CLEVER BY MULTIPLES
As he neared the audience chamber in his Bloodstone Village palace, King Gareth heard that the interrogation of Artemis Entreri had already begun. He glanced to his wife, who walked beside him, but Lady Christine stared ahead with that steely gaze Gareth knew so well. Clearly, she was not as conflicted about the prosecution of the would-be king as was he.
"And you claim to know nothing of the tapestries, or of the scroll we found on the fungus-fashioned throne?" he heard Celedon ask.
"Please, be reasonable," the man continued. "This could be exculpatory, to some extent."
"To make my death more pleasant?" Entreri replied, and Gareth winced at the level of venom in the man's voice.
He pushed into the audience chamber then, to see Entreri standing on the carpet before the raised dais that held the thrones. Friar Dugald and Riordan Parnell sat on the step, with Kane standing nearby. Celedon stood nearer to Entreri, pacing a respectfully wide circle around the assassin.
Many guards stood ready on either side of the carpet.
Dugald and Riordan stood up at the approach of the king and queen, and all the men bowed.
Gareth hardly noticed them. He locked stares with Entreri, and within the assassin's gaze he found the most hateful glare he had ever known, a measure of contempt that not even Zhengyi himself had approached. He continued to stare at the man as he assumed his throne.
"He has indicated that the tapestries were not of his doing," Friar Dugald explained to the king.
"And he professes no knowledge of the parchment," added Riordan.
"And he speaks truly?" asked Gareth.
"I have detected no lie," the priest replied.
"Why would I lie?" Entreri said. "That you might uncover it and justify your actions in your own twisted hearts?"
Celedon moved as if to strike the impertinent prisoner, but Gareth held him back with an upraised hand.
"You presume much of what we intend," the king said.
"I have seen far too many King Gareths in my lifetime..."
"Doubtful, that," Riordan remarked, but Entreri didn't even look at the man, his gaze locked firmly on the King of Damara.
"... men who take what they pretend is rightfully theirs," Entreri continued as if Riordan had not spoken at all - and Gareth could see that, as far as the intriguing foreigner was concerned, Riordan had not.
"Take care your words," Lady Christine interjected then, and all eyes, Entreri's included, turned to her. "Gareth Dragonsbane is the rightful King of Damara."
"A claim every king would need make, no doubt."
"Kill the fool and be done with it," came a voice from the doorway, and Gareth looked past Entreri to see Olwen enter the room. The ranger paused and bowed, then came forward, taking a route that brought him within a step of the captured man. He whispered something to Entreri as he passed, and did so with a smirk.
That smug expression lasted about two steps further, until Entreri remarked, "If you are to be so emotionally wounded when you are bested in battle, then perhaps you would do well to hone your skills."
"Olwen, be at ease," Gareth warned as he watched the volatile ranger's eyes go wide.
Olwen spun anyway, and from the way Celedon stepped aside, Gareth thought the man might leap onto Entreri then and there.
But Entreri merely snickered at him.
"We are reasonable men, living in dangerous times," Gareth said to Entreri when Olwen finally stepped aside. "There is much to learn - "
"You doubt my husband's claim to the throne?" Lady Christine interrupted.
Gareth put a hand on her leg to calm her.
"Your god himself would argue with me, no doubt," said Entreri. "As would the chosen god of every king."
"His bloodline is - " Christine started to reply.
"Irrelevant!" Entreri shouted. "The claim of birthright is a method of control and not a surety of justice."
"You impertinent fool!" Christine shouted right back, and she stood tall and came forward a step. "By blood or by deed - you choose! By either standard, Gareth is the rightful king."
"And I have intruded upon his rightful domain?"
"Yes!"
"King of Damara or King of Vaasa?"
"Of both!" Christine insisted.
"Interesting bloodline you have there, Gareth - "
Celedon stepped over and slapped him. "King Gareth," the man corrected.
"Does your heritage extend to Palishchuk?" Entreri asked, and Gareth could not believe how fully the man ignored Celedon's rude intrusion. "You are King of Vaasa by blood?"
"By deed," Master Kane said, and he stepped in front of the sputtering Dugald as he did.
"Then strength of arm becomes right of claim," reasoned Entreri. "And so we are back to where we began. I have seen far too many King Gareths in my lifetime."
"Someone fetch me my sword," said the queen.
"Lady, please sit down," Gareth said. Then to Entreri, "You were the one who claimed dominion over Vaasa, King Artemis."
The roll of Entreri's eyes strengthened Gareth's belief that the drow, Jarlaxle, had been the true instigator of that claim.
"I claimed that which I conquered," Entreri replied. "It was I who defeated the dracolich, and so..." He turned to Christine and grinned. "Yes, Milady, by deed, I claim a throne that is rightfully mine." He turned back to Gareth and finished, "Is my claim upon the castle and the surrounding region any less valid than your own?"
"Well, you are here in chains, and he is still the king," Riordan said.
"Strength of arms, Master Fool. Strength of arms."
"Oh, would you just let me kill him and be done with it?" Olwen pleaded.
To Gareth, it was as if they weren't even in the room.
"You went to the castle under the banner of Bloodstone," Celedon reminded the prisoner.
"And with agents of the Citadel of Assassins," Entreri spat back.
"And a Commander of the Army of Bl - "
"Who brought along the agents of Timoshenko!" Entreri snapped back before Celedon could even finish the thought. "And who betrayed us within the castle, at an hour most dark." He turned and squared his shoulders to Gareth. "Your niece Ellery was killed by my blade," he declared, drawing a gasp from all around. "Inadvertently and after she attacked Jarlaxle without cause - without cause for her king, but with cause for her masters from the Citadel of Assassins."
"Those are grand claims," Olwen growled.
"And you were there?" Entreri shot right back.
"What of Mariabronne, then?" Olwen demanded. "Was he, too, in league with our enemies? Is that what you're claiming?"
"I claimed nothing in regards to him. He fell to creatures of shadow when he moved ahead of the rest of us."
"Yet we found him in the dracolich's chamber," said Riordan.
"We needed all the help we could garner."
"Are you claiming that he was resurrected, only to die again?" Riordan asked.
"Or animated," Friar Dugald added. "And you know of course that to animate the corpse of a goodly man is a crime against all that is good and right. A crime against the Broken God!"
Entreri stared at Dugald, narrowed his eyes, grinned, and spat on the floor. "Not my god," he explained.
Celedon rushed over and slugged him. He staggered, just a step, but refused to fall over.
"Gareth is king by blood and by deed!" Dugald shouted. "Anointed by Ilmater himself."
"As every drow matron claims to be blessed by Lolth!" the stubborn prisoner cried.
"Lord Ilmater strike you dead!" Lady Christine shouted.
"Fetch your sword and strike for him," Entreri shouted right back. "Or get your sword and give me my own, and we will learn whose god is the stronger!"
Celedon moved as if to hit him again, but the man stopped fast, for Entreri finished his insult in a gurgle, as vibrations of wracking pain ran the course of his body, sending his muscles into cramps and convulsions.
"Master Kane!" King Gareth scolded.
"He will not speak such to the queen, on pain of death," Kane replied.
"Release him from your grasp," Gareth ordered.
Kane nodded and closed his eyes.
Entreri straightened and sucked in a deep breath. He stumbled and went down to one knee.
"Do give him a sword, then," Christine called out.
"Sit down and be still!" Gareth ordered. He from his chair and walked forward, right toward the stunned expressions of most everyone in the room - except for Entreri, who glanced up at him with that hateful intensity.
"Remove him to a cell on the first dungeon level," Gareth ordered. "Keep it lit and warm, and his food will be ample and sweet."
"But my king..." Olwen started to protest.
"And harm him not at all," Gareth went on without hesitation. "Now. Be gone."
Riordan and Celedon moved to flank Entreri, and began pulling him from the chamber. Olwen cast one surprised, angry look at Gareth, and rushed to follow.
"Go and ease his pain," Gareth said to Friar Dugald, who stood staring at him incredulously. When the friar didn't immediately move, he said, "Go! Go!" and waved his hand.
Dugald stared at Gareth over his shoulder for many steps as he exited the room.
"You suffer him at your peril," Christine scolded her husband.
"I had warned you not to engage him so."
"You would accept his insults?"
"I would hear him out."
"You are the king, Gareth Dragonsbane, king of Damara and king of Vaasa. Your patience is a virtue, I do not doubt, but it is misplaced here."
Gareth was too wise a husband to point out the irony of that statement. He didn't blink, though, and didn't nod his agreement in any way, and so with a huff, Lady Christine headed out the side door through which she and Gareth had entered.
"You cannot suffer him to live," Kane said to the king when they were alone. "To do so would invite challenges throughout your realm. Dimian Ree watches us carefully at this time, I am certain."
"Was he so wrong?" Gareth asked.
"Yes," the monk answered without the slightest pause.
But Gareth shook his head. Had Entreri and that strange drow creature done anything different than he? Truly?
You would think them wiser, Kimmuriel Oblodra signaled in the silent drow hand code, and the way he waggled his thumb at the end showed his great contempt for the humans.
They do not understand the world below, Jarlaxle's dexterous hands replied. The Underdark is a distant thought to the surface dwellers. As he signed the words, Jarlaxle considered them - the truth of them and the implications. He also wondered why he so often rushed to the defense of the surface dwellers. Knellict was an archmage, brilliant by the standards of any of the common races of Toril, a master of intricate and complicated arts. Yet he had chosen his hideout, no doubt looking east, west, north, and south, but never bothering to look down.
A mere forty feet below the most secretive and protected regions of the citadel's mountain retreat, ran a tunnel wide and deep, a conduit along the upper reaches of the vast network of tunnels and caverns known as the Underdark, a route for caravans.
An approach for enemies.
Do not forget our bargain, Kimmuriel signed to him.
The last time, Jarlaxle promised, and he tapped his belt pouch, which contained the magical item to which Kimmuriel had just referred.
Kimmuriel's return look showed that he didn't believe Jarlaxle for a minute, but then again, neither did Jarlaxle. The demand was akin to telling a shadow mastiff not to bark, or a matron mother not to torture. Controlling one's nature could only be taken so far.
Kimmuriel's expression reflected little beyond that initial doubt, of course, but in it, if there was anything, it was only resignation, even amusement. The psionicist turned to the line of wizards assembled at his side and nodded. The first rushed to Kimmuriel and pointed straight up. He quickly traced an outline, and as soon as Kimmuriel agreed, the wizard launched into spellcasting.
A few moments later, the drow completed his spell with a great flourish, and a square block of the stone ceiling twice a drow's height simply dematerialized, vanished to nothingness.
Without hesitation, for the spell had a finite duration, the second wizard rushed up beside the first, touched his insignia, levitated up into the magical chimney, and similarly cast. Before he had even finished, the third had begun levitating.
Twenty or more feet up from the corridor, the third wizard executed the same powerful spell.
With the next we will be into the complex, Kimmuriel's hands told the Bregan D'aerthe soldiers gathered nearby. Fast and silent!
The fourth wizard ascended, and with him went the first contingent, Bregan D'aerthe's finest forward assassins led by an experienced scout named Valas Hune. They were the infiltrators, the trailblazers, and they most often marked their paths with the blood of sentries.
They timed their rise perfectly, of course, and floated past the fourth wizard just as the stone dematerialized, so that without breaking their momentum in the least, the group floated through the last ten feet and into the lower complex of the Citadel of Assassins.
The first three wizards went up right behind them, and as soon as the scouts had gathered the lay of the region and had slipped off into the torchlit tunnels, the wizards cast again.
All through the lower reaches of Knellict's mountain hideaway, a mysterious fog began to rise. More a misty veil than an opaque wall, the wafting fog elicited curiosity, no doubt.
It also rendered the quiet footsteps of drow warriors completely silent.
It also dampened most evocative magic.
It also countered all of the most common magical wards.
More warriors floated through the breach and moved along with practiced skill. Jarlaxle tipped his great hat to enable its magical powers, and he and Kimmuriel came through, accompanied by an elite group of fighters. They swept up two of the wizards in their wake, the other two moving to their predetermined positions.
This was not strange ground to the dark elves. Kimmuriel's spying of the hideaway had been near complete, and at Jarlaxle's insistence, the maps he had drawn had been studied and fully memorized by every raider rising through the floor. Even the two guard contingents left in the Underdark corridor below knew the layout fully.
Bregan D'aerthe left little to chance.
To the head, Jarlaxle's fingers flashed, and his small, elite band slipped away.
Knellict was more angry than afraid. He didn't have time to be afraid.
Screams of alarm and pain chased him and his three guards down the misty hallway and into his private chambers. The guards slammed the door shut and moved to bolt it, but Knellict held them back.
"One lock only," he explained. "Let them try to get through once. The ashes of their leading intruders will warn others away." As he finished, he began casting, uttering the activation words for the many magically explosive glyphs and wards that protected his private abode.
"We should consider leaving," said one of his guards, a young and promising wizard.
"Not yet, but hold the spell on the tip of your tongue." He drew out a slender wand, metal-tipped black shot through with lines of dark blue.
An especially shrill scream rent the air. The sound of men running moved past the door, followed at once by the sound of a couple of small crossbows firing and of one man, at least, tumbling to the floor.
"Be ready now," Knellict said. "If they breach the door, the explosions will destroy them. Those in front, at least, but you must be quick to close it again and drop the locking bars into place."
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 threateningly.
"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 Faerun. 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."
"A necessary elevation of status and wealth," said Kane, "to incite hope in the common folk that there is a better life for them; if not here then in the afterworld. You are the representative of their dreams and fantasies."
"And it is necessary?"
Kane didn't immediately answer, and Gareth looked closely at the man, great by any measure, yet standing in dirty, road-worn robes. Gareth laughed at that image, thinking that perhaps it was time for the Bloodstone Lands to see a bit more charity from the top.
"Damara is blessed, so her people say, and the goodly folk of Vaasa hold hope that they, too, will be swept under your protection," said Kane. "You heard their cheers at the castle. Wingham and all of Palishchuk call to Gareth to accept their fealty."
"You are a good friend."
"I am an honest observer."
Gareth patted his shoulder again.
"What of Entreri?" Kane asked.
"You should have left that dog dead on the muddy lands of Vaasa," said Lady Christine, coming out of her bedchamber.
Gareth looked at her, shook his head, and asked, "Does his foolish game warrant such a penalty?"
"He slew Lady Ellery, by his own admission," said Kane.
Gareth winced at that, as Christine barked, "What? I will kill the dog myself!"
"You will not," said Gareth. "There are circumstances yet to be determined."
"By his own admission," Christine said.
"I am protector of justice, am I not, Master Kane?"
"You are."
"Then let us hold an inquiry into this matter, to see where the truth lies."
"Then kill the dog," said Christine.
"If it is warranted," Gareth replied. "Only if it is warranted." Gareth didn't say it, and he knew that Kane understood, but he hoped that it would not come to that.
He had just heard the report from Vaasa, where his soldiers held forth at Palishchuk, and motioned to the majordomo to bring forth the Commander of the Heliogabalus garrison, where promising reports had been filtering in for a tenday. But to Gareth's astonishment, and to that of Lady Christine and Friar Dugald who sat with him in chambers, it was not a soldier of the Bloodstone Army who entered through the doors.
It was an outrageous dark elf, his bald head shining in the glow of the morning light filtering in through the many windows of the palace. Hat in hand, giant feather bobbing with every step, Jarlaxle smiled widely as he approached.
The guards at either side bristled and leaned forward, ready to leap upon the dark elf at but a word from their king.
But that word did not come.
Jarlaxle's boots clicked loudly as he made his way along the thickly-carpeted aisle. "King Gareth," he said as he neared the dais that held the thrones, and he swept into a low, exaggerated bow. "Truly Damara is warmer now that you have returned to your home."
"What fool are you?" cried Lady Christine, obviously no less surprised than were Gareth and Dugald.
"A grand one, if the rumors are to be believed," Jarlaxle replied. The three exchanged looks, ever so briefly.
"Yes, I know," Jarlaxle added. "You believe them. 'Tis my lot in life, I fear."
Behind the drow, at the far end of the carpet, the majordomo entered along with the couriers from Heliogabalus. The attendant stopped short and glanced around in confusion when he noticed the drow.
Gareth nodded, understanding that Jarlaxle had used a bit of magic to get by the anteroom - a room that was supposedly dampened to such spells. Gareth's hand went to his side, to his sheathed long sword, Crusader, a holy blade that held within its blessed metal a powerful dweomer of disenchantment.
A look from the king to the sputtering majordomo sent the attendant scrambling out of the room.
"I am surprised that I am surprising," Jarlaxle said, and he glanced back to let them know that he had caught on to all of the signaling. "I would have thought that I was expected."
"You have come to surrender?" Lady Christine asked.
Jarlaxle looked at her as if he did not understand.
"Have you a twin, then?" asked Dugald. "One who traveled to Palishchuk and beyond to the castle beside Artemis Entreri?"
"Yes, of course, that was me."
"You traveled with King Artemis the First?"
Jarlaxle laughed. "An interesting title, don't you agree? I thought it necessary to ensure that you would venture forth. One cannot miss such opportunities as Castle D'aerthe presented."
"Do tell," said Lady Christine.
A commotion at the back of the room turned Jarlaxle to glance over his shoulder, to see Master Kane cautiously but deliberately approaching. Behind him, staying near the door, the majordomo peered in. Then Emelyn the Gray appeared, pushing past the man and quick-stepping into the great room, casting as he went. He looked every which way - and with magical vision as well, they all realized.
Jarlaxle offered a bow to Kane as the man neared, stepping off to the side and standing calmly, and very ready, of course.
"You were saying," Lady Christine prompted as soon as the drow turned back to face the dais.
"I was indeed," Jarlaxle replied. "Though I had expected to be congratulated, honestly, and perhaps even thanked."
"Thanked?" Christine echoed. "For challenging the throne?"
"For helping me to secure the allegiance of Vaasa," Gareth said, and Christine turned a doubting expression his way. "That was your point, I suppose."
"That, and ridding the region immediately surrounding Palishchuk of a couple of hundred goblin and kobold vermin, who, no doubt, would have caused much mischief with the good half-orcs during the wintry months."
At the back of the room, Emelyn the Gray began to chuckle.
"Preposterous!" Friar Dugald interjected. "You were overwhelmed, your plans destroyed, and so now..." He stopped when Gareth held his hand up before him, bidding patience.
"I trust that none of your fine knights were seriously injured by the outpouring of vermin," Jarlaxle went on as if the friar hadn't uttered a word. "I timed the charge so that few, if any, would even reach your ranks before being cut down."
"And you expect gratitude for inciting battle?" Lady Christine asked.
"A slaughter, Milady, and not a battle. It was necessary that King Gareth show himself in battle in deposing King Artemis. The contrast could not have been more clear to the half-orcs - they saw Artemis hoarding monstrous minions, while King Gareth utterly destroyed them. Their cheering was genuine, and the tales they tell of the conquest of Castle D'aerthe will only heighten in heroic proportions, of course. And with Wingham's troupe in town at the time of the battle, those tales will quickly spread across all of Vaasa."
"And you planned for all of this?" Gareth asked, sarcasm and doubt evident in his tone - but not too much so.
Jarlaxle put a hand on one hip and cocked his head, as if wounded by the accusation. "I had to make it all authentic, of course," the drow explained. "The proclamation of King Artemis, the forced march of King Gareth and his army. It could not have been known a ruse to any, even among your court, else your own integrity might have been compromised, and your complicity in the ruse might have been revealed."
"I say foul," Lady Christine answered a few moments later, breaking the stunned silence.
"Aye, foul and now fear," Dugald agreed.
Gareth motioned for Kane and Emelyn to join him at the dais. Then he instructed Jarlaxle to leave and wait in the anteroom - and several guards accompanied the drow.
"Why do we bother wasting time with this obvious lie?" Christine said as soon as they had gathered. "His plans to rule Vaasa crumbled and now he tries to salvage something from the wreckage of ill-designed dreams."
"It is a pity that he chose the route he did," said Gareth. "He and his companion might have made fine interim barons of Vaasa."
All eyes turned to Gareth, and Christine seemed as if she would explode, so violently did she tremble at the thought.
"If Olwen were here, he would have struck you for such a remark," Emelyn said.
"You believe the drow?" Kane asked.
Gareth considered the question, but began shaking his head almost immediately, for his instinct on this was clear enough, whatever he wanted to believe. "I know not whether it was a ruse from the beginning or a convenient escape at the end," he said.
"He is a dangerous character, this Jarlaxle," said Emelyn.
"And his friend has no doubt committed countless crimes worthy of the gallows," Christine added. "His eyes are full of murder and malice, and those weapons he carries..."
"We do not know that," Gareth said. "Am I to convict and condemn a man on your instinct?"
"We could investigate," said Emelyn.
"On what basis?" Gareth snapped right back.
The others, except for Kane, exchanged concerned glances, for they had seen their friend dig in his heels in similar situations and they knew well that Gareth Dragonsbane was not a malleable man. He was the king, after all, and a paladin king, as well, sanctioned by the state and by the god Ilmater.
"We have no basis whatsoever," said Kane, and Christine gasped. "The only crime for which we now hold Artemis Entreri is one of treason."
"A crime calling for the gallows," said Christine.
"But Jarlaxle's explanation is at least plausible," said Kane. "You cannot deny that the actions of these two, whatever their intent, solidified your hold in Vaasa and reminded the half-orcs of Palishchuk of heroic deeds past and the clearest road for their future."
"You cannot believe that this... this... this drow, went to Vaasa and arranged all of that which transpired simply for the good of the Kingdom of Bloodstone," said Christine.
"Nor can I say with any confidence that what has transpired was anything different than exactly that," said Kane.
"They sent an army of monsters against us," Dugald reminded them all, but his description drew an unexpected burst of dismissive laughter from Emelyn.
"They called a bunch of goblins and kobolds to their side, then put them before us for the slaughter," said Gareth. "I know not the depths of Jarlaxle's foolishness or his wisdom, but I am certain that he knew his monstrous army would not even reach our ranks when he sent them forth from the gates. Much more formidable would have been the gargoyles and other monsters of the castle itself, which he did not animate."
"Because he could not," Dugald insisted.
"That is not what Wingham, Arrayan, and Olgerkhan reported," reminded Kane. "The gargoyles were aloft when first they went to see what mischief was about the castle."
"And so we are left with no more than the crime of inconvenience," said Gareth. "These impetuous two circumvented all protocol and stepped far beyond their province in forcing me north, even if it was for the good of the kingdom. We have no proof that what they did was anything more than that."
"They tried to usurp your title," Christine said. "If you are to let that stand, then you condone lawlessness of a level that will bring down Bloodstone."
"There are darker matters at hand," Emelyn added. "Let us not forget the warnings we were given by Ilnezhara and Tazmikella. This Jarlaxle creature is much more than he appears."
The sobering remark left them all quiet for some time, before Gareth finally responded, "They are guilty of nothing more than hubris, and such is a reflection of our own actions those years ago when we determined the fate of Damara. It is possible, even logical, that Jarlaxle's ruse was exactly as he portrayed it, perhaps in a clever - overly clever, for he wound himself into a trap - attempt to gain favor and power in the wilds of the north. Maybe he was trying to secure a comfortable title. I do not know. But I have no desire to hold Artemis Entreri in my dungeon any longer, and he has not proven himself worthy of the noose. I will not hang a man on suspicion and my own fears.
"They will be banished, both of them, to leave the Bloodstone Lands within the tenday, and never to return, on pain of imprisonment."
"On pain of death," Christine insisted, and when Gareth turned to the queen, he saw no room for debate in her stern expression.
"As you will," he conceded. "We will get them far from here."
"You would do well to warn your neighbors," said Emelyn, and Gareth nodded.
The king pointed to Emelyn's robe, and the wizard huffed and pulled it open. He produced from a deep, extra-dimensional pocket the scroll they had found in the Zhengyian castle.
Gareth waved his friends back from the dais and motioned to the back of the room. A few moments later, Jarlaxle, his great hat still in his hands, again stood before the king.
Gareth tossed the scroll to the drow. "I know not whether you are clever by one, or by two," he said.
"I lived in the Underdark," the drow replied with a wry grin. "I am clever by multiples, I assure you."
"You need not, for it is exactly that suspicion that has led me to conclude that you and Artemis Entreri are guilty for your actions north of Palishchuk."
Jarlaxle didn't seem impressed, which put all of Gareth's friends on their guard.
"Exactly what that crime is, however, cannot be deduced," Gareth went on. "And so I take the only course left open to me, for the good of the kingdom. You are to remove yourself from the region, from all the Bloodstone Lands, within the tenday."
Jarlaxle considered the verdict for just a moment, and shrugged. "And my friend?"
"Artemis Entreri or the dwarf?" Gareth asked.
"Ah, you have Athrogate, then?" Jarlaxle replied. "Good! I feared for the poor fool, entangled as circumstance had made him with the Citadel of Assassins."
It was Gareth's turn to pause and consider.
"I was speaking of Artemis Entreri, of course," said Jarlaxle. "Is he under similar penalty?"
"We considered much worse," Christine warned.
"He is," said Gareth. "Although he was the one who assumed the title of king, I note that the castle was named for Jarlaxle. Similar crimes, similar fate."
"Whatever those crimes may be," said the drow.
"Whatever that fate may be," said Gareth. "So long as it is not a fate you discover here."
"Fair enough," Jarlaxle said with a bow.
"And if it were not?" said Christine. "Do you think your acceptance of the judgment of the king an important thing?"
Jarlaxle looked at her and smiled, and so serene was that look that Christine shifted uneasily in her chair.
"One more piece of business then," said Jarlaxle. "I would like to take the dwarf. Though he was entangled with the Citadel of Assassins, as you discerned, he is not a bad sort."
"You presume to bargain?" Christine asked indignantly.
"If I do, it is not without barter." Jarlaxle slowly pulled open his waistcoat and slid a parchment from its pocket. Kane shifted near as he did, and the drow willingly handed it over.
"A map to the hideout of the Citadel of Assassins," the drow explained.
"And how might you have fashioned or found such a thing?" Gareth asked suspiciously as his friends bristled.
"Clever by more ways than a human king could ever count," the drow explained. As he did, Jarlaxle shifted his great hat, turning it opening up. "Clever and with allies unseen." He reached into the hat and produced his trophy, then set it at the foot of the dais.
The head of Knellict.
After the gasps had quieted, Jarlaxle bowed to the king. "I accept your judgment, indeed," he said. "And would pray you to accept my trade, the map and the archmage for the dwarf, though I have already turned them over, of course. I trust in your sense of fair play. It is time for me to go, I agree. But do note, Gareth Dragonsbane, King of Damara, and now King of Vaasa, that you are stronger and your enemies weaker for the work of Jarlaxle. I expect no gratitude, and accept no gifts - other than one annoying dwarf for whom you have little use anyway. You wish us gone, and so we will go, with a good tale, a fine adventure, and an outcome well served."
He finished with a great and sweeping bow, and spun his feathered hat back up to his bald head as he came up straight.
Gareth stared at the head, his mouth hanging open in disbelief that the drow, that anyone, had brought down the archmage of the Citadel of Assassins so efficiently.
"Who are you?" Christine asked.
"I am he who rules the world, don't you know?" Jarlaxle replied with a grin. "One little piece at a time. I am the stuff of Riordan Parnell's most outrageous songs, and I am a confused memory for those whose lives I've entered and departed. I wish you no ill - I never did. Nor have I worked against you in any way. Nor shall I. You wish us gone, and so we go. But I pray you entrust the dwarf to my care, and do tell Riordan to sing of me well."
Neither Gareth nor Christine nor any of the others could begin to fashion a reply to that.
Which only confirmed to Jarlaxle that it was indeed time to go.