CHAPTER
MUTUAL BENEFIT
6
Artemis Entreri surely recognized the voice but hardly the tone. In all the months he had spent with Jarlaxle, both here and in the Underdark, he had never known the mercenary leader to raise his voice in anger.
Jarlaxle was shouting now, and to Entreri’s pleasure as much as his curiosity, he was shouting at Rai-guy and Kimmuriel.
“It will symbolize our ascensioni” Jarlaxle roared.
“It will allow our enemies a focal point,” Kimmuriel countered.
“They will not see it as anything more than a new guild house,” Jarlaxle came back.
“Such structures are not uncommon,” came Rai-guy’s response, in calmer, more controlled tones.
Entreri entered the room then, to find the three standing and facing each other. A fourth drow, Berg’inyon Baenre, sat back comfortably against one wall.
“They will not know that drow were behind the construction of the tower,” Rai-guy went on, after a quick and dismissive glance at the human, “but they will recognize that a new power has come to the Basadoni Guild.”
“They know that already,” Jarlaxle reasoned.
“They suspect it, as they suspect that old Basadoni is dead,” Rai-guy retorted. “Let us not confirm their suspicions. Let us not do their reconnaissance for them.”
Jarlaxle narrowed his one visible eye—the magical eye patch was over his left this day—and turned his gaze sharply at Entreri. “You know the city better than any of us,” he said. “What say you? I plan to construct a tower, a crystalline image of Crenshinibon similar to the one in which you destroyed Drizzt Do’Urden. My associates here fear that such an act will prompt dangerous responses from other guilds and perhaps even the greater authorities of Calimshan.”
“From the wizards’ guild, at least,” Entreri put in calmly. “A dangerous group.”
Jarlaxle backed off a step in apparent surprise that Entreri had not readily gone along with him. “Guilds construct new houses all the time,” the mercenary leader argued. “Some more lavish than anything I plan to create with Crenshinibon.”
“But they do so by openly hiring out the proper craftsmen—and wizards, if magic is necessary,” Entreri explained.
He was thinking fast on his feet here, totally surprised by Jarlaxle’s dangerous designs. He didn’t want to side with Rai-guy and Kimmuriel completely, though, because he knew that such an alliance would never serve him. Still, the notion of constructing an image of Crenshinibon right in the middle of Calimport seemed foolhardy at the very least.
“There you have it,” Rai-guy cut in with a chortle. “Even your lackey does not believe it to be a wise or even feasible option.”
“Speak your words from your own mouth, Rai-guy,” Entreri promptly remarked. He almost expected the volatile wizard to make a move on him then and there, given the look of absolute hatred Rai-guy shot his way.
“A tower in Calimport would invite trouble,” Entreri said to Jarlaxle, “though it is not impossible. We could, perhaps, hire a wizard of the prominent guild as a front for our real construction. Even that would be more easily accomplished if we set our sights on the outskirts of the city, out in the desert, perhaps, where the tower can better bask in the brilliant sunlight.”
“The point is to erect a symbol of our strength,” Jarlaxle put in. “I hardly wish to impress the little lizards and vipers that will view our tower in the empty desert.”
“Bregan D’aerthe has always been better served by hiding its strength,” Kimmuriel dared to interject. “Are we to change so successful a policy here in a world full of potential enemies? Time and again you seem to forget who we are, Jarlaxle, and where we are.”
“We can mask the true nature of the tower’s construction for a handsome price,” Entreri reasoned. “And perhaps I can discern a location that will serve your purposes,” he said to Jarlaxle, then turned to Kimmuriel and Rai-guy, “and alleviate your well-founded fears.”
“You do that,” Rai-guy remarked. “Show some worth and prove me wrong.”
Entreri took the left-handed compliment with a quiet chuckle. He already had the perfect location in mind, yet another prompt to push Jarlaxle and Bregan D’aerthe against Kohrin Soulez and Dallabad Oasis.
“Have we heard any response from the Rakers?” Jarlaxle asked, walking to the side of the room and taking his seat.
“Sharlotta Vespers is meeting with Pasha Da’Daclan this very hour,” Entreri replied.
“Will he not likely kill her in retribution?” Kimmuriel asked.
“No loss for us,” Rai-guy quipped sarcastically.
“Pasha Da’Daclan is too intrigued to—” Entreri began.
“Impressed, you mean,” corrected Rai-guy.
“He is too intrigued” Entreri said firmly, “to act so rashly as that. He harbors no anger at the loss of a minor outpost, no doubt, and is more interested in weighing our true strength and intentions. Perhaps he will kill her, mostly to learn if such an act might illicit a response.”
“If he does, perhaps we will utterly destroy him and all of his guild,” Jarlaxle said, and that raised a few eyebrows.
Entreri was less surprised. The assassin was beginning to suspect that there was some method behind Jarlaxle’s seeming madness. Typically, Jarlaxle would have been the type to find a way for his relationship to be mutually beneficial with a man as entrenched in the power structures as Pasha Da’Daclan of the Rakers. The mercenary dark elf didn’t often waste time, energy, and valuable soldiers in destruction—no more than was necessary for him to gain the needed foothold. At this time, the foothold in Calimport was fairly secure, and yet Jarlaxle’s hunger seemed only to be growing.
Entreri didn’t understand it, but he wasn’t too worried, figuring that he could find some way to use it to his own advantage.
“Before we take any action against Da’Daclan, we must weaken his outer support,” the assassin remarked.
“Outer support?” The question came from both Jarlaxle and Rai-guy.
“Pasha Da’Daclan’s arms have a long reach,” Entreri explained. “I suspect that he has created some outer ring of security, perhaps even beyond Calimport’s borders.”
From the look on the faces of the dark elves, Entreri realized that he had just successfully laid the groundwork, and that nothing more needed to be said at that time. In truth, he knew Pasha Da’Daclan better than to believe that the old man would harm Sharlotta Vespers. Such overt revenge simply wasn’t Da’Daclan’s way. No, he would invite the continued dialogue with Sharlotta, because for the Basadonis to have moved so brazenly against him as to destroy one of his outer houses, they would, by his reasoning, have to have some new and powerful weapons or allies. Pasha Da’Daclan wanted to know if the attack had been precipitated by the mere cocksureness of the new leaders of the guild—if Basadoni was indeed dead, as the common rumors implied—or by well-placed confidence. The fact that Sharlotta herself, who in the event of Basadoni’s death would certainly have been elevated to the very highest levels within the organization, had come out to him hinted, at least, at the second explanation for the attack. In that instance, Pasha Da’Daclan wasn’t about to invite complete disaster.
So Sharlotta would leave Da’Daclan’s house very much alive, and she would hearken to Dwahvel Tiggerwillies’s previous call. When she returned to Jarlaxle late that night, the mercenary would hear confirmation that Da’Daclan had an ally outside the city, an ally, Entreri would later explain, whose location would be the perfect setting for a new and impressive tower.
Yes, this was all going along quite well, in the assassin’s estimation.
“Silence Kohrin Soulez, and Pasha Da’Daclan has no voice outside of Calimport,” Sharlotta Vespers explained to Jarlaxle that same evening.
“He needs no voice outside the city,” Jarlaxle returned. “Given the information that you and my other lieutenants have provided, there is too much backing for the human right here within Cali
mport for us wisely to consider any course of true conquest.”
“But Pasha Da’Daclan does not understand that,” Sharlotta replied without hesitation.
It was obvious to Jarlaxle that the woman had thought this through quite extensively. She had returned from her meeting with Da’Daclan, and later meetings with her street informants, quite excited and animated. She hadn’t really accomplished anything conclusive with Da’Daclan, but she had sensed that the man was on the defensive. He was truly worried about the state of complete destruction that had befallen his outer, minor house. Da’Daclan didn’t understand Basadoni’s new level of power, nor the state of control within the Basadoni Guild, and that too made him nervous.
Jarlaxle rested his angular chin in his delicate black hand. “He believes Pasha Basadoni to be dead?” he asked for the third time, and for the third time, Sharlotta answered, “Yes.”
“Should that not imply a new weakness, then, within the guild?” the mercenary leader reasoned.
“Perhaps in your world,” Sharlotta replied, “where the drow houses are ruled by Matron Mothers who serve Lolth directly. Here the loss of a leader implies nothing more than instability, and that, more than anything else, frightens rivals. The guilds do not normally wage war because to do so would be detrimental to all sides. This is something the old pashas have learned through years, even decades, of experience. It’s something they have passed down to their children, or other selected followers, for generations.”
Of course it all made sense to Jarlaxle, but he held his somewhat perplexed look, prompting her to continue. In truth, Jarlaxle was learning more about Sharlotta than about anything to do with the social workings of Calimport’s underground guilds.
“As a result of our attack, Pasha Da’Daclan believes the rumors that speak of old Basadoni’s death,” the woman continued. “To Da’Daclan’s thinking, if Basadoni is dead—or has at least lost control of the guild—then we are more dangerous by far.” Sharlotta flashed her wicked and ironic smile.
“So with every outer strand we cut—first the minor house and now this Dallabad Oasis—we lessen Da’Daclan’s sense of security,” Jarlaxle reasoned.
“And make it easier for me to force a stronger treaty with the Rakers,” Sharlotta explained. “Perhaps Da’Daclan will even give over to us the entire block about the destroyed minor house to appease us. His base of operations is gone from that area anyway.”
“Not so big a prize,” Jarlaxle remarked.
“Ah yes, but how much more respect will the other guilds offer to Basadoni when they learn that Pasha Da’Daclan turned over some of his ground to us after we so wronged him?” Sharlotta purred. Her continuing roll of intrigue, her building of level upon level of gain, heightened Jarlaxle’s respect for her.
“Dallabad Oasis?” he asked.
“A prize in and of itself,” Sharlotta was quick to answer, “even without the gains it will afford us in our game with Pasha Da’Daclan.”
Jarlaxle thought it over for a bit, nodded, and, with a sly look at Sharlotta, nodded toward the bed. Thoughts of great gain had ever been an aphrodisiac for Jarlaxle.
Jarlaxle paced his room later that night, having dismissed Sharlotta that he could consider in private the information she had brought to him. According to the woman—who had been so ill-briefed by Dwahvel—Dallabad Oasis was working as a relay point for Pasha Da’Daclan, the exit for information to Da’Daclan’s more powerful allies far from Calimport. Run by some insignificant functionary named Soulez, Dallabad was an independent fortress. It was not an official part of the Rakers or any other guild from the city. Soulez apparently accepted payment to serve as information-relay, and also, Sharlotta had explained, sometimes collected tolls along the northwestern trails.
Jarlaxle continued to pace, digesting the information, playing it in conjunction with the earlier suggestions of Artemis Entreri. He felt the telepathic intrusion of his newest ally then, but he merely adjusted his magical eye patch to ward off the call.
There had to be some connection here, some truth within the truth, some planned relationship between Dallabad’s tenuous position and the mere convenience of this all. Hadn’t Entreri earlier suggested that Jarlaxle conquer some place outside of Calimport where he could more safely set up a crystalline tower?
And now this: a perfect location practically handed over to him for conquest, a place so conveniently positioned for Bregan D’aerthe to make a double gain.
The mental intrusions continued. It was a strong call, the strongest Jarlaxle had ever felt through his eye patch.
He wants something, Crenshinibon said in the mercenary leader’s head.
Jarlaxle started to dismiss the shard, thinking that his own reasoning could bring him to a clearer picture of this whole situation, but Crenshinibon’s next statement leaped past the conclusions he was slowly forming.
Artemis Entreri has deeper designs here, the shard insisted. An old grudge, perhaps, or some treasure within the obvious prize.
“Not a grudge,” Jarlaxle said aloud, removing the protective eye patch so that he and the shard could better communicate. “If Entreri harbored such feelings as that, then he would see to this Soulez creature personally. Ever has he prided himself on working alone.”
You believe the sudden imposition of Dallabad Oasis, a place never before mentioned, into both the equation of the Rakers and our need to construct a tower to be a mere fortunate coincidence? the shard asked, and before Jarlaxle could even respond, Crenshinibon made its assessment clear. Artemis Entreri harbors some ulterior motive for an assault against Dallabad Oasis. There can be no doubt. Likely, he knew that our informants would bring to us the suggestion that conquering Dallabad would frighten Pasha Da’Daclan and considerably strengthen our bargaining power with him.
“More likely, Artemis Entreri arranged for our informants to come to that very conclusion,” Jarlaxle reasoned, ending with a chuckle.
Perhaps he views this as a way toward our destruction, the shard imparted. That he can break free of us and rule on his own.
Jarlaxle was shaking his head before the full reasoning even entered his mind. “If Artemis Entreri wished to be free of us, he would find some excuse to depart the city.”
And run as faraway as Morik the Rogue, perhaps? came the ironic thought.
It was true enough, Jarlaxle had to admit. Bregan D’aerthe had already proven that its arms on the surface world were long indeed, long enough, perhaps, to catch a runaway deserter. Still, Jarlaxle highly doubted the shard’s last reasoning. First of all, Artemis Entreri was wise enough to understand that Bregan D’aerthe would not go blindly against Dallabad or any other foe. Also, to Jarlaxle’s thinking, such a ploy to bring about Bregan D’aerthe’s downfall on the surface would be far too risky—and would it not be more easily accomplished merely by telling the greater authorities of Calimshan that a band of dark elves had come to Calimport?
He offered all of the reasoning to Crenshinibon, building common ground with the artifact that the most likely scenario here involved the shard’s second line of reasoning, that of a secret treasure within the oasis.
The drow mercenary closed his eyes and absorbed the Crystal Shard’s feelings on these plausible and growing suspicions and laughed again when he learned that he and the artifact had both come to accept the conclusion and were of like mind concerning it. Both were more amused and impressed than angry. Whatever Entreri’s personal motives, and whether or not the information connecting Dallabad to Pasha Da’Daclan held any truth or not, the oasis would be a worthy and seemingly safe acquisition.
More so to the artifact than to the dark elf, for Crenshinibon had made it quite clear to Jarlaxle that it needed to construct an image of itself, a tower to collect the brilliant sunlight.
A step closer to its ever-present, final goal.
CHAPTER
TURNING ADVANTAGE INTO DISASTER
7
Kohrin Soulez held his arm up before him, focusing his thoughts
on the black, red-laced gauntlet that he wore on his right hand. Those laces seemed to pulse now, an all-too-familiar feeling for the secretive and secluded man.
Someone was trying to look in on him and his fortress at Dallabad Oasis.
Soulez forced his concentration deeper into the magical glove. He had recently been approached by a mediator from Calimport inquiring about a possible sale of his beloved sword, Charon’s Claw. Soulez, of course, had balked at the absurd notion. He held this item more dear to his heart than he had any of his numerous wives, even above his many, many children. The offer had been serious, promising wealth beyond imagination for the single item.
Soulez had gained enough understanding of Calimport’s guilds-men and had been in possession of Charon’s Claw long enough to know what a serious offer, obviously refused and without room for bargaining, might bring, and so he was not surprised to find that prying eyes were seeking him out now. Since further investigation had whispered that the would-be purchaser might be Artemis Entreri and the Basadoni Guild, Soulez had been watching carefully for those eyes in particular.
They would look for weakness but would find none, and thus, he believed, they would merely go away.
As Soulez fell deeper into the energies of the gauntlet, he came to recognize a new element, dangerous only because it hinted that the would-be thief this time might not be so easily dissuaded. These were not the magical energies of a wizard he felt, nor the prayers of a divining priest. No, this energy was different than the expected, but certainly nothing beyond the understanding of Soulez and the gauntlet.
“Psionics,” he said aloud, looking past the gauntlet to his lieutenants, who were standing at attention about his throne room.
Three of them were his own children. The fourth was a great military commander from Memnon, and the fifth was a renowned, and now retired, thief from Calimport. Conveniently, Soulez thought, a former member of the Basadoni Guild.
“Artemis Entreri and the Basadonis,” Soulez told them, “if it is them, have apparently found access to a psionicist.”
Servant of the Shard: The Sellswords Page 8