OVERREACHING
As the castle fell quiet, the horns on the field began to blare and a great cheer swept through the line. "King Gareth!" the enthusiastic soldiers chanted, and nowhere was that cry more energetic and grateful than among the contingent from Palishchuk.
As heartwarming as it was, though, Gareth Dragonsbane was not amused. They had not lost a single man, and hundreds of monsters lay dead on the field, almost all of them felled before combat had even been engaged.
"That was not an assault, it was mass suicide," Emelyn the Gray commented, and none of the friends could disagree.
"It accomplished nothing, but to wipe a bit of the stain of goblins and kobolds from the world," Riordan said.
"And to strengthen our resolve and cohesion," Friar Dugald added. "A free moment of practice before a joust? Are our enemies so inept?"
"Where is the second assault?" Gareth asked, as much to himself as to the others. "They should have struck hard at the moment of our greatest diversion."
"Which was never so great at all, now was it?" asked Emelyn. "I expect that Kane was correct in his assessment - they were clearing out fodder to preserve their supplies."
Gareth looked at his wise friend and shook his head.
They waited impatiently as the moments slipped past, and the castle only seemed more inert, more dead. Nothing stirred behind the high walls. Not a pennant flew, not a door banged open or closed.
"We know that Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle are in there," Celedon Kierney remarked after a long while had passed. "What other forces have they at their disposal? Where are the gargoyles that so threatened Palishchuk when first the castle awakened? Gargoyles that regenerate themselves quickly, so it was reported. An inexhaustible supply."
"Perhaps it was all merely a bluff," Friar Dugald offered. "Perhaps the castle could not be reanimated."
"Wingham, Arrayan, and Olgerkhan saw the gargoyles fluttering about the walls just days ago," Celedon replied. "Tazmikella and Ilnezhara clearly warned us that Jarlaxle has Urshula the Black, a mighty dracolich, handy at his summons. Is the conniving drow trying to draw us in now, where his magical minions will prove more deadly?"
"We cannot know," King Gareth admitted.
"We can," said Kane, and all eyes turned his way. The monk squared himself to Gareth and offered a slow and reverential bow. "We have been in situations like this many times before, my old friend," he said. "Perhaps this will be a matter for our army, perhaps not. Let us forget who we are for a moment and remember who we once were."
"You cannot expose the king," Friar Dugald warned.
Beside him, Olwen Forest-friend snorted in derision, though whether at Kane or Dugald, the others could not yet discern.
"If Jarlaxle is as wise as we fear, then our caution is his ally," said Kane. "To play the games of intrigue with a drow is to invite disaster." He turned to face the castle, compelling them all to look that way with his set and stern expression.
"We have been in this situation before," Kane said again. "We knew how to defeat it, once. And so we shall again unless we have become timid and old."
Friar Dugald began to argue, but a smile widened on King Gareth's face, a smile from a different time, a decade and more past, when the weight of all the Bloodstone Lands was not sitting squarely on his strong shoulders. A smile of adventure and danger that wiped away the typical frown of politics.
"Kane," he said, and the sly edge in his voice had half his friends grinning and the other half holding their breath, "do you think you could get over that wall without being seen?"
"I know my place," the monk replied.
"As do I," Celedon quickly added, but Gareth cut him short with an upraised hand.
"Not yet," the king said. He nodded to Kane and the monk closed his eyes in a moment of meditation. He opened them and gently swiveled his head, taking in the whole scene before him, absorbing all of the angles and calculating the lines of sight from any hidden sentries on the castle walls. He dropped his face into his hands and took a long and steady breath, and when he exhaled, he seemed to shrink, as if his entire body had become somehow smaller and less substantial.
He held up one hand, revealing a small jewel that glowed with an inner, magical fire, one that could flash to light at the wielder's desire. It was their old signal flare, a clear indication of Kane's intent and instructions, and the monk went off in a trot.
The friends watched him, but whenever any of them turned his gaze aside, even for a moment, he could not then relocate the elusive figure.
Sooner than anyone could have expected, even those six men who had spent years beside the Grandmaster, Kane signaled back to them with the lighted jewel from the base of the castle wall.
Kane moved like a spider, hands sweeping up to find holds, legs turning at all angles to propel him upward, even sometimes reaching above his shoulder, his toes hooking into the tiniest jags in the wall. In a matter of a few heartbeats, the monk went over the wall and disappeared from view.
"He makes you feel silly for using your climbing tools, doesn't he?" Emelyn the Gray said to Celedon, and the man just laughed.
"As Kane would make Emelyn feel rather silly and more than a little inept as he avoided all of your magical lightning bolts and fireballs and sprays of all colors of the prism," Riordan was quick to leap to Celedon's defense.
"That strange one mocks us all," Dugald agreed. "But he's too tight to down a belt of brandy, and too absorbed to bed a woman. You have to wonder when it's simply not worth the concentration anymore!"
That brought laughter from all the friends, and all those nearby.
Except from Olwen. The ranger stared at the spot where Kane had disappeared, unblinking, his hands tight on his war axe, his beard wet from chewing his lips.
Two flashes from the monk's jewel, atop the wall, signaled that the way was clear.
"Emelyn and Celedon," Gareth instructed, for that was the usual course this group would take, with the wizard magically depositing the stealthy Celedon to join up with Kane. "A quick perusal and raise the portcullis - "
"I'm going," Olwen interrupted, and stepped before Celedon as the rogue made his way toward the waiting Emelyn. "You take me," the ranger instructed Emelyn.
"It has always been my place," Celedon replied.
"I'm going this time," Olwen said, and there was no compromise to be found in his steady, baritone voice. He looked past Celedon to Gareth. "You grant me this," he said. "For all the years I followed you, for all the fights we've shared, you owe me this much."
The proclamation didn't seem to please any of the friends, and Friar Dugald in particular put on a sour expression, even shook his head.
But Gareth couldn't ignore the stare of his old friend. Olwen was asking Gareth to trust him, and what sort of friend might Gareth be if he would not?
"Take Olwen," Gareth said to Emelyn. "But again, Olwen, your duty is to quickly ensure that the immediate area about the courtyard is secure then raise that portcullis and open those gates. We will all be together when we face Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle, and whatever minions they have hidden inside their castle."
Olwen grunted - as much of a confirmation as Gareth would get - and moved to Emelyn, who, after a concerned look Gareth's way, launched into his spellcasting. Olwen grabbed onto the wizard's shoulder and a moment later, with a flash of purple light, the pair disappeared, stepping through a dimensional doorway to the spot on the wall where Master Kane waited.
In the tunnels of the upper Underdark, far below the construct Jarlaxle had named Castle D'aerthe, the soldiers of Bregan D'aerthe set their camp, along with those fortunate slaves who had not been forced onto the field to face the might of King Gareth. Off to one side of the main group, in a short, dead-end corridor, Kimmuriel and a pair of wizards had already enacted a scrying pool, and by the time Jarlaxle caught up to them, they looked in on various parts of the castle.
Jarlaxle smiled and nodded as the image of Entreri moved through the dark waters of the pool. The assassin had traveled up from the dracolich's lair, back into the upper tunnels, near where he had battled Canthan the wizard.
"He tried to kill you," Kimmuriel said. "We cannot go back immediately, but if he somehow escapes this time, I promise you that Artemis Entreri will fall to a drow blade, or to drow magic."
Jarlaxle was shaking his head throughout the speech. "If he had wanted to kill me, he would have used his wicked little dagger and not his cumbersome sword. He was making a statement - perhaps even one of complete rejection - but I assure you, my old friend, that if Artemis Entreri had truly tried to slay me before the portal, he would now lie dead on the floor."
Kimmuriel cast a doubting, even disappointed look at his associate, but let it go. A wave of his hand over the pool brought a different, brighter image into focus, and the four dark elf onlookers watched the movements of three men.
"It is a moot point anyway," the psionicist said. "I warned you of these enemies."
"Kane," Jarlaxle said. "He is a monk of great renown." One of the drow wizards cast him a confused look. "He fights in the manner of the kuo-toa," Jarlaxle explained. "His weapon is his body, and a formidable weapon it is."
"The second one is the most dangerous," Kimmuriel said, speaking of Emelyn the Gray. "Even by the standards of Menzoberranzan, his magic would be considered powerful."
"As great as Archmage Gromph?" one of the drow wizards asked.
"Do not be a fool," said Kimmuriel. "He is just a human."
Jarlaxle hardly heard it, for his gaze had settled on the third of the group, a man he did not know. While Kane and Emelyn appeared to be searching about cautiously, the other was far more agitated. He held his large axe in both hands before him, and it was quite obvious to Jarlaxle that he desperately wanted to plant it somewhere fleshy. And while Kane and Emelyn kept looking toward, and moving in the direction of, the front gates, the third man's attention had been fully grabbed by the central keep across the courtyard.
Kimmuriel waved his black hand over the pool again, and the image shifted back to Entreri. He was in a chamber Jarlaxle did not recognize, with his back to the wall just beside an upward-sloping tunnel. He had not yet drawn his weapons, but he seemed uneasy, his dark eyes darting about the torchlit tunnels, his hands resting comfortably close to his weapon hilts.
He gave a sudden laugh and shook his head.
"He knows we are watching him," one of the wizards surmised.
"Perhaps he thinks we will come to his aid," remarked the other.
"Not that one," said Jarlaxle. "He saw his choices clearly, and accepted the consequences of his decision." He looked at Kimmuriel. "I told you Entreri was a man of integrity."
"You confuse integrity with idiocy," the psionicist replied. "Integrity is the course of protecting one's own needs for survival, first and foremost. It is the ultimate goal of all wise people."
Jarlaxle nodded, not in agreement, but in the predictability of the response. For that was the way of the drow, of course, where the personal trumped the communal, where selfishness was a virtue and generosity a weakness to be exploited. "Some would consider simple survival the penultimate goal, not the ultimate."
"Those who would are all dead, or soon to be," Kimmuriel replied without hesitation, and Jarlaxle merely continued to nod.
"We cannot get back to help him without great cost," Kimmuriel added, and from his tone alone, Jarlaxle understood that return was not an option in Kimmuriel's mind. The psionicist was not willing to bring Bregan D'aerthe back into the fray, clearly, and from his inflection - and perhaps he had added a telepathic addendum to his statement; Jarlaxle could never be certain with that one! - it was clear to Jarlaxle that if he tried to use the opportunity to assume the mantle of leadership over Bregan D'aerthe once more, and order a return to Entreri's defense, he would be in for a fight.
But Jarlaxle had no such intention. He accepted fate's turn, even if he was not pleased by it.
The courtyard remained visible in the scrying pool, but the three figures had moved out of view. Then movement at the side of the pool revealed one, the anxious man with the axe, as he briefly showed himself. He moved fast, from cover to cover, and given the angle in which he moved out of view again, it was clear that he was making his way fast for the door of the keep.
"Farewell, my friend," Jarlaxle said, and he reached forward and tapped his hand on the still water of the pool. Ripples distorted the image before it blacked out entirely.
"You will return to Menzoberranzan with us?" Kimmuriel asked.
Jarlaxle looked at his former lieutenant and gave a resigned sigh.
No one in all the Bloodstone Lands was better able to discern movements and patterns better than Olwen Forest-friend. The ranger could track a bird flying over stone, so it was said, and no one who had ever seen Olwen's deductive powers at work ever really argued the point.
"They've got a gate," Olwen said to Kane and Emelyn when they came down from the wall into the main open courtyard of the castle. The tracks of the goblin and kobold army were clear enough to all three, the ground torn under their sudden, confused - and forced, Olwen assured his friends - charge.
The ranger nodded back toward the main keep of the place, a squat, solid building set in the center of the wall that separated the upper and lower baileys. "Or they've found tunnels below the keep where the monsters made their home," he said.
"No tracks coming in?" Emelyn asked.
"The goblins and kobolds came out that door," Olwen assured the others, pointing at the keep. "But they never went in it. And three hundred of them would have pressed the castle to breaking."
"There are many tunnels underneath it," replied Emelyn, who had been through the place before.
"Finite?" Olwen asked.
"Yes."
"You're certain?"
"I used a Gem of Seeing, silly deer hunter," the wizard huffed. "Do you think I would allow something as miniscule as a secret door to evade my inspection?"
"Then they have a gate," Olwen reasoned.
"Two-way, apparently," said Kane.
The ranger looked around at the emptiness of the place, and paused a moment to consider the silence, then nodded.
"Well, let us throw the place open wide, and inspect it top to bottom," said Emelyn. "King Artemis and his dark-skinned, fiendish friend will not so easily evade us."
Emelyn and Kane turned to the gates and portcullis, and to the room open along the base of the right-hand guard tower, where a great crank could be seen. But Olwen kept his gaze focused on the keep, and while his friends moved toward the front of the castle, he went deeper in.
He could move with the stealth of a seasoned city thief, and his abilities to find shelter in the shadows were greatly enhanced by his cloak and boots, both woven by elf hands and elven magic. He disappeared so completely into the background scenery that any onlookers would think he had simply vanished, and his steps fell without a whisper of noise. In fact, it wasn't until they noticed the keep's door ajar that Kane and Emelyn - who stood near the crank, trying to figure out how to reattach the broken chain - even realized that Olwen had moved so far from them.
"His grief moves him to recklessness," Kane remarked, and started that way.
Emelyn caught the monk by the shoulder. "Olwen blazes his own trails, and always has," he reminded. "He prefers the company of Olwen alone. No doubt his training of Mariabronne incited similar feelings in that one."
"Which got Mariabronne killed, by all reports," said Kane.
Emelyn nodded. "And Olwen likely realizes that."
"Guilt and grief are not a healthy combination," the monk replied. He glanced back behind them. "Fix the chain and bring our friends," he instructed, and he started off after Olwen.
The furniture and half-folded tapestries in the audience chamber didn't slow Olwen. He moved right to the multiple corridor openings on the far side of the room, all of them bending down and around. He crouched low and moved across them, finally discerning the one that had seen the most, and probably most recent, traffic.
Axe in hand, Olwen jogged along. He came through a series of rooms, slowly and deliberately, and the repetition did nothing to take him off his guard, to bring any carelessness to his step. Nor did the multitude of side passages distress him, for though there were few tracks to follow, he suspected that they were all connected. If he misstepped, he could easily regain the pursuit in the next room, or the one beyond that. Silent and smooth went the ranger, down another corridor that ended at an open portal, spilling into a candlelit room beyond. As he neared the doorway, along the right-hand wall, the ranger noted the fast cut of the tracks to the right, just inside the door.
Olwen crept up. Barely a foot from the opening, he held his breath and leaned out, just enough to see the tip of an elbow.
He looked back at the floor - one set of tracks.
With grace and speed that mocked his large form, Olwen leaped forward and spun, bringing his two-handed axe across for a strike that the surprised sneak couldn't begin to block. Satisfaction surged through the ranger as his perfectly-balanced, enchanted blade swiped cleanly through the air with no defense coming. It drove hard into the sneak's chest; there was no way for the fool to defend!
Off to the side of the portal where Olwen had abruptly and aggressively entered, in the shadows of another corridor, Artemis Entreri watched with little amusement as the ranger's weapon blew apart the chest of the mummy Entreri had propped next to the opening.
The weapon went right through, as Entreri had planned, to slice the securing rope set behind the perserved corpse, before finally ringing off the stone.
Across from the mummy, on the other side of the intruder, a glaive, released by the severing of the rope, swung down.
Entreri figured he had a kill, and that there was no turning back because of it.
But the burly intruder surprised him, for as soon as the ring of stone sounded, almost as soon as he had cut through the rope, the man was moving, and fast, diving into a sidelong roll. He tumbled deeper into the room, just ahead of the swinging glaive, and came back to his feet with such balance and grace that he was up and crouched before Entreri had even fully exited the side corridor.
And even though Entreri moved with unmatched silence, Olwen apparently heard him, or sensed him, for he leaped about, axe swiping across, and it was all Entreri could do to flip Charon's Claw up and over to avoid getting it torn from his hand.
Olwen cut his swing short, re-angling the axe with uncanny strength and coordination, then stabbing straight out with it, its pointed crown jabbing for the assassin's throat.
Entreri let his legs buckle at the knees, falling back as Olwen came on. He finally got Charon's Claw out before him, forcing the ranger to halt, but by that point he was so overbalanced that he couldn't hope to hold his ground. He just twisted and let himself fall instead, his dagger hand planting against the ground.
Olwen's roar signaled another charge, but Entreri was already moving, using those planted knuckles as a pivot and throwing himself out to the left over his secured hand, twisting and tucking his shoulder to turn a sidelong roll into a head-over somersault. He was up and turning before Olwen could close, coming around much as the ranger had done in dodging the glaive trap, with Charon's Claw humming through the air before him as he spun.
"Oh, but you're a clever killer, aren't you?" Olwen asked.
"Isn't that the difference between the killer and the deceased?"
"And Mariabronne wasn't so clever?"
"Mariabronne?" Entreri echoed, caught by surprise.
"Don't you feed your lies to my ears," Olwen said. "You saw the threat of the man - the honest man."
He finished with a sudden leap forward, his axe slicing the air in a downward diagonal chop, right to left. Olwen let go with his top hand, his right hand, as the axe swung down, and he didn't slow its momentum at all, turning his left arm over to bring it sailing back up, catching it again in his right with a reversed grip, then executing a cross-handed chop the other way.
Entreri couldn't begin to parry that powerful strike, so he simply backed out of reach. He planted his back foot securely as the axe came past, thinking to dart in behind it. As Olwen let go with his left hand, the axe swinging out to the right, his right hand gripping it at mid-handle, Entreri saw his opening. With the shortened grip, Olwen couldn't hope to stop him.
Artemis Entreri got his first taste of the true powers of the Bloodstone Lands then, the powers of the friends of King Gareth.
Olwen sent his right arm to full extension to the right, and loosened his grip on the axe so that it slid out to full extension. The ranger's freed left hand grabbed up a hand axe set in his belt, just behind his left hip, and as Entreri came on, a flick of Olwen's wrist sent the smaller weapon spinning out.
Entreri ducked and threw Charon's Claw up desperately, just nicking the spinning hand axe, defeating its deadly spin if not entirely its angle. He still got clipped, across the side of his head, but at least the weapon hadn't planted in his face!
Worse for Entreri, though, was Olwen's mighty one-handed chop, his powerful axe soaring back across with frightening speed and strength.
The only defense for Entreri was to go under that blow, turning as he went to absorb the impact.
For any other fighter, it would have been no more than a desperate and defensive turn, but Entreri improvised, flipping his weapons as he went. His left arm caught Charon's Claw, and his right hand deftly snagged and redirected his jeweled dagger. Even as he slowed the axe, Entreri was into the counter, stabbing ahead for Olwen's ample belly.
But Olwen's free hand came across to slap hard against Entreri's leading forearm, forcing the thrusting dagger to the side as the ranger turned away from the strike. With both his weapons to Olwen's right, and with the ranger turning, balanced, behind his shoulder, Entreri had no choice but to press forward even more forcefully, diving into a headlong roll and again coming to his feet in a sudden defensive spin.
He picked off another soaring hand axe, barely registering the silvery flickers of the blade, and he could hardly believe that Olwen had managed to square himself, pull another weapon and throw it with such deadly precision and fluidity.
"Akin to catching the greased piglet, I see," Olwen taunted.
"Which rarely gets caught, and oft makes a fool of the pursuers."
Olwen smiled confidently as he walked to the side, his battle-axe swinging easily at his right side, and retrieved the first hand axe he had thrown. "Oh, it takes a while to catch it," he said. "But the greater truth is that the piglet never wins."
"Those who rely on certainties are certain to be disappointed."
Olwen gave a belly laugh, and waved his hands at Entreri in an invitation. "Come along then, murdering dog, King Artemis the Stupid. Disappoint me."
Entreri stared at the man for a short while, watched him drop into a balanced defensive crouch, setting his axes, battle- and hand-, in fine position and with a comfort that showed he was not unused to two-handed fighting. The ranger apparently believed that Entreri had killed Mariabronne, a crime for which he was innocent.
He thought to protest that very point. He thought, fleetingly, of calming the fine warrior with - uncharacteristically - the truth.
But to what end? Entreri had to wonder. Jarlaxle had proclaimed him as King Artemis the First, a usurper of lands Gareth claimed as his own. That crime carried the same sentence the man was trying to exact, no doubt.
So what was the point?
Entreri glanced at his own weapon, the red blade of Charon's Claw, the glimmering jewels of a dagger that had gotten him through a thousand battles on the streets of Calimport and beyond.
"Oh, come on, then," his opponent teased. "I'm expecting more out of a king."
With a resigned shrug, an admission yet again that it was all just a silly and insanely random game, an admission and acceptance that, though he was for once being misjudged, there had been more than a few occasions when Olwen's verdict would have been quite fair, Artemis Entreri advanced.
The sounds of battle echoed up the corridors to the foyer, where Master Kane stood before the perplexing array of tunnel openings. Because of the design of the place, with all the tunnels curving the same way, there was no way for the monk to accurately discern which opening would lead him to the fight. Even the battle sounds clattered out of all the openings uniformly, as if they were joined by cross channels.
"You should have marked it, Olwen," he mumbled, shaking his head.
Kane tried to gauge the angle of the curve and the distance of the battle sounds. He moved to the second opening from the right. He paused for a moment, until he realized that his hesitation wouldn't grant him any more insight or any better guess. He reached into a pouch, produced a candle, and dropped it on the floor, marking the opening.
Down he ran, silently and swiftly.
Entreri thrust with his sword and Olwen's hand axe descended quickly to deflect it. The assassin retracted the blade, feinted with his dagger, and thrust again with the longer weapon. Olwen had to twist aside and bring his larger axe across from his right.
And again, Entreri retracted fast and shifted as if to bring his left foot forward and thrust with the dagger, which was again in his left hand. The ranger stopped in his twist and tried to re-align himself to the right, but Entreri came on with another thrust of Charon's Claw.
He thought the fight at its end - against a lesser opponent, it surely would have been - but then the assassin realized that Olwen had anticipated that very move, and that the ranger's twist back to the right had been no more than a feint of his own, one designed to line him up for a throw.
The hand axe spun at Entreri, and only the assassin's great agility allowed him to snap his jeweled dagger up fast enough to tip it up high as he ducked. Entreri kept his feet moving as he did, reshuffling fast so that as he went down low under the spinning missile, he also was able to dart forward, once again leading with Charon's Claw.
Olwen blocked it, but Entreri stepped right behind that parry - or so he thought - and thrust with the dagger.
For Olwen had to have parried with his larger axe, the assassin had believed, and so confusion enveloped him as his dagger thrust came up short, as Olwen, more squared to him than he had thought possible, managed to slide back a stride.
As it untangled, Entreri noted that the man had pulled a second hand axe, and that it, and not the larger weapon, had defeated his low thrust.
And he was too far forward and too low, his blades hitting nothing but air, and with Olwen recoiled, his large axe up high and back. Forward it came in a sudden and devastating rush.
Entreri fell flat to the floor, wincing as the air cracked above him. He planted his hands and shoved up with all his strength, and with a perfect tuck, tugging his legs back under him, he came up straight, his weapons circling in a cross down low before him and rising fast and precisely. The lifting Charon's Claw caught Olwen's following chop with the hand axe, the red blade locking under the curved axe head, and Entreri drove the ranger's arm up and out. Entreri dropped his left arm lower, to belt height, and thrust forth the dagger, pushing the ranger back, and forcing the man to drop his larger axe low to block.
That thrust only set up the real move, though, as Entreri hopped up and to the right, gathering leverage. With the better angle, he rolled Charon's Claw right over Olwen's small axe and stabbed it down, twisting the ranger's arm.
Olwen surprised him, by dropping the axe and punching out, clipping Entreri's chin.
He staggered back a step, but recovered quickly - and a good thing he did, for on came Olwen, chopping wildly with his battle-axe. Down it rushed, and around, a sudden backhand followed by another lightning-fast strike. Metal rang against metal, clanging and screeching as the axe head ran the length of Entreri's blades in rapid succession. And in the midst of that barrage, Olwen produced yet another hand axe and added to the fury, both hands chopping.
Entreri fought furiously to keep up, deflecting and parrying. For many moments, he found no opportunities to offer any sort of a counter, no openings for any strikes at all. It was all instinct, all a blur of movement - sword, dagger, and axes whipping to and fro.
And if Olwen was growing at all weary, he certainly didn't show it.
As he exited the tunnel where he had entered, Kane turned the candle to the side, so that it was parallel to the tunnel opening, a sign for Emelyn or anyone else who came in that he had explored the passage and was no longer within. He placed a second candle on the ground at the entrance to the next corridor in line, its wick pointing into the descending darkness, clearly marking his trail for his friend, who knew how to read his signals.
He set off more speedily, both because he understood the general layout of the tunnel, given the other, and because he was certain that it was the one that would take him to Olwen and the fight.
And judging from the frenetic pace of the ringing metal, the tempo of that battle had increased greatly.
He knew the instant his red-bladed sword cut nothing but air that he had missed the parry, but without a split second's thought about it, without the hesitation of fear or dismay, Entreri followed with a perfect evasive maneuver, turning his hips toward the left, opposite the incoming axe strike, and thrusting his waist back.
He got clipped - there was no avoiding it - on his right, leading hip, Olwen's fine battle-axe tearing through the assassin's leather padding, through his flesh, and painfully cracking against his bone.
A wince was all Entreri allowed himself, for Olwen came on, sensing the kill.
Entreri cut a wild swing, from far out to his right and across with his mighty sword. Olwen, predictably, put his axe in line to easily defeat it. But the desperation on Entreri's face, and echoed by his seemingly off-balance swing, only heightened the feint, and the assassin dropped his swing short and used the momentum, instead of as a base to strike at Olwen, to spin himself to the side.
He sprinted off, limping indeed from his wound, but refusing to give in to the waves of burning pain emanating from his torn hip.
"You've nowhere to run!" Olwen chided, and he came in fast pursuit as Entreri sprinted for the doorway, where the glaive hung, its pendulum swing played out.
Entreri shoved the glaive out to the left and rushed past - or seemed to, but he pulled up short, spun, and whipped Charon's Claw in a downward strike. He called upon the magic of the blade as he did, releasing a trailing opaque wall of black ash that hung in the air.
Even as he finished the swing, the assassin simply let go of the sword and charged out to his left, opposite the glaive. His footsteps covered by the clanging of Charon's Claw on the stone floor, Entreri rolled around the wall, judging, rightly, that the visual display of glaive and ash would confound Olwen, albeit briefly. Indeed, the ranger sent his left arm out wide to interrupt the recoil of the glaive, and he pulled up short, astonishment on his face, to see the ash wall before him.
But he couldn't stop completely, and certainly didn't want to become entangled with the cumbersome glaive anyway, so he roared and rushed forward, bursting through the ash veil and into the tunnel.
And he froze, for no enemy stood before him.
A fine and sharp dagger came about to rest on Olwen's throat. A free hand tugged at his thick shock of black hair, yanking his head back, opening his throat fully for an easy kill.
"If I were you, I'd keep my arms out wide and drop my weapons to the floor," Entreri whispered in Olwen's ear.
When the ranger hesitated, Entreri tugged his hair again and pressed a bit more with his jeweled dagger, drawing a line of blood, and when Olwen still hesitated, Entreri showed him the truth of his doom, his utter obliteration, by calling upon the vampiric powers of the dagger to steal a bit of Olwen's soul.
The battle-axe hit the floor, followed by the hand axe.
"You multiply your crimes," came a calm voice from behind.
Entreri tugged Olwen around and pressed him through the ash and past the glaive, back into the room, to face Kane, who stood at the other open exit. The monk appeared quite relaxed, fully at peace with his arms hanging at his sides, his hands empty.
"The only crime I committed was to dare step out of Gareth's gutter," the assassin retorted.
"If that is true, then why are we in battle?"
"I defend myself."
"And your kingdom?"
Entreri narrowed his eyes at that and did not respond.
"You hold your blade at the throat of a goodly man, a hero throughout the Bloodstone Lands," Kane remarked.
"Who tried to kill me, and would have gladly cut me in half had I allowed it."
Kane shrugged as if it didn't really matter. "A misunderstanding. Be reasonable now. Allow your actions to speak clearly for you when you face the justice of King Gareth, as you surely must."
"Or I walk away..." Entreri started to say, but he paused as a second figure came into view, ambling down the corridor to stand beside Kane. Emelyn the Gray huffed and puffed and snorted all sorts of halting and sputtering protests at the unseemly sight before him.
"Or I walk away with this man," Entreri reiterated. "Without obstruction, and release him when I am free of the misjudgements of Gareth Dragonsbane and his agitated followers."
The wizard sputtered again and started forward, only to be intercepted by an outstretched arm from Kane. That only slightly deterred Emelyn, though, for he began waving his arms.
"I will reduce you to ash!" the wizard declared.
Entreri gave a crooked grin and willed his dagger to drink, just a bit.
"Stop!" Olwen bellowed, his eyes wide with terror, and indeed, that gave Emelyn and Kane pause. Olwen had faced death many times, of course, had faced a demon lord beside them, but never had they seen their friend so unhinged.
"You will not survive this," Emelyn promised Entreri.
Beside him, Kane lowered his arms and closed his eyes. A blue gemstone on a ring he wore flickered briefly.
"Enough!" Entreri warned, and he ducked aside, pulling Olwen with him, as a spectral hand appeared in the air beside him. "My first pain is his last breath," the assassin promised.
Kane opened his eyes and brought his hands up in a gesture of apparent concession.
The spectral hand swept down, lightly brushing Entreri but feeling as nothing more than a slight breeze as it dissipated to nothingness.
Entreri breathed heavily, a bit confused. He didn't want to play his hand; killing Olwen, of course, left him with no bargaining power. He tugged the man's head for good measure, drawing a pained groan.
"Turn and lead me out," Entreri instructed.
Emelyn did begin to turn, but he paused halfway, his gaze - and subsequently, Entreri's - going to the monk, for Kane stood perfectly still, his eyes closed, his lips moving slightly, as if in incantation.
Entreri was about to issue a warning, but the monk opened his eyes and looked at him directly. "It is over," Kane declared.
The assassin's expression showed his doubt.
But then, a moment later, that expression showed Entreri's confusion, for he felt very strange. His muscles twitched, legs and arms. His eyes blinked rapidly, and he snorted, though he didn't will himself to snort.
"Ah, well done!" Emelyn said, still looking at Kane.
"Wh-wh-what?" Entreri managed to stutter.
"You have within you the intrusion of Kane," the monk explained. "I have attuned our separate energies."
The muscles on Entreri's forearm bulged, knotting and twisting painfully. He thought to slice his prisoner's throat then and there, but it was as if his mind could no longer communicate with his hand!
"Picture your life energy as a cord," Emelyn explained, "stretched taut from your head to your groin. Master Kane now holds that cord before him, and he can thrum it at will."
Entreri stared in disbelief at his forearm, and he winced, nauseous, as he began to recognize the subtle vibrations rolling throughout his body. He watched helplessly as Olwen pushed his dagger-arm out, then reached up and extracted himself from Entreri's grasp all together.
To the side, Kane calmly walked over to the fallen Charon's Claw. Entreri had a distant understanding of some satisfaction as the monk bent to retrieve it, thinking that the sentient, powerful, and malevolent weapon would melt Kane's soul, as it had so many who had foolishly taken it in hand.
Kane picked it up - his eyes widened in shock for just a moment. Then he shrugged, considered the weapon, and set it under the sash that tied his dirty robes.
Confusion mixed with outrage in the swirling thoughts of Artemis Entreri. He closed his eyes and growled, then forced himself against the intrusion. For a moment, a split second, he shook himself free, and he came forward awkwardly, as if to strike.
"Beware, King Artemis," Emelyn said, and there was indeed a hint of mocking in his voice, though Entreri was far too confused to catch the subtlety. "Master Kane can cut that cord. It is a terrible way to die."
As if on cue, and still long before Entreri had neared the pair, Kane spoke but a word, and wracking pains the likes of which Artemis Entreri had never imagined possible coursed through his body. Paralysis gripped him, as if his entire body twitched in the spasm of a single, complete muscle cramp.
He heard his dagger hit the floor.
He was hardly aware of the impact when he followed it down.