"You should smile more."

Artemis Entreri looked up and scowled.

"You should smile, period."

Entreri rolled his eyes. He did not want to talk with Jarlaxle right now. Of course, he would not have had to if he had not been so careless as to walk into Jarlaxle's room in the Basadoni Guild House. He was about to leave, but the drow mercenary stopped him.

"You should be celebrating," Jarlaxle continued unwavering despite his companion's verbal inactivity. "Instead, you act like your best friend just died."

Entreri did not catch the hidden meaning behind that comment immediately, but when he did, his scowl only deepened as he leveled his eyes on the drow. Jarlaxle was, of course, referring to Drizzt Do'Urden, whom Entreri had killed just a few . . . How long had it been? A week? A month? A year? Did it matter?

Many people had been on the receiving end of one of Entreri's stares, and none had ever reacted the way Jarlaxle did. The drow mercenary leaned back in his chair and laughed.

This was not the kind of reaction Entreri usually got, and it unnerved him. Jarlaxle seemed entirely at ease, without a hint of awareness or caution. When Entreri entered a home, it was uncommon for people to lock their doors two buildings away.

Despite this apparent lack of respect the drow gave Entreri, the assassin knew the drow mercenary was always on guard. If the human took even three menacing steps toward him, he might not be alive to take a fourth.

Jarlaxle rocked back to a vertical position in his chair, ending his laughter. "I'm sorry, I forgot. Artemis Entreri has no friends, only enemies. Still, you should be celebrating, for have you not killed your greatest foe? Are you not the greatest fighter on all of Faerun?"

"You mock me," Entreri spoke for the first time since entering the room.

"Do I? You have killed the greatest drow warrior Menzoberranzan has ever seen. You killed the best of the best. Does that not make you better?"

"You would so easily relinquish that title?"

"Me?" Jarlaxle laughed again. "Now, you mock. I have never claimed to be on the same level as the young Do'Urden, or even a competent fighter."

Entreri smirked and that comment. Entreri knew Jarlaxle had to be an incredible fighter to earn the respect of so many Matron Mothers back in Menzoberranzan. Entreri tried to remember Jarlaxle in combat but could not. Come to think of it, Entreri had never seen the drow fight. Jarlaxle did not need to. He surrounded himself with competent lieutenants who did all his fighting for him. Still, Entreri would not allow himself to view Jarlaxle as anything other than deadly. His eyes reflected this.

"You don't believe me? Sure, I could kill you right now." The statement was said with little conviction, and neither man truly believed it. "But does that make me a better fighter? It surely makes me more prepared and perhaps better equipped, but half the mages in the realms could strike you down without ever having picked up a sword in their lives."

Entreri knew there were not six inches of space on Jarlaxle's body that did not contain some sort of magical item. Entreri's arm rubbed casually along his side, feeling his dagger secured snugly against it. It was the only magic item he possessed, and it was only effective after he had struck an opponent, offering nothing to his fighting skill.

"You had never thought of it that way, had you?" Jarlaxle said, seeing the light come on in his friend's eyes. Was the assassin his friend? Jarlaxle hoped so. Despite his previous claims, the drow did not wish to be enemies with the deadly human.

"Even Drizzt," Jarlaxle continued, "was ensconced in magic. Just being an elf - and a dark elf at that - gave him an advantage that would make you unstoppable. But besides that, his blades were some of the finest in the realms, his magical panther was always at his side, and the bracers he wore on his ankles allowed him to move faster than the wind itself. On top of that, he wore armor made by the best craftsman in the North. Do you even wear armor?"

Entreri felt the weight of the thin leather vest he wore under his jacket. To his memory, it had never once prevented a hit against him.

"Despite all these obvious advantages, you beat him. You are the greatest fighter to have ever lived!"

"You do mock me."

"You mock yourself!" Jarlaxle replied sharply, his humor suddenly gone. "Is that not what you were after? Is that not what all humans strive for? You live pathetically short lives and try to grab all you can before you die. Well, you had your sights set extraordinarily high, and now that you're there, you find it is not what you had hoped."

"I am forty," Entreri said bluntly.

"Happy birthday. I had no idea. You'll excuse me if I don't have a present for you. Preparations for the party will begin at once. I shall call the best baker in all of Calimport, and yo-"

"It is not my birthday."

"Then we shall celebrate mine," Jarlaxle said without missing a beat. "I'm not exactly sure when it is, but today is as good a day as any other." Jarlaxle stopped his rant to look closely at Entreri. "Please don't tell me you are going through a mid-life crisis. I, too, am halfway through my life span, though I am ten times your age."

This comment brought a startled look from Entreri. He, of course, knew how old elves became, but he had never thought about it. The idea that Jarlaxle was 400 years old disturbed him more than a little.

"Actually," Jarlaxle continued, "I have no idea what my life span is. Frankly, I hold the strong belief that drow are immortal. Do you know that in Menzoberranzan, a city of ten thousand, there has never once been a drow that has died of old age?"

Jarlaxle had hoped for some type of reaction from Entreri at this comment, but the ever-present scowl remained. "Have you ever smiled?"

The corners of Entreri's mouth began to curl upward and then stopped before his lips had even made a straight line. "It hurts," he replied and left the room.

Jarlaxle stared at the closed door for several seconds after Entreri had left. He was worried. Entreri was a vital part of Jarlaxle's power structure in Calimport. If he continued down this road of depression, his apathetic views would be very detrimental to Jarlaxle's efforts. Maybe he would tell Entreri that Drizzt still lived. Jarlaxle would have to do something.

LaValle sat up in bed, unaware of what had woken him. Life had never been relaxing in Calimport, and serving as a prominent guild's wizard did not make it easier. Still, things had settled down somewhat in the past month. Entreri had returned and assumed control of the Basadoni Guild. There were rumors that the old assassin had some mysterious magic about him that had facilitated his takeover, but LaValle had paid little attention to those rumors. Artemis Entreri did not need magic.

As that thought floated through his mind, LaValle turned back to the question of what had woken him. His private quarters were designed to keep him safe. Wizards were not known for their battle prowess, and LaValle was the poster boy for that philosophy. Thus, his room was designed to give him the maximum protection possible.

LaValle realized as he looked about his dark room that his security had been violated. He doubted any thieves in his guild had either the intelligence or stupidity to try and break into his room. That left only one possibility.

LaValle spoke a power word, and his room was flooded with light. Artemis Entreri stood over him, less than a foot from his bed. The wizard shrieked in horror, for there were few things more frightening to wake up to. As LaValle flung himself to the far side of his bed against the wall, Entreri remained motionless and only moved when the wizard began to mumble the beginnings of an offensive spell unconsciously.

Entreri's hand moved ever so slightly toward his jeweled dagger, and LaValle quickly ceased his incantation. "Is this how you great an old friend?" Entreri asked, a bit of sick humor creeping into his voice.

"I should ask the same of you," LaValle responded, finally regaining some of his motor skills. He sat up slowly, his back firmly pressed up against the wall, and his legs folded in front of him. "Creeping up on someone in the middle of the night is not the traditional way that friends greet each other."

"And I would hardly call us 'traditional friends.'"

LaValle agreed and had only used the word to mirror what Entreri had said. Their relationship had never been one of genuine friendship. Instead, they had used each other to survive in the dangerous world of Calimport. Now that LaValle thought about it, though, he could not remember the last time he had used the assassin. It was more of a one-sided relationship. A relationship LaValle would be wise to keep.

"What do you want of me?"

"How do you know I didn't just drop in to say hi? It has been a while."

LaValle had never been one for jokes. "It is not easy to break into my room, though the frequency in which you perform the task often makes me reconsider that idea. Still, you can not possibly do so without considerable risk to yourself and thus would not do so unless you had a considerable reason. What do you want?"

Entreri admired LaValle. He had been through several Pasha's in his time, Entreri being one of them, and had seen many a dangerous moment, yet he had survived. Now he faced the most dangerous man in Calimport - Entreri might not believe Jarlaxle's claim that he was the realm's best, but he would grant himself this city - and did not back down.

Entreri also realized that he was beginning to talk like Jarlaxle and quickly changed gears. "I wish to leave this city."

"Then leave. I shall not stop you."

"Nor could you, though you can aid me."

LaValle cocked his head at this.

"I wish to leave without being followed," the assassin explained.

"You want me to smuggle you out of the city magically? It is rumored that you have strong, new ties with much magic about them. Why not ask them?"

Entreri said nothing, wondering how much the rest of Calimport knew about his union with the drow. In actuality, what LaValle had said, was the full extent of his or anyone else's knowledge.

"Let me guess," LaValle said. "It is from these new ties that you wish to escape. Entreri is not often known to run from his problems." As soon as he had said it, LaValle knew that he had erred. If Entreri had not needed him, he would have killed him.

"I fear no one," Entreri said emphatically, his eyes piercing LaValle's false sense of security. "I want a change of scenery and do not wish to be followed. My allies need me ten times more than I need them, and they would not take kindly to my walking out on them. And with that piece of information, you know infinitely more than anyone else in the city."

LaValle did not know what to make of this. Entreri was confiding in him. Though he had told the wizard very little, it was far more than LaValle needed to know. "Where do you want to go?"

"Away, far away," was all Entreri said. "It would be best if I didn't even know."

This was when LaValle would typically bring up the matter of payment, and the wizard paused considering this.

"I have already paid you by telling what I have," Entreri said. "You know as well as I do that information is the most valuable commodity in this city."

LaValle nodded. "I will do as you ask, but it will take time."

"I am not getting any younger," Entreri replied.

It was an odd statement, and he would not have made it if it had not been for the conversation he had shared with Jarlaxle earlier that day. The comment made LaValle begin to wonder. How old was Entreri? No assassin on the streets had prospered like Entreri, and consequently, none had lived as long. Most of them had met their unfortunate end in pursuit of Entreri. It was always too late by the time the other hopefuls realized they had no business calling themselves rivals of this man and that their lives would have been much longer if they had become a bard instead of a killer.

Because of this, Entreri had an air of immortality about him. He had started his trade when he was barely a teenager and had continued well past most men's prime. He had then disappeared for a decade, only to return a few months ago without missing a step.

LaValle often lost track of time. He was well over 100 years old and planned to live at least another 50 before signs of his advanced age would begin to show. A bit of magic and the fact that he had one-eighth elf blood in him had allowed him to outlive exactly 13 Pashas. Looking at Entreri, LaValle realized the man must be nearly forty, an unheard-of age for a man in his profession. Was Artemis Entreri entering retirement?

"You frequent the Copper Ante." It was more a statement than a question.

Entreri nodded.

"Go there in two days, and I will have prepared something for you. Now, I wish to go back to sleep." LaValle, with Entreri still standing in the same spot he had been when LaValle had turned on the lights, turned them off and lay back down.

The wizard refused to look at where Entreri now stood in the darkness and instead strained his ears to hear the assassin leaving. He heard nothing. On the contrary, he felt Entreri's penetrating gaze on his back. LaValle endured this extreme discomfort for several minutes before he could stand it no longer.

"Why don't you leave!" he shouted and turned the lights back on. The room was empty. "I will be glad when that one is gone," he said to himself as he turned off the lights and tried to go to sleep.

The Basadoni Guild house had undergone many changes when the drow had moved in. For one thing, it had become far less crowded. The need for guild members diminished when you had the backing of Bregan D'aerthe, Jarlaxle's band of drow renegades. Most of the former guild members had been killed in the takeover, including Pasha Basadoni, the guild's namesake.

Because of this, Entreri could choose any room he desired. It was not as if anyone could stop him from taking what he wanted even if Pasha Basadoni still lived, and of the drow, only Jarlaxle had set up a room for himself in the guild house. The other drow lieutenants spent more time in Menzoberranzan than anywhere else. The ease at which the dark elves traversed the vast distance between the drow city and Calimport frustrated Entreri to no end.

Entreri had not chosen the guild master's room, taking instead a much smaller apartment toward the ground level of the guild house. Entreri required few luxuries and went out of his way to avoid the many intoxicants available to him, whether they were drink, drug, or female.

He sat in his room in the late morning hours, having returned from LaValle's room the previous night. He expected a visitor, and the predictable drow obliged him. His doorknob turned without a knock, and Rai-guy Bondalek stepped cautiously into the room. The drow priest was powerful but not stupid enough to enter the assassin's quarters with too much confidence.

The two hated each other. It was not that either of them really liked anybody, but the level of animosity they showed toward each other they shared with no one else.

"You left last night," Rai-guy said as his greeting.

"And you spied on me," Entreri replied, knowing that Rai-guy had no idea where he had gone. Despite the friendship Jarlaxle spoke of earlier, Entreri knew that he had Rai-guy and Kimmuriel Oblodra, his psionicist, watching the assassin's every movement. Entreri knew of a few places in the city that were shielded against such magical prying, and by moving from one area to another, he was able to stay mostly hidden from the drow. If he could only extend that protection outside the city, he would not have come back last night.

By telling Rai-guy that Entreri knew all about his scrying efforts, he forced the priest to admit that he had not been able to track him last night. "Where did you go?"

"Why must you know?"

Rai-guy did not wish to battle words with this human. Drow did battle in much different ways and therefore did not excel in verbal sparring, Jarlaxle being the only exception Entreri knew about. "It is of great importance to the success of our ventures on the surface that we know were everyone's loyalties are."

"Are you accusing me of treason?" Entreri asked. "I go for a simple walk in the night, and you turn it into an act of betrayal."

"Nothing you do is simple."

Entreri and Rai-guy stared at each other for a few moments, each only a heartbeat away from launching a killing attack.

"Jarlaxle wishes to move up the timetable," Rai-guy said. "He is impatient and wishes to draw out the guilds who stand against us."

"I can answer that question without the meeting Jarlaxle wants. They all stand against us. This city is not so different from your own. The only truces in place are signed only so the other side of the treaty won't expect an attack."

"Is it the same way with you? Are you only working alongside us so you can stab us in the back with your trusty dagger when we least expect it?"

Despite his comments to Jarlaxle, Entreri smiled. "I want you to know, Rai-guy, that when my dagger sinks into your flesh to steal the last of your life, you will be looking me full in the face."

"So you do plan to turn on us?" Rai-guy tensed himself.

Entreri laughed. "If I talk peace with you, you think I am lulling you to sleep for the kill. If I make threats, you believe I will carry them through. There is no way for me to win. Tell Jarlaxle that I will hold his meeting for him, though he is probably listening to us right now, so don't bother. I will hold the meeting the day after tomorrow, though I doubt few will come and fewer still will stand to listen to what I will say."

Off in the upper room of the guild house, Jarlaxle smiled. "They will listen," he said to himself. "You underestimate yourself, my friend. They will listen. They will listen, or they will die."

Dwahvel Tiggerwillies was the owner of the Copper Ante, and while you could not really call the establishment a guild house, Dwahvel often held as much power as a guild master yet had a talent for avoiding being made a target. She dealt in the information trade and excelled at allying with multiple guild houses, often to their misfortune but never her own. There was only one ally to whom she had never been disloyal.

Entreri walked into the Copper Ante and could almost feel the prying eyes of the drow leave him as he entered the protection of the tavern. Dwahvel was, as were most of her clientele, a halfling, but Entreri felt little discomfort as he walked through the crowd of short patrons. As much as he stuck out in this crowd, he knew that he had no enemies within these walls.

Dwahvel smiled as she watched the assassin walk toward her. She had hoped that the longer their relationship lasted, the more it would positively affect Entreri's constantly sour mood. If it was working, Entreri worked hard not to show it. The two took a seat at a table in the corner.

"A friend of yours dropped something off here yesterday. I assume that is why you have come."

Entreri nodded. Dwahvel produced a small box, three inches by three inches by six inches. She laid it gently on the table between them. "Do you know what is in it?" she asked.

Entreri shook his head. "Do you?"

"I resent that you think I would open it."

"Did you?" Entreri persisted.

"Of course, I did, though I have no idea what it is."

Entreri picked up the box and opened one of the ends. He tipped the contents into his hand and discarded the box. It was a finely polished ivory cylinder, maybe an inch and a half across and roughly the length of the box. The surface of the white shaft was immaculate without a hint of a scratch or any other marking.

"Do you know what it is?" Dwahvel asked again.

Again Entreri shook his head, staring intently at the magical item trying to discern its function. "Though I have faith it will work."

"You are leaving, aren't you?"

Entreri looked up from his examination. "Remind me to kill LaValle next time I see him."

"He told only me, and I have told only you. Will you go far?"

"That is yet to be seen." Entreri slowly reached into his jacket and produced his jeweled dagger. "I will not be able to take this with me," he said as he laid it on the table.

"Yes, you will," Dwahvel smiled and produced an identical dagger to that of Entreri's.

"How . . ." Entreri started, thoroughly confused.

"When I heard that you were leaving, I took it upon myself to ensure your safe departure. This weapon is identical to yours in every way, but its ability. It has the same magical signature, so if anyone looks for yours, they will find this first, as long as you go far enough away."

"And how will they find it?" Entreri asked, slowly putting his own weapon back in his jacket.

"All you need to know is that it has been taken care of."

Entreri looked unconvincingly at Dwahvel and then to the fake dagger. "Remind me that when I see you again, I will have to kill you too."

"Will we see each other again?"

Entreri shook his head. "If all goes well, no." He rose swiftly from the table. "Before I start to think things through, I must leave. Can I use one of the back rooms?"

Dwahvel gestured to the room that used to belong to Dondon, one of Entreri's old acquaintances. "Be my guest."

Without so much as a "thank you" or a "goodbye," the assassin walked into the back room, leaving Dwahvel wondering why she liked him so much. Entreri closed the door and brought the ivory cylinder in front of him. There was no way to discern what he was supposed to do with the object, but he had been around other such magical things and knew how to prod them with his mind.

Entreri held the cylinder firmly in his hand straight up and down, two feet in front of his chest. Closing his eyes, he focused his concentration on the object in his grasp. Images of fire and gold instantly flashed through his mind, and Entreri opened his eyes quickly. The short rod in his hand was glowing dimly white.

"If this is a trap, LaValle . . ." Entreri let the threat hang in the air as he closed his eyes again. The same images blurred through his mind's eye, but he pushed them aside as he tried to concentrate on the glow of the cylinder through his closed eyelids. Entreri could feel his outstretched arm begin to twist under the item's power. He tried briefly to fight against it, but the energy was too strong, and he was forced to let go of the ivory rod or have his arm twisted out of its socket.

Entreri opened his eyes and watched as the small cylinder hung in the air where he had let go of it and was slowly turning in circles. It sped up quickly, and the rod itself was indistinguishable inside the shining white disk it created. Entreri watched entranced as the disk slowly grew in diameter until it was six feet across.

The disk was made up only of the blurred motion of the cylinder, but Entreri saw that as the cylinder slowed its rotational motion and began to shrink back to its original length, the shining white disk remained. Soon the cylinder was suspended motionless in the center of the disk where Entreri had initially released it.

He tentatively reached forward to pluck it out of the air. The assassin's hand tingled slightly as his fingers passed through the insubstantial disk. Instead of grabbing the cylinder, he pushed his hand through the disk, noticing a temperature increase on the other side.

The disk was too wide to look around and see if his hand was coming out of the other side, but Entreri was pretty sure it was a portal. He had no idea where it led, but he was going to find out. With his arm leading, he carefully stepped through the disk, grabbing onto the cylinder with his other hand, pulling it through, and closing the portal behind him.

"Where is he?" Jarlaxle asked for the dozenth time.

"We are looking, and your continual questions are not speeding the process," Kimmuriel responded. The drow psionicist was peering into a scrying circle that Rai-guy had brought into existence on the tabletop. Both drow were searching desperately for Entreri, who had left the previous morning and not returned.

"He is supposed to be holding a meeting with the rest of the guild masters in half an hour," Jarlaxle growled. "He knows better than to cross us."

Rai-guy looked up from his work. "I told you he could not be trusted."

"And I told you to find him. Human's do not just disappear."

Rai-guy looked past Jarlaxle briefly to see Berg'inyon Baenre smiling. The youngest son of the now-deceased Matron Baenre was enjoying this spectacle. He no less hated Entreri than everyone else, but he held the human in unique respect. Entreri was toted as Drizzt's equal, and Berg'inyon alone understood the actual depth of that comparison. He was the only one in the room that had ever met the renegade drow in battle.

Rai-guy looked back down into his circle. "The problem is that there is nothing to search for. He has done well to build his strength within himself, and he has very little projection into the magical plane."

"That," Kimmuriel continued, "and his mindset is so similar to that of every other cursed human in this wretched city that it is impossible to pick him out."

"What of his dagger?" Jarlaxle asked, knowing the assassin was never far from his only magical possession.

"It is a strong weapon but does not stand out that much in the magical plane," Rai-guy explained. "It has no magical will of its own but relies on that of its wielder to guide it. In the hands of anyone else, it would not retain half its worth. Besides, if he left it in the Copper Ante, we will not be able to scry it."

"We've had the worthless tavern searched," Jarlaxle said, "it is not there, and he would not leave it behind. It is more than likely that he is no longer even in the city."

"I think I have him," Rai-guy said finally. The scrying circle had backed off the city, rising to a height far above so more of the countryside was visible.

"Where?" Kimmuriel asked so he could better focus his psionic probe.

"Fifty miles south of the city," Rai-guy said, bringing the scrying circle down to the area in question. It was a barren stretch of land, covered with sharp rocks and sun-bleached sand. Rai-guy focused on a section of rocky cliffs and brought the circle within visual range. Soon bodies were visible.

"Mountain lions," Jarlaxle said, looking at the bodies. He was the only member of the group serious enough about their surface exploits to have studied the creatures of this new land.

"They are dead, whatever they are," Rai-guy said, looking at the three motionless forms baking in the harsh badland sun.

"I do not sense Entreri's presence anywhere," Kimmuriel protested. "What drew you to this area?"

"The dagger is there," Rai-guy said, pointing into his circle at the lions.

Berg'inyon pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to look at the scene. The lions were impressive, roughly the same size as Drizzt's Guenhyvar. In their natural environment, their tan fur would be invisible against the sandy backdrop, and their padded, yet clawed, paws would tread imperceptibly on the harsh terrain.

As imposing as the dead creatures looked, Berg'inyon laughed. "Drizzt would never have fallen to only three such creatures." Berg'inyon had seen Drizzt take down three hook horrors on a patrol while the two of them had been in the academy together.

"He is not Drizzt," Rai-guy responded harshly. The drow priest did not hold a fraction of the respect for Entreri as he did for Drizzt. And he did not hold Drizzt in that high regard either.

Jarlaxle had been forced to endure the argument of who was better with Entreri; he did not want to do the same with his lieutenants. "Take us there," Jarlaxle told Kimmuriel, not choosing sides in the argument, though inwardly he agreed with Berg'inyon.

Kimmuriel muttered something about the heat and bright sunlight in the area of question, but using the dagger's presence as a focal point, opened a portal to the cliff ledge. The four drow pulled their hoods up and stepped through the magical doorway onto the windblown outcropping.

The lions were quickly creating sand drifts, as the fine rock dust was heavy in the wind. Their wounds were deep and clean, definitely caused by a short sword or dagger. Kimmuriel used his psionic powers to flip the heavy beasts over, and Berg'inyon examined the killing blow to the largest of them. The drow warrior bent over the lion and pulled the dagger from the thing's throat. "A fine killing blow."

"But where is the assassin," Jarlaxle repeated above the constant sound of the wind.

"Any blood trail left by Entreri would have been covered with sand by now," Kimmuriel pointed out. He caught sight of Berg'inyon beginning to protest and cut him off. "Even your beloved Drizzt would have been injured in such a battle."

Berg'inyon decided not to argue but pocketed the dagger and scouted out the area. He dragged his foot from side to side through the loose sand that surrounded the battle scene and felt as his foot collided with a solid lump. He crouched to the ground and fished the clump out with his hand. It was a small piece of reddish mud.

Jarlaxle watched the young Baenre and walked up behind him. "It could belong to the lions too." He turned away as Berg'inyon began to fish more clumps of blood out of the sand. "Rai-guy, could you please clear this area for us," Jarlaxle asked.

Berg'inyon looked up at the comment but did not vacate the area in time. The gust of wind from the drow priest threw him from his feet and slammed him against a flat, rock wall. Berg'inyon leaped from the wall, his twin swords in his hands in an instant. He began to charge Rai-guy but stopped cold as he looked around at his surroundings.

The magical blast of wind had cleared off the light surface grains, and now Berg'inyon could see that the ground was covered in reddish lumps of sand. Jarlaxle whistled low. "This must have been some battle."

Blood was spread around the ground in no discernible pattern, and even though the entire area had just been cleared, Berg'inyon could see that the sandy winds were already beginning to recover the evidence. He quickly found the edge of the blood bath, where a solitary trail of red clumps led away from the gruesome scene. The path was fast disappearing, but after twenty seconds of following it, the drow knew where the injured Entreri had ended up.

Jarlaxle saw the cave too. He and Berg'inyon walked side by side along the wide ledge that skirted around the edge of the rocky outcropping and led to the shelter. Upon entering the dark recess, both drow removed their hoods and quickly allowed their eyes to adjust to the change in light.

In the cave, another lion lay dead with a familiar dirk sticking out of its spine. Next to the dead beast, a human form lay crumpled on the cave floor. Berg'inyon flipped the man's body over with his boot, and Jarlaxle swore. Though it was hard to make out for sure through the deep cuts and gashes that covered his face, Jarlaxle spit on Entreri's dead body.

"What in the nine hells was he doing out here?!" Jarlaxle said with cold fury. Berg'inyon wisely backed away. He had never seen the mercenary leader this angry before. "If he were not already torn, I'd rip the flesh from his hide myself!"

Rai-guy and Kimmuriel walked into the cave and looked upon the body of their nemesis. Jarlaxle turned to the priest. "Please tell me that is not our assassin, and this is just a cruel joke he has played on us. In which case he'll wish this was his body!"

Rai-guy was too glad to see Entreri's bloodied face to spend enough time on his divination spell. If he had, he might have noticed that there was a strange aura hanging over this body, as if it had never been alive but was just a magical construct. Instead, he saw what the construct was designed to make him see. "It is him."

"Blazes!" Jarlaxle cursed as he viciously kicked the bloodied head of Entreri. He started to turn about to storm out of the cave but stopped. With his back to the dead body, he took a deep sigh and said nothing for several moments.

Berg'inyon toed the body. He smirked. To Entreri's credit, there appeared to be only one critical wound. His face was badly scratched, but the killing blow was a fine claw mark across his neck. Berg'inyon had spoken quickly back in Calimport when he had seen the three dead lions, but in truth, he would not want to be the one to face four of them out here in the desert.

"What are we to do now?" Kimmuriel asked, speaking carefully. He knew Jarlaxle was on edge. Where most would have flown off the handle at this discovery, the mercenary leader was keeping a steady composure. Even so, he was not happy.

"The meeting with the guild leaders is lost," Jarlaxle thought out loud. He had not contemplated this turn of events and so had not thought this line of reasoning out before. Oh, he had a contingency plan if Entreri tried to run out. The assassin would have quickly ceased his equal partner status in this surface venture and would have just as quickly become a puppet.

"The meeting is a loss, as is our ability to communicate effectively with the other guilds."

"What of the woman?" Rai-guy asked, referring to Sharlotta, one of Basadoni's old lieutenants who had survived the drow takeover.

"She is respected among the other guilds," Jarlaxle admitted, squinting out of the cave into the barren wasteland. He turned around. "But she is not feared. She is seen as the loser in what the rest of the guilds see as Entreri's takeover. Entreri's position in the city has increased tenfold since our arrival and assistance. If anything, Sharlotta's has decreased."

Jarlaxle looked down at the corpse on the cave floor. "If we plan to rule this city, we need the other guilds to respect us and fear us. Without fear, there is no hindrance to rebellion."

"They will fear us," Rai-guy said, an evil grin curling on his face. He loved killing humans.

"Perhaps you would like to be the first line of defense when the rest of the city learns that drow elves have invaded Calimport," Berg'inyon said.

Rai-guy shot him an evil glare. "He's right," Jarlaxle interrupted. "Not only will Calimport revolt, but all Calimshan will be at our throats." Jarlaxle contemplated retreat for the first time. Inside one of the numerous pouches that hung on his body, Crenshinabon, the Crystal Shard, spoke to him, "Oh, but we could have some fun in Menzoberranzan."

Jarlaxle nodded. "Our time here is done. Kimmuriel, please get us out of here. As they stepped through the portal, Berg'inyon thought he caught a glimpse of reflecting metal on one of the distant cliffs. He paid it no mind.

A small form watched the disappearing act from the peak of a distant cliff. The halfling lowered the eyeglass with a smile on his face. "Dwahvel will be pleased," he said to himself. He left his perch, climbed onto his dwarf camel, and headed back to Calimport.