Servant of the Shard: The Sellswords

by R. A. Salvatore

  But there is something else, something more, between them. I know this from the way Jarlaxle spoke of the man, and from the simple fact that the mercenary leader went so far out of his way to arrange the last fight between me and Entreri. It was for the sake of Entreri’s state of mind, no less, and certainly as no favor to me, and as no mere source of entertainment for Jarlaxle. He cares for Entreri as a friend might, even as he values the assassins multitude of skills.

  There lies the incongruity.

  For though Entreri and Jarlaxle have complementary professional skills, they do not seem well matched in temperament or in moral standards—two essentials, it would seem, for any successful friendship.

  Or perhaps not.

  Jarlaxle’s heart is far more generous than that of Artemis Entreri. The mercenary can be brutal, of course, but not randomly so. Practicality guides his moves, for his eye is ever on the potential gain, but even in that light of efficient pragmatism, Jarlaxle’s heart often overrules his lust for profit. Many times has he allowed my escape, for example, when bringing my head to Matron Malice or Matron Baenre would have brought him great gain. Is Artemis Entreri similarly possessed of such generosity?

  Not at all.

  In fact, I suspect that if Entreri knew that Jarlaxle had saved me from my apparent death in the tower, he would have first tried to kill me and turned his anger upon Jarlaxle. Such a battle might well yet occur, and if it does, I believe that Artemis Entreri will learn that he is badly overmatched. Not by Jarlaxle individually, though the mercenary leader is crafty and reputedly a fine warrior in his own right, but by the pragmatic Jarlaxle’s many, many deadly allies.

  Therein lies the essence of the mercenary leader’s interest in, and control of, Artemis Entreri. Jarlaxle sees the man’s value and does not fear him, because what Jarlaxle has perfected, and what Entreri is sorely lacking in, is the ability to build an interdependent organization. Entreri won’t attempt to kill Jarlaxle because Entreri will need Jarlaxle.

  Jarlaxle will make certain of that. He weaves his web all around him. It is a network that is always mutually beneficial, a network in which all security—against Bregan D’aerthe’s many dangerous rivals—inevitably depends upon the controlling and calming influence that is Jarlaxle. He is the ultimate consensus builder, the purest of diplomats, while Entreri is a loner, a man who must dominate all around him.

  Jarlaxle coerces. Entreri controls.

  But with Jarlaxle, Entreri will never find any level of control. The mercenary leader is too entrenched and too intelligent for that.

  And yet, I believe that their alliance will hold, and their friendship will grow. Certainly there will be conflicts and perhaps very dangerous ones for both parties. Perhaps Entreri has already learned the truth of my departure and has killed Jarlaxle or died trying. But the longer the alliance holds, the stronger it will become, the more entrenched in friendship.

  I say this because I believe that, in the end, Jarlaxle’s philosophy will win out. Artemis Entreri is the one of this duo who is limited by fault. His desire for absolute control is fueled by his inability to trust. While that desire has led him to become as fine a fighter as I have ever known, it has also led him to an existence that even he is beginning to recognize as empty.

  Professionally, Jarlaxle offers Artemis Entreri security, a base for his efforts, while Entreri gives Jarlaxle and all of Bregan D’aerthe a clear connection to the surface world.

  But personally, Jarlaxle offers even more to Entreri, offers him a chance to finally break out of the role that he has assumed as a solitary creature. I remember Entreri upon our departure from Menzoberranzan, where we were both imprisoned, each in his own way. He was with Bregan D’aerthe then as well, but down in that city, Artemis Entreri looked into a dark and empty mirror that he did not like. Why, then, is he now returned to Jarlaxle’s side?

  It is a testament to the charm that is Jarlaxle, the intuitive understanding that that most clever of dark elves holds for creating desire and alliance. The mere fact that Entreri is apparently with Jarlaxle once again tells me that the mercenary leader is already winning the inevitable clash between their basic philosophies, their temperament and moral standards. Though Entreri does not yet understand it, I am sure, Jarlaxle will strengthen him more by example than by alliance.

  Perhaps with Jarlaxle’s help, Artemis Entreri will find his way out of his current empty existence.

  Or perhaps Jarlaxle will eventually kill him.

  Either way, the world will be a better place, I think.

  —Drizzt Do’Urden

  CHAPTER

  CONTROL AND COOPERATION

  9

  The Copper Ante was fairly busy this evening, with halflings mostly crowding around tables, rolling bones or playing other games of chance and all whispering about the recent events in and around the city. Every one of them spoke quietly, though, for among the few humans in the tavern that night were two rather striking figures, operatives central to the recent tumultuous events.

  Sharlotta Vespers was very aware of the many stares directed her way, and she knew that many of these halflings were secret allies of her companion this night. She had almost refused Entreri’s invitation for her to come and meet with him privately here, in the house of Dwahvel Tiggerwillies, but she recognized the value of the place. The Copper Ante was beyond the prying eyes of Rai-guy and Kimmuriel, a condition necessary, so Entreri had said, for any meeting.

  “I can’t believe you openly walk Calimport’s streets with that sword,” Sharlotta remarked quietly.

  “It is rather distinctive,” Entreri admitted, but there wasn’t the slightest hint of alarm in his voice.

  “It’s a well-known blade,” Sharlotta answered. “Anyone who knew of Kohrin Soulez and Dallabad knows he would never willingly part with it, yet here you are, showing it to all who would glance your way. One might think that a clear connection between the downfall of Dallabad and House Basadoni.”

  “How so?” Entreri asked, and he took pleasure indeed at the look of sheer exasperation that washed over Sharlotta.

  “Kohrin is dead and Artemis Entreri is wearing his sword,” Sharlotta remarked dryly.

  “He is dead, and thus the sword is no longer of any use to him,” Entreri flippantly remarked. “On the streets, it is understood that he was killed in a coup by his very own daughter, who, by all rumors, had no desire to be captured by Charon’s Claw as was Kohrin.”

  “Thus it falls to the hands of Artemis Entreri?” Sharlotta asked incredulously.

  “It has been hinted that Kohrin’s refusal to sell at the offered price—an absurd amount of gold—was the very catalyst for the coup,” Entreri went on, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “When Ahdahnia learned that he refused the transaction….”

  “Impossible,” Sharlotta breathed, shaking her head. “Do you really expect that tale to be believed?”

  Entreri smiled wryly. “The words of Sha’lazzi Ozoule are often believed,” he remarked. “Inquiries to purchase the sword were made through Sha’lazzi only days before the coup at Dallabad.”

  That set Sharlotta back in her chair as she tried hard to digest and sort through all of the information. On the streets, it was indeed being said that Kohrin had been killed in a coup—Jarlaxle’s domination of the remaining Dallabad forces through use of the Crystal Shard had provided consistency in all of the reports coming out of the oasis. As long as Crenshinibon’s dominance held out, there was no evidence at all to reveal the truth of the assault on Dallabad. If Entreri had spoken truly—and Sharlotta had no reason to think that he had not—the refusal by Kohrin to sell Charon’s Claw would be linked not to any theft or any attack by House Basadoni, but rather as one of the catalysts for the coup.

  Sharlotta stared hard at Entreri, her expression a mixture of anger and admiration. He had covered every possible aspect of his procurement of the coveted sword beforehand. Sharlotta, given her understanding of Entreri’s relationship with the dangerous Rai-gu
y and Kimmuriel, held no doubts that Entreri had helped guide the dark elves to Dallabad specifically with the intent of collecting that very sword.

  “You weave a web with many layers,” the woman remarked. “I have been around dark elves for far too long,” Entreri casually replied.

  “But you walk the very edge of disaster,” said Sharlotta. “Many of the guilds had already linked the downfall of Dallabad with House Basadoni, and now you openly parade about with Charon’s Claw. The other rumors are plausible, of course, but your actions do little to distance us from the assassination of Kohrin Soulez.”

  “Where stands Pasha Da’Daclan or Pasha Wroning?” Entreri asked, feigning concern.

  “Da’Daclan is cautious and making no overt moves,” Sharlotta replied. Entreri held his grin private at her earnest tones, for she had obviously taken his bait. “He is far from pleased with the situation, though, and the strong inferences concerning Dallabad.”

  “As they all will be,” Entreri reasoned. “Unless Jarlaxle grows too bold with his construction of crystalline towers.”

  Again he spoke with dramatically serious tones, more to measure Sharlotta’s reaction than to convey any information the woman didn’t already know. He did note a slight tremor in her lip. Frustration? Fear? Disgust? Entreri knew that Rai-guy and Kimmuriel were not happy with Jarlaxle, and that the two independent-minded lieutenants, perhaps, were thinking that the influences of the sentient and dominating Crystal Shard might be causing some serious problems. They had sent him after Morik to weaken the guild’s presence on the surface, obviously, but why, then, was Sharlotta still alive? Had she thrown in with the two potential usurpers to Bregan D’aerthe’s dark throne?

  “The deed is completed now and cannot be undone,” Entreri remarked. “Indeed I did desire Charon’s Claw—what warrior would not?—but with Sha’lazzi Ozoule spreading his tales of a generous offer to buy being refused by Kohrin, and with Ahdahnia Soulez speaking openly of her disdain for her father’s choices, particularly concerning the sword, it all plays to the advantage of Bregan D’aerthe and our work here. Jarlaxle needed a haven to construct the tower, and we gave him one. Bregan D’aerthe now has eyes beyond the city, where we might watch all mounting threats that are outside of our immediate jurisdiction. Everyone wins.”

  “And Entreri gets the sword,” Sharlotta remarked.

  “Everyone wins,” the assassin said again.

  “Until we step too far, and too boldly, and all the world unites against us,” said Sharlotta.

  “Jarlaxle has lived on such a precipice for centuries,” Entreri replied. “He has not stumbled over yet.”

  Sharlotta started to respond but held her words at the last moment. Entreri knew them anyway, words taken from her by the quick give and take of the conversation, the mounting excitement and momentum bringing a rare unguarded moment. She was about to remark that never in all those centuries had Jarlaxle possessed Crenshinibon, the clear inference being that never in those centuries had Crenshinibon possessed Jarlaxle.

  “Say nothing of our concerns to Rai-guy and Kimmuriel,” Entreri bade her. “They are fearful enough, and frightened creatures, even drow, can make serious errors. You and I will watch from afar—perhaps there is a way out of this if it comes to an internal war.”

  Sharlotta nodded, and rightly took Entreri’s tone as a dismissal. She rose, nodded again, and moved out of the room.

  Entreri didn’t believe that nod for a moment. He knew the woman would likely go running right to Rai-guy and Kimmuriel, attempting to bend this conversation her way. But that was the point of it all, was it not? Entreri had just forced Sharlotta’s hand, forced her to show her true alliances in this ever-widening web of intrigue. Certainly his last claim, that there might be a way out for the two of them, would ring hollow to Sharlotta, who knew him well, and knew well that he would never bother to take her along with him on any escape from Bregan D’aerthe. He’d put a dagger in her back as surely as he had killed any previous supposed partners, from Tallan Belmer to Rassiter the wererat. Sharlotta knew that, and Entreri knew she knew it.

  It did occur to the assassin that perhaps Sharlotta, Rai-guy, and Kimmuriel were correct in their apparent assessment that Crenshinibon was having unfavorable influences on Jarlaxle, that the artifact was leading the cunning mercenary in a direction that could spell doom for Bregan D’aerthe’s surface ambitions. That hardly mattered to Entreri, of course, who wasn’t sure the retreat of the dark elves back to Menzoberranzan would be such a bad thing. What was more important, to Entreri’s thinking, were the dynamics of his relationship with the principles of the mercenary band. Rai-guy and Kimmuriel were notorious racists and hated him as they hated anyone who was not drow—more, even, because Entreri’s skill and survival instincts threatened them profoundly. Without Jarlaxle’s protection, it wasn’t hard for Artemis Entreri to envision his fate. While he felt somewhat bolstered by his acquisition of Charon’s Claw, the bane of wizards, he hardly thought it evened the odds in any battle he might find with the duo of the drow wizard-cleric and psionicist. If those two wound up in command of Bregan D’aerthe, with over a hundred drow warriors at their immediate disposal …

  Entreri didn’t like the odds at all.

  He knew, without doubt, that Jarlaxle’s fall would almost immediately precede his own.

  Kimmuriel walked along the tunnels beneath Dallabad with some measure of trepidation. This was a haszakkin, after all, an illithid—unpredictable and deadly. Still, the drow had come alone, had deceived Rai-guy that he might do so.

  There were some things that psionicists alone could understand and appreciate.

  Around a sudden bend in the tunnel, Kimmuriel came upon the bulbous-headed creature, sitting calmly on a rock against the back end of an alcove. Yharaskrik’s eyes were closed, but he was awake, Kimmuriel knew, for he could feel the mental energy beaming out from the creature.

  I chose well in siding with Bregan D’aerthe, it would seem, the illithid telepathically remarked. There was never any doubt.

  The drow are stronger than the humans, Kimmuriel agreed, using the illithid’s telepathic link to impart his exact thoughts.

  Stronger than these humans, Yharaskrik corrected.

  Kimmuriel bowed, figuring to let the matter drop there, but Yharaskrik had more to discuss.

  Stronger than Kohrin Soulez, the illithid went on. Crippled, he was, by his obsession with a particular magical item.

  That brought some understanding to Kimmuriel, some logical connection between the mind flayer and the pitiful gang of Dallabad Oasis. Why would a creature as great as Yharaskrik waste its time with such inferior beings, after all?

  You were sent to observe the powerful sword and the gauntlet, he reasoned.

  We wish to understand that which can sometimes defeat our attacks, Yharaskrik freely admitted. Yet neither item is without limitations. Neither is as powerful as Kohrin Soulez believed, or your attack would never have succeeded.

  We have discerned as much, Kimmuriel agreed.

  My time with Kohrin Soulez was nearing its end, said Yharaskrik, a clear inference that the illithid—creatures known as among the most meticulous of all in the multiverse—believed that it had learned every secret of the sword and gauntlet.

  The human, Artemis Entreri, confiscated both the gauntlet and Charon’s Claw, the drow psionicist explained.

  That was his intent, of course, the illithid replied. He fears you and wisely so. You are strong in will, Kimmuriel of House Oblodra.

  The drow bowed again.

  Respect the sword named Charon’s Claw, and even more so the gauntlet the human now wears on his hand. With these, he can turn your powers back against you if you are not careful.

  Kimmuriel imparted his assurances that Artemis Entreri and his dangerous new weapon would be closely watched. Are your days of watching the paired items now ended? he asked as he finished.

  Perhaps, Yharaskrik answered.

  Or perhaps Bregan D’aerthe
could find a place suited to your special talents, Kimmuriel offered. He didn’t think it would be hard to persuade Jarlaxle of such an arrangement. Dark elves often allied with illithids in the Underdark.

  Yharaskrik’s pause was telling to the perceptive and intelligent drow. “You have a better offer?” Kimmuriel asked aloud, and with a chuckle.

  Better it would be if I remained to the side of events, unknown to Bregan D’aerthe other than to Kimmuriel Oblodra, Yharaskrik answered in all seriousness.

  The response at first confused Kimmuriel and made him think that the illithid feared that Bregan D’aerthe would side with Entreri and Charon’s Claw if any such conflict arose between Yharaskrik and Entreri, but before he could begin to offer his assurances against that, the illithid imparted a clear image to him, one of a crystalline tower shining in the sun above the palm trees of Dallabad Oasis.

  “The towers?” Kimmuriel asked aloud. “They are just manifestations of Crenshinibon.”

  Crenshinibon. The word came to Kimmuriel with a sense of urgency and great importance.

  It is an artifact, the drow telepathically explained. A new toy for Jarlaxle’s collection.

  Not so, came Yharaskrik’s response. Much more than that, I fear, as should you.

  Kimmuriel narrowed his red-glowing eyes, focusing carefully on Yharaskrik’s thoughts, which he expected might confirm the fears he and Rai-guy had long been discussing.

  Weave into the thoughts of Jarlaxle, I cannot, the illithid went on. He wears a protective item.

  The eye patch, Kimmuriel silently replied. It denies entrance to his mind by wizard, priest, or psionicist.

  But such a simple tool cannot defeat the encroachment of Crenshinibon, Yharaskrik explained.

  How do you know of the artifact?