make the world a better place if he never saw any of it?

He was grateful to the monastery for they trained him in his fine craft, and the strenuous physical training each student went through had turned Buster into quite the physical specimen. He could wield the heaviest sledge with ease and could pound even the hardest metal into submission as if he were kneading dough.

“Buster” was obviously not his real name, but when he left the monastery and was disowned by his family, he severed all ties to his past and took up a new life in Garrilport. The city accepted the former monk for what he could do and cared nothing about his past. He had done well.

Buster was hard at work in the back of his shop, all of his apprentices off on different jobs around the city, when he heard the bell on his front door chime. Buster stopped his work and listened for either the call of a familiar voice or for the customer to walk across his squeaky floor. He heard neither. “I’ll be right with you,” He called as he picked up a rag and wiped off his hands. He got up and walked to the batwing doors that led him to his front room. “You can come in. You don’t need to sta-“ Buster started to call as he pushed through the doors but froze when he saw the man standing on the other side of the counter.

Buster was in shock. Somehow this man had walked across the fifteen feet between his front door and his counter without making so much as a peep out of his terminally squeaky floor. Buster also saw that it had been no accident. The man who looked at him from over the counter was pure death. He lived his life as a shadow of fear, moving quietly in its wake, not making so much as a ripple as he passed.

Entreri saw the look in the big man’s eyes and knew he had been set up. The captain had recommended this blacksmith to him at lunch two days ago, and now the assassin knew why. Entreri had been around enough to know when he was being scried. This man did not have the skill or precision of most of the priests or clerics Entreri had known, but he did not need it. Trying to tell the alignment of Artemis Entreri was about as difficult as trying to determine if a rock was capable of conscious thought. Anyone could do it.

The game was up and both men knew it. The only option in front of them was to kill each other or to act as if nothing had happened. They picked the latter.

“How can I help you?” Buster asked.

“I’m putting in an addition to my home and I wanted to use a metal framework to support the floor.”

Buster listened to Entreri’s description in great detail, taking the appropriate notes and asking all the right questions. The two men agreed upon a price and a time when the work would be completed. They made the traditional salutations, and Entreri left. Buster watched with great interest as Entreri moved over his floor. The assassin stepped on only the nail heads as he moved, making it look as natural as possible. It was an unconscious act and one derived from hours, if not years, of creeping up on people on similar floors right before he killed them.

When the evil presence had fully left the blacksmith’s keen senses, he was finally able to relax. “You’ve got a winner on your hands with that one, John,” Buster thought to himself. The big man allowed one last chill to creep down his spine and went back to work.

* * * * *

John showed up at the Alexander Estate for the second night in a row. This time the maid said nothing as she took the captain’s coat. He kept his sword. The dinning room was full. Most of the council members were there, with only a few of the older ones not wanting to come out at night. There was food on the table, but not much eating was taking place. John noticed with interest that Ellen was also present. This did not last long.

“Ellen, dear, would you please excuse us,” Jerathon said when he saw John enter the room.

Ellen looked between the captain and her father and was just about to protest, but thought better of it. “Yes, father.” She had not told anyone about her run in with Trevor and Entreri the previous morning, but she felt that because of it, she had a tie to the sudden rash of violence and wanted to help stop it. John regretfully watched the woman walk out of the room and up the stairs to her room. He was looking forward to any input she might have on this meeting of the minds.

John sat at the table and was given a plate of food by the butler. Unlike yesterday, he had not spoiled his appetite at noon and had not in fact eaten at all. As he ate, he looked around the table at the men as they talked quietly among themselves. He paused as his eyes settled on someone he did not recognize as part of the council.

Jerathon saw the pause and decided introductions were in order. “John, I’d like you to meet Quinton Palluge, the newest member of the city council. Before we begin to attack this rash of crime that has sprang up almost over night, we felt it was necessary to fill the seat vacated by Fredrick. In a meeting I had with the merchants this afternoon, they thought Quinton would be a good addition to the council.”

The name rang a bell in John’s mind. “Are you the one who’s famous for the extravagant parties?”

Quinton nodded humbly. “At your service.”

“I hear you have a pretty good magician,” John continued.

Quinton flinched. “Word gets around.”

Only John noticed the flinch, but even he paid it no mind. “It’s time to get down to the reason I’ve called you all here,” Jerathon spoke up, ending the minor conversations that were taking place around the room. “As all of you know, former Councilman Strum was murdered viciously in his home last night, along with his wife and two children. What many of you might not know is that the murder is only one of the many criminal incidences that have plagued us in the last 48 hours.”

“We have been getting reports from over a dozen citizens about muggings and thefts occurring all over the city,” Lawrence Alexander, Jerathon’s cousin and a member of the council, spoke up. “Frankly, we have no idea why this is happening. We have all read your report on the councilman’s murder, Captain. You believe it was perpetrated by one man. While we do not disagree with you, I hope you can understand how we find it hard to believe that one man alone could be responsible for all the crime.”

John nodded. “I agree.”

Jerathon spoke up again. “I have talked with Quinton about this, and he has a plan regarding how we might increase security on a temporary basis until this band of criminals is caught.”

Everyone looked at Quinton. “I deal with several dozen gem suppliers from all over the country side and the Great Range. These men are rough and rugged, having lived most of their lives in the wilderness. I think we could hire them to bolster the city guards until we solve these crimes.”

John frowned.

“In your absence today, Captain,” Quinton went on, “I spoke with one of your lieutenants. A man by the name of Draick, I believe. He said that the city guard was improperly staffed to deal with this situation and thought the idea a good one.”

John obviously knew who Draick was and also knew that his eagerness to prosecute the guilty was only rivaled by his willingness to endanger the innocent. He was head strong, but he was good. John did not like the idea of bringing in a bunch of mercenaries to act as city guards. The captain liked to personally train his men and wanted to make sure no one who gained the rank and privileges would be likely to abuse them.

As he looked around the table at the nodding heads of the councilmen, John realized the proposal was going to pass, and he would have to deal with it. After a few more minutes of discussion, that is exactly what happened.

“How is the murder investigation going, Captain?” one of the other councilmen asked.

“It will take time, sir. I have people out right now gathering information. I am forced to believe that the murderer is new in town, because we have never seen anything like this before.”

“But you don’t even have any suspects?” Quinton asked.

John shook his head.

“What about that man you were following the other day? The one who bought you dinner?”

John shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt he is capable of this. He is more a pet project than anything else.”

“What is this?” Quinton asked as innocently as possible.

“John saw this man foil one of the city’s pickpockets a few days ago, and was convinced that the man was hiding a criminal record or something. John goes on many such escapades in his free time.”

This comment was mainly a sarcastic dig into John’s work ethic, stressing the fact that he had free time, and that now they were short on men. Quinton was more interested in the fact that this man had foiled a pickpocket.

“Really,” Quinton said, turning to look at John. “What does this man look like?”

The question seemed innocent enough, and John gave a pretty good description of Entreri. Quinton had never seen the man, but it matched what Trevor and Billy had said. It was a valuable piece of information that the Captain of the City Guards was interested in a man that had twice attacked Quinton, and he filed it away as a potentially useful piece of information.

The person who was most interested in hearing the description, though, was not seated at the table. At the top of the steps leading up to the second floor, out of view of the dinning room table, Ellen sat listening to the men’s conversation. If she was not mistaken, John had just described the man who had rescued her from her attacker the previous day.

The men downstairs continued to talk about how they could patrol the streets to try and target the areas with the most reported crime, but Ellen was no longer listening. She had seen what this Artemis, as John had called him, was capable of, and despite what John had said, she was not so sure the men downstairs should cross him off their suspect list.

Despite her continual contributions to the successful way in which her father ran this city, he still did not respect her enough to allow her input in the more important matters. Well, she would look into this Artemis herself and see if she could earn that respect.

* * * * *

Quinton looked at his men, who were gathered in his office for a brief morning meeting.

Trevor had not been out of the mansion since his run in with Artemis two days ago. His wounds were not severe and in no way hampered him. It was the wound he had received to his psyche that slowed him. He had been beaten so badly by this stranger that all of his confidence had been shot. Quinton had a way to restore that confidence, but it would have to wait until night.

Draick was invaluable to him right now. As a member of the city guards, he was going to be very important in the next couple days as all of the new recruits came pouring into the guardhouse. Each of the new men would be loyal to Quinton, but when the time came to take over, Draick would have to be the visible leader.

Parnid was the most valuable right now. He had orchestrated most of the crime spree and was solely responsible for its success. Quinton thought that even after Trevor regained his health and mindset, Parnid would remain his prime thief and leader of the small band that worked for the new councilman.

Reillon still scared Quinton. It was not his loyalty – the mage professed it at every opportunity – but his skill that frightened the older man. The frail magician seemed to have a new trick or spell at every turn, each more powerful than the one before. He would have to be powerful, Quinton thought, because Reillon was going to be the key to the entire takeover.

“I think we need to take advantage of this new piece of information,” Quinton started the meeting. “This Artemis fellow has injured us on two different occasions, and last night I found out that Captain Irenum has his eyes on him as well. If we can frame him for this organized chaos of ours, it will buy us some valuable time.”

Quinton turned to look at Parnid. “Please tell me you disobeyed me and did in fact take something from the late Councilman Strum’s home.”

Parnid smiled and nodded his head, remembering the crystal ship. “Good,” Quinton said. “I want you to give it to Draick. When the time comes, it will be a valuable piece of evidence. Beyond that, if any of you should run into this Artemis, I want you to avoid him. Don’t try to be a hero and take him out. For one reason, you probably won’t be able to, but also, I need him alive and well for Captain Irenum to arrest.”

Quinton continued the meeting, outlining the next two days’ events. This was a very delicate time for his plan and he needed everyone to be on the same page. If all went well, in 48 hours, he would be in control of the richest city within 500 miles.

* * * * *

Buster heard his door ring open and then ring closed. The blacksmith held his breath as he waited for his patron walk over his floor and let go a sigh of relief as the wonderful squeaks and creaks of his floor resounded to him in the back room. He picked up a rag, wiped his hands, and went to meet his customer. It was John.

“Found your killer yet?” Buster asked before John could start the conversation.

John shook his head. “I haven’t a clue.”

“Yes you do,” Buster disagreed. The captain looked confused, and Buster explained. “Your friend you told me about earlier paid a visit yesterday. You’ve got yourself quite a killer on your hands there.”

It took John a moment to realize about whom Buster was talking. He had not come about Entreri and had not thought about the man much over the past two days. However, the real purpose for his visit evaporated at this news. “What did you find out?”

“He is showing everyone a very fake exterior right now. It felt like he kept fighting against his natural instincts in order to fit in. He knew instantly that I knew who and what he was, and his very first extinct was to leap over the counter and end my life as quickly as possible. He is death in human form. I don’t know how you ever missed it. Even without my skills, I think it has to be obvious just looking into his eyes. He has killed more men than he can likely remember, and it would not come as a great shock to me to find out that he is responsible for killing Councilman Strum.”

John could not reply right away. He had convinced himself that Artemis was no more than an oddity. He had a lot of money and liked his privacy. He did not want to talk about his past and lied about everything. John thought back to his lunch conversation with the man. He had said that he was an assassin. Was it possible that Artemis had told the truth knowing it would not be believed?

“Do you have any evidence at all?” Buster asked.

“Nothing that could point a finger at any one person. My suspect list is as big as the population of this city, and thus I haven’t exactly gone about collecting alibis.” Now John had a name on his list of possible suspects, but he still was not going to collect an alibi from the supposed assassin. Buster had made his observations based on what he could tell of Artemis’s instincts. Instincts that had been shaped by Artemis’s colorful past. But a man’s past, as any criminal on the run will tell you, is just that: the past.

Buster had also said that Artemis was consciously fighting against those instincts. It was possible that Artemis used to be an assassin, but it was also possible that he no longer wished be one. If Buster was right, and his actions thus far were just an act, then it was a very convincing one.

“Thanks,” John said, turning to walk out of the shop. He did not know what to do now. Cal would have information for him tonight, and if it in any way pointed at Artemis, he would be forced to go after the man. Until then, he would keep his distance from the man and tell everyone he knew to do the same.

* * * * *

Ellen watched Entreri from the cover of a small copse of trees some hundred and fifty feet from the shack the assassin called home. Entreri was stripped to the waist and busy pounding boards together to make walls for the new addition he was building.

Even at the great distance, Ellen could tell this man was something special. Each nail went in with a bare minimum of hits, his two hands seemingly working independently of each other. While one hand was setting a nail, the other was already swinging down with the hammer. As he took a second hit on the nail, his first hand was back retrieving another nail.

Ellen had been mesmerized back in the alley when she had watched this man effortlessly take down Trevor, and now she was equally mesmerized. She soon realized that it had nothing to do with what he was doing or how well he was doing it. Both of those things stemmed from something deeper. This man had an aura about him that demanded respect and awe.

After finishing a large section of a wall, Entreri stood up and wiped his brow with his discarded shirt. Ellen watched him reach for his canteen and then shake it, discerning how much was left in it. It apparently was not enough, for he moved toward the entrance to his house and disappeared from sight.

Ellen moved back into the trees as she kept an eye on the house. Why was she here? Was she trying to investigate this man for John? If so, she was going to need to talk with him. Watching him build his house was certainly educational as to the nature of the man, but it gave her nothing of value.

After contemplating this for a while, Ellen turned her full attention back on the house, thinking Entreri was taking an awful lot of time to just refill his canteen.

“Can I help you?”

Ellen spun around at the voice. Her hand slipped inside her cloak to the dagger she now carried. After her encounter a few days ago, she always carried a weapon. She knew that she would be safe enough as long as she did not stupidly follow kids into dark alleys anymore, but she liked the added security.

Entreri had not recognized the woman when he had easily spotted her while working, but now he recognized her as the woman he had rescued in the alley. Ellen relaxed only slightly when she saw who it was. The skill in which he had crept up behind her with the attention she had been giving his house was remarkable and gave credence to any suspicions John might have.

“I-I wanted to thank you for the other day,” Ellen said, having not expected to have this conversation without the time to plan out what she wanted to say.

“You’re welcome,” Entreri replied, noticing the woman’s discomfort and not approaching her any further than the ten foot gap that separated them. “I don’t remember giving you my address though.”

John had mentioned it last night in his description to Quinton. “I, I just, uh, I asked around.”

“Have I become that famous?”

Ellen decided she needed to start asking questions or she would never get anywhere. “Do you know who I am?”

“Someone who has no business in a dark alley and even less business spying on me.”

Ellen tried to ignore his poignant answer. “I am the daughter of Mayor Alexander.” Ellen did not enjoy having to identify herself through her father and dreamed of the day when the name “Ellen Alexander” would carry its own weight.

“I had no idea,” Entreri replied, bowing slightly. “Perhaps I should have asked for a reward before returning you to safety. Or perhaps I should take you captive now and ask for a hefty ransom.”

The way in which he said it, without the slightest hint of humor creeping into his voice, sent a shiver down Ellen’s spine. If the conversation had ended right there, the report she would have brought back to John – if she told him of this encounter at all – would not be a favorable one.

Entreri saw this. It was the same look that he had received countless times since coming to this strange land. Most recently from Buster, but Billy and Trevor and given him the same look. The more Entreri tried to fit in, the less he liked that look. “I didn’t kill your councilman.”

Ellen was doubly shocked. “How? What? Who? No!”

Entreri shook his head at her denial. “Unless you are just entertaining some voyeuristic fantasy, I see no reason why you would come out here to see me. I did not kill him.”

“Could you have?”

It was a loaded question, and for a moment, Entreri was taken off his guard. “Any man is capable of driving a blade into another man’s chest. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool and won’t live long. Killing is not a bad thing in and of itself; it is the intent behind the action that counts.”

Entreri could not believe these words were coming out of his mouth, but once he got started, he realized that these had been the guidelines that had shaped his life. He had no moral guide or heavenly calling, but neither did he kill for fun. Each of his killings had been done for a purpose. Whether he needed to set an example for someone, cover his trail, or complete an assignment, each time he had put his weapons to work, he had had a reason.

This was the only way he could live with himself and maintain any type of honor code. He had known many killers in Calimport who would pick travelers at random, rob them, and kill them. Whether these men did it to bolster their own fragile egos or to hit some targeted body count, Entreri did not know, but he had never respected them for it. Without respect, they could never obtain trust. It was well known on the streets of Calimport that if Artemis Entreri did not trust you, your biggest worry was not where you would eat your next meal, but if you would be alive to eat it.

It is the intent behind the action that counts. Entreri had just said those words. What did they mean to him? What had his intentions been? Entreri figured he and Drizzt had probably killed the same amount in their life times. While the ranger had been felling goblins and hook horrors, and Entreri had mostly preyed on humans, in Entreri’s mind, a life was a life. So how had Entreri’s intent differed from Drizzt’s?

Entreri had always rationalized his lifestyle by saying he needed to kill to survive. He now knew this reasoning was troll dung. Even if Drizzt had not pointed it out at every opportunity, Entreri would have figured it out eventually. He had killed for personal gain and advancement.

Drizzt had struggled for acceptance when he had arrived on the surface. Only through hard work and perseverance had he finally been able to earn a few people’s respect. He could have just as easily killed anyone who opposed him, and with his skill, the number who wished to do so would have dropped dramatically. The second path was the quicker one, but Entreri now saw that it was also the weaker one.

Entreri was not sorry for one life he had ever taken, least of all Drizzt’s, but he now saw that as a twelve-year-old on the streets of Calimport each avenue had been laid before him, and he had chosen as he did because of greed and greed alone.

Even as a child, Entreri’s intellect could not be denied, and even though he was an orphan, he could have followed suit with the children of the nobles and gone to school. Like Drizzt, he would have struggled to be accepted among the wealthy, but like the dark elf, his skill and intelligence would show that he was more than able to accept the challenges.

Entreri had seen both paths but he had also seen that the wealthy businessmen and nobles of the city took years of hard work to accumulate their wealth and even more hard work to maintain it. On the other hand, he saw kids only a few years older than himself living in the houses of pashas with enough money to make even successful businessmen jealous.

Neither path was easy but one was much quicker than the other. In the end, it had been the immaturity and impatience of youth that had produced one of the most lethal killers the realms had ever known. Now that killer was 40 years old and no longer immature or impatient.

Entreri looked at Ellen and paused as these thoughts went through his head. What could she know of him? Had she talked with the captain? Had Buster spread word of Entreri’s nature to the mayor’s house already? Whatever the case, this woman had her doubts. While they were well founded, Entreri wanted to make sure they were not consistent with the way he now lived his life.

“Maybe at one time I could have killed your councilman, but not now, not here. I don’t know what you know of me, but I am sure you know very little and would not want to know more. You came here on your own out of curiosity, for I doubt the mayor would send his daughter to investigate a possible killer. So let me satisfy your curiosity. I have not killed anyone in over three weeks, and I did not kill your councilman.”

Ellen had indeed known very little about this man, but she had learned a great deal. He was an exceptional fighter. She knew this better than most, having witnessed his prowess the other day. He had obviously killed in his life, but she could also tell that those killings had made his life difficult. She saw no sorrow for his past, but she did see a need to escape it. She nodded.

“Good,” Entreri responded. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

Ellen watched the strange man walk back toward his home and climb over his short fence. She believed him. She did not know why she should, but she believed him. Now her only problem was whether or not to tell her father.

* * * * *

The northern section of Garrilport was not a nice place to be at night, and John Irenum took no great comfort from the weight of the sword hanging at his side. He had refrained from bringing the weapon with him on his visit the previous day, fearing it would identify him. The blade was very unique, and more than a few people in these slums had fought against it. Regardless of the risk involved with carrying the weapon, the risks of going unarmed were far greater.

Cal Grotciem was sitting alone in the tavern when John entered through the front doors. This was a different tavern than the one they had met in earlier. While the first had been noisy and crowded, perfect for covering up a private conversation, this one was dark and quiet. Several different meetings such as the one the two men were about to engage in were taking place in various locations about the main room. The barmaids were not your typical young vixens, but rather experienced women who knew what their customers were about. It was Cal ’s choice.

“You’ll like this,” Cal said, getting right to business as John took a seat across from him. “Have you ever been to Karenstoch?”

John shook his head. He had heard of the town, though. It was a rough town, run by guilds and powerful families. It was on the edge of the wilderness, yet prospered enough to be considered the capitol of the north.

“A while back they were plagued with a series of brutal murders. People die up there from time to time; it’s not common, but it happens. From all reports, these killings went well beyond the norm. In all the reports I could gather, the killer was referred to as the Devil himself. They all said that he fought against the city’s best men and walked away without a scratch. His victims were killed with skill and precision.”

“Any descriptions?” John asked. He had seen the bodies of the councilman and his wife. Skill and precision.

Cal had been leaning forward as he spoke, but now leaned back, holding his hands up in front of him. “Whoa, pal. I’m giving you information about the killings, that’s all. If you want the identification of the killer, it’s going to cost you mo-“

John reached over and latched onto Cal’s collar, wrenching him back across the table. “If I want something, and you know it, then you will tell me. Got it?”

Cal ’s nose was almost touching the captain’s. “No one could tell me what he looked like,” the smaller man said quickly. “You have to realize all my information is passed about by traders and travelers. I receive the stories after they’ve passed through two dozen people. People intend to exaggerate to each other to improve the story. Men in the stories often gain a foot in height and 50 pounds in stature by the time I hear about it.”

John released him and leaned back in his chair. Cal quickly retreated back to his own side of the table, straightening his ruffled collar. “There is more. Halfway also suffered at the hands of this man. Halfway is a small town down river from Karenstoch.”

“I’ve heard of it,” John said. “Those cities are quite a bit north, though. Is there anything you have that could make me believe their killer and mine are the same?”

Cal did have one more very important piece of information, but he had hoped to get a little more than his standard fee. Looking at his customer, Cal decided it might not be a good idea to press him. “Karenstoch sent a ranger after him.”

John sat up at this. He knew about how the tales Cal brought him were over-glorified by his informants. John routinely played down the stories Cal gave him by several degrees. But if Karenstoch had sent out their ranger…

“Rumors have it that the ranger met up with this killer, and he got the better of it. She walked away, but barely. Those who’ve seen her since say that she walks with a limp and has a very dark personality. I hear there is talk among the other rangers to restrain her, that maybe she is taking this hunt too personally. Right now reports are that she is in the Great Range.”

That was much closer to home than either Karenstoch or Halfway. If the ranger, Elliorn, John thought her name was, had followed this killer’s trail to the Great Range from Karenstoch, then it was only logical to assume that he continued south. Garrilport was the first town south of the Great Range.

“Is there any report of what kind of weapons this killer used?” John asked.

“Blades,” Cal responded simply. “His victims were found sliced and diced. Sometimes there was one wound, other times a dozen. Variety is the spice of death.”

When Cal started with his odd sense of humor, John knew the meeting was over. He pulled a heavy coin pouch from his cloak and laid it on the table. The coins had no sooner been released from John’s hand then Cal had scooped up the pouch and stored it somewhere on his body.

“If I find that you have held anything from me,” John started in his traditional salutation.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cal said. The smaller man rose from the table, tipped his hat, and was out of sight faster than a vampire at dawn.

John sat at the table sipping at his drink for a little while longer with only one thought running through his mind. Artemis had come from the north.

Chapter 6

The Truth

The four guards sat around the table playing cards. This was the easiest job any of them had ever had. Lawrence Alexander, the cousin to the mayor, and a member of the city council had asked them to be there. They were sitting in the dinning room of the councilman’s home while he and his wife slept upstairs.

The recent rash of violence and the killing of Councilman Strum two nights ago had made several of the councilmen nervous. The guards did not mind. Sure, it was extra work, but it was also extra pay for overtime, and sitting around a table playing cards and pretending not to drink alcohol was the type of overtime work all City Guards dreamed of.

Dan looked at his hand a second time, wondering when if his luck was ever going to change. His three friends each threw half a dozen coins into the pot after looking at their hands, and Dan was sick of folding. He met the bet.

His mind was not really on the game anyway. He was thinking more about the new men that had been hired into the guard. Some new councilman he did not know – Quinton somebody – had rounded up a bunch of mountain men and wilderness trappers, and at least 18 of them had joined the guard within the last 24 hours, almost outnumbering the original guards.

Dan could not put his finger on it, but there was something strange about the new men. They did not socialize with the rest of the men like most new recruits did, but instead they kept to themselves. It was odd behavior for City Guards to be reclusive. Dan looked around the table at the other three men and could remember several instances in the past few years when he had put his own life in their hands, and they had done likewise. In this job, if you did not know or trust the men you worked with, you endangered your own life.

As Dan emerged from his private thoughts, he noticed that the table was very inactive. Looking at the man across from him, he saw that his eyes were closing. “Hey, Kev,” Dan said to the man. “Is it too late for you?”

Dan stared to laugh, but as he slowly looked at the other men at the table, he saw they were unconscious as well. One of them lost his upright position, and his head fell hard to the table. Dan figured this should wake him up, but he did not move a muscle.

Dan was about to try and wake them when he felt it too. It was an urging like he had never felt before. His mind went almost completely blank as his muscles relaxed and his eyelids fell. Sleep felt like the only thing in the world that mattered. It was as if he had finished running a marathon and he just needed to relax for a while.

But he did not fall asleep. A sixth sense in the back of Dan’s mind hollered to him that something was dreadfully wrong. With willpower he did not know he had, Dan shrugged off the sleep suggestion and tried to focus on his surroundings.

The door to kitchen burst open, and Dan turned to meet the intruder. The guard stood slowly, still very groggy from fighting off the sleep spell. He started to pull his sword, but a dagger came flying at him, and he abandoned drawing his own weapon to fend off the attack with his arms.

The dagger sliced across his forearm, and the searing pain brought him to full attention. He kicked his chair at the attacker and spun away from the charging man to draw his sword. The intruder nimbly avoided the awkward projectile, letting the chair crash into the wall behind him. He pulled out a short sword and charged the guard.

Dan stepped forward to meet the charge, chopping down with his sword, trying to end the fight before it started. The smaller man rolled to the side at the last second, continuing his charge past Dan and scraping his sword across guard’s side. The fine blade found an opening between the chinks in Dan’s armor, and blood began to flow.

Dan tried to ignore the new wound and turned around to meet his attacker again. Before either man could initiate a new attack, Dan felt a searing arrow slam into his back. He dropped his weapon at the intensity of the pain, and reached around to dislodge the offending shaft. As his hands searched out his back, the pain came again, like acid eating away at his body.

There was no arrow, at least not a physical one. Dan never fully understood this, for before he could turn around to identify his new attacker, the magical attack released its third blast of delayed acid damage. This one brought Dan to his knees in pain.

So consumed with this new attack, Dan never saw his original attacker run up to him with his short sword swinging. Though he never saw the killing blow. He felt the stinging cut of the blade across his neck, and his hands felt the warm flow of blood through his fingers as he fell on his face.

His fingers weakly played with the slit in his neck, for it was not something you felt every day, and he barely felt the fourth blast of acid on his back. His last conscious thought was the realization that Councilman Lawrence Alexander was going to die very soon.

Trevor looked down at the City Guard as he fumbled with his neck. After a few seconds, confident the man was now dead, he looked up at Reillon. “I thought you said they would all be asleep!”

“He must have had a strong will,” the mage said calmly, not taking offense at the thief’s accusatory words. “The others are unconscious,” he added, waiving his arm toward the dinning room table.

Trevor looked at the men and nodded. He retrieved his thrown dagger and made short work of the other three guards. Without a word, the two men moved through another room and up a flight of stairs. Like Trevor expected, a light was on. The chair the guard had kicked at him had made a considerable noise when it had crashed into the wall.

The bedroom door was open and Trevor watched from the shadows as Lawrence poked his head out the door and called down stairs for the guards. After no response, Lawrence went back into the room, and Trevor could hear him telling his wife that he was going to go downstairs to see if everything was all right.

Trevor and Reillon hurried up the stair before Lawrence reappeared. The two burst into the room, and as the councilman raised the sword he had picked up, a bolt of energy from Reillon held him fast. The two intruders had gone over this plan several times, and Trevor had known about this spell. Still he asked the question that had been answered several times before. He walked up to the frozen man, bringing his face right up to Lawrence ’s. “He can still see, right?” he asked, not looking away.

“Yes,” Reillon answered with only a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “He can hear also. Only his movement is restricted. He is still conscious of everything that his going on.”

“Good,” Trevor said as he moved toward the bed where the councilman’s wife was looking on in horror. “I want him to see this.” He brandished his dagger as he eyed up the half-dressed woman in the bed. “All of it.”

* * * * *

“Remember when you were a kid and you broke something doing something your father had told you several times not to do?”

It was morning, and John Irenum was standing in Lawrence Alexander’s bedroom. The councilman had been killed with a deep cut across his throat with no other wounds visible and no signs of struggle at all. His wife on the other hand…

“You would think to yourself that your father was going to kill you. I mean, he had told you not to do the exact thing you had done. He had also told you what the outcome would be, but despite the countless times before when he had been right, you did it anyway.”

Rebecca Alexander was lying on the floor next to the bed with a sheet over her. John had been told that she was not found this way and that one of his men had added the sheet. Instead of getting mad at him for messing with his crime scene, after one brief look under the sheet, John was ready to promote the man.

“You did not want to see him, but you knew you had to. You had one of two choices: try to hide the broken item, or deny any involvement. Neither worked very well and only increased your punishment when the truth came out.”

In his one brief look under the sheet, John had not seen much, but then, there was not much of the woman left to see. Even though she was completely naked, it was difficult to determine the gender of the body, or even if it was human at all.

John finally looked away from the scene in front of him to turn to the lieutenant he had been talking to. “So, Allen, ever do something like that when you were a kid?”

“Sir,” the lieutenant replied carefully, knowing what kind of mixed emotions must be going through his head, “the mayor is not going to hold you responsible for this. No one could have preve-”

“Sir, Sir, Captain Irenum!”

The mayor’s page, speaking more than John had ever heard before, came running up to him. “Sir, the mayor needs to see you right away.”

“Who let this boy up here?!” John barked, quickly ushering the boy out of the room and away from the grizzly scene. “I want you men to clean this place up and take notes of everything you find. I want to know if even one hair is missing from either body. Is that clear!”

The guards scrambled over themselves, verbally responding to the order in turn. John took one last look at the room and humbly followed the page to the mayor’s home.

* * * * *

“What did I tell you!!!”

John stood tall under the mayor’s rebuke. He knew the man did not really hold him responsible, but his cousin had been killed, and he needed to lash out at something.

“Not only has the street violence not gone down, but they are still killing members of the City Council. And my own cousin! How many men did you have stationed in his home?”

“Four, sir,” John responded.

“Drunks, all of them I’m sure. I want them all-”

“They’re dead, sir,” John said, knowing the mayor would want their badges and their removal from the guard. “They were killed with such efficiency it scares me. This killer, and I do believe that only one blade was used on all six bodies, is of a nature I have never seen. Only one of the guards showed any sign of struggle. It is not possible to sneak up on my men lik-”

“Unless they were drinking on the job,” Jerithon bit back, but his insults were slowing down in the presence of John’s calm demeanor. “Do you have any leads at all?”

John looked at the other men in the room. He was standing at the foot of the table, around which the rest of the living councilmen sat. There was a large portion of his own men surrounding this house and even the oldest member of the council felt safe now.

Leads? Did he have any? He weighed what Buster and Cal had told him. They both pointed at Entreri, but something about the man did not sit right with him. John had been fortunate to know very few killers in his life. By a killer, he meant that their sole means of income came at the expense of other people’s lives. Each man had been a coward. They all attacked from the shadows and rarely walked out in daylight. John had confronted several one-on-one, and they had all opted to flee than face the sword of the Captain of the City Guards. Only a coward would have mutilated the helpless Rebecca Alexander. Entreri was not a coward.

“What about that man you were investigating?” Quinton said, interrupting the captain’s thoughts. “What did you say his name was? Artemis?”

John’s face twitched at that. How did he remember that?

Jerithon recognized the twitch immediately. “You found something out about him, didn’t you? What did Buster say?”

“Actually,” John started, “Buster wasn’t too fond of him. Artemis is a killer, or at least he was?”

“Was?” Quinton prompted.

John really did not want to go into great detail but he was pretty sure no matter what he said, the council had found their scapegoat. Realizing this, he spared very little. He told them all about Buster’s evaluation and then about the report of the killings from up north. John had barely finished before Jerithon exploded.

“What? What are we paying you for? How obvious does something have to be before you accept it? I want this man dead or behind bars waiting to die within the hour, and I won’t take no for an answer!”

“No!”

It did not come from John or anyone else at the table. All heads turned to the side of the room where Ellen came running down the stairs. She had been eavesdropping on the conversation like she always did, but she could not stay hidden any longer.

“No. Artemis did not do it, Father. I know it.”

“What are you talking about, girl?” Jerithon’s patience was running very thin.

“I know him. He is not a killer, at least not anymore.” The looks she was getting demanded to know more, and she gave it to them. She told them everything from her attack in the alley and how Entreri had saved her, right to yesterday when she had spoken with the man.

“You did what?!” Jerithon had lost all control by now. “You went to speak with this killer? And here I thought I had raised a smart girl!” He could barely get his thoughts together for a competent sentence, and the next one made little sense. “Out! I want you out of my house! I don’t want to see you again until all this is cleared up! Then we can talk about how you will not see the light of day for the next five years.”

“But, Fath-”

“Out!!!” Jerithon rose and slammed his palm down on the table, flipping over half of the councilmen’s coffee mugs.

Ellen did not try and reason with him and was too mad at her father’s stubbornness to try. She nearly ran out of the house.

“And you!” Jerithon turned to look at John. “What are you still doing here?! Go get this righteous killer!”

John looked about the room for a brief second wondering if he would get any help from the other members of the council. No such luck. None of them wanted to buck the mayor when he was like this. Even if they did, none of them had reason to disbelieve his claim that this Artemis was the killer. John nodded, turned, and left the house.

* * * * *

The sound of ten guards walking down the street in full armor and weaponry is not something that escapes many people, but still, Entreri thought, they could try to be a little more discrete.

The news of the most recent murder had not reached Entreri yet, and he could not imagine what could have inspired such a show of force. Unless they were here to kick out his neighbors for selling their produce outside of the market again, Entreri thought. He did recognize John, though.

Entreri put down his hammer and the handful of nails he was holding. “Good morning, Captain,” he said, rising from his half-finished floor. He had never been properly introduced to the man and did not know his name. All he had to work with was the restaurant’s host’s casual reference to his title. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call,” John said, his men fanning out behind him. Three of them detached from the main group and went to investigate the house and the rest of the property. The other six men flanked John and Entreri, three on each side. “By the power granted to me by the city of Garrilport, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Councilman Fredrick Strum, Councilman Lawrence Alexander, both their wives, Councilman Strum’s two children, and four city guards.”

Though none of the men saw it, Entreri changed his entire demeanor. In a spilt second he had transformed from Artemis Entreri, a carpenter, to Artemis Entreri, the most dangerous man alive. He felt the weight of his dagger tucked under his shirt, and his mind played out two dozen different ways to draw it with either hand, depending on which direction he would have to attack first. His eyes picked out the nervous hands of the guards in front of him, predicting which ones he would have to worry about and which would fold under pressure. His ears located the three men that were busy searching his property and determined if they were within striking distance. The only visual change that came over him was the intensity of his stare. It was subtle, but it sent chills down the spine of the seven men in front of him.

“I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to talk with the mayor’s daughter, have you?”

Entreri could see at once that the captain had indeed talked to the woman, but John made no verbal confirmation. “Are you going to come willingly?”

“What proof do you have?” Entreri asked. John started a response, but the assassin cut him off. “Besides the blacksmith and any report from the north. Do you have anything that links me to these murders?”

John could not believe what he was hearing. This man, in not so many words, had just admitted to the killings from up north. He had also admitted that his heart was just as black as Buster had said. Still he had the audacity to deny any connection to the murders here in Garrilport. Like there could be two such killers loose!

“Captain,” came a call from behind Entreri. It was one of the men who had left to search the property. John also noticed that it was one of the new men Councilman Quinton Palluge had hired. “We found these in the hay trough for his horse in the back.”

“Of course,” Entreri said, not even bothering to look at the planted evidence. “That way my horse might accidentally eat them. What kind of fool do you take me for?”

John did not like the implication from Entreri that his men were setting the killer up. He liked even less what the items were. They were the crystal sculptures of ships that had been given to the two dead councilmen. Each sculpture had one of the dead man’s names. “Take him!”

John did not even know what happened. Two of his men approached Entreri with their weapons drawn, and a second later they were both reeling backwards, one grabbing onto his broken and bloody nose, the other clutching his now empty sword arm as blood seeped through his fingers. Entreri looked as though he had never even moved, though a dagger had magically appeared in his hand.

“You would attack City Guards?!” John cried, pulling his own sword.

“You would arrest an innocent man?!” Entreri fired back. “I have not killed anyone in this town and do not wish to start now. Everything I have ever told has been the absolute truth. I did not kill those men.” John was about to bring up the outlandish stories he had told at their lunch, but Entreri’s gaze cut him off as though the assassin could read his mind. “Everything has been the truth.”

John wanted to kill this man. He could see the evil now that Buster had claimed was so obvious. This man had killed a dozen people up north, and John believed now, as did the mayor, that this man was their killer.

Entreri saw this transformation and smiled at John. “I have not killed anyone yet, but you are welcome to be the first.”

“Captain!”

The call saved John’s life, for he was just about to attack the assassin. John was not crazy enough to turn his back to Entreri. “What is it?” he called over his shoulder.

“The guardhouse is under attack!”

John did relent in his stand off with Entreri this time. He turned to see that one of the guards’ messenger boys was bringing the news. “Speak up boy.”

The kid had obviously just ran all the way from the center of the city and was out of breath. “It was just after you left, Sir. I don’t know who they are or how many there are, but we are under attack. There is a wizard too. Someone who can shoot fireballs out of his hands and summon all kinds of horrible creatures.”

The kid was talking nonsense now. “Who sent you?”

“Draick sent me,” the kid responded. “He said you need to come back right away. He feared that you might not even be able to make it back in time.”

“But I was just there not fifteen minutes ago,” John said, confused by this turn of events. Draick was not his best man. Heck, half the time it seemed like he was working for somebody else, but he knew the man did not get things wrong often. For someone to be able to seriously threaten the guardhouse in a matter of fifteen minutes was outlandish.

Entreri interrupted the captain’s thoughts. “There is your killer, Captain. Be glad it’s not me. I’d be able to take down your pathetic guard house in five minutes, and I would have never let a child escape to warn you.”

John turned at the insult, wanting to run the man through, but he knew that he did not have time to deal with both issues right now. “I want you out of my city within the hour. If you are not gone by the time I get back from handling this other issue, I will burn your shack down around you as you pack.”

With that, the captain turned to leave. A few of the men regarded Entreri with threatening glares and motions with their weapons before following their leader. Entreri returned each look with one of his own, sending the men away faster still. About the only ones that did not give the accused murderer a parting glance were the two men whose blood Entreri had shed. They had fought with the deadly assassin for about half a second each, and both were looking forward to a full out battle with the mysterious wizard.

Entreri did not need the captain’s ultimatum. Even if he had somehow been able to convince John of his innocence, he would have left anyway. He had prided himself in staying away from trouble for as long as he did, but true to his nature, trouble had found him. He had not been in Halfway more than one hour before he had killed five men. Here he had lasted a couple weeks. It was something to build on.

Granted he had not been presented with the same conflicts that Halfway had given him, but he had some. Billy, the young pickpocket stood out clearly. The old Entreri would have handled that situation much differently. He had not been above killing children when the need had arisen in the past. He had just tried to think of them as halflings. Most of the time they were anyway.

Curiosity for what was going on back at the guardhouse did not entice him in the slightest. Just like the dead councilmen, it was not his problem. Heck, in half an hour, it would not even be his city anymore. Entreri had not accumulated much for packing, but what he did have would easily fit through his ivory portal and into the dragon cave several hundred miles away. Without much further thought on the matter, Entreri prepared to leave.

* * * * *

The guardhouse was oddly silent when John and his men walked up to it. It was a four-story structure and the strongest building in the entire city. The first thing that let John know something was wrong was that the two guards normally stationed outside of the front door were absent. Everything was quiet and still. If a battle had taken place here, it was long over now.

The front door to the guardhouse was unlocked, and John pushed it open easily. Inside stood two of his men. The entry to the guardhouse was not lavish and was purely functional, offering hooks, closets, and a few storage rooms to hold the guard’s personal belongings while they were on duty.

John recognized one of the two men as original members of his unit before the infusion of the new recruits. “William,” John said, walking up to him, “what happened here? I heard you were under attack.”

William made no effort to respond and stood rigidly in front of his captain. His eyes could not hold John’s gaze, however, and he looked away.

“Look at me when I talk to you and answer me when I question you!” John commanded. “What happened here?!”

“Please,” William pleaded, barely more than a whimper.

“Captain!”

John turned to look at one of his other men, who was standing next to a partially opened storage room door. “What is it?”

“I think you should see this.”

Before John was even ten feet from the door, the smell of what was inside hit him and made his knees weak. Inside the small room was stacked half a dozen bodies. Some were burned to a crisp, while others were hacked up like raw meat. Some had been hacked and then burned. All of them were guards.

John spun away from the grizzly scene and marched angrily back toward William. “You will start talking, and you will start talking now! You will not stop talking until I tell you! Am I understood?!”

William was in obvious discomfort. His eyes looked about at the other man in the entry whom John had randomly not decided to interrogate.

John’s right hand whipped up and across William’s face, sending him reeling. John’s other hand quickly followed suit, countering the first slap and stabilizing William’s position. “Look at me! What happened here?!”

As hard as it was to refuse his captain, William had also seen exactly what had happened to the men in the storage closet, and he knew he could also very easily end up as a charred body on the top of a pile if he was not careful. Still, he did have some loyalty toward his old boss. “Upstairs,” he said quietly, his right arm rising to point the way.

John stared at him a second longer, but realized someone else had given him commands that John was not going to get him to disobey. “Come on,” John commanded to the nine men he had brought with him. They moved out of the entry and into the rest of the guardhouse, leaving the two influenced men behind.

As John moved upwards through the building, he found many more guards like those he had left behind. They were not talking and not moving. They all stood at attention and gave little or no response to John’s questions. Yesterday these men would have marched to their deaths for him, but now they barely recognized him as an authority figure.

John knew that his most trusted lieutenants would never stonewall him like this, but John also noticed that these men were nowhere to be found. The bodies in the first floor closet were unrecognizable, but John was pretty sure who they were. For this unknown assailant to so effectively remove each man that was exclusively loyal to John meant that one of his men must have helped.

Even before John opened the final door leading into the main room on the top floor of the guardhouse, he knew who the traitor was. Draick stood in the middle of the large room, stepping away from the central table as soon as John entered. “Welcome. I’m glad you could make it. I would have hated to send your own men out to round you up.”

As John’s group entered the room, there was a very obvious separation. Of the men he had brought with him, the five who were new recruits quickly stepped away from the rest of the group, while the remaining four drew their swords. John recognized this immediately and understood the implications. He knew who had hired these recruits and now knew the real reason behind it.

“So what does Quinton want?” John asked, motioning with his arms to hold his men at bay. The rest of the recruits joined four others who had been in the room and they all readied crossbows.

“What do you think?” Draick responded. If he was startled that John had so easily solved the mystery, he did not show it. This observation made John slightly nervous. The only way Draick or Quinton would allow him to have this vital information was if they planned to remove him from the equation.

“What does any power hungry visionary want? He feels that this city is only beginning to realize its full potential, and my boss does not feel the current leadership is capable of bringing that potential to fruition."

“And what are you?” John asked, scanning the room as he talked. He knew Draick was a decent fighter, but he still did not think that with even twice as many recruits as there were he would have been able to take his guardhouse with a minimal of bloodshed.

“I am his right hand man. I am going to make sure this city remains under his control. I am going to take your job.” He said this last comment with a wide grin on his face.

John had never realized Draick was so evil. Having so recently spent time with Entreri, another man he had misread, he was quickly becoming uncomfortable with so many men being not what they seemed. He realized he had suffered from a severe case of naivetй.

“So you did all the killing,” John said, still having a hard time believing it. “I don’t care if I join the corpses in the entry closet, but I will make sure you go there first.”

Draick just laughed. “Me? No, I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong. I haven’t drawn a sword in this entire affair.”

This confession and the frank honesty in which it was made startled John and he held off drawing his own weapon. In this awkward silence, Reillon stood from the table. John eyed up this mysterious robed man carefully. His frame was that of an adolescent, long before maturity, but his face seemed a hundred years old. It was his face, and more particularly, his eyes, that gave John worry. He saw immense power in those eyes.

“John Irenum, former Captain of the Garrilport City Guard, I’d like to introduce you to Reillon, the most powerful man in the city.”

One of the men behind John laughed at the ludicrous statement. It was a fatal mistake. Reillon raised both his arms, his bony hands flexing out from his billowing sleeves. Five colorful bursts of energy flew from his fingers and struck the doomed man in mid laugh. He was instantly stunned, blinded, muted, deafened, and poisoned. Reillon’s other hand shot out a jet of flame that consumed the man where he stood. The magical flames fed off him like he was made of parched wood.

John wanted to react to save his man, but he not only saw there was little he could do, but the recruits in the room all had their crossbows aimed right at him.

The magical display lasted only briefly, but when it ended, the guard stood as a statue, burned beyond recognition. Until the initial disabling spell ran its course, the corpse would stay in its morbidly rigid state, a very visible warning to the remaining three men who might wish to fight.

John realized this battle was lost. He was far from familiar with magical spells, and that unfamiliarity made him all the more hesitant to attack. Draick saw this change in him and smiled. “Good. Now if you’ll just toss your weapon aside, I have instructions to bring you to an important meeting, and I feel if we fool around here any longer, we might be late.”

John did as he was told, as did the rest of his men. They were led to another room while Draick and Reillon took John back downstairs. As the three of them left, the dead guard finally fell over, half of his body bursting apart in a plume of ash.

* * * * *

The councilmen were still debating how to reduce the crime spree when John’s party entered the meeting room. Jerithon looked up at the interruption, taking special note of Reillon and Draick. “What’s going on here? Have you dealt with Artemis?” The mayor also noticed that John was unarmed.

Quinton stood at the table. “I believe that this meeting is over, gentlemen. Now if you would all follow Draick and a few other of the guards outside, they will lead you back to the guardhouse where you will be kept only as long as necessary.”

Jerithon was too confused to be angry. He turned to his captain for answers. “He is the one who’s be-” John started, but a jab from Draick’s sword hilt shut him up.

“No, no,” Quinton said. “Let him speak.”

Draick stepped away from John and motioned dramatically for him to continue. The captain cast an evil glance at the man. He must be loving this. “Quinton is behind the murders. He is the one who has been controlling the pickpockets too. I assume his palatial house on the river is also home to most of the thieves that have plagued the city. I also assume he has several of my guards on his payroll. He has complete control of the guard house at this moment.”

Jerithon and every other member of the city council were in shock. “And Artemis?”

“I’ve never met the man,” Quinton spoke up, “though I appreciate the effective diversion you set up.”

Jerithon realized he was being made out to be the fool and did not like it much. “And you just let this happen?” he scolded John.

“What was I supposed to do. I was just follo-” he raised his arms in an innocent gesture and sprang into action. Draick was on his left, and John’s arm shot out to grab onto his drawn weapon. The captain turned his back on the man as he wrenched the weapon away, hitting him hard in the face with his right elbow.

Draick stumbled backward under the blow, and John spun completely around, bring the sword up to his shoulder to chop down on his former lieutenant. Just before the deadly blow could be delivered, four magical bolts of energy slammed into the captain’s body. The sword flew from his hands and skittered to Draick’s feet.

John stumbled backwards, fighting off the dizzying feeling brought on by the magical attack. He turned to look for the wizard and totally disregarded Draick. The other man did not like being so humiliated and rushed his former captain after scooping up the sword. He struck out hard with the flat of the blade, hitting John solidly in the knee. A sickening crack was heard throughout the room, and John went down, not to get up without assistance.

Though the councilmen were concerned about their captain’s wellbeing, they were more in shock by the magical attack that had come from Reillon. Reginald, the oldest member of the council spoke up first. “What kind of tricks are you playing with, Quinton? Explain yourself.”

“Tricks?” Quinton said, stepping away from the table and walking around to where Reillon stood. “How long have you been on the council?”

“Thirty years,” Reginald said with pride.

“I think that’s long enough.” With a motion of his hand, Reillon sent a black sphere of energy toward the doomed man. The spell hit him with a hiss – the sound of breath leaving the man’s lungs for the last time – as he slumped to the table, quite dead.

“Anyone else?” Quinton asked.

“You can’t kill us all,” Porter, the next oldest man on the council, dared speak up.

“Oh?” Quinton disagreed. While he had not gone over Reillon’s spell capability he felt confident in his mage’s power.

Reillon, on the other hand, understood the power of the spell he had just used, and it was one that took considerable preparation. He could not fire it off at will, so he improvised. A bright yellow acid arrow, like the bolt that he had used against Dan the previous night, sped toward the councilman. Porter tried to scramble away from the table, but even if he had dove under it, the magically guided missile would have found him. It exploded on his chest with a colorful splash, releasing a strong acrid odor.

The spell did little more than induce extreme pain in its victims, but with Porter’s advanced age and weak heart, it was enough to send him into cardiac arrest. As the acid spell repeated its painful bursts every few seconds, Porter’s face contorted into several horrifying expressions as his life passed from him. This death was far more dramatic and time consuming than the instant variety that had been given to Reginald.

A full thirty seconds later, when it was all over, no one so much as blinked. “Good,” Quinton said, “I’m going to need a few of you alive to help me with this power transfer.”

“What of my men?” John groaned from the floor. He was on the verge of passing out from the pain in his broken leg.

Quinton admired his resolve. “They will retain their jobs if they are willing to accept the new leadership. If they don’t, well,” he looked over at the two dead councilmen, “I can’t be held responsible for what happens to them.”

That comment raised everyone’s ire, and Jerithon almost spoke up, but he too was looking at the dead councilmen and wisely stayed quiet. Still, the idea that Quinton would not be held responsible was so outlandish it was insulting to contemplate.

As he and the rest of the councilmen rose from the table and obediently followed their captors outside, Quinton gave orders to a few of his men to search the house and bring along anyone else they found, especially the mayor’s wife and daughter. Despite the fact that his outburst at his daughter had been unjustified, Jerithon was now very glad he had done it. He just hoped she was smart enough to keep her distance.

* * * * *

She wasn’t.

Ellen watched from the window of the city library, down the block from her house. She saw her father, mother, and the other councilmen being led toward the guardhouse by several well-armed guards. It was a very controlled procession, but Ellen knew her father and she could tell something was wrong.

The thing that told her something was really wrong was when she saw two other guards carrying John at the end of the procession. It looked like the captain was passed out, and his left leg was completely swollen.

Ellen had spent a lot of time in the guardhouse over the last few years doing errands for her father, though she suspected it was a further effort to get her and John together. She knew most of the guards by name. She knew none of the men who now escorted the council.

She had eavesdropped on all the meetings they had held in her home and knew that a man named Quinton Palluge was hiring new recruits. She saw this man at the head of the group giving directions.

Ellen did not want to believe what she thought was happening, but there seemed little other explanation. Quinton was taking the City Council hostage with the help of the City Guard, most of whom he had hired. She did not think one man was capable of such a takeover plan. Surely when the merchants and citizens of the city found out about this they would not tolerate it. Even if Quinton had control of every one of the City Guards, he could not stand up to the whole city.

Something was definitely wrong here, and Ellen needed to talk it over with someone. The list of people she trusted about such matters was not a long one, and most of them were directly involved and thus indisposed. Ellen could only think of one other person.

When Ellen entered the blacksmith’s shop a short while later after a quick horse ride across the city, she did not hear the normal pounding of metal, but instead it sounded like Buster was tearing his shop apart. She got no response from the man upon entering or walking across his squeaky floor. “Buster?” she called.

“I’m closed,” he shouted back. “Please go away.”

Something was odd here too. Ellen climbed over the short counter and made her way tentatively into the large back room. Buster was indeed ripping his shop apart, yanking huge metal working equipment off his walls and throwing them into a large cart he had backed up to the dock in the rear. All of his special tools and prized custom items were already in the cart, and Ellen thought little else could fit, but the big man was going to get as much in as he could.

“I said I’m closed,” he grunted as he moved a particularly heavy iron frame.

“Buster, it’s me, Ellen.”

Buster put the frame down and turned around to really look at his visitor for the first time. “Oh, I’m sorry Ellen. I’m still closed though.” It was hardly a greeting, but he said nothing more and kept working.

“Buster, please! What are you doing? What’s going on?”

Buster put down the huge frame once more, actually glad for this interruption in his work. He had been at it for the past hour, and he really did need a rest. One hour ago, Reillon, Draick, and the rest of the recruits had taken over the guardhouse, and Buster had felt the whole thing.

He was not a priest, but his former brotherhood of monks had engaged in many priestly practices and specialized in a few detection and divination spells. John was aware of Buster’s skills, but did not understand their origin and would not even if they were explained. Regardless, Buster had a very thorough knowledge of things magical and, and the intense magical attack that had taken place an hour ago had shaken him to his core.

The former monk had not experienced anything that powerful in his life, and he had immediately dismissed his customers to divine the source of the power. When he was finally tuned into the magical attacks, he felt the full suffering of those receiving the brunt of it and the fear of those who watched. He also felt the pleasure and satisfaction it gave to those on the same side as the mage.

The evil presence was similar to Entreri’s, but this was different; this was being acted out. Entreri had tried to keep his nature hidden. He did not want people to know who he was and was consciously making an effort to present himself as harmless. While Buster would still be the first person in the crowd that watched him hang, he could live with Entreri’s existence in his city. This was different.

In addition to the magical display’s evil origin, there was the strength behind it. This mage was not evil by nature; instead it was a direct result of his power. Power corrupts, and by the absolute level of this corruption, the power must also be absolute. Buster would stand alongside John and fight evil all day, but this was something else. There was a time to fight and a time to leave. Buster was not a coward, but he was not stupid either.

“What’s going on?” Ellen asked again as she watched Buster deep in thought.

“Something bad has happened,” he said slowly. “Something terrible, in fact. And it will only get worse from here on out. There is nothing you or I can do about it. I am leaving, probably for good.”

“What do you know about what’s happened to my father?”

This question took Buster by surprise. Though he had felt the people dying and the power behind the attacks that had brought their deaths, he did not know who was involved.

Ellen told him all she knew, and Buster took it in slowly. At first he felt bad for leaving, but after another second’s thought, he realized he was not packing fast enough. “This Quinton you spoke of,” Buster said slowly, piecing together what he knew and what he had just been told, “he has a mage working for him.” Buster saw a confused look on Ellen’s face at the mention of a mage. “A magician,” he clarified.

Ellen actually chuckled at this. She had been to a few parties at Quinton’s estate. “Yes, I’ve seen him. He’s harmless. He does a bunch of slight of hand tricks and plays with fire. John showed me how it is all done once.”

Buster shook his head. “This magician does not bother with simple tricks. This magician is capable of dealing out death and destruction with a flick of his wrist. He is completely deadly.”

Ellen tried to laugh this comment off too, but Buster would not let her. “I am not joking. If this Quinton has control of the City Council and the guardhouse, with this magician by his side, he will be able to rule this city very efficiently. One hour ago, Garrilport ceased to exist as a free society with rights and privileges offered its citizens and became a dictatorship ruled by an evil man whose only aspirations for this city are to make himself money and give himself power.”

Ellen looked into Buster’s sincere face and no longer felt like laughing. Instead she swallowed hard. “What can we do about it?”

Now it was Buster’s turn to laugh. “We can do nothing.”

Ellen could not accept this answer. She had been told that she was not good enough, smart enough, or strong enough to do a lot of things in a male dominated society, and she had always proved them wrong. Buster’s comment did not refer to her age, gender, or any other aspect of her that had been criticized in the past. His comment came from years of training and research into the subject.

“Listen,” he said slowly and firmly. “I have read many stories that some might chalk up as fiction, but I know to be true. They tell of this land a long time ago before any of the cities you know of existed. It was a time of turmoil with horrible monsters and creatures of every kind. People like us could not survive and prosper in this environment and most were killed off. At the root of this chaos was magic. This magic spawned many of the awful creatures, but some monsters could also use it. Soon some of us began to learn how to harness it and control it, and these men and women were finally able to fend off the death and destruction that surrounded them.

“Too often, though, these magicians did not control the magic as much as it controlled them. Once the monsters were dealt with by the mages, the mages then needed to be dealt with. These men and women could level entire cities and fight off huge armies with their powers.

“You or I or anyone else in this town could never handle one of these mythical mages, and I fear that, after their long extinction, one has come back. Soon there will be more. A mage gets his power through study and discipline and then makes an effort to pass it on to others that would learn.

“Power is a tempting thing, and soon there will be an army of mages that will sweep across this land, taking each city they find. No one will be able stop it. If my study of history has taught me anything, it is that it will always repeat itself. The ability for man to learn from his mistakes is only overshadowed by his unwillingness to do so.”

“There must be some way to defeat this evil. How were the mages defeated before?”

“Time. Time and knowledge. Over time the mages grew complacent and the people became educated. Fighters began to train themselves in the art of battling mages. The few weaknesses in a mage’s arsenal of spells were examined and exploited. Now there is only one, and there is a hope he will be defeated before he can create an army, but it is a slim hope for in this town there is none strong enough, save perhaps Captain Irenum himself, and by your eyes he has already been dealt with.

“This new mage will use the guard house as a shield, never engaging his enemies directly, but at a distance while the City Guards take the brunt of the blow. He will survive and the town will fall. I wish I could do more, but I can not. And so I leave.”

Buster paused briefly after his tale, letting it sink in. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said heaving back up the heavy metal frame he had set aside, “I have a lot of work to do. I would recommend that you leave too, but I know you won’t. I will pray for you.”

Ellen saw nothing further could be gained from the blacksmith and she left him. She did not feel bitter toward him for his abandonment of the city. He was looking out for his own wellbeing, and that should be respected for what it was. This was a port city, and every sailor knew that there was a time on a sinking ship when you had to stop bailing and start swimming. Buster was swimming as fast as he could.

Ellen slowly climbed onto her horse, a plan forming in her mind. If all that Buster said was true, and she had never known the man to be wrong, then there was nothing she could personally do about this. But that did not mean she could not get help. As she kicked her horse into a quick trot, she only hoped she would be able to find someone willing to help.

* * * * *

As night fell on Garrilport, not much had changed. As the new Captain of the City Guards, Draick had hastily reformed the guards into what they used to be. Shortly after the takeover, Draick had his men back out on the streets, patrolling like normal. He was forced into using mostly recruits, but Reillon had assured him that a few others would remain loyal.

The prominent merchants did not deal with the City Council directly and what little communication they had with the ruling body was done on an infrequent basis. Still, Quinton had sent a few messages that said the City Council would be unreachable for the next few days while they dealt with the rash of murders that had befallen them. This was totally understandable, and Quinton did not expect any problems from the merchants.

As far as the actual council was concerned, Quinton had kept them locked up on the top floor of the guardhouse without food or water for most of the day. They were kept under constant guard, but none of them were fighting men, and Quinton did not expect any trouble from them either. He realized he could not keep or kill them all, as most of them had responsibilities outside of the council. The two older members Quinton had killed had retired from all but the council and were thus expendable.

As Quinton walked into the upstairs room of the guardhouse, followed closely by Reillon and Draick, the rest of the room stopped what they were doing. Quinton took notice that Trevor was in the room. The man had a very disturbing evil streak about him that had only surface once Quinton had asked him and the rest of his men to promote terror. As a member of the council, Quinton had been given the details of the most resent murder.

With this nasty streak brought out, Parnid was now definitely his new top thief. Parnid was out right now, patrolling the streets with his ears and eyes open to any changes that might have come from the day’s drastic events. If he saw anything, he was to report back immediately. The fact that Quinton had not heard back from him all day gave the new mayor a good feeling.

The rest of the council was seated around the central table and looked at their tormentor as he entered. They had no doubt been privy to hearing about the lewd and gruesome exploits of Trevor for the past hour or so and were glad for an interruption. They were all hungry and tired, but they had been taught very well this morning that any vocal outburst would result in death.

There was one person who, though he had seen the lesson, did not care about the consequences. “What is going on here?” Jerithon shouted as soon as he saw Quinton. “You can not keep us caged up here indefinitely. We will be missed.”

Quinton laughed at the former mayor, for his words were quite literally true. Quinton kept a few exotic animals as pets back at his chateau on the riverbank. He had taken one of the smaller cages and used it to suspend Jerithon from the ceiling in one corner of the tall room. The old mayor had only enough room inside the bars to sit cross-legged and was growing very uncomfortable.

“I would disagree,” Quinton said. “I can not only keep you ‘caged’ up for as long as I want, but I will, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

“When I get out of here,” Jerithon started, and Quinton motioned to Reillon to shut him up, “I will beat you so senseless you will not be able to tell your ass from your head, not that I can tell the difference now, but when I’m done wi-” Reillon finished his spell, and though Jerithon kept shouting, nothing could be heard.

It took the caged man a few moments to realize he was no longer making any sound. He tried shouting a few times, and then grabbed his throat in terror, for being magically muted was a very unique experience. Anyone can plug their ears or shut their eyes, but a gag does not adequately represent the inability to make any vocal noise at all.

Quinton chuckled to himself as he moved to the head of the table while Jerithon continued his frantic yelling. Quinton knew the spell would not last forever, but Jerithon would give up long before then.

“Good evening gentleman,” Quinton said as he took a seat. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but as you know, it is not easy to run a city of this size. Plus, my chef prepared a fabulous meal, and I could not let it go to waste. I hope your meal was equally satisfying.”

“We have not eaten,” one of the men said flatly. He had seen Reillon’s most resent display, and hoped all the attacks from here on out would continue to be non-lethal. The members of the council had realized, like Jerithon, that they could not be killed without people outside of this room missing them. They saw after some thought, that the two men who had been killed, were the least likely to be missed, and this gave them a small sliver of hope.

“Ah, well, I apologize for that. I guess in all my preparations for this day, I over-looked that small detail.”

The looks that Quinton received from around the table let him know that his sarcasm was not being appreciated. Sitting in one of the soft chairs along the side of the great room, Trevor laughed. He loved this job.

“I want each of you to know that if you are not foolish enough to die tonight, you will all be sleeping in your own beds in a few hours.”

At this comment, each councilman sat up a little straighter in his chair. A few even mumbled amongst themselves. Quinton put a stop to it.

“Yes, I know what you must all be thinking: I’ve lost my mind. If I let you go now, you will run back and tell the rest of the city what has happened here, and I will have thousands of angry citizens to deal with. Let me play that scenario out for you.

“You will go home and tell your families. I imagine that they will believe you, though not at first. The rest of the city is going to bed right now, and you will have to wait until morning. They will awaken with you shouting in their windows that the city has been taken over by thieves and murderers. They will not believe you.”

Quinton rose from the table and paced about the room as he continued his tale. “Why should they? They have not seen what you have and will not believe you when tell the fabulous stories of Reillon and his abilities. Their lives have not changed, and will not change, and so they have no reason to believe you. Oh, I’m sure a few will, and they will join you in arms against me, but even now I am bringing in more trained fighters to bolster the guardhouse, and I will easily put down all who oppose me.

“As the deaths of Councilmen Reginald and Porter become public, and you continue in your tales of doom and gloom, more people will believe you, and what had started as a dozen protestors at my door will turn into thousands. For starters, this building is the strongest in the city, and with its doors barred, in is impenetrable.

“You might think, though, that my death is not as important as ending my ability to control the city. There you would be correct, but Reillon has assured me that given proper crowd density, he can kill over one hundred people a minute. Just imagine the effect a fireball that explodes to twenty feet in diameter would have on a densely packed crowd.”

“You know that you are insane,” one of the men said.

“That is exactly what I’m trying to tell you that I am not. I do not want you to think that I have gotten this far in my plan without having thought of everything to come. If you bring the mob looking for death, you will get it, but it will not be mine. And if you try to start anything, my men will have no trouble treating you like they treated Councilmen Strum and Alexander. They might kill you in your sleep, or they might have fun with you first. I can not control that.”

Quinton stopped walking now and leaned on the table to look each man in the eye. “I want you to know that I am in charge, and there is nothing you can do to about it. You have two options open to you that actually make sense. You can leave the city – I will not stop you – or you can live under my rule. Either option will extend your life far past what it would be if you chose any other path.”

Quinton stood up. “I now dismiss you to your homes. You will find that no one will stand in your way as you leave the guardhouse. My men will escort you to your homes, though you will not see them. Trust me, they will be there. You will go to bed, and continue your normal lives as if nothing has happened. In the end, you will thank me, or perhaps your children will, for I shall make this city far greater than any of you could have imagined.

“I will release information to the general public about what has taken place here today, and you are at liberty to agree with or deny anything I say. I will not pursue taking any more lives if I do not have to. Any death that comes in the next few days will be on your hands.”

Quinton gestured to the door. “Go.”

A few men stood tentatively, wondering if there was still some trap here.

“Go!” Quinton shouted. “Go before I have you thrown out. And I won’t use the door. These windows look just as capable of the task.”

The remaining council members scrambled out of the room as fast as they could. “What about me?” Jerithon asked. He had felt his voice return to him a while ago, but had refrained from interrupting Quinton, knowing that he would just be muted again.

“I like you right where you are,” Quinton said. “Don’t worry, your wife will also be returned to your home and watched closely. We are actually still looking for your lovely daughter. Perhaps I should send Trevor out after her. I understand he had a run in with her a few days ago and has unfinished business.”

Jerithon caught the reference to Ellen’s story of when Entreri had rescued her. He was instantly furious at the man, but then quelled his rage by how that particular story had ended. Trevor had told the men of quite a few of his exploits throughout the day, each meant to unnerve them, but he had kept the Entreri incident to himself. The former mayor could imagine Trevor running from the alley with his tail between his legs, and he laughed.

Quinton misunderstood the laugh. “I’m sure you’re thinking that your daughter is orchestrating some sort of rescue mission right now. I hear she is rather resourceful. I want to assure you, if she or anyone connected to her tries to attack me, they will be met with deadly force. No one can stand against me.”

With that, Quinton turned to leave the room. Trevor too rose from his reclined position, looked mischievously at the caged man, licked his lips evilly, and followed his boss out of the room.

Jerithon let out a sigh to try and calm his fear and anger. As his thoughts went to his daughter’s safety, he tried to reposition his cramped legs in the small cage. Getting no satisfactory results, he gave up and just focussed on his daughter. He truly hoped that she was far away from the city with no intention of organizing a rescue. He was only half right.

* * * * *

Entreri sat in front of the fire as he leaned against the large rock behind him. He was half a day’s journey east of Garrilport in the foothills of the Great Range. He had originally come south across the mountains, and instead of continuing in that direction, he decided to scout the foot hills to the east and visit a few rough towns he had found on the maps he had stolen from Reichen back in Karenstoch.

As he looked into the fire, he realized he should try not to stare at the flames, knowing full well what that would do to his vision at night. He just did not care anymore. He had left Garrilport in the morning, over 15 hours ago but had not traveled quickly and was not more than a few dozen miles from the edge of the city. The terrain he was now in did not facilitate quick travel, but that was not the reason for his short journey.

Entreri wanted to be chased. When he had left Karenstoch, he had washed his hands of the town, realizing it was not ready for what he had to offer. People in the city could have very easily profited from his work, but they chose to see his actions in a less than honorable light, and so he left.

The ranger had chased him to Halfway, and the bodies she had found there had not slowed her pursuit, to say the least. All he wanted was to be left alone, but when Elliorn had finally caught him, he realized that she had a legitimate beef. He had killed 17 people. Though in his mind they were all justified, he had killed them. For that reason, he had not killed the ranger.

Entreri realized that his trail of blood had to end somewhere if he was ever going to live in relative peace, and the ranger was as good a place to start as any. He did not expect Elliorn to sing his praises from the mountaintops, but he had hoped that his show of compassion, combined with his obvious skill, would throw her off his trail.

Then came Garrilport.

The town had accepted him, for his money at first, but after the lunch meeting with John, Entreri felt he would be accepted as a citizen as well. He was wrong. It did not matter how bright and pleasant his current state was, if the past was dark and deadly.

The parallel with Drizzt would just not leave him alone. How had the dark elf survived? Entreri knew, for had looked into it. When Drizzt had first emerged from the Underdark, he had tried to live in peace with those around him, but fell pathetically short. A family, the Thistledowns by name, was murdered savagely, and Drizzt was accused of the deed. The drow was chased out of the area and tracked across a great expanse before the ranger, Dove Falconhand, had declared the drow innocent.

Though Drizzt had dealt with the ranger with slightly more tact than Entreri had with his, and Elliorn had a more justifiable reason for taking up the chase, the similarities were there. Though they more closely mirrored his current condition. He had just been chased from a town, convicted of a crime he had not committed. Like Drizzt, his past was dark and deadly, and plain to those who looked for it, and he had been convicted on those grounds alone.

Unlike Drizzt, Entreri had too much pride to give in to the authorities and allow himself to be judged. Entreri cared little what other’s thought of him unless in impaired his ability to live as he wanted.

Now, if the captain and his men came chasing Entreri down, he would only voice his innocence if they let him. If they instead came looking for a fight, he would make sure they did not have to look hard. Entreri knew the more people he killed, the less they would believe his story, but he still held onto the hope, that the more he killed, the less they would come after him.

Maybe it was an endless cycle, but given the choice between surrendering to John and hoping that the justice system of Garrilport might find him innocent or standing his ground to protect his innocence with his blades, the second one was the only one he could live with.

As the fire died down and the night waned on, his thoughts left him with disturbed sleep. It was not surprising then, when a startled yelp brought him to immediate attention. In his days in Calimport, he prided himself in the fact that he could sleep through a thunderstorm, yet rise instantly at the sound of a creaking floorboard outside his room.

Over the past month, he had tried to rid himself of that annoying alertness. It had been necessary in Calimport and vital in his short stay in Menzoberranzan, but in a land where even the stealthiest thief moved as if wearing bells, it was not a skill he needed to retain.

As Entreri found himself standing alert in front of his low fire, his blades in his hands even before his eyes had fully open, it was nice to know that the skill was still there when he needed it. He then tried to determine if this was in fact a time that called for it.

The yelp had come from his right, toward a small pass in the rock that anyone approaching his fire would logically traverse. Thus, Entreri had set a simple dagger trap there, to give him an alarm if any one came calling. Though he half wished to be chased, he had no intention of being ambushed.

As the assassin moved silently toward the pass, making sure the fire did not cast his shadow anywhere where it might alert his prey. A few painful gasps came from the trap area ahead, still out of view, and Entreri began to develop a theory on who it might be. He stepped on a thick twig on purpose.

Ellen’s head spun about at the sharp crack. “Artemis,” she said in a harsh whisper, half hoping the killer was not the one stalking her in the dead of night. Entreri sheathed his weapons and moved through the trees and rocks, coming upon the woman suddenly.

She gasped at the sudden appearance of the dark form and how quietly he had made the rest of the approach. “What are you doing here?” he asked her, looking down at her seated form.

“Just testing your traps out,” she grinned painfully.

Entreri sighed heavily as he squatted beside her. “Let me look at that.” The dagger had stuck in her thigh, stopping when it had hit the bone. It was not near the vital arteries on the inside of her thigh, but the similarity between this wound and the one Entreri had given Elliorn was too much for the assassin. He chuckled.

“I’m glad my suffering is so entertaining. Why don’t you throw another one into my side. I’m sure you’ll double over with laughter with that one.”

“Long story,” was all Entreri said on the topic. The wound was not deep or life threatening; Ellen’s jovial mood told him that much, but still, there might be significant blood loss if the dagger was just yanked out. “Let’s get you to the fire,” he said.

Entreri assisted the woman into the clearing of the camp, and he threw a few more sticks onto the fire to provide a bit more light. In no time he had removed the dagger and provided a tight wrap for the wound. Ellen offered a few superficial thanks throughout the process, for it had been Entreri’s trap that had inflicted the wound in the first place.

“I had expected your captain friend, or at least one of his scout teams,” Entreri started, wondering what in the world this woman might be doing tracking him down. “Or did you come to get my confession despite our earlier conversation?”

“No,” she replied. “I came to ask for your help.”

In his forty years of life, Entreri could not remember one incident when someone had genuinely come to him asking for help. Jarlaxle might have been the closest, but their arrangement had been more of a business arrangement than anything else. “So you’ve come to appeal to my good nature.”

Ellen did not catch the sarcasm. “An evil man, Quinton Palluge, has taken control of our city. He is the one who has been responsible for all the murders. He has taken over the City Guard and has all the councilmen, including my father and the captain, held hostage.”

“Then rally the troops and kick him out,” Entreri replied, not taking much interest in the story. “Garrilport is a city of, what, eight thousand people, half of which are men, and half of them battle worthy. Surely with two thousand men behind you, you can take back your city.”

“Quinton has the help of a mage, and a powerful one by all reports. Do you know anything of mages?”

Entreri was silent for a while. This was an interesting twist indeed! If he had missed anything about his old home, it was the variety it brought. Elves, halflings, dwarves, orcs, trolls, and the like were everywhere you looked. There was also a magical something-or-other almost anywhere you went. If it was not a wizard or a priest or – heaven forbid – a psionicist, then it was a magical weapon or item. Entreri’s own dagger fell neatly into that category. This land was so void of variety, he almost thought about accepting Ellen’s offer just for some variety.

“I know of mages,” Entreri replied. “They are weak-muscled cowards, whose only concern is their own fame and fortune. Their egos are only one of hundreds of weaknesses, and their spells are far too predictable to even be considered threatening. You should have no trouble.”

Entreri spoke these words without any sarcasm, for this was truly how he felt. Ellen picked up on this and was confused. She trusted what Buster had said, but in her few meetings with Entreri, she felt that he was also very knowledgeable.

“I was hoping I might persuade you to come back and help me fight him,” she said, slightly fearful of Entreri’s reaction.

“Me?” Entreri laughed out loud. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“I know what people say about you, but I don’t believe them.”

“And what are people saying about me?” Entreri asked, genuinely interested.

“They say you are a ruthless killer with not one thread of good in you. They say you kill for money and entertainment, and would rather see a woman raped in an alley than step in and risk your life to help.”

Entreri did not like that last phrase, but the rest of it seemed almost like a compliment. “And who do you think I am?”

“I think you are a man who has been through a very hard life. People have threatened you, and you have been forced into fights you did not want. You are not a bad person at heart, but people have often been fearful of your skill, and your need to defend yourself has left a bloody trail behind you.”

You think I’m Drizzt, Entreri thought to himself. He hated that drow ranger more than anything else. He had not only proved to be Entreri’s equal, and often superior, but had done so while still embracing those things that Entreri despised most. On top of it all, Drizzt had thrown a dagger into Entreri’s soul, laying bare his motivations and proving them hollow and useless. It was a revelation that had put Entreri on the path he now walked. How simple would his life had been if he had never met that dark elf? He would be living in Calimport now, the celebrated assassin who would never have to work again and all would bend over backwards to make his life easier. Jarlaxle and his hoard would be but a delusional fantasy that only the strongest liquor could bring on. Entreri hated Drizzt.

“Your wrong,” Entreri said flatly. “Listen to your father. I am bad. People who come near me die, not because they attack me, but because I kill them. I am not your hero on a white horse.”

Ellen was shocked. She had been prepared to offer money if Entreri had proved less than willing, but this was totally unexpected.

“I did kill the councilmen,” he added, wanting to be rid of this woman as soon as possible. “This man who you said has taken over your city, he hired me to do it. He paid me well, and now I’m making myself scarce. He told me there might be more work for me east, so that is where I’m headed.”

Ellen just stared on in disbelief. “I don’t believe you. I don’t be-”

“I don’t care what you don’t believe!” Entreri shouted back, standing as he spoke. He drew his jeweled dagger and held it in the firelight. “Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed with this weapon? Do you?”

Ellen was in tears now. “No,” she sobbed, shaking her head in case the word was not audible.

“I sliced open the councilman’s children with it. You should have heard their screams; it was like sweet music to my ears. It had been a long time since someone had hired me to kill children, and it was a refreshing change of pace.”

Tears were rolling heavily down her cheeks now. She knew this whole display was a lie meant to scare her. It was working. She knew the children had died without a mark on them. “That’s not tru-”

“True?! True?! What is true?! What is the truth? Who decides what the truth is? You? Me? Your father? Don’t come to me to lecture me on truth. I’ve lived a life so full of lies that were truths and vice versa, I’m beginning to think there is no such thing as either.

“Your father is held captive by a powerful man who wishes to take over your city. If that is the truth, well, that is too bad. But I know that it has nothing to do with me. That is the truth. Now I think you should leave.”

Ellen rose, her body shaking from her sobs. “Please?”

“GO!!!”

Ellen went. She ran from the clearing, limping on her bad leg and tripping on the rocks and roots in the darkness. She fell several time, but did not slow her pace. She found her horse and galloped away as fast as she could, sorry she had ever come.

Chapter 7

Fine Art

Ellen rode into town several hours after dawn, tired and not thinking straight. She had mulled her thoughts over and over concerning Entreri. Right now she was pretty sure she hated him. She had come to him for help, and he had slammed the door so hard in her face that her cheeks were still flushed from crying.

It was her assessment of him that had brought about the change. She had said that he was a good person who had been forced to use his weapons to defend what he believed in. For some reason, this angered him beyond anything she could imagine. Why would someone dislike that kind of compliment? Even if he was what everyone said, a killer without a conscious, he should still be grateful for Ellen’s kind words, even if they were not true.

As Ellen dismounted at her stable, she figured she would never understand Entreri’s mind or why he did things. He had come to her rescue in the alley when he had no reason to and could get nothing in return. Now, when he had plenty to receive if he succeeded, he turned it down. It was not because he felt the task too dangerous, Ellen thought as she opened the front door to her home. He had told her what he had thought of mages, and it had not been complimentary. It had to be som-

Ellen froze.

Inside her home sat three City Guards, all of them new recruits. “Welcome home, Ellen.”

Before she could berate herself for her sheer stupidity, she needed to escape. Ellen spun around and ran into another guard. The man grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. “Hold on missy, you’re not going anywhere. The boss has been waiting for you.”

Ellen struggled some, but it was useless. She was not going to break free from the man’s iron grasp. As he led her toward the guardhouse a few blocks away, she had plenty of time now to berate herself, and she spared no expense.

Her father and John were waiting for her on the top floor. She stood stunned when she saw her father in a cage. “Father?!”

Jerithon picked his head up from his restless slumber, and his face brightened. “Ellen! Are you okay? Those monsters did not hurt you, did they?” Jerithon cast a hateful glance at the guard that had led Ellen into the room.

Ellen yanked her arm away from the guard, and he released her. “No, Dad, I’m fine.” Ellen stepped away from the guard and move toward John. He was propped up in a half-sitting, half-lying position with his broken leg stretched out in front of him. Someone had set, and it was obvious they had done a poor job.

“Ellen,” Jerithon started slowly, and his daughter knew what was coming. “I’m sorry about what I said. I did not mean it. It’s hard for me to remember that you are not my little girl anymore. Especially now that I know Artemis never did anything wrong, I feel esp-”

“No,” Ellen cut in. “Don’t apologize for that part of it. Artemis Entreri is just as rotten as you thought, maybe more. He is truly evil.”

“Ah,” a voice came from the other side of the room. Jerithon and Ellen turned to look back at the door. Quinton standing there with a interested look on his face. The door shut behind him, leaving only him, two guards, and the prisoners and of course Trevor, who was busy eyeing up Ellen. “So you spoke with our friend. And what did he have to say?”

“Nothing important. I hope I never see him again.”

Quinton shook his head. “That’s too bad. I was kind of hoping he’d try some kind of rescue. You should have been more persuasive. I’m sure a woman of your,” he paused as he stared at her and then as he looked toward Trevor, who chuckled lewdly, “stature,” he settled with, “could convince a man to do anything.”

“He cares nothing for me or anyone else in this city. He cares only for himself and his pocketbook.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Quinton sighed. “You see I owe him two. Well, actually, I owe him one, Trevor here, as I’m sure you know, owes him the other.”

The thief smiled his brown-toothed grin. Ellen engaged him in a staring contest, not willing to back down to the awful man. “If Artemis does come, I hope it is only to kick your ass again.”

“We’ll see,” Trevor said, brandishing his short sword, “we’ll see.”

* * * * *

“What am I going to do, Red?”

Entreri had always felt that talking to yourself was a sure sign of insanity. However, talking to a long dead red dragon while surrounded by more riches than in all of Calimport went far beyond simple insanity.

Entreri had his head in his hands as he sat on a chair-shaped pile of coins and gems. He had opened the ivory portal deep inside a cave where he was sure no one would find it. As long as it stayed open, he would be able to return to the cave. If someone happened upon the portal and removed the ivory cylinder from the center, he would be stuck back north of Karenstoch with the unenviable task of tracking down whoever had taken his prized possession.

“Am I destined to become the one I hated most?” he continued. Though the dragon was dead, its huge presence and lingering magical aura made it very easy for Entreri to imagine that he was not alone. “Is that the irony fate has destined for me to live out?”

Entreri got up from his seat and paced in front of the huge maw. “I don’t know what I want or even who I am anymore. Riches have never appealed to me much.” He stopped and looked over the vast treasure before him. “And that’s a shame.” He continued walking. “Fame was good back in Calimport when it meant you were respected. Both Drizzt and I demanded respect whenever we walked into any city along the coast. Here, if my fame precedes me, they close the gates or send the City Guards to chase me out.”

Entreri stopped his pacing to pick up a particularly large gem that had rolled from the pile when he had stood. He tossed it up and down, staring into its sparkling center as he continued to pace. The twisting and turning angles of the gem made any attempt to focus on it very difficult. “How complicated my life has become!

“I can not live in anonymity now, too many people have seen my skill, and word of my deeds will follow me where ever I go. Nor can I live in the open, for I am persecuted for my abilities. So what am I to do?”

Entreri stopped walking to stare at his conversation partner. “Well? Say something?” Silence. “Stupid dragon,” he said, hurling the gem at its face. The gem struck the creature right between the eyes with a “chink.” Entreri began to walk away, but paused at the sound. “Chink?” he thought to himself. He picked up another gem and threw it at the dragon. It hit the red scales and made a “click” sound.

Entreri tried a few more and got the same result. It sounded like rocks bouncing off slate, but the first one had a definite metallic ring to it. Intensely curious, the assassin nimbly climbed up on the large maw and examined the area between the huge, and thankfully closed, eyes.

Right where the two brows furrowed together, Entreri could see a metal pommel. “The death blow,” Entreri said silently. If this weapon was long enough, the tip of it had probably entered the brain of the huge beast and killed it.

Entreri examined the wound, wondering how he was going to get the weapon out without anything to hold onto. The eyes of the dragon had apparently been squinting in pain when he had died, and now the two brows had the weapon’s hilt pinched very tightly.

“That must have been some fight, huh, Red,” Entreri said, appreciating the bravery of anyone capable of delivering this blow. “I bet you were mad as hell. You probably-” but Entreri cut himself short and looked up. The light red glow coming off the dragon was not that bright, but Entreri could see a ragged form hanging from a stalagmite high above.

“You squashed him pretty good.” Entreri climbed down from the dragon’s face and picked up a few large gems. It took three tosses, but on the third, the gem connected with the shadowed form, and the ancient skeleton nearly exploded. The rib cage had been wedged onto the stone spike, but given another 50 years, the skeleton would have decayed far enough to fall on its own.

Entreri jogged over the pile. The bones were all tangled up inside of tattered clothing and rusted armor, but Entreri did notice one thing that seemed to be in perfect condition. He fished the dead man’s belt out of the mess and examined the scabbard attached to it. The belt was brittle and flaking away in his hands, but the scabbard seemed brand new.

The magic that came off of it was almost palpable, and Entreri looked back at the metal glint of the pommel between the dragon’s eyes. “That must be something special in there,” he said. As he walked back to the maw, he shook the scabbard completely loose from the decayed belt and tried to decipher the writing. Most of it was ancient magical script that was unreadable, but on the other side, one calligraphic word stood out clearly: “Cicle.”

Entreri tossed the scabbard aside for now and looked at what he needed to do to get the sword. The dragon’s rigor mortis was clenching the blade, and Entreri knew that even Wulfgar in a fit of rage would likely not be able to pry it out. Still…

Entreri ran around the piles of gold to where he had met Trent and Reichen almost two months ago. The golden battle-axe that Trent had tried to wield was still lying where Entreri had tossed it, and he scooped it up. The assassin walked careful back to the dragon as he examined the edge of the magnificent weapon. “Bruener Battlehammer, eat your heart out,” he said under his breath. The razor edge of the blade was immaculate, and Entreri was sure it would do the job.

He climbed back up to his previous perch and steadied his feet. With all his might, he swung down onto the dragon’s left eyebrow. The blade sunk in all the way to the bone, and the taunt muscle snapped back into the side of the red’s face, exposing part of the huge eye socket. Entreri then went to work on the other brow.

Soon the hilt of the weapon was visible between the slackened scales. Entreri set the axe down gently and grabbed onto the stuck weapon with both hands and tugged hard. After releasing the brow, the blade was not nearly as tight as Entreri had guessed it would be, and he went tumbling backwards off the maw. Only the assassin’s dexterity and poise kept him from running himself through as he somersaulted off the dragon.

Entreri sat up after the short, embarrassing trip to look at his find. It was a rapier. The slightly curved blade was a bit longer than most found in use by pirates along the sword coast, but it was far from a long sword.

Entreri twisted it about in a few hasty jabs and cuts and found its balance to be exquisite. Also it was extremely light, and Entreri found he was able to move it almost as quickly as his dagger.

The most distinctive thing about it was its crystal blue blade. Entreri felt a shiver as he looked at it, and as he brought it toward his face for a closer look, he could feel it sucking at his body heat. “A frost blade,” Entreri said, his pulse quickening, “Cicle.” He brought the weapon just under his chin and spit on it. The saliva crackled and froze instantly, sliding off the blade and shattering on the stone floor like a glass bead.

Entreri knew that if he touched this blade with any moist part of his body, it would stick fast until either Entreri had frozen to death, or he had ripped it free, taking a good portion of skin with it. It only clung to living flesh.

Entreri knew this weapon had to have an extremely powerful enchantment for it to have retained its power while being sheathed inside a red dragon for who knows how many centuries. He carefully slid the weapon into its scabbard and noticed how the leather of the sheath did not grow cold in the slightest. The scabbard contained the powerful weapon completely, probably regenerating it.

As Entreri added this new weapon to his belt, his mind went back to Drizzt. He knew how the drow had finally been accepted into society. He had been placed on Kelvin’s Cairn, a mountain cave just outside Bryn Shander. He had been given the responsibility of a protector and a scout, making sure no dangerous predators made their way too close to the town.

By protecting the town from the evil that lived around it, Drizzt was respected and accepted. He was still feared by some, for he was a drow and nothing could change that, but at least he was accepted. Entreri now itched for a fight to try out his new toy, and there was only one open to him.

With a smug look back at the red dragon, Entreri tipped his black hat as he moved toward the glowing portal. “We’ll be seeing you, Red. I’ve got me a mage to kill.”

* * * * *

Garrilport was quiet this night. Like Quinton had predicted, the city was not ready to believe the councilmen’s stories of doom and gloom. Those that did were either not of the fighting ilk, or they were just too scared to face a mage who could summon instant death with a flick of his wrist.

Quinton had also made good on his word to hire more men. The City Guard now boasted twice as many men as before, and they patrolled the streets with a purpose. Quinton had also called off his pickpockets and thieves, and most people saw the latter as a result of the former.

The mood was not one of jubilation that the crime was disappearing, because the average citizen understood that the salaries of the City Guards came from their taxes, and if twice as many City Guards were now employed, the money had to come from somewhere.

The guardhouse itself was quiet. Most of the men were either home asleep or out on patrol. Even so, Quinton did not feel completely safe, and his large work force allowed him to retain a dozen men at the guardhouse along with several of his thieves and thugs. Two of the guards stood outside.

The guardhouse was in the center of town, reachable by either the northern half or the southern half. Right now, the two guards were looking north, eyeing a particularly unstable form as it wove from side to side. The beggar was obviously drunk, and as he came within two dozen feet of the guardhouse, he demonstrated as much by throwing up on one of the bushes that lined the entry to the fortress.

“Here now!” one of the guards called out. “Don’t do that. Get away with you!”

“Pardon,” the man said, “but do you have some change? I feel I need some drink to make it through the night.”

The two guards looked at each other and sighed. “You can not beg here. Now get lost before we have to remove you with force.”

“No, no,” the man started to say, trying to stand up a little straighter under his black cloak, “that won’t be necessary, sirs,” he continued, slurring every word. “I just want some-” and he passed out, sprawling headlong right in the main walkway to the guardhouse.

“Please,” one of the guards said in a tired voice. “Of all the things.” He turned to his partner. “Can you give me a hand with this guy?”

The other guard smirked, and they both walked up to the fallen drunk. “What do you want, beggar?” one of them bent to shout at the unconscious man.

“Keys,” Entreri replied as he sprang up from the ground, his dagger and short sword thrusting forward. Both weapons slid under the guards’ breastplates and doubled them over. Cicle was still strapped to Entreri’s side, waiting for later.

The assassin felt the power jolt from his dagger and used the energy rush to heave both men backward onto the steps up to the front door. Entreri’s sword had been long enough to puncture several vital organs, and that guard was dead before he could shout out. The other was sucking for breath as he felt his life essence drain from him. Entreri pulled his sword out of his first kill and sliced it across the throat of his soon to be second.

As both men fell dead to the steps, and Entreri dragged them behind the bushes, he sincerely hoped they worked for Quinton and not the former captain. He would have to be cautious of that from now on. He quickly took the guardhouse keys from one of the dead men and stepped out from behind the bushes, sheathing his weapons and moving to the door. As he turned the appropriate key in the lock, he noticed that a few drops of the vegetable soup he had dumped in the bushes earlier had splattered on his boots. “Better than real vomit at least,” he said to himself

Two guards were straightening the entryway as Entreri entered. “Hey,” one of them shouted as the black-clad assassin calmly stepped into the building, “what are you doing here?”

Entreri paid the man no mind as he turned his back to him to close and lock the door behind him. “I said,” the man repeated, pulling his sword as he approached the intruder’s back, “what are you doing here?”

Entreri spun about suddenly, Cicle coming out fast and leaving a bluish frost as it cut through the humid air and batted aside the guard’s weakly held weapon. “To arms!” the man tried to shout, but Entreri kicked him in the stomach, blasting the wind from his lungs.

The man stumbled backwards, and Entreri leaped to his side and straddled one of his legs behind the man as he poked his dagger at the guard’s weapon hand. The man dropped his sword and stepped back, tripping over Entreri’s well-positioned leg. His back slammed against the wall, and the assassin was on him in a second.

With the frost blade at his neck and the jeweled dagger pricking the guard’s gut, Entreri had the man shaking in fright. “Who do you work for?”

“Quinton,” the man said in barely more than a whisper. He figured this man had to be one of the fighters just hired by the new mayor.

“Wrong answer,” Entreri said, pulling his rapier across the man’s neck. The perfect blade cut through the guard’s throat like butter, toppling the man’s head to the ground. The blood spurted out only briefly as the frost blade seared the massive wound closed.

Entreri spun to face the second man in the entry, but the terrified guard was watching his former partner’s frozen blood shatter on the floor. When he saw that the assassin’s attention was now turned on him, he quickly unbuckled his sword and tossed it to the ground. “I serve Captain Irenum.”

Entreri could tell it was a lie, but he also saw this man was not worth his time. “Stay here,” Entreri said. “If I find out you are lying or that you sounded any type of alarm, you’ll spend the last few moments of your life counting stab wounds. Understand?”

The man nodded furiously. Entreri moved into the next room and found it empty. This was the weapon room, and all sorts of bows and swords stood on racks and shelves. There were stairs leading down, but Entreri was sure he needed to go up.

The next room was the mess hall, but this late at night, it held only one man. He was sitting at a table with his back to the door drinking mead. Entreri ran up to him without a sound and placed his dagger snuggly against the man’s neck. The guard spit out the alcohol in his mouth and started to rise and reach for his sword, but Entreri applied pressure and the man went rigid.

“Tell me about Captain Irenum?” Entreri asked.

“He’s a spineless wretch who does not deserve any place in this guardhouse,” the man responded carefully.

“And where can I find him?”

“He’s upstairs on the fourth floor with the rest of the captives.”

“You’ve done well,” Entreri whispered in his ear. The man sighed deeply and relaxed. Entreri killed him.

Entreri climbed the stairs and paused in front of the next room. Through the closed door he could here the sounds of fighting. He was about to burst in, when he heard voices too. It sounded like someone was giving instructions. Entreri cracked the door and looked into the guardhouse’s training room. Three men, none of them City Guards, were busy sparring.

He was about to pass it buy, but he saw the stairs in the far corner and knew he had to pass through this room. The sparring room was not well lit, and Entreri slipped in and closed the door without detection. He saw, though, that he would not be able to get to the stairs without being seen. Instead of trying, he turned is attention to the men in the middle of the room.

“No, no,” Parnid said to the other thief, “lead with this leg, not that one. This way you’ll be able to snap the attack back without crossing yourself up.”

“Let me show him,” Entreri said, stepping from the shadows, Cicle in his hand.

Parnid had never seen Entreri before, but he had gotten descriptions from both Trevor and Billy. “Artemis?”

Entreri bowed low. “At your service.”

Parnid turned to the other two men in the room. “Take him.” Both trainees dropped their practice weapons and picked up real ones. Entreri kept only his magical rapier out and put himself in a classic fencing pose.

As the two men rushed him, Entreri leaped forward and slapped both swords twice in a quick “Z” cut. He then fell back a step, letting the off balance men lunge forward. They both led with the wrong foot. “No, didn’t you listen to anything your teacher said,” Entreri criticized, and as he batted their thrusts aside, neither was able to pull back in time, and one of them took a stunning blow in the face from Entreri’s hilt.

The man went sprawling to the ground. The other thief did not like this derogatory treatment and rushed the assassin. This was not a traditional fencing move, and Entreri had to change his footing quickly. A moment later he had his back up against the wall, and Cicle was locked with the other man’s sword.

The thief was taller and stronger than Entreri, and he used these advantages well, pushing hard against the assassin’s blocking blade. They held the pose for a few seconds, the thief slowly pushing his weapon toward Entreri’s face. “Where’s your advice now, stranger?” the thief chuckled.

“Look down,” Entreri complied.

The thief did and saw the jeweled dagger stab out towards his gut. As the blade stared to bite into his leather vest he jumped backwards, stumbling as he stepped onto the raised practice mat. He started to charge Entreri again, but stopped and looked down at his blade with interest. Being locked with Cicle for as long as it had been had made the blade very cold. The leather grip on the sword could only insulate it so much.

Entreri leaped from the wall and swung hard at the confused man. the thief held up his sword to block, but the cheap, and now brittle, blade shattered on impact. Sensing movement from the side where the first thief had fallen, Entreri reversed his grip on the rapier, pivoted next to the weaponless man, and stabbed backwards. As the frost blade entered the man’s chest, the other thief impaled himself on Entreri’s extended dagger, having not expected the assassin to turn about so suddenly.

Entreri held up both men for another second and then retracted his weapons, sending both thieves to the mat, quite dead. Entreri wiped his weapons off as he looked for the third man. At least he wiped his dagger off. All the blood on the rapier had frozen and fallen off as soon as the sword was pulled from its victim. Parnid was nowhere to be found.

* * * * *

Quinton, Draick, and Reillon were sitting at the table on the top floor discussing their plans while the three captives looked on. Jerithon did not like the fact that they were so open about their intentions with both he and John present. John could obviously not do anything about it. He would be lucky to even walk again. But if Jerithon got out, he would be able to throw a big wrench into their plans. This just confirmed the fact that they were not going to ever let him out.

Ellen was still tending to John, and as of yet, had not been restrained in any way. This total lack of respect for his daughter, made Jerithon mad, but he also realized his daughter could not do anything to seriously jeopardize their plans while she was in here. Besides the three men at the table, Trevor was still in his favorite chair off to the side of the room, treating himself to drink bar in the corner. Also, there were two guards stationed at the door.

That door burst open suddenly, and Parnid came rushing in. Draick stood quickly at the table, pulling his sword halfway. He pushed it back in when he saw who it was, but the worried look on the thief’s face kept him standing. “What is it?”

“Artemis is here,” Parnid announced.

“What?” Quinton responded. Ellen too was startled. This was the last thing she had expected. “What do you mean he’s here?” Quinton continued. “Where?”

“Here,” Parnid reiterated, pointing to the floor. “I left him in the sparring room.”

“And?” Quinton prompted.

“He butchered two of my men.”

Quinton scowled. He turned to Draick. “How many men did you have on the first floor?”

“Five,” Draick said, not believing anyone could have made it past all of them.

“How many on the third floor?” Quinton continued.

While Draick tried to count in his head, Parnid spoke up. “I saw three more on the third floor. I told them to follow me.” Sure enough, the guards soon filtered into the room.

“Lock that door,” Quinton ordered. He turned to Reillon. “And make sure Artemis pays a price when he tried to open it.”

The mage smiled as he walked up to the door to do his job. The five guards parted for him, and Parnid moved to the center of the room, wanting nothing to do with the mage’s trapped doors.

After three spells, Reillon stepped away from the door, and the guards closed in around it. “Stop!” the mage said. “Do not touch that door.” The guards each took a step back.

“I did not want you to trap our side,” Quinton said.

“Both sides are hot,” Reillon responded. “These spells are ten times as powerful as the one I used on my door back in your home. With the increase in power comes an added risk. Don’t worry, Artemis will be quite dead as soon as he touches the door, and then your men will have no problem opening it and cleaning up the mess. I have pra-”

Reillon was cut off by the sound of shattering glass and the sight of Artemis Entreri rolling through one of the many windows that looked out onto the city. Even before the broken glass had stopped dancing around him, the deadly assassin whipped a throwing dagger at the collection of guards by the door.

The five men had been facing the door, waiting patiently for the explosion on the other side that would tell them they could open it. The sound of the glass spun them around, and the sight of the flying dagger made them freeze. The guard in front ducked just in time and sighed as the dagger flew over his head, but as he heard it “thunk” into the trapped door behind him, he swore viciously.

Wave after wave of fire engulfed the five men, and bolts of powerful lightening jumped between them, welding their flexible metal armor into solid pieces. After a few short seconds, the display was over, and the number of Entreri’s potential enemies had been reduced by half. Entreri looked at Reillon. “Thanks.”

Draick was the first to recover from the dramatic display and pulled his sword to cut Entreri down. Actually, it was John’s sword, and it was huge. Instead of pulling his dagger, Entreri paired Cicle with his other short sword, fearing the dagger would not be able to block the huge weapon.

Draick swung the borrowed sword in huge scythe-like attacks, trying to force Entreri back out the window he had just flown through. Entreri actually jumped back to the windowsill, teetering ever so slightly backwards before leaping over the rushing Draick.

The new captain spun about but neglected to swing his weapon as he did and was forced on the defensive. Entreri’s weapons picked at Draick’s solid armor, finding holes and sending shivers down his spine every time Cicle hit home. Draick kept his big weapon down low to protect his vulnerable legs and quickly realized that if something did not happen fast, he was going to die.

Reillon could see the inevitable ending as well and decided to enter the fight. Entreri had expected this eventually, but when the five energy bolts hit him in the back, it was almost more than he could take. His attacks against Draick slowed slightly as a result, and he began to time a roll away from the guard to catch his breath, when a second wave of energy bolts slammed into him.

This second attack was meant to be a disabling one, and Entreri felt his senses failing and his limbs stiffening. He had lots of experience battling such spells and fought hard against this one. He dropped his short sword and fell to one knee under the effort.

“You are no match for me,” Reillon said from behind, and Entreri could sense him casting yet another spell. How was he getting these off so quickly?

Draick too was preparing to end the battle and heaved his heavy sword above his head with both hands. With strength and speed the assassin should not have possessed at this point in the battle, his free hand reached into his cloak and pulled his jeweled dagger. With Draick’s arms above his head, the bottom of his plate armor was lifted slightly, and Entreri plunged the dagger home.

At just that moment, Reillon released his next attack, which was his death spell. With Entreri’s dagger feeding on Draick’s life energy, the assassin merely shrugged off the powerful spell and passed it on to Draick. The now ex-Captain of the City Guards, felt the cold death creep into him through the dagger in his gut, and his breath left him.

The weight of the great sword slowly pulled him backwards, and Entreri would have liked to watch him fall, but his heightened senses picked up Reillon releasing yet another spell, and he rolled to the side. A jet of flame filled the area where Entreri had just been, and since the spell was not magically guided, it just took the next person in line.

Draick was already dead, but now his torso was on fire as he tumbled backward out of the broken window. Reillon cursed, and with fire still shooting from his right hand out the window, his left crossed over to hurl a fireball at the assassin. As Entreri leaped away from the attack, he now understood how the mage was casting so quickly. He had never fought anyone who could cast two spells simultaneously, one with each hand.

The fireball exploded behind him, and Entreri felt the edges of the blast singe his skin. He knew about the protection Drizzt’s magical scimitar offered the drow, and Entreri was a bit disappointed to find that his frost blade did not offer a comparable fire protection. In fact, if Entreri even touched his blade, it would actually hurt him. But Entreri realized what Reillon had said earlier; with increased power comes increased risk.

Entreri came out of his roll with his two weapons ready, and the rest of the room looking at him. “Is that all you’ve got mage?”

Reillon growled and took a step toward Entreri as if he wanted to engage the assassin in physical combat. Quinton grabbed onto his mage’s shoulder to hold him back, and instead motioned to his two thieves. They each drew their weapons. Trevor had upgraded his arsenal since the fight in the alley, and pulled a high quality long sword that he had almost certainly stolen from the armory downstairs. Parnid pulled an equally nice short sword, and mimicked Entreri’s style with a dagger in his second hand.

The two men walked slowly toward the assassin, and Entreri calmed himself. He did not feel deeply concerned. He had faced Trevor before and knew he could finish him in the opening seconds. Parnid could not be too difficult either if his trainees were any indication of his skill. Then he saw Reillon motion with his hands and send two white spheres toward the thieves. Entreri swallowed hard as he guessed what the spell was and was proven right a second later when the two men exploded into lightening fast attacks.

Entreri had caught the tale end of Drizzt’s battle with Dantrag, the former Baenre weapon master who had worn the speed enhancing bracers. Drizzt had been able to trap the skilled fighter within his own speed. Dantrag had not been able to improvise, for his motions were too quick to change.

Drizzt had trained under the greatest weapon master Menzoberranzan had ever seen and knew all the routines Dantrag performed better than the Baenre did himself. Therefore he had been able to predict exactly what Dantrag was going to do next and was able to defeat him.

There were two main differences here. The first was that neither of these men had ever undergone extensive training and therefore would not operate within expected and predictable routines. Instead their attacks would be random and haphazard.

The second, and more important difference, if Entreri understood the haste spell Reillon had used, was that these men did not see themselves moving faster as much as they saw Entreri and everything else moving slower. The spell actually put them in a slightly different dimension. This meant that in their minds, they still had plenty of time to change their attacks in mid swing, and Entreri would have to counter those improvisations.

The assassin did not try to block the initial attacks, but instead initiated his own offensive routine. Like he had hoped, to the two thieves the attacks seemed slow, and they changed their stance to intercept them. If they had disregarded Entreri’s blades, they probably cold have scored a hit before the assassin’s weapons even came near them.

Entreri circled now that he had the two on the defensive, trying to get them to shield each other so he only had to face one at a time. They were better than that, though, and had obviously worked together before and quickly adjusted to Entreri’s tactics.

The assassin took notice of this coordination and backed off for a moment. To Parnid and Trevor, this moment seemed like an eternity, and they both attacked. Entreri smiled as he saw their weapons work together, each filling a gap the other left open, but he was already on the floor, rolling towards Parnid’s legs. With their attacks intertwined, when Parnid went down, they both went down.

Entreri rolled out of the jumbled mess, managing to slap Cicle’s blade against Parnid’s cheek. The frost blade ripped a patch of skin away from the thief’s face, and he howled in pain. Both men stood, and Entreri could see blood running from Parnid’s face. The man was furious, and Entreri opened his side to him.

Both men attacked again, but Parnid, seeing the obvious opening in Entreri’s defenses, stepped in too quickly. Trevor had become so used to Entreri’s slow movements that his partner’s quicker step startled him, and he could not check his blade in time. It did not matter though, for as Parnid stepped in the way of his partner, receiving a cut to the side from Trevor’s sword, Entreri had already snapped both his weapons back to cover his opening, knowing the attack from Trevor was no loner coming.

Parnid’s blades faltered, and Entreri had his opening, he swept his rapier across the thief’s short sword, clearing the path for his dagger to plunge into the unarmored chest. Entreri hugged the man tightly as his body convulsed quicker than normal under the haste spell and used him as a shield to prevent Trevor from attacking.

Soon Parnid’s dead weight was too cumbersome and Entreri dropped it. “You’ll die now!” Trevor shouted, but to Entreri the speed talk was just a jumbled mess. The agile thief leaped over his fallen comrade and attacked in a flurry. Entreri had no choice but to backpedal under the furious attacks. Soon he found himself nearing the edge of the room and furniture began to clog his path. He backed into Trevor’s favorite high-backed chair and knew he had to change his strategy.

Instead of blocking the next high attack, Entreri ducked and thrust his rapier forward. Trevor easily leaped backward from the attack, but it gave Entreri some room. He began to spin. His cape flared out with each pass, hiding his body and his blades. Trevor knew they were there though, and deflected the circular attacks when they came around. The spin was very similar to the one Drizzt had used on numerous occasions, only Entreri’s off weapon was not long enough to make it as effective.

Trevor was quickly catching on to the rhythm and noticed with great interest that on every revolution, Entreri’s back was turned to him for a brief second. Only to Trevor, that brief second looked much longer, and he rocked back and forth with the assassin, waiting for a chance to strike.

Then it came. There was a brief hitch in Entreri’s spin, and Trevor came diving in. His long sword thrust time and again into the back of the cape with blinding speed, and he felt his blade cut and tear into the assassin’s flesh underneath.

Trevor was a little confused as to why Entreri had not fallen dead after half a dozen jabs, for surely he had pierced the assassin’s heart several times by now. Then he felt Entreri’s dagger slide slowly into his own back, and he knew his folly.

“You killed that chair good,” Entreri whispered into the dead man’s ear and let him fall. Trevor slumped to the ground, his blade pulling the cape from the back of the upholstered chair where Entreri had draped it a moment before during mid-spin.

Entreri did not take the time to marvel over his clever trick, but turned to track down the mage. Reillon was terrified of the man that walked toward him, and barely got off a spell before Entreri was in striking distance.

The assassin recognized the shimmering outline that came upon the mage as a stoneskin spell, and he smiled. “Trying to buy yourself some time?” Entreri asked. “It won’t work.” The assassin exploded into motion, counting aloud each time one of his blades struck the magical barrier.

Reillon’s voice was quivering as he tried to get out a stun spell. He knew if he could just touch the assassin with it, Entreri would be helpless, for it was far more powerful than the projectile version. But the assassin’s insane speed and unnerving counting, which made it very clear exactly how long Reillon had left to live, also made it very difficult to concentrate.

Reillon had cast a double stoneskin on himself, and as Entreri, with his dagger, stuck the magical barrier for the sixteenth and final time in a fourth as many seconds, he reversed his grip on his rapier, turned about, and plunged it backwards.

Reillon had just been ready to cast the hold spell, but as Entreri turned quickly about, Reillon missed him and the spell misfired. As the frost blade sunk into his unprotected chest, Reillon stunned himself. As the last word of the spell escaped his lips, it was followed by a blue puff of frost.

The rest of the room watched on in horror, as the mage’s stunned body slowly lost all heat and began to freeze over. Entreri walked a few paces away and turned to watch the spectacle. Reillon’s mouth was still open, as the pale skin around it became even whiter under Cicle’s influence. When the process was completed, a sickening crackle sounded through the room, and Reillon was completely frozen.

Entreri walked back up to the mage and yanked his sword free. The sound it made was like a blade being scraped against stone. The added momentum also started Reillon’s statue falling forward. It hit the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces. A chill ran down Entreri’s spine as he realized the power of his new weapon, and he quickly sheathed it.

Quinton was aghast. He was leaning against the table for support as pieces of his mage scattered about his feet. At first he was too stunned at the displays he had just seen to contemplate that he was next, but as Entreri slowly walked up to him, only his dagger in his hand, Quinton realized that his time had come to an end.

“Wait!”

Entreri paused in front of the terrified man, his dagger held so its glint reflected into Quinton’s eyes. The call had not come from Quinton, but from Jerithon. “Don’t kill him.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Entreri said, and his next three words ensured his future in this city, “he isn’t armed.”

Quinton relaxed visibly, and Entreri grabbed him roughly by the collar with his free hand. “You set me up. For that I should gut you like the spineless pig that you are. And if I wasn’t feeling so damn righteous right now, I would.”

With that, Entreri let go of the man, slapped him twice, and turned to leave. “Wait!” Jerithon called again. “You can just leave us like this!”

Entreri turned back around, already halfway to the door. “I was asked to kill a mage.” He motioned to the shrapnel on the floor, which was slowly melting back to flesh. “I’ve done that.”

“Please,” Ellen asked. She had watched this whole display without leaving John’s side. The captain, as much as he would have loved to see the assassin at work, had been unconscious through the whole affair.

When Ellen had heard from Parnid that Entreri had indeed come to rescue them, she had been confused. Then when he had whirled about the room, cutting up everything that moved, she realized that she had no idea what he was. But having just spared Quinton’s life, when he was probably the most deserving of death, she understood that she had been right all along.

“Please,” she said again.

Entreri looked at Quinton. “Do you have the key?” he asked, nodding toward Jerithon’s suspended cage. Quinton nodded. “Let him go.” The older man hesitated. “Let. Him. Go.” Entreri made sure it was clear that he would not repeat himself again.

Quinton moved like a scolded child and did as he was told. He went to the winch on the wall and gently lowered the cage to the ground. He then unlocked the door and backed away. Jerithon wanted to leap out of the cage and throttle the man, but his legs had been in a cramped position for almost two whole days, and he found he was barely able to stand. Still Quinton kept his distance.

Entreri was not finished yet. “Go pick up that sword,” he ordered, pointing to where Trevor had fallen. Quinton looked confused. Entreri did not bother repeating himself, but merely cocked his head and stared hard at the man. Even from across the room, the look was enough to get Quinton moving. He ran over to Trevor and pried the long sword from the dead man’s hand.

“Now give it to the mayor.”

“What?” Quinton responded. “He’ll kill me.”

“You give him that one,” Entreri said as he drew his rapier and swiped it back and forth in front of him, leaving a frosty wake hanging in the air, “or I’ll give him this one.”

Quinton nearly impaled himself as he scrambled to give the weapon to Jerithon. As soon as the mayor held the sword up, he regained a measure of his strength and confidence. “Sit down,” he ordered Quinton.

Entreri turned to Ellen. “Anything else?”

Ellen smiled at him. “Thank-you.”

Entreri gritted his teeth as he prepared to say two particular words for the first time in his life. “You’re welcome.” With that he left.

* * * * *

Mayor Jerithon Alexander looked out of his window toward the river. He could see that the construction on the new warehouses across the river had already begun, and he was happy his daughter had been able to employ the workers required. Ellen was a member of the City Council now, and she was more than taking up the slack for the four they had lost.

It had been two weeks since the night when Entreri had taken back the city and handed it to Jerithon. The mayor had had his doubts about the man, but Ellen had been insistent that he allow him to stay within the city.

He had killed ten men directly that night, not including the five from the trapped door. That alone should have given him the death penalty, or at least earned him banishment from the city. It was not just that he had killed them, it was how he had killed them.

Ellen had argued against this thinking. The men who died were evil. They had been hired to take over the city, and if necessary, kill anyone who stood against them. Entreri had done what he needed to do. She said that if he had just shot them all with a crossbow, Jerithon would not have given it a second thought and would have held a parade in his honor. Dead is dead. It did not matter how Entreri had done it, just that he had. What was more important was whom he had killed, why he had killed them, and when he had stopped.

When it was presented to him in that light, Jerithon agreed with his daughter and allowed the assassin to stay. After some extra thought, he had even asked if he wanted to be Captain of the City Guard, but Entreri had just laughed, saying he was happy with his shack on the edge of the city.

Jerithon relented and instead ended up promoting one of the loyal men who had survived the take over. He was still looking for three more councilmen, but that would take time. People were not too eager to join a group that had so recently been a target of assassins no matter how much assurance Jerithon gave them that the threat had ended.

There was a knock on his door. “Come,” Jerithon called. His page opened the door and scampered in. “Yes?”

The boy had ended his silent servitude and was allowed to speak now. “A woman is here to see you, sir. She said that she has traveled a long way to get here and that it is imperative she speaks with you.”

“Does she have a name?”

The boy shrugged. “She did not give one.”

Jerithon frowned. “Next time get one. Show her up.”

The boy disappeared and a minute later led a thin well-dressed woman into the room. She was dressed for the outdoors, but her clothes had a regal look that said she was someone of importance. Her face could have been pretty, but her look was one of utter seriousness, making her almost homely. She was tall, and her movements very fluid and graceful except for a slight limp.

“My name is Elliorn,” she said once the page had left and closed the door behind him. “I am a ranger from up north.”

Jerithon rose from behind his desk to great his guest. She did not accept his offered hand. “Please have a seat,” he offered. She shook her head. “Would you like a drink?” She shook it again.

“I’m here on business,” she replied.

Regardless, Jerithon poured himself one and took his seat back behind the desk. “What about?”

“I understand you were victimized by some pretty brutal murders lately,” she said.

“Yes,” Jerithon agreed. “It was about two and a half weeks ago, but we caught the murderer. He was publicly executed last week, in fact.”

“Quinton Palluge,” Elliorn said, letting Jerithon know she knew what she was talking about, “a 53-year-old gem and precious metal merchant. He was your killer?”

“Well,” Jerithon replied, “he had a few hired goons, but we were able to track them down without too much difficulty.”

“Indeed. Let me get to the point, Mayor. I am looking for a deadly assassin who goes by the name Artemis. He is a few inches shorter than I am, with a neatly trimmed goatee. He wears a black cape and hat and uses a short sword and dagger. Do you know anyone who matches that description?”

Jerithon paused in thought and then shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t think of anyone.” Entreri used a rapier now.

Elliorn looked a little annoyed. “I have reason to believe he is in your city and would request permission to conduct a search.”

“Please,” Jerithon agreed, “by all means, conduct your search. If this man lives within my city, I would appreciate any help you could offer to remove him.”

“Can I retain the services of you City Guards?”

“Alas,” Jerithon sad sadly, “we are a little short-handed right now, and I can not give you any guarantees. But feel free to question them as much as you like.” They had all been told how to respond, and since Entreri was responsible for saving their jobs, they would comply.

“Well, if you remember anything that might help me, please let me know.”

“Of course,” Jerithon said. “If he turns up after you leave, I’ll be sure to send a message to you as soon as possible.”

Elliorn left. Jerithon waited a few minutes until he was sure she had left the building and then rang for his page. The boy appeared within moments. “Bring this to Artemis’s house on the edge of the city,” Jerithon said, handing the boy a rolled parchment he had prepared in advance. “Be quick about it.”

The boy left, and Jerithon went back to looking at the construction across the river.

*****Author’s Note*****

This is where the story ends. If I write any more in this world with Entreri, that story will pick up right here. If you look at the next page, though, you will see that this story continues a bit further. I almost did not include the following epilogue because I knew half of you would not like it. In reality, though, the few pages that follow are the real reason I wrote this story in the first place. I had imagined the following scene every night for about a month, but I knew that I could not get there unless I wrote what you just read. This epilogue is my response to what Drizzt said in his introduction to Part III of Servant of the Shard. Even though I thought of this story long before Servant of the Shard was even published, it turned out RAS and I were on the same page here. If you have not read the book, do not worry, I will not spoil the story, maybe a bit of the intro, but not the story. In the intro, Drizzt explains why he did not kill Entreri when he had the chance in Silent Blade. Briefly, he said that he could not kill Entreri because he could see that the assassin had hated what he had become. Drizzt had shown him that his life was hollow, and while Entreri hated the drow for it, neither could he deny its reality. Drizzt also says that he knew by holding back his blade, he sentenced many people to death at the hands of the assassin. How could this be justified? Even if Entreri did have a change of heart down the road, how is sparing his life worth the many he would kill before his redemptive change? How can this be justified, you ask. Read on, and I shall tell you.

*****End of Note*****

Epilogue

20 Years Later.

“Uncle Art, Uncle Art!”

Entreri paused in his work and leaned on his shovel as he watched the young child run toward him. The child’s name was William Irenum, son of John and Ellen Irenum. His mother was the mayor of Garrilport.

“Uncle Art!”

Entreri really hated that name. The kid was the youngest of four, and at the age of seven, he still had a hard time saying the name Artemis. It was his parent’s idea to shorten the name to Art, and Entreri had never forgiven them. He preferred Artremus, as William would say, to Art any day.

Uncle Art was a side of Entreri that he had not known existed. Art was not a killer or an assassin. He was a respected member of the community. Art had never drawn a weapon in his life. Most of all, Art was an honorary uncle.

In Calimport, as Entreri had climbed his way to prominence, many people had talked about him. They had said there was a special skill that went along with being Entreri, a skill that went beyond his use of weapons and applied more to the way he lived his life. There had been the loneliness of being Entreri also, for the young man made no friends and had made it clear he did not want any. There was also the fear of being Entreri, for as the most powerful man in Calimport, he was also the most often targeted.

In the end, his peers had summed it up by saying there was an “Art” to being Entreri. Little did they know how right they were.

“Uncle Art,” the boy called for the forth time as he finally ran up to Entreri.

“What is it Billy?” Entreri could not help notice how much different this Billy was from the first one he had met in Garrilport.

“Mom said that a really important person is in town today and they are going to have a celebration in their honor.”

“Really,” Entreri responded, already able to tell where this was going to go.

“Yea, it’s a really famous ranger from the north.”

Entreri paused in thought. Had Elliorn finally caught up with him after all these years? He had had several close calls over the past two decades, but he had managed to elude the determined woman so far. “Does this ranger have a name?”

“He does, but it is a really weird one,” Billy responded.

Entreri let out a sigh of relief at the male pronoun and went back to work with the shovel. “Well what is it?” Billy had trouble with most names he had not heard before. If he had not thought this ranger’s name weird, Entreri would have had cause to worry.

“It’s Drizzit, or something.”

Entreri froze. He suddenly ceased being Art, and quickly changed back to Entreri, the deadly assassin. His right hand went for his dagger, but it was, of course, not there. Then common sense set in. Drizzt was dead. Entreri had killed him. Kimmuriel, one of Jarlaxle’s lieutenants, had given Entreri momentary psionic powers to defeat him. His last image of the drow ranger was his torn and bloody body lying on the floor inside one of Crenshinibon’s towers. Kimmuriel had dragged him away from the scene with a psionic leash, while Jarlaxle and Rai-guy, a drow priest, had stood over the fallen Drizzt.

A thought entered Entreri’s mind then, but he dismissed it just as quickly. Jarlaxle would have no reason to resurrect Drizzt. Sure, Rai-guy had the capability, but Entreri knew that the priest hated Drizzt almost as much as he did. No, this ranger named Drizzit was just a victim of one of Billy’s verbal massacres.

“And Mom says he’s an elf too.”

Entreri almost cried.

“Have you ever seen an elf, Uncle Art?”

Entreri nodded. “How’s your father feeling?”

Billy shook his head. “He’s not doing so well.”

Ever since Draick had broken his leg, John had had his good days and his bad days. As the years took their toll, the latter out numbered the former by a considerable amount. When the goblin-kind uprising had occurred over fifteen years ago, it had killed John that he was not able to participate in the fight.

Entreri had, though, and in the following years, he had fought alongside John’s two eldest sons. They were fine men now, and either one of them would make a fine captain one day. Entreri had kept busy over the years.

He had taken particular interest in the news from the north. Garrilport had suffered through several raids from goblin-kind, but up around Karenstoch, they had it ten times worse. Entreri found it amusing when he heard of the reports that Elliorn was leading yet another goblin purge into the north woods. If Drizzt really was here, he had probably come as a result of the problems up north. He had always been a quick one to offer aid.

“Mom says I can’t go into the city alone,” Billy started, hoping his uncle would not make him finish the request.

“So you want me to take you to this celebration so you can meet the famous Drizzit?”

“Will you? Oh, thank-you, thank-you. You’re the best Uncle Art.”

“Just shut up and get in the wagon,” he said, fighting back the color that was rising in his cheek. There were times when he hated that kid.

Entreri set his shovel aside for now and climbed up easily into the tall wagon. He snapped his reigns once, and the two horses pulled the wagon away from his home. The shack from twenty years ago had undergone some radical changes in the time Entreri had lived there, and so had the rest of the neighborhood. This was now one of the nicer sections of the city. In fact, the mayor’s house was right next to his.

The trip to the center of town was brief, and Entreri found he could not park as close to the city square as he had wanted. The two left the wagon at a hitching post and went the rest of the way on foot. There was a large pavilion set up in the square, and about a hundred people had gathered to meet this strange celebrity. The pair waded into the crowd, trying to get a good view of the stage up front.

“I can’t see,” Billy complained, futilely jumping up and down a few inches trying to get his head above the much taller crowd.

Neither can I, Entreri thought. He reached down and picked Billy up in his strong hands and set him up on his shoulders. Entreri could feel an obvious change go through the young boy. “Can you see him?”

“Uncle Art,” he said in a serious whisper, “he’s black.”

Entreri had to chuckle at this. He had already convinced himself that it was Drizzt, and this pretty much sealed it. There could not be too many more dark elf rangers running around whose name sounded like “Drizzit.” Why Jarlaxle had saved him would remain a mystery.

Drizzt was not the only one Billy could see, for his mother was up there also. She quickly returned Billy’s look, for up on his “uncle’s” shoulders, he was easily the tallest head in the crowd. Not only did Ellen see her son, but she had a pretty good guess who he might be sitting on. She motioned for Billy to come to the front of the stage, thinking it might be a good idea to introduce one of the heroes of the north to the hero of Garrilport.

“Mom wants us to go up there,” Billy said, leaning over and looking Entreri in the face.

“I thought she might.” The meeting was inevitable now, and Entreri gritted his teeth.

“Coming through! Excuse us! I’m going to see my mom!” Billy exclaimed from his high perch, directing traffic as Entreri tried to work his way through the crowd. Finally the pair made it all the way to the front, and Entreri was standing before the stage.

It was Drizzt, all right, and he did not look a day older than the last time Entreri had seen him. Entreri was sixty years old, but he still prided himself has being the best fighter in the city. He had lost a step or two, and his blades were not quite as quick, but he had had a lot to loose to begin with, and still no one could match his skill. Yet as he looked at Drizzt, who must be nearing a century in age, he knew he could not last five seconds against the drow now.

“Hello, Drizzt Do’Urden.”

Drizzt was slightly less prepared for this meeting than was Entreri. Drizzt had never expected to see the assassin again. The years had not been kind to Wulfgar and Catti-brie, and Drizzt had just assumed that Entreri, who had been ten years their senior to begin with, had faired little better. Especially since his last information had Jarlaxle and Entreri teamed together. The drow mercenary leader had a good 300 years left in him, and Drizzt knew he would not tolerate an aging assassin.

“Hello Artemis Entreri,” Drizzt replied. “Elliorn had told me about someone she had been chasing for the past two decades, but I just did not want to believe it.”

Ellen looked at the two fighters with sincere confusion. “Do you two know each other?” They both turned to the mayor and nodded. With all the good Entreri had done for the city, she had all but forgotten his checkered past and instantly assumed that both Drizzt and Entreri had fought side by side, pushing back evil in the land across the great sea.

“Well this is indeed a joyous occasion. Not only have two old friends reunited, but they do so as heroes in their own right.”

Drizzt’s ears picked up at this, and he cast the assassin a curious glance. Entreri just shook his head.

“I’m sure you two have a lot you want to talk about,” Ellen continued, adding fuel to the fire. “Art, why don’t you join us at the head table during the banquet. I’m sure your exploits might even impress our guest of honor.”

“Yea, Uncle Art,” Billy chimed in. “I’m sure Ranger Drizzit will love to hear about how you killed all those goblins by yourself, especially their giant leader.”

Entreri could not look Drizzt in the eyes. “I don’t know. I’m sure Drizzt here won’t be impressed by my humble accomplishments. You have to remember that Drizzt grew up in the Underdark and has battled demons and all kinds of-”

“Nonsense, Art,” Drizzt interrupted, barely restraining his laughter at the assassin’s obvious discomfort. He had even missed Billy’s mispronunciation of his name. “I would love to hear of your tales of valor.”

“I bet you would,” Entreri said under his breath, but Drizzt’s sharp ears picked it up.

“Then it is settled,” Ellen said, a large smile spreading across her face. “And I believe it is probably time that we head over to the tables now, for the feast is about to begin. This will be a very interesting evening.”

As a pair of City Guards led Drizzt off the stage, Ellen fell in next to Entreri, who had removed Billy from his shoulders and was now leading the child by the hand.

“How do you know him?” she asked quietly.

“Actually,” Entreri said, stopping to look Ellen in the face, “I killed him once.”

“Oh?” Ellen said, not getting the joke. Then she remembered what Entreri had been before he had arrived in Garrilport. “Oh,” she repeated with realization slapping her in the face. “This will be an interesting evening.”

Entreri could only nod.

This file was created with BookDesigner program

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1/23/2009

LRS to LRF parser v.0.9; Mikhail Sharonov, 2006; msh-tools.com/ebook/