Entreri glanced back to see Jarlaxle at the threshold, staring in and appearing equally dumbfounded.
“An illusion,” Entreri said.
Jarlaxle shifted his eye patch from one eye to the other and peered intently into the room.
“No, it’s not,” the drow said, and he glanced back to the tower’s entry room.
With a shrug, Jarlaxle casually stepped into the room, dropping the eight feet or so to the floor. Hearing the clatter of the approaching constructs behind him, Entreri let go of the door, swinging it closed as he dropped. It shut with a resounding thud, and the tumult disappeared.
“It is wonderful, yes?” Ilnezhara asked, stepping out from behind a pile of gold.
“By the gods …” whispered Entreri, and he glanced at his partner.
“I have heard of such treasures, good lady,” the drow said. “But always in the care of—”
“Don’t even say it,” whispered Entreri, but it didn’t matter anyway, for Ilnezhara’s features began to shift and scrunch suddenly, accompanied by the sound of cracking bones.
A huge copper-colored tail sprang out behind her, and gigantic wings sprouted from her shoulders.
“A dragon,” Entreri remarked. “Another stinking dragon. What game is this with you?” he asked his partner. “You keep placing me in front of stinking dragons! In all my life, I had never even seen a wyrm, and now, beside you, I have come to know them far too well.”
“You took me to the first one,” Jarlaxle reminded.
“To get rid of that cursed artifact, yes!” Entreri countered. “You remember, of course. The artifact that had you under a destructive spell? Would I have chosen to go to the lair of a dragon, else?”
“It does not matter,” Jarlaxle argued.
“Of course it matters,” Entreri spat back. “You keep taking me to stinking dragons.”
Ilnezhara’s “ahem” shook the ground beneath their feet and drew them from their private argument.
“I could do without the disparaging adjectives, thank you very much,” she said to them when she had their attention, her voice sounding very similar to what it had been when she had appeared as a human woman, except that it was multiplied in volume many times over.
“I suspect we need not worry about the constructs coming in to attack us,” said Jarlaxle.
The dragon smiled, rows of teeth as long as Entreri’s arm gleaming in the magical light.
“You do entertain me, pretty drow,” she said. “Though I lament that you are not as wise as I had believed. To try to steal from a dragon at the behest of a fool like Tazmikella? For it was she who sent you, of course. The foolish woman can never understand why I always seem to best her.”
“Go,” Jarlaxle whispered, and the assassin broke left, while the drow broke right.
But the dragon moved, too, breathing forth.
Entreri cried out and dived into a roll, not knowing what to expect. He felt the wind of dragon breath passing over him, but came back to his feet, apparently unhurt. His elation at that lasted only a moment, though, until he realized that he was moving much more slowly.
“You cannot win, of course, nor is there any escape,” said Ilnezhara. “Tell me, pretty drow, would you have come here to steal from me if you had known of my true identity?”
Entreri looked past the dragon to see Jarlaxle simply standing there, vulnerable, before the great wyrm. His incredulous expression was all the answer Ilnezhara needed.
“I thought not,” she said. “You admit defeat, then?”
Jarlaxle just shrugged and held his arms out to the sides.
“Good, good,” said the dragon.
Her bones began to crunch again, and soon she appeared in her human form.
“I did not know that copper dragons were so adept at shape-changing,” the drow said, finding his voice.
“I spent many years studying under an archmage,” Ilnezhara replied. “The passage of centuries can be quite boring, you understand.”
“I do, yes,” the drow answered. “Though my friend …”
He swept his arm out toward Entreri.
“Your friend who still thinks he might get behind me and stab me with his puny dagger, or cut off my head with his mighty sword? Indeed, that is a formidable weapon,” she said to Entreri. “Would you try it against Ilnezhara?”
The assassin glared at her, but did not answer.
“Or perhaps you would give it to me, in exchange for your lives?”
“Yes, he would,” Jarlaxle was quick to answer.
Entreri turned his scowl on his friend, but realized that he really couldn’t argue the point.
“Or perhaps,” said Ilnezhara, “you would instead agree to perform a service for me. Yes, you seem uniquely qualified for this.”
“You need something stolen from Tazmikella,” Entreri reasoned.
Ilnezhara scoffed at the notion and said, “What could she have that would begin to interest me? No, of course not. Kill her.”
“Kill her?” Jarlaxle echoed.
“Yes, I grow weary of our façade of a friendship, or friendly rivalry, and I grow impatient. I do not wish to wait the few decades until old age takes her or renders her too infirm to continue her silly games. Kill her and arouse no suspicion from the authorities. If you can do that, then perhaps I will forgive your transgression.”
“Perhaps?” asked the drow.
“Perhaps,” answered the dragon, and when the two thieves hesitated, she added, “Do you believe that you can find a better deal?”
Entreri watched Tazmikella stiffen when she noticed Jarlaxle sitting casually in a chair in the back of her modest cabin.
“You have the flute of Idalia?” she asked, breathless.
“Hardly,” the drow replied. “It would seem that you did not fully inform us regarding the disposition of your rival.”
From his hiding spot off to the side, Entreri measured Tazmikella’s reaction. He and Jarlaxle had agreed that if the woman knew Ilnezhara’s true form, then they would indeed kill her, and without remorse.
“I told you she would be well protected,” Tazmikella started to say, and she stiffened again as a dagger came against her back.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “I hired you honestl—” She paused. “She sent you back here to kill me, didn’t she? She offered you gold against my silver.”
Entreri hardly heard her question. He hadn’t even pricked her with his vicious, life-drawing dagger, and yet the enchanted blade had sent such a surge of energy up his arm that the hairs were standing on end. Trembling, confused, the assassin lifted his free hand, placed it against Tazmikella’s shoulder, and gave a push.
He might as well have tried to push a mountain.
Entreri groaned and retracted both open hand and dagger.
“For the love of an eight-legged demon queen,” he muttered as he walked off to the side, shaking his head in disgust.
He glanced over at Jarlaxle, who was staring at him curiously.
“Her?” the drow asked.
Entreri nodded.
Tazmikella sighed and said, “My own sister sent you to kill me.…”
“Your sister?” asked the drow.
“One dragon’s not good enough for you, is it?” Entreri growled at his partner. “Now you’ve put me in the middle of a feud between two!”
“All that you had to do was steal a simple flute,” Tazmikella reminded them.
“From a dragon,” said Entreri.
“I thought you quick and clever.”
“Better if we had known the power of our enemy.”
“And now you have come to kill me,” said Tazmikella. “Oh, is there no room for loyalty anymore?”
“We weren’t going to kill you, actually,” said Jarlaxle.
“You would say that now.”
“If we found out that you knew you were sending us into the home of a dragon, then yes, we might have killed you,” Entreri added.
“You’ll note that my
friend did not drive the blade into your back,” said the drow. “We came to talk, not murder.”
“So, now that you are aware of my … disposition, you wish to parley? Perhaps I can persuade you to go and kill Ilnezhara.”
“My good … lady,” the drow said, and he dipped a polite bow. “We prefer not to involve ourselves in such feuds. We are thieves—freely admitted!—but not killers.”
“I can think of a drow I wouldn’t mind killing right now,” said Entreri, and he took some hope, at least, in noticing that Tazmikella smirked with amusement.
“I would suggest that you and your sister sort this out reasonably. Through talk and not battle. Your king carries Dragonsbane as his surname, does he not? I would doubt that Gareth would be pleased with having his principal city leveled in the fight between a pair of great dragons.”
“Yes, dear sister,” came another voice, and Entreri groaned again.
Jarlaxle bowed even lower as Ilnezhara stepped into view, as if she had simply materialized out of nowhere.
“I told you they wouldn’t try to kill me,” Tazmikella replied.
“Only because that one discovered your true identity before he plunged his dagger home,” Ilnezhara argued.
“That is not entirely true,” said Entreri, but they weren’t listening to him.
“I suppose I could not blame them if they did try to kill me,” said Tazmikella. “They were instructed to do so by a dragon, after all.”
“Self-preservation is a powerful incentive,” her sister agreed as she moved next to Jarlaxle.
Ilnezhara reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, and again began tracing lines on his chest with her long finger.
“You wish to play with me before you kill me, then?” Jarlaxle asked her.
“Kill you?” Ilnezhara said with feigned horror. “Pretty drow, why would I ever wish such a thing as that? Oh no, I have plans for you, to be sure, but killing you isn’t in them.”
She snuggled a bit closer as she spoke, and Jarlaxle grinned, seeming very pleased.
“She’s a dragon!” Entreri said, and all three looked at him.
There usually wasn’t much emotion in Artemis Entreri’s voice, but so heavily weighted were those three words that it hit the others as profoundly as if he had rushed across the room, grabbed Jarlaxle by the collar, lifted him from the ground, and slammed him against the wall, shouting, “Are you mad?” with abandon.
“That one is so unimaginative,” Ilnezhara said to her sister.
“He is practical.”
“He is boring,” Ilnezhara corrected. She smirked at Entreri. “Tell me, human, as you walk along the muddy trail, do you not wonder what might be inside the gilded coach that passes you by?”
“You’re a dragon,” said Entreri.
Ilnezhara laughed at him.
“You have no idea what that means,” Ilnezhara promised.
She put her arm around Jarlaxle and pulled him close.
“I know that if you squeeze harder, Jarlaxle’s intestines will come out of his mouth,” Entreri said, stealing Ilnezhara’s superior smile.
“He has no imagination,” Jarlaxle assured her.
“You are such a peasant,” Ilnezhara said to Entreri. “Perhaps you should get better acquainted with my sister.”
Entreri rubbed a hand over his face, and looked at Tazmikella, who seemed quite amused by it all.
“Enough of this,” Tazmikella declared. “It is settled, then.”
“Is it?” Entreri asked.
“You work for us now,” Ilnezhara explained. “You do show cleverness and wit, even if that one is without imagination.”
“We had to learn, you must understand,” added her sister.
“Are we to understand that this whole thing was designed as a test for us?” asked Jarlaxle.
“Dragons.…” Entreri muttered.
“Of course,” said Ilnezhara.
“Then you two do not wish to battle to the death?”
“Of course not,” both sisters said together.
“We wish to increase our hoards,” said Tazmikella. “That is where you come in. We have maps that need following, and rumors that need confirming. You will work for us.”
“Do not doubt that we will reward you greatly,” Ilnezhara purred.
She pulled Jarlaxle closer, drawing an unintentional grunt from him.
“She’s a dragon,” Entreri said.
“Peasant,” Ilnezhara shot back. She laughed again, then pulled Jarlaxle around and released him back toward the door. “Go now back to your apartment. We will fashion some instructions for you shortly.”
“Your discretion is demanded,” her sister added.
“Of course,” said Jarlaxle, and he bowed low again, sweeping off his feathered hat.
“Oh, and here,” said Ilnezhara. She pulled out a plain-looking flute of gray driftwood. “You earned this,” she said. She motioned as if to toss it to the drow, but turned and flipped it out to Entreri instead. “Learn it well, peasant—to amuse me, and also because you might find it possessed of a bit of its own magic. Perhaps you will come to better appreciate beauty you cannot yet understand.”
Jarlaxle grinned and bowed again, but Entreri just tucked the flute into his belt and headed straight for the door, wanting to get far away while it was still possible. He passed by Tazmikella, thinking to go right out into the night, but she held up her hand and stopped him as completely as if he had walked into a castle wall.
“Discretion,” she reminded.
Entreri nodded and slipped aside, then went out into the foggy night, Jarlaxle right behind him.
“It worked out quite well, I think,” said the drow, moving up beside him.
Jarlaxle reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, and in the cover of that shake, the drow’s other arm snaked behind his back, reaching out and gently lifting the flute from Entreri’s belt.
“Dragons.…” Entreri argued.
He shoved Jarlaxle’s arm away, and used the cover of the movement to flash his other hand across and secretly take back the flute, even as Jarlaxle set it in his belt.
“Are you so much the peasant, as beautiful Ilnezhara claims?” asked the drow, moving back beside his partner. “Your imagination, man! Have we ever known wealthier benefactors? Or more alluring?”
“Alluring? They’re dragons!”
“Yes, they are,” said a smug Jarlaxle, and he seemed quite entranced with that notion.
Of course, that didn’t stop him from sliding his hand across to relieve Entreri of the magical flute once more. The drow brought it farther around his back to a waiting loop on his belt—a magical loop that would tighten and resist thieving fingers.
Except that what Jarlaxle thought was the loop was really Entreri’s cupped hand and the man wasted no time in bringing the flute back.
Such was the fog in the friendship of thieves.
he Dowery” was actually published in the first edition of my DemonWars novel, The Highwayman. I took a chance after I wrote this novel, publishing it in an unconventional manner with a company called CDS. Working through CDS wasn’t quite “self-publishing,” but they were doing an experiment where they would give the author much more control over the handling of his or her work. For example, I picked an artist (Tood Lockwood, of course!) and worked with him directly on the cover concept. I also picked my editor for the book.
The gist of CDS’s model was that they would pay far less of an advance, thus minimizing their risk in publishing, but would give the author a much larger royalty percentage. Authors had more at stake, but also more creative control over the project than they would with traditional publishers.
It was an interesting idea, and many conventional publishers were wondering how it would play out. I spoke with Wizards of the Coast about a cross-promotional deal—they would let me write a Dark Elf story for the back of The Highwayman in exchange for advertising in the book. They, of course, would retain all the same rights to “The Dowery” as th
ey would have had I published it in one of their anthologies.
That’s the business background, but here’s a little more background on why I wanted a Drizzt story in a DemonWars novel. First the obvious: Drizzt is my most popular creation and I want Drizzt readers to try out some of my other writing, particularly my DemonWars series, which I consider to be some of my best work. DemonWars takes place in Corona, a world of my creation. It is my Forgotten Realms, my Shannara, my Middle-earth. When I plotted out how to present this world to readers, I had the idea to write two large trilogies—big books with many characters and storylines. They would serve to define the world of Corona; its magic system, the social structure, and of course the monsters. Everything came out more or less as planned, but the DemonWars series actually became seven books: two trilogies and a bridge novel that joined them together.
After building the world, my hope was to return to Corona and do more of the personal adventure tales like the Drizzt novels that I so love to write. The Highwayman is the first of these personal tales, and so it made sense to pair it with a Drizzt tale. “The Dowery” itself is a rollicking little Drizzt/Catti-brie adventure, a short piece that hits all the beat points of Drizzt’s journey. Its tone is very similar to that of The Highwayman, but with more rollicking action and a bit less graphic violence. Note how many people are actually killed in this short story, even though a significant part of it is a wild battle scene.
As an addition to the Drizzt tales, “The Dowery” fills in some of the blanks of those six years between The Halfling’s Gem and The Legacy. When we rejoined Drizzt and Catti-brie in The Legacy, we saw them with Deudermont on Sea Sprite, which makes sense, but the addition of a drow to the crew had to be met with some resistance, I expect.
Looking back on the story now, after the events of The Pirate King, it reinforces the internal consistency of the long journey I’ve walked with Drizzt. Even though I didn’t remember this story (honestly) when I wrote The Pirate King, you can compare the character of Captain Deudermont in both of these tales and you will see the same strong righteous streak. And if you look deeper at Deudermont’s intransigence in “The Dowery” perhaps you will even find a foreshadowing of the events in The Pirate King where pragmatism withered under unrelenting principle. It’s strange, perhaps, but when I read this story now, I see the dark prefiguring of Deudermont’s mistake.
The Collected Stories, The Legend of Drizzt Page 15