Quinton looked at his men, gathered in his office for a brief morning meeting.

Trevor had not been out of the mansion since his run-in with Artemis two days ago. His physical wounds were not life-threatening and didn’t hamper him much. Entreri had only pricked him with his dagger, wanting the man to be alive enough to report to his superiors. It was the wound he had received to his psyche that slowed him. This stranger had beaten him so severely that all of his confidence had been shot. Quinton had a way to restore that confidence, but it would have to wait until night.

Draick was invaluable to him right now. As a member of the city guards, he would be essential in the next couple of days when all of the recruits came pouring into the guardhouse. Each of the new men would be loyal to Quinton, but Draick would have to be the visible leader when the time came to take over.

Parnid was the most valuable. He had orchestrated most of the crime spree and was solely responsible for its success. Quinton thought that even after Trevor regained his health and mindset, Parnid would remain his primary thief and leader of the small band that worked for the new councilman.

Reillon still scared Quinton. It was not his loyalty – the mage professed it at every opportunity – but his skill that frightened the older man. The frail magician seemed to have a new trick or spell at every turn, each more powerful than before. He would have to be powerful, Quinton thought, because Reillon was going to be the key to the entire takeover.

“I think we need to take advantage of this new piece of information,” Quinton started the meeting. “This Artemis fellow has injured us on two different occasions, and last night I found out that Captain Irenum has his eyes on him as well. If we can frame him for this organized chaos of ours, it will buy us some valuable time.”

Quinton turned to look at Parnid. “Please tell me you disobeyed me and did, in fact, take something from the late Councilman Strum’s home.”

Parnid smiled and nodded his head, remembering the crystal ship. “Good,” Quinton said. “I want you to give it to Draick. When the time comes, it will be a valuable piece of evidence. Beyond that, if any of you should run into this Artemis, I want you to avoid him. Don’t try to be a hero and take him out. For one reason, you probably won’t be able to, but also, I need him alive and well for Captain Irenum to arrest.”

Quinton continued the meeting, outlining the next two days’ events. This was a very delicate time for his plan, and he needed everyone to be on the same page. If all went well, in 48 hours, he would be in control of the wealthiest city within 200 miles.

Buster heard his door ring open and then ring closed. The blacksmith held his breath as he waited for his patron to walk over his floor and let go a sigh of relief as the wonderful squeaks and creaks resounded to him in the back room. He picked up a rag, wiped his hands, and went to meet his customer. It was John.

“Found your killer yet?” Buster asked before John could start the conversation.

John shook his head. “I haven’t a clue.”

“Yes, you do,” Buster disagreed. The captain looked confused, and Buster explained. “Your friend you told me about earlier paid a visit yesterday. You’ve got yourself quite a killer on your hands there.”

It took John a moment to realize whom Buster was talking about. He had not come about Entreri and had not thought about the man much over the past two days. However, the real purpose for his visit evaporated at this news. “What did you find out?”

“He is showing everyone a very fake exterior right now. It felt like he kept fighting against his instincts to fit in. He instantly knew I knew who and what he was, and his first instinct was to leap over the counter and end my life as quickly as possible. He is death in human form. I don’t know how you ever missed it. Even without my skills, I think it has to be obvious just looking into his eyes. He has killed more men than he can likely remember, and it would not come as a great shock to me to find out that he is responsible for killing Councilman Strum.”

John could not reply right away. He had convinced himself that Artemis was no more than an oddity. He had a lot of money and liked his privacy. He did not want to talk about his past and lied about everything. John thought back to his lunch conversation with the man. He had said that he was an assassin. Was it possible that Artemis had told the truth knowing it would not be believed?

“Do you have any evidence at all?” Buster asked.

“Nothing that could point the finger at any one person. My suspect list is as big as the population of this city, and thus I haven’t exactly gone about collecting alibis.” Now John had a name on his list of possible suspects, but he still was not going to collect an alibi from the supposed assassin. Buster had made his observations based on what he could tell of Artemis’s instincts. Instincts that had been shaped by Artemis’s colorful past. But a man’s past, as any criminal on the run will tell you, is just that: the past.

Buster had also said that Artemis was consciously fighting against those instincts. It was possible that Artemis used to be an assassin, but it was also possible that he no longer wished to be one. If Buster was right, and his actions thus far were just an act, then it was a convincing one.

“Thanks,” John said, turning to walk out of the shop. He did not know what to do now. Cal would have information for him tonight, and if it in any way pointed at Artemis, he would be forced to go after the man. Until then, he would keep his distance and tell everyone he knew to do the same.

Ellen watched Entreri from the cover of a small copse of trees some hundred and fifty feet from the shack the assassin called home. Entreri was stripped to the waist and busy pounding boards together to make walls for the new addition he was building.

Even at the great distance, Ellen could tell this man was something special. Each nail went in with a bare minimum of hits, his two hands working independently. While one hand was setting a nail, the other was already swinging down with the hammer. As he took a second hit on the nail, his first hand was back retrieving another one.

Ellen had been mesmerized back in the alley when she had watched this man effortlessly take down Trevor, and now she was equally enchanted. She soon realized it had nothing to do with what he was doing or how well he was doing it. Both of those things stemmed from something deeper. This man had an aura about him that demanded respect and awe.

After finishing a large section of a wall, Entreri stood up and wiped his brow with the discarded shirt. Ellen watched him reach for his canteen and shake it, discerning how much was left. It apparently was not enough, for he moved toward the entrance to his house and disappeared.

Ellen moved back into the trees as she kept an eye on the house. Why was she here? Was she trying to investigate this man for John? If so, she was going to need to talk with him. Watching him build his house was undoubtedly educational as to the nature of the man, but it gave her nothing of value.

After contemplating this for a while, Ellen turned her full attention back on the house, thinking Entreri was taking an awful lot of time just to refill his canteen.

“Can I help you?”

Ellen spun around at the voice. Her hand slipped inside her cloak to the dagger she now carried. After her encounter a few days ago, she always had a weapon. She knew that she would be safe enough as long as she didn’t stupidly follow kids into dark alleys anymore, but she liked the added security.

Entreri had not recognized the woman when he had easily spotted her while working, but now he identified her as the woman he had rescued in the alley. Ellen relaxed only slightly when she saw who it was. The skill in which he had crept up behind her with the attention she had been giving his house was remarkable and gave credence to any suspicions John might have.

“I-I wanted to thank you for the other day,” Ellen said, having not expected to have this conversation without the time to plan out what she wanted to say.

“You’re welcome,” Entreri replied, noticing the woman’s discomfort and not approaching her further than the ten-foot gap separating them. “I don’t remember giving you my address, though.”

John had mentioned it last night in his description to Quinton. “I, I just, uh, I asked around.”

“Have I become that famous?”

Ellen decided she needed to start asking questions or she would never get anywhere. “Do you know who I am?”

“Someone who has no business in a dark alley and even less business spying on me.”

Ellen tried to ignore his poignant answer. “I am the daughter of Mayor Alexander.” Ellen did not enjoy having to identify herself through her father and dreamed of the day when the name “Ellen Alexander” would carry its own weight.

“I had no idea,” Entreri replied, bowing slightly. “Perhaps I should have asked for a reward before returning you to safety. Or perhaps I should take you captive now and ask for a hefty ransom.”

The way in which he said it, without the slightest hint of humor creeping into his voice, sent a shiver down Ellen’s spine. If the conversation had ended right there, the report she would have brought back to John – if she told him of this encounter – would not be favorable.

Entreri saw this. It was the same look that he had received countless times since coming to this strange land. Most recently from Buster, but Billy and Trevor and given him the same look. The more Entreri tried to fit in, the less he liked that look. “I didn’t kill your councilman.”

Ellen was doubly shocked. “How? What? Who? No!”

Entreri shook his head at her denial. “Unless you are just entertaining some voyeuristic fantasy, I see no reason you would come out here to see me. I did not kill him.”

“Could you have?”

It was a loaded question, and Entreri was taken off his guard for a moment. “Any man can drive a blade into another man’s chest. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool and won’t live long. Killing is not a bad thing in and of itself; it is the intent behind the action that counts.”

Entreri could not believe these words were coming out of his mouth, but once he got started, he realized that these had been the guiding principles that had shaped his life. He had no moral guide or heavenly calling, but neither did he kill for fun. Each of his killings had been done for a purpose. Whether he needed to set an example for someone, cover his trail, or complete an assignment, he had had a reason each time he put his weapons to work.

This was the only way he could live with himself and maintain any type of honor code. He had known many killers in Calimport who would pick travelers at random, rob them, and kill them. Whether these men did it to bolster their own fragile egos or to hit some targeted body count, Entreri did not know, but he had never respected them for it. Without respect, they could never obtain trust. It was well known on the streets of Calimport that if Artemis Entreri did not trust you, your biggest worry was not where you would eat your next meal but if you would be alive to eat it.

It is the intent behind the action that counts. Entreri had just said those words. What did they mean to him? What had his intentions been? Entreri figured he and Drizzt had probably killed the same amount in their lifetimes. While the ranger had been felling goblins and hook horrors, and Entreri had primarily preyed on humans, in Entreri’s mind, a life was a life. So how had Entreri’s intent differed from Drizzt’s?

Entreri had always rationalized his lifestyle by saying he needed to kill to survive. He now knew this reasoning was troll dung. Even if Drizzt had not pointed it out at every opportunity, Entreri would have figured it out eventually. He had killed for personal gain and advancement.

Drizzt had struggled for acceptance when he had arrived on the surface. Only through hard work and perseverance had he finally been able to earn a few people’s respect. He could have just as easily killed anyone who opposed him, and with his skill, the number who wished to do so would have dropped dramatically. The second path was quicker, but Entreri now saw that it was also the weaker one.

Entreri was not sorry for one life he had ever taken, least of all Drizzt’s, but he now saw that as a twelve-year-old on the streets of Calimport, each avenue had been laid before him, and he had chosen as he did because of greed and greed alone.

Even as a child, Entreri’s intellect could not be denied, and even though he was an orphan, he could have followed suit with the children of the nobles and gone to school. Like Drizzt, he would have struggled to be accepted among the wealthy, but like the dark elf, his skill and intelligence would show that he was more than able to accept the challenges.

Entreri had seen both paths, but he had also seen that the wealthy businessmen and nobles of the city took years of hard work to accumulate their wealth and even more hard work to maintain it. On the other hand, he saw kids only a few years older than himself living in the houses of pashas with enough money to make even successful businessmen jealous.

Neither path was easy, but one was much quicker than the other. In the end, it had been the immaturity and impatience of youth that had produced one of the most lethal killers the realms had ever known. Now that killer was 40 years old and no longer immature or impatient.

Entreri looked at Ellen and paused as these thoughts went through his head. What could she know of him? Had she talked with the captain? Had Buster spread word of Entreri’s nature to the mayor’s house already? Whatever the case, this woman had her doubts. While they were well-founded, Entreri wanted to ensure they were not consistent with how he now lived his life.

“Maybe I could have killed your councilman at one time, but not now, not here. I don’t know what you know of me, but I am sure you know very little and would not want to know more. You came here on your own out of curiosity, for I doubt the mayor would send his daughter to investigate a possible killer. So let me satisfy your curiosity. I have not killed anyone in over three weeks, and I did not kill your councilman.”

Ellen had indeed known very little about this man, but she had learned a great deal. He was an exceptional fighter. She knew this better than most, having witnessed his prowess the other day. He had obviously killed in his life, but she could also tell that those killings had made his life difficult. She saw no sorrow for his past, but she did see a need to escape it. She nodded.

“Good,” Entreri responded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

Ellen watched the strange man walk back toward his home and climb over his short fence. She believed him. She did not know why she should, but she believed him. Now her only problem was whether or not to tell her father.

The northern section of Garrilport was not a nice place to be at night, and John Irenum took no great comfort from the sword’s weight hanging at his side. He had refrained from bringing the weapon with him on his visit the previous day, fearing it would identify him. The blade was unique, and more than a few people in these slums had fought against it. Regardless of the risk involved with carrying the weapon, the chances of going unarmed were far greater.

Cal Grotciem was sitting alone in the tavern when John entered through the front doors. This was a different tavern than the one they had met in earlier. While the first had been noisy and crowded, perfect for covering up a private conversation, this one was dark and quiet. Several meetings, similar to the one the two men were about to engage in, took place in various locations about the main room. The barmaids were not your typical young vixens but rather experienced women who knew what their customers were about. It was Cal’s choice.

“You’ll like this,” Cal said, getting right to business as John took a seat across from him. “Have you ever been to Karenstoch?”

John shook his head. He had heard of the town, though. It was rough, run by guilds and influential families. It was on the edge of the wilderness yet prospered enough to be considered the capital of the north.

“A while back, they were plagued with a series of brutal murders. People die up there from time to time; it’s not common, but it happens. From all reports, these killings went well beyond the norm. In all the reports I could gather, the killer was referred to as the Devil himself. They all said he fought against the city’s best men and walked away without a scratch. His victims were killed with skill and precision.”

“Any descriptions?” John asked. He had seen the bodies of the councilman and his wife. Skill and precision.

Cal had been leaning forward as he spoke but now leaned back, holding his hands up in front of him. “Whoa, pal. I’m giving you information about the killings, that’s all. If you want the identification of the killer, it’s going to cost you more than-”

John reached over and latched onto Cal’s collar, wrenching him back across the table. “If I want something, and you know it, you will tell me. Got it?”

Cal’s nose was almost touching the captain’s. “No one could tell me what he looked like,” the smaller man said quickly. “You have to realize traders and travelers pass all my information about. I receive the stories after they’ve gone through two dozen people. People intend to exaggerate to each other to improve the story. Men in the stories often gain a foot in height and 50 pounds in stature by the time I hear about it.”

John released him and leaned back in his chair. Cal quickly retreated to his own side of the table, straightening his ruffled collar. “There is more. Halfway also suffered at the hands of this man. Halfway is a small town downriver from Karenstoch.”

“I’ve heard of it,” John said. “Those cities are quite a bit north, though. Is there anything you have that could make me believe their killer and mine are the same?”

Cal did have one more crucial piece of information, but he had hoped to get a little more than his standard fee. Looking at his customer, Cal decided it might not be good to press him. “Karenstoch sent a ranger after him.”

John sat up at this. He knew about how the tales Cal brought him were over-glorified by his informants. John routinely played down the stories Cal gave him by several degrees. But if Karenstoch had sent out their ranger . . .

“Rumors have it that the ranger met up with this killer, and he got the better of it. She walked away, but barely. Those who’ve seen her since say that she walks with a limp and has a new foreboding personality. I hear there is talk among the other rangers to restrain her, that maybe she is taking this hunt too personally. Right now, reports are that she is in the Great Range.”

That was much closer to home than either Karenstoch or Halfway. If the ranger, Elliorn, John thought her name was, had followed this killer’s trail to the Great Range from Karenstoch, then it was only logical to assume that he continued south. Garrilport was the first town of note south of the Great Range.

“Is there any report of what kind of weapons this killer used?” John asked.

“Blades,” Cal responded simply. “His victims were found sliced and diced. Sometimes there was one wound, other times a dozen. Variety is the spice of death.”

When Cal started with his odd sense of humor, John knew the meeting was over. He pulled a heavy coin pouch from his cloak and laid it on the table. The coins had no sooner been released from John’s hand than Cal had scooped up the bag and stored it somewhere on his body.

“If I find that you have held anything from me,” John started in his traditional salutation.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cal said. The smaller man rose from the table, tipped his hat, and was out of sight faster than a vampire at dawn.

John sat at the table, sipping at his drink for a bit longer with only one thought running through his mind. Artemis had come from the north.