His guards nodded, knowing well their duties here.
They all focused on the door, but nothing happened and the sounds moved away.
Still, they all focused intently on the door.
So much so that when the wall to the next room in line, more than half a dozen feet of solid stone, simply vanished, none of them even noticed at first.
Jarlaxle's five warriors fell to one knee and fired the poison-tipped bolts from their hand crossbows. One of the wizards amplified the shots with a spell that turned each dart into two, so that each of Knellict's two guards was struck five times in rapid succession. For the wizard sentry, there came a missile of another sort: a flying green glob of goo, popping out from the end of a slender wand Jarlaxle held.
It hit the man, engulfed him, and drove him back hard into the wall where he stuck fast, fully engulfed, and he could move nothing beyond the fingers of one hand that was flattened out to the side, could not even draw in air through the gooey mask.
Knellict reacted with typical and practiced efficiency, turning his lightning wand to the side. The trigger phrase was "By Talos!" and so Knellict cried it out, or tried to.
His words hiccupped in his mind and in his larynx, and he said "B-by Thooo."
Nothing happened.
Knellict called to the wand again, and again, his brain blinked in mid-phrase. For as fast as Knellict was with his wand and his words, Kimmuriel Oblodra was faster with his thoughts.
The wizard plastered on the wall continued to helplessly waggle his fingers and feet. The two warriors slumped down to the ground, fast asleep under the spell of the powerful drow poison.
And Knellict could only sputter. He threw the wand down in outrage and launched into spellcasting, a quick dweomer that would get him far enough away to enact a proper teleportation spell and be gone from there.
A burst of psionic energy broke the chant.
The eight dark elves confidently strode into the room, four of the warriors taking up guard positions at either side of the main door and either side of the magically opened wall. The fifth warrior, on a nod from Jarlaxle, crossed the room and cut the goo from in front of the trapped wizard's nose, so that the man could breathe and watch in terror, and little else. One of the drow wizards began casting a series of detection spells, to better loot any hidden treasures.
Jarlaxle, Kimmuriel, and the other wizard calmly walked over to stand before Knellict.
"For all of your preparations, archmage, you simply do not have the understanding of the magic of the mind," Jarlaxle said.
Knellict stubbornly lifted one hand Jarlaxle's way, and with a determined sneer, spat out a quick spell.
Or tried to, but was again mentally flicked by Kimmuriel.
Knellict widened his eyes in outrage.
"I am trying to be reasonable here," Jarlaxle said.
Knellict trembled with rage. But within his boiling anger, he was still the archmage, still the seasoned and powerful leader of a great band of killers. He didn't betray the soldiers who were quietly coming to his aid from the other room.
But his enemies were drow. He didn't have to.
Even as the dark elf warriors flanking the open wall prepped their twin swords to intercede, Jarlaxle spun on his heel to face the soldiers.
They yelled, realizing that they were discovered. A priest and a wizard launched into spellcasting, three warriors howled and charged, and one lightly armored halfling slipped into the shadows.
Jarlaxle's hands worked in a blur, spinning circles over each other before him. And as each came around, the drow's magical bracers deposited into it a throwing knife, which was sent spinning away immediately.
The drow warriors at either side of the opening didn't dare move as the hail of missiles spun between them. A human warrior dropped his sword, his hands clutching a blade planted firmly in his throat, and he stumbled into the room and to the floor. A second fighter came in spinning—and took three daggers in rapid succession in his back, to match the three, including a mortal heart wound, that had taken him in the front.
He, too, fell.
The wizard tumbled away, a knife stuck into the back of his opened mouth. The priest never even got his hands up as blades drove through both of his eyes successively.
"Damn you!" the remaining warrior managed to growl, forcing himself forward despite several blades protruding from various seams in his armor. Two more hit him, one two, and he fell backward.
Almost as an afterthought, Jarlaxle spun one to the side, and it wasn't until it hit something soft and not the hard wall or floor that Knellict and the others realized that the halfling wasn't quite as good at hiding as he apparently believed.
At least, not in the eyes of Jarlaxle, one of which was covered, as always, by an enchanted eye patch—a covering that enhanced rather than limited his vision.
"Now, are you ready to talk?" Jarlaxle asked.
It had all taken only a matter of a few heartbeats, and Knellict's entire rescue squad lay dead.
Not quite dead, for one at least, as the stubborn fighter regained his feet, growled again, and stepped forward. Without even looking that way, Jarlaxle flicked his wrist.
Right in the eye.
He collapsed in a heap, straight down, and was dead before he hit the floor.
The drow fighters stared at Jarlaxle, reminded, for the first time in a long time, of who he truly was.
"Such a waste," the calm Jarlaxle lamented, never taking his eyes off of Knellict. "And we have come in the spirit of mutually beneficial bargaining."
"You are murdering my soldiers," Knellict said through gritted teeth, but even that determined grimace didn't prevent another mental jolt from Kimmuriel.
"A few," Jarlaxle admitted. "Fewer if you would simply let us be done with this."
"Do you know who I am?" the imperious archmage declared, leaning forward.
But Jarlaxle, too, came forward, and suddenly, whether it was magic or simple inner might, the drow seemed the taller of the two. "I remember all too well your treatment," he said. "If I was not such a merciful soul, I would now hold your heart in my hand—before your eyes that you might see its last beats."
Knellict growled and started a spell—and got about a half a word out before a dagger tip prodded in at his throat, drawing a pinprick of blood. That made Knellict's eyes go wide.
"Your personal wards, your stoneskin, all of them, were long ago stripped from you, fool," said Jarlaxle. "I do not need my master of the mind's magic here to kill you. In fact, it would please me to do it personally."
Jarlaxle glanced at Kimmuriel and chuckled. Then suddenly, almost crazily, he retracted the blade and danced back from Knellict.
"But it does not need to be like this," Jarlaxle said. "I am a businessman, first and foremost. I want something and so I shall have it, but there is no reason that Knellict, too, cannot gain here."
"Am I to trust—"
"Have you a choice?" Jarlaxle interrupted. "Look around you. Or are you one of those wizards who is brilliant with his books but perfectly idiotic when it comes to understanding the simplest truism of the people around him?"
Knellict straightened his robes.
"Ah, yes, you are the second leader of a gang of assassins, so the latter cannot be true," said Jarlaxle. "Then, for your sake, Knellict, prove yourself now."
"You would seem to hold all of the bargaining power."
"Seem?"
Knellict narrowed his gaze.
Jarlaxle turned to one of his wizards, the one who still stood beside Kimmuriel while the other continued to ransack Knellict's desk. The drow leader looked around, then nodded toward the wizard trapped on the wall.
The wizard walked over and began to cast an elaborate and lengthy spell. Soon into it, Kimmuriel focused his psionic powers on the casting drow, heightening his concentration, strengthening his focus.
"What are you…" Knellict demanded, but his voice died away when all of the dark elves turned to eye him threatenin
gly.
"I tell you this only once," Jarlaxle warned. "I need something that I can easily get from you. Or…" He turned and pointed at the terrified, flailing wizard on the wall. "I can take it from him. Trust me when I tell you that you want me to take it from him."
Knellict fell silent, and Jarlaxle motioned for his wizard and psionicist to resume.
It took some time, but finally the spellcaster completed his enchantment, and the poor trapped wizard glowed with a green light that obscured his features. He grunted and groaned behind that veil of light, and he thrashed even more violently behind the trapping goo.
The light faded and all went calm, and the man hanging on the wall had transformed into an exact likeness of Archmage Knellict.
"Now, there are conditions, of course, for my mercy," said Jarlaxle. "We do not lightly allow other organizations to pledge allegiance to Bregan D'aerthe."
Knellict seemed on the verge of an explosion.
"There is a beauty to the Underdark," Jarlaxle told him. "Our tunnels are all around you, but you never quite know where, or when, we might come calling. Anytime, any place, Knellict. You cannot continually look below you, but we are always looking up."
"What do you want, Jarlaxle?"
"Less than you presume. You will find a benefit if you can but let go of your anger. Oh, yes, and for your sake, I hope the Lady Calihye is still alive."
Knellict shifted, but not uneasily, showing Jarlaxle that she was indeed.
"That is good. We may yet fashion a deal."
"Timoshenko speaks for the Citadel of Assassins, not I."
"We can change that, if you like."
The blood drained from Knellict's face as the enormity of it all finally descended upon him. He watched as one of the drow warriors approached the wizard who bore his exact likeness.
A crossbow clicked and the man who looked exactly like Knellict soon quieted in slumber.
Mercifully.
* * * * *
"All hail the king," Entreri said when the door of his cell opened and Gareth Dragonsbane unexpectedly walked in. The king turned to the guard and motioned for him to move away.
The man hesitated, looked hard at the dangerous assassin, but Gareth was the king and he could not question him.
"You will forgive me if I do not kneel," Entreri said.
"I did not ask you to do so."
"But your monk could make me, I suppose. A word from his mouth and my muscles betray me, yes?"
"Master Kane could have killed you, legally and without inquiry, and yet he did not. For that you should be grateful."
"Saved for the spectacle of the gallows, no doubt."
Gareth didn't answer.
"Why have you come here?" Entreri asked. "To taunt me?" He paused and studied Gareth's face for a moment, and a smile spread upon his own. "No," he said. "I know why you have come. You fear me."
Gareth didn't answer.
"You fear me because you see the truth in me, don't you, King of Damara?" Entreri laughed and paced his cell, a knowing grin splayed across his face, and Gareth followed his every step warily, with eyes that reflected a deep and pervading turmoil.
"Because you know I was right," Entreri continued. "In your audience chamber, when the others grew outraged, you did not. You could not, because my words echoed not just in your ears but in your heart. Your claim is no stronger than was my own."
"I did not say that, nor do I agree."
"Some things need not be spoken. You know the truth of it as well as I do—I wonder how many kings or pashas or lords know it. I wonder how many could admit it."
"You presume much, King Artemis."
"Don't call me that."
"I did not bestow the title."
"Nor did I. Nor does it suit me. Nor would I want it."
"Are you bargaining?"
Entreri scoffed at him. "I assure you, paladin king, that if I had a sword in hand, I would willingly cut out your heart, here and now. If you expect me to beg, then look elsewhere. The fool monk can bring me to my knees, but if I am not there of my own choosing, then calling it begging would ring as hollow as does your crown, yes?"
"As I said, you presume much. Too much."
"Do I? Then why are you here?"
Gareth's eyes flared with anger, but he said nothing.
"An accident of birth?" Entreri asked. "Had I been born to your mother, would I then be the rightful king? Would your mighty friends rally to my side as they do yours? Would the monk exercise his powers over an enemy of mine at my bidding?"
"It is far more complicated than that."
"Is it?"
"Blood is not enough. Deed—"
"I killed the dracolich, have you forgotten?"
"And all the deeds along your road led you to this point?" Gareth asked, a sharp edge creeping into his voice. "You have lived a life worthy of the throne?"
"I survived, and in a place you could not know," Entreri growled back at him. "How easy for the son of a lord to proclaim the goodness of his road! I am certain that your trials were grand, heir of Dragonsbane. Oh, but the bards could fill a month of merrymaking with the tales of thee."
"Enough," Gareth bade him. "You know nothing."
"I know that you are here. And I know why you are here."
"Indeed?" came the doubtful reply.
"To learn more of me. To study me. Because you must find the differences between us. You must convince yourself that we are not alike."
"Do you believe that we are?"
The incredulity did not impress Entreri. "In more ways than his majesty wishes to admit," he said. "So you come here to learn more in the hope that you will discern where our paths and characters diverge. Because if you cannot find that place, Gareth, then your worst fears are realized."
"And those would be?"
"Rightful. The rightful king. An odd phrase, that, don't you agree? What does it mean to be the rightful king, Gareth Dragonsbane? Does it mean that you are the strongest? The most holy? Does your god Ilmater anoint you?"
"I am the descendant of the former king, long before Damara was split by war."
"And if I had been born to your parents?"
Gareth shook his head. "It could not have been so. I am the product of their loins, of their breeding and of my heritage."
"So it is not just circumstance? There is meaning in bloodlines, you say?"
"Yes."
"You have to believe that, don't you? For the sake of your own sanity. You are king because your father was king?"
"He was a baron, at a time when Damara had no king. The kingdom was not unified until joined in common cause against Zhengyi."
"And that is where, by deed, Gareth rose above the other barons and dukes and their children?"
Gareth's look showed Entreri that he knew he was being mocked, or at least, that he suspected as much.
"A wonderful nexus of circumstance and heritage," Entreri said. "I am truly touched."
"Should I give you your sword and slay you in combat to rightly claim Vaasa?" Gareth asked, and Entreri smiled at every word.
"And if I should slay you?"
"My god would not allow it."
"You have to believe that, don't you? But humor me, I pray you. Let us say that we did battle, and I emerged the victor. By your reasoning, I would thus become the rightful King of Vaa—oh, wait. I see now. That would not serve, since I haven't the proper bloodline. What a cunning system you have there. You and all the other self-proclaimed royalty of Faerûn. By your conditions, you alone are kings and queens and lords and ladies of court. You alone matter, while the peasant grovels and kneels in the mud, and since you are 'rightful' in the eyes of this god or that, then the peasant cannot complain. He must accept his muddy lot in life and revel in his misery, all in the knowledge that he serves the rightful king."
Gareth's jaw tightened, and he ground his teeth as he continued to stare unblinking at Entreri.
"You should have had Kane kill me, back at the castle.
Break the mirror, King Gareth. You will fancy yourself prettier in that instance."
Gareth stared at him a short while longer, then moved to the cell door, which was opened by the returned guard. Beside him stood Master Kane, who stared at Entreri.
Entreri saw him and offered an exaggerated bow.
Gareth pushed past the pair and moved along, his hard boots stomping on the stone floor.
"You wish that you had killed me, I expect," Entreri said to Kane. "Of course, you still can. I feel the vibrations of your demonic touch."
"I am not your judge."
"Just my executioner."
Kane bowed and walked off. By the time he caught up to Gareth, the man had departed the dungeons and was nearing his private rooms.
"You heard?" Gareth asked him.
"He is a clever one."
"Is he so wrong?"
"Yes."
The simple answer stopped Gareth and he turned to face the monk.
"In my order, rank is attained through achievement and single combat," Kane explained. "In a kingdom as large as Damara, in a town as large as Bloodstone Village, such a system would invite anarchy and terrible suffering. On that level, it is the way of the orc."
"And so we have bloodlines of royalty?"
"It is one way. But such would be meaningless absent heroic deeds. In the darkest hours of Damara, when Zhengyi ruled, Gareth Dragonsbane stepped forward."
"Many did," said Gareth. "You did."
"I followed King Gareth."
Gareth smiled in gratitude and put a hand on Kane's shoulder.
"The title holds you as tightly as you hold the title," Kane said. "It is no easy task, bearing the responsibility of an entire kingdom on your shoulders."
"There are times I fear I will bend to breaking."
"One ill decision and people die," said Kane. "And you alone are the protector of justice. If you are overwhelmed, men will suffer. Your guilt stems from a feeling that you are not worthy, of course, but only if you view your position as one of luxury. People need a leader, and an orderly manner in which to choose one."
"And that leader is surrounded by finery," said Gareth, sweeping his hands at the tapestries and sculptures that decorated the corridor. "By fine food and soft bedding."
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