As night fell on Garrilport, not much had changed. As the new Captain of the City Guards, Draick had hastily reformed the guards into what they used to be. Draick had his men back out on the streets shortly after the takeover, patrolling like normal. He was forced into mainly using recruits, but Reillon had assured him that a few others would remain loyal.

The prominent merchants did not deal with the City Council directly, and what little communication they had with the ruling body was done on an infrequent basis. Still, Quinton had sent a few messages that said the City Council would be unreachable for the next few days while they dealt with the rash of murders that had befallen them. This was totally understandable, and Quinton did not expect any problems from the merchants.

As far as the actual council was concerned, Quinton had kept them locked up on the top floor of the guardhouse without food or water for most of the day. They were kept under constant guard, but none of them were fighting men, and Quinton did not expect any trouble from them either. He realized he could not hold or kill them all, as most of them had responsibilities outside of politics. The two older members Quinton had killed had retired from all but the council and were thus expendable.

As Quinton walked into the upstairs room of the guardhouse, followed closely by Reillon and Draick, the rest of the room stopped what they were doing. Quinton took notice that Trevor was in the room. The man had an alarming evil streak about him that had only surfaced once Quinton had asked him and the rest of his men to promote terror. As a council member, Quinton had been given the details of the most recent murder.

With this nasty streak brought out, Parnid was now definitely his new top thief. Parnid was out right now, patrolling the streets with his ears and eyes open to any changes that might have come from the day’s extreme events. If he saw anything, he was to report back immediately. The fact that Quinton had not heard back from him all day gave the new mayor a good feeling.

The rest of the council was seated around the central table and looked at their tormentor as he entered. They had no doubt been privy to hearing about Trevor’s lewd and gruesome exploits for the past hour and were glad for an interruption. They were all hungry and tired, but they had been taught effectively this morning that any vocal outburst would result in death.

There was one person who, though he had seen the lesson, did not care about the consequences. “What is going on here?” Jerithon shouted as soon as he saw Quinton. “You cannot keep us caged up here indefinitely. We will be missed.”

Quinton laughed at the former mayor, for his words were quite literally true. Quinton kept a few exotic animals as pets at his chateau on the riverbank. He had taken one of the smaller cages and used it to suspend Jerithon from the ceiling in one corner of the tall room. The old mayor had only enough room inside the bars to sit cross-legged and was growing quite uncomfortable.

“I would disagree,” Quinton said. “I can not only keep you ‘caged’ up for as long as I want, but I will, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

“When I get out of here,” Jerithon started, and Quinton motioned to Reillon to shut him up, “I will beat you so senseless you will not be able to tell your ass from your head, not that I can tell the difference now, but when I’m done with-” Reillon finished his spell, and though Jerithon’s mouth kept moving, nothing could be heard.

It took the caged man a few moments to realize he was no longer making any sound. He tried shouting a few times and then grabbed his throat in terror, for being magically muted was a unique experience. Anyone can plug their ears or shut their eyes, but a gag does not adequately represent the inability to make any vocal noise at all.

Quinton chuckled to himself as he moved to the head of the table while Jerithon continued his frantic yelling. Quinton knew the spell would not last forever, but Jerithon would give up long before then.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Quinton said as he took a seat. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but as you know, it is not easy to run a city of this size. Plus, my chef prepared a fabulous meal, and I could not let it go to waste. I hope your meal was equally satisfying.”

“We have not eaten,” one of the men said flatly. He had seen Reillon’s most recent display and hoped all the attacks from here on out would continue to be non-lethal. The council members had realized, like Jerithon, that they could not be killed without people outside of this room missing them. They saw after some thought that the two men who had been killed were the least likely to be missed, and this gave them a tiny sliver of hope.

“Ah, well, I apologize for that. I guess in all my preparations for this day, I overlooked that small detail.”

The looks that Quinton received from around the table let him know his sarcasm was not appreciated. Sitting in one of the soft chairs along the side of the great room, Trevor laughed. He loved this job.

“I want each of you to know that if you are not foolish enough to die tonight, you will all be sleeping in your own beds in a few hours.”

Each councilman sat up a little straighter in his chair at this comment. A few even mumbled amongst themselves. Quinton put a stop to it.

“Yes, I know what you must all be thinking: I’ve lost my mind. If I let you go now, you will run back and tell the rest of the city what has happened here, and I will have thousands of angry citizens to deal with. Let me play that scenario out for you.

“You will go home and tell your families. I imagine that they will believe you, though not at first. The rest of the city is going to bed right now, and you will have to wait until morning. They will awaken with you shouting in their windows that thieves and murderers have taken over the city. They will not believe you.”

Quinton rose from the table and paced about the room as he continued his tale. “Why should they? They have not seen what you have and will not believe you when you tell the fabulous stories of Reillon and his abilities. Their lives have not changed and will not, so they have no reason to believe you. Oh, I’m sure a few will, and they will join you in arms against me, but even now, I am bringing in more trained fighters to bolster the guardhouse, and I will easily put down all who oppose me.

“As the deaths of Councilmen Reginald and Porter become public, and you continue in your tales of doom and gloom, more people will believe you, and what had started as a dozen protestors at my door will turn into thousands. For starters, this building is the strongest in the city, and with its doors barred, it is impenetrable.

“You might think that your life is not as important as ending my ability to control the city. You would be correct, but Reillon has assured me that he can kill over one hundred people a minute given proper crowd density. Just imagine the effect a fireball that explodes to twenty feet in diameter would have on a densely packed crowd.”

“You know that you are insane,” one of the men said.

“That is exactly what I’m trying to tell you; I’m not. I do not want you to think that I have gotten this far in my plan without thinking of everything to come. If you bring the mob looking for death, you will get it, but it will not be mine. And if you try to start anything, my men will have no trouble treating you like they treated Councilmen Strum and Alexander. They might kill you in your sleep, or they might have fun with you first. I cannot control that.”

Quinton stopped walking now and leaned on the table to look each man in the eye. “I want you to know that I am in charge, and there is nothing you can do about it. You have two options open to you that actually make sense. You can leave the city – I will not stop you – or you can live under my rule. Either option will extend your life far past what it would be if you chose any other path.”

Quinton stood up. “I now dismiss you to your homes. You will find that no one will stand in your way as you leave the guardhouse. My men will escort you to your estates, though you will not see them. Trust me; they will be there. You will go to bed and continue your everyday lives as if nothing has happened. In the end, you will thank me, or perhaps your children will, for I shall make this city far greater than any of you could have imagined.

“I will release information to the general public about what has taken place here today, and you are at liberty to agree with or deny anything I say. I will not pursue taking any more lives if I do not have to. Any death that comes in the next few days will be on your hands.”

Quinton gestured to the door. “Go.”

A few men stood tentatively, wondering if there was still some trap here.

“Go!” Quinton shouted. “Go before I have you thrown out. And I won’t use the door. These windows look just as capable of the task.”

The remaining council members scrambled out of the room as fast as possible. “What about me?” Jerithon asked. He had felt his voice return to him a while ago but had refrained from interrupting Quinton, knowing that he would just be muted again.

“I like you right where you are,” Quinton said. “Don’t worry; your wife will also be returned to your home and watched closely. We are still looking for your lovely daughter. Perhaps I should send Trevor out after her. I understand he had a run-in with her a few days ago and has unfinished business.”

Jerithon caught the reference to Ellen’s story of when Entreri had rescued her. He was instantly furious at the man but quelled his rage at how that story had ended. Trevor had told the men of quite a few of his exploits throughout the day, each meant to unnerve them, but he had kept the Entreri incident to himself. The former mayor could imagine Trevor running from the alley with his tail between his legs, and he laughed.

Quinton misunderstood the laugh. “I’m sure you’re thinking that your daughter is orchestrating some rescue mission right now. I hear she is rather resourceful. I want to assure you if she or anyone connected to her tries to attack me, they will be met with deadly force. No one can stand against me.”

With that, Quinton turned to leave the room. Trevor, too, rose from his reclined position, looked mischievously at the caged man, licked his lips evilly, and followed his boss out of the room.

Jerithon let out a sigh to try and calm his fear and anger. As his thoughts went to his daughter’s safety, he attempted to reposition his cramped legs in the small cage. Getting no satisfactory results, he gave up and just focused on his daughter. He truly hoped that she was far away from the city with no intention of organizing a rescue. He was only half right.

Entreri sat in front of the fire as he leaned against the large rock behind him. He was half a day’s journey east of Garrilport in the foothills of the Great Range. He had originally come south across the mountains, and instead of continuing in that direction, he decided to scout the foothills to the east and visit a few rough towns he had found on the maps he had stolen from Reichen back in Karenstoch.

As he looked into the fire, he realized he should try not to stare at the flames, knowing full well what that would do to his vision at night. He just didn’t care anymore. He had left Garrilport in the morning, over 15 hours ago but had not traveled quickly and was not more than a few dozen miles from the city’s edge. The terrain he was now in did not facilitate quick travel, but that was not the reason for his short journey.

Entreri wanted to be chased. When he had left Karenstoch, he had washed his hands of the town, realizing it was not ready for what he had to offer. People in the city could have easily profited from his work, but they chose to see his actions in a less than honorable light, so he left.

The ranger had chased him to Halfway, and the bodies she had found there had not slowed her pursuit, to say the least. All he wanted was to be left alone, but when Elliorn had finally caught him, he realized that she had a legitimate beef. He had killed 17 people. Though they were all justified in his mind, he had killed them. For that reason, he had not killed the ranger.

Entreri realized that his trail of blood had to end somewhere if he was ever going to live in relative peace, and the ranger was as good a place to start as any. He did not expect Elliorn to sing his praises from the mountaintops, but he had hoped that his show of compassion, combined with his superior skill, would temper her desire for the hunt.

Then came Garrilport.

The town had accepted him for his money at first, but after the lunch meeting with John, Entreri felt he would be accepted as a citizen as well. He was wrong. It did not matter how bright and pleasant his current state was, if the past was dark and deadly.

The parallel with Drizzt would just not leave him alone. How had the dark elf survived? Entreri knew, for had looked into it. When Drizzt had first emerged from the Underdark, he had tried to live in peace with those around him but fell pathetically short. A family, the Thistledowns by name, was murdered savagely, and Drizzt was accused of the deed. The drow was chased out of the area and tracked across a great expanse before the ranger, Dove Falconhand, had declared the drow innocent.

Though Drizzt had dealt with the ranger with slightly more tact than Entreri had with his, and Elliorn had a more justifiable reason for taking up the chase, the similarities were there. They more closely mirrored his current condition, however. He had just been chased from a town, convicted of a crime he had not committed. Like Drizzt, his past was dark and deadly and plain to those who looked for it, and he had been convicted on those grounds alone.

Unlike Drizzt, Entreri had too much pride to give in to the authorities and allow himself to be judged. Entreri cared little what others thought of him unless it impaired his ability to live as he wanted.

Now, if the captain and his men came chasing Entreri down, he would only voice his innocence if they let him. If they instead came looking for a fight, he would make sure they did not have to look hard. Entreri knew the more people he killed, the less they would believe his story, but he still held onto the hope that the more he killed, the less they would come after him.

Maybe it was an endless cycle, but given a choice between surrendering to John and hoping that the justice system of Garrilport might find him innocent or standing his ground to protect his innocence with his blades, the second one was the only one he could live with.

As the fire died down and the night waned on, his thoughts left him with disturbed sleep. It was not surprising then when a startled yelp brought him to immediate attention. In his days in Calimport, he prided himself that he could sleep through a thunderstorm yet rise instantly at the sound of a creaking floorboard outside his room.

Over the past month, he had tried to rid himself of that annoying alertness. It had been necessary in Calimport and vital in his short stay in Menzoberranzan, but in a land where even the stealthiest thief moved as if wearing bells, it was not a skill he needed to retain.

As Entreri found himself standing alert in front of his low fire, his blades in his hands even before his eyes had fully opened, it was nice to know that the skill was still there when he needed it. He then tried to determine if this was, in fact, a time that called for it.

The yelp had come from his right toward a small pass in the rock that anyone approaching his fire would logically traverse. Thus, Entreri had set a simple dagger trap there to give him an alarm if anyone came calling. Though he half wished to be chased, he had no intention of being ambushed.

The assassin moved silently toward the pass, ensuring the fire did not cast his shadow anywhere where it might alert his prey. A few painful gasps came from the trap area ahead, still out of view, and Entreri began to develop a theory on who it might be. He stepped on a thick twig on purpose.

Ellen’s head spun about at the sharp crack. “Artemis,” she said in a harsh whisper, half hoping the killer was not the one stalking her in the dead of night. Entreri sheathed his weapons and moved through the trees and rocks, coming upon the woman suddenly.

She gasped at the appearance of the dark form and how quietly he had made the rest of the approach. “What are you doing here?” he asked her, looking down at her seated form.

“Just testing your traps out,” she grinned painfully.

Entreri sighed heavily as he squatted beside her. “Let me look at that.” The dagger had stuck in her thigh, stopping when it had hit the bone. It was not near the vital arteries on the inside of her thigh, but the similarity between this wound and the one Entreri had given Elliorn was too much for the assassin. He chuckled.

“I’m glad my suffering is so entertaining. Why don’t you throw another one into my side? I’m sure you’ll double over with laughter with that one.”

“Long story,” was all Entreri said on the topic. The wound was not deep or life-threatening; Ellen’s jovial mood told him that much, but still, there might be significant blood loss if the dagger was just yanked out. “Let’s get you to the fire,” he said.

Entreri assisted the woman into the camp’s clearing, and he threw a few more sticks onto the fire to provide a bit more light. He removed the dagger in no time and provided a tight wrap for the wound. Ellen offered a few superficial thanks throughout the process, for it had been Entreri’s trap that had inflicted the injury in the first place.

“I had expected your captain friend, or at least one of his scout teams,” Entreri started, wondering why this woman might be tracking him down. “Or did you come to get my confession despite our earlier conversation?”

“No,” she replied. “I came to ask for your help.”

Entreri could not remember one incident in his forty years of life when someone had genuinely come to him asking for help. Jarlaxle might have been the closest, but their arrangement had been more of a business deal than anything else. “So, you’ve come to appeal to my good nature.”

Ellen missed the sarcasm. “An evil man, Quinton Palluge, has taken control of our city. He is the one who has been responsible for all the murders. He has taken over the City Guard and has all the councilmen, including my father and the captain, held hostage.”

“Then rally the troops and kick him out,” Entreri replied, not interested in the story. “Garrilport is a city of, what, eight thousand people? Half of which are men, and half of them battle-worthy. Surely, you can take back your city with two thousand men behind you.”

“Quinton has the help of a mage and a powerful one by all reports. Do you know anything of mages?”

Entreri was silent for a while. This was an interesting twist indeed! If he had missed anything about his old home, it was the variety it brought. Elves, halflings, dwarves, orcs, trolls, and the like were everywhere you looked. There was also a magical something-or-other almost anywhere you went. If it was not a wizard or a priest or – heaven forbid – a psionicist, then it was a magical weapon or item. Entreri’s own dagger fell neatly into that category. This land was so void of variety that he almost thought about accepting Ellen’s offer for fun.

“I know of mages,” Entreri replied. “They are weak-muscled cowards, whose only concern is their own fame and fortune. Their egos are only one of the hundreds of weaknesses, and their spells are far too predictable even to be considered threatening. You should have no trouble.”

Entreri spoke these words without any sarcasm, for this was indeed how he felt. Ellen picked up on this and was confused. She trusted what Buster had said, but in her few meetings with Entreri, she thought he was also very knowledgeable.

“I was hoping I might persuade you to come back and help me fight him,” she said, slightly fearful of Entreri’s reaction.

“Me?” Entreri laughed out loud. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“I know what people say about you, but I don’t believe them.”

“And what are people saying about me?” Entreri asked, genuinely interested.

“They say you are a ruthless killer with not one thread of good in you. They say you kill for money and entertainment and would rather see a woman raped in an alley than step in and risk your life to help.”

Entreri did not like that last phrase, but the rest of it seemed almost like a compliment. “And who do you think I am?”

“I think you are a man who has been through a tough life. People have threatened you, and you have been forced into fights you did not want. You are not a bad person at heart, but people have often been fearful of your skill, and your need to defend yourself has left a bloody trail behind you.”

You think I’m Drizzt, Entreri thought to himself. He hated that drow ranger more than anything else. He had not only proved to be Entreri’s equal and often superior but had done so while still embracing those things that Entreri despised most. On top of it all, Drizzt had thrown a dagger into Entreri’s soul, laying bare his motivations and proving them hollow and useless. It was a revelation that had put Entreri on the path he now walked. How simple would his life have been if he had never met that dark elf? He would be living in Calimport now, the famous assassin who would never have to work again, and all would bend over backward to make his life easier. Jarlaxle and his hoard would be but a delusional fantasy that only the most potent liquor could bring on. Entreri hated Drizzt.

“Your wrong,” Entreri said flatly. “Listen to your father. I am bad. People who come near me die, not because they attack me, but because I kill them. I am not your hero on a white horse.”

Ellen was shocked. She had been prepared to offer money if Entreri had proved less than willing, but this was totally unexpected.

“I did kill the councilmen,” he added, wanting to be rid of this woman as soon as possible. “This man who you said has taken over your city; he hired me to do it. He paid me well, and now I’m making myself scarce. He told me there might be more work for me east, so that is where I’m headed.”

Ellen just stared on in disbelief. “I don’t believe you. I don’t be-”

“I don’t care what you don’t believe!” Entreri shouted back, standing as he spoke. He drew his dagger and held it in the firelight. “Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed with this weapon? Do you?”

Ellen was in tears now. “No,” she sobbed, shaking her head in case the word was not audible.

“I sliced open the councilman’s children with it. You should have heard their screams; it was like sweet music to my ears. It had been a long time since someone had hired me to kill children, and it was a refreshing change of pace.”

Tears were rolling heavily down her cheeks now. She knew this whole display was a lie meant to scare her. It was working. She knew the children had died without a mark on them. “That’s not true-”

“True?! True?! What is true?! What is the truth? Who decides what the truth is? You? Me? Your father? Don’t come to me to lecture me on truth. I’ve lived a life so full of lies that were truths and vice versa, I’m beginning to think there is no such thing as either.

“Your father is held captive by a powerful man who wishes to take over your city. If that is the truth, well, that is too bad. But I know that it has nothing to do with me. That is the truth. Now I think you should leave.”

Ellen rose, her body shaking from her sobs. “Please?”

“GO!!!”

Ellen went. She ran from the clearing, limping on her bad leg and tripping on the rocks and roots in the darkness. She fell several times but did not slow her pace. She found her horse and galloped away as fast as she could, sorry she had ever come.

Ellen rode into town several hours after dawn, tired and not thinking straight. She had mulled her thoughts over and over concerning Entreri. Right now, she was pretty sure she hated him. She had come to him for help, and he had slammed the door so hard in her face that her cheeks were still flushed from crying.

It was her assessment of him that had brought about the change. She had said that he was a good person who had been forced to use his weapons to defend what he believed in. For some reason, this angered him beyond anything she could imagine. Why would someone dislike that kind of compliment? Even if he was what everyone said, a killer without a conscience, he should still be grateful for Ellen’s kind words, even if they were not true.

As Ellen dismounted at her stable, she figured she would never understand Entreri’s mind or why he did things. He had come to her rescue in the alley when he had no reason to and could get nothing in return. Now, when he had plenty to receive if he succeeded, he turned it down. It was not because he felt the task too dangerous, Ellen thought as she opened the front door to her home. He had told her what he had thought of mages, and it had not been complimentary. It had to be something-

Ellen froze.

Inside her home sat three city guards, all of them recruits. “Welcome home, Ellen.”

Before she could berate herself for her sheer stupidity, she needed to escape. Ellen spun around and ran into another guard. The man grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. “Hold on, missy, you’re not going anywhere. The boss has been waiting for you.”

Ellen struggled some, but it was useless. She was not going to break free from the man’s iron grasp. As he led her toward the guardhouse a few blocks away, she had plenty of time to berate herself, and she spared no expense.

Her father and John were waiting for her on the top floor. She stood stunned when she saw her father in a cage. “Father?!”

Jerithon picked his head up from his restless slumber, and his face brightened. “Ellen! Are you okay? Those monsters did not hurt you, did they?” Jerithon cast a hateful glance at the guard that had led Ellen into the room.

Ellen yanked her arm away from the guard, and he released her. “No, Dad, I’m fine.” Ellen stepped away from the guard and moved toward John. He was propped up in a half-sitting, half-lying position with his broken leg stretched out before him. Someone had set it, and it was obvious they had done a poor job.

“Ellen,” Jerithon started slowly, and his daughter knew what was coming. “I’m sorry about what I said. I did not mean it. It’s hard for me to remember that you are not my little girl anymore. Especially now that I know Artemis never did anything wrong, I feel especially-”

“No,” Ellen cut in. “Don’t apologize for that part of it. Artemis Entreri is just as rotten as you thought, maybe more. He is truly evil.”

“Ah,” a voice came from the other side of the room. Jerithon and Ellen turned to look back at the door. Quinton was standing there with a quizzical look on his face. The door shut behind him, leaving only him, two guards, the prisoners, and Trevor, who was busy eyeing up Ellen. “So, you spoke with our friend. And what did he have to say?”

“Nothing important. I hope I never see him again.”

Quinton shook his head. “That’s too bad. I was kind of hoping he’d try some kind of rescue. You should have been more persuasive. I’m sure a woman of your,” he paused as he stared at her and then as he looked toward Trevor, who chuckled lewdly, “stature,” he settled with, “could convince a man to do anything.”

“He cares nothing for me or anyone else in this city. He cares only for himself and his pocketbook.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Quinton sighed. “You see, I owe him two. . . Well, actually, I owe him one; Trevor here, as I’m sure you know, owes him the other.”

The thief smiled his brown-toothed grin. Ellen engaged him in a staring contest, unwilling to back down to the awful man. “If Artemis does come, I hope it is only to kick your ass again.”

“We’ll see,” Trevor said, brandishing his short sword, “we’ll see.”

“What am I going to do, Red?”

Entreri had always felt that talking to yourself was a sure sign of insanity. However, talking to a long-dead red dragon while surrounded by more riches than in all of Calimport went far beyond simple insanity.

Entreri had his head in his hands as he sat on a chair-shaped pile of coins and gems. He had opened the ivory portal deep inside a cave where he was sure no one would find it. As long as it stayed open, he would be able to return to the cave. If someone happened upon the portal and removed the ivory cylinder from the center, he would be stuck back north of Karenstoch with the unenviable task of tracking down whoever had taken his prized possession.

“Am I destined to become the one I hated most?” he continued. Though the dragon was dead, its colossal presence and lingering magical aura made it easy for Entreri to imagine he was not alone. “Is that the irony fate has destined me to live out?”

Entreri got up from his seat and paced in front of the enormous maw. “I don’t know what I want or even who I am anymore. Riches have never appealed to me much.” He stopped and looked over the vast treasure before him. “And that’s a shame.” He continued walking. “Fame was good back in Calimport when it meant you were respected. Both Drizzt and I demanded respect whenever we walked into any city along the coast. Here, if my fame precedes me, they close the gates or send the city guards to chase me out.”

Entreri stopped pacing to pick up a particularly large gem that had rolled from the pile when he stood. He tossed it up and down, staring into its sparkling center as he continued to pace. The twisting and turning angles of the gem made any attempt to focus on it impossible. “How complicated my life has become!

“I cannot live in anonymity now, too many people have seen my skill, and word of my deeds will follow me wherever I go. Nor can I live in the open, for I am persecuted for my abilities. So, what am I to do?”

Entreri stopped walking to stare at his conversation partner. “Well? Say something?” Silence. “Stupid dragon,” he said, hurling the gem at its face. The rock struck the creature right between the eyes with a “chink.” Entreri began to walk away but paused at the sound. “Chink?” he thought to himself. He picked up another gem and threw it at the dragon. It hit the red scales and made a “click” sound.

Entreri tried a few more and got the same result. It sounded like rocks bouncing off slate, but the first one had a definite metallic ring to it. Intensely curious, the assassin nimbly climbed up on the giant maw, examining the area between the huge – and thankfully closed – eyes.

Right where the two brows furrowed together, Entreri could see a metal pommel. “The death blow,” Entreri said silently. If this weapon was long enough, its tip had probably entered the brain of the enormous beast and killed it.

Entreri examined the wound, wondering how he would get the weapon out without anything to hold onto. The eyes of the dragon had been squinting in pain when he had died, and now the two brows had the weapon’s hilt pinched tightly.

“That must have been some fight, huh, Red,” Entreri said, appreciating the bravery of anyone capable of delivering this blow. “I bet you were mad as hell. You probably-” but Entreri cut himself short and looked up. The light red glow coming off the dragon was not that bright, but Entreri could see a ragged form hanging from a stalagmite high above.

“You squashed him pretty good.” Entreri climbed down from the dragon’s face and picked up a few large gems. It took three tosses, but a stone connected with the shadowed form on the third, and the ancient skeleton nearly exploded. The rib cage had been wedged onto the stone spike, but given another 50 years, the bones would have decayed far enough to fall on their own.

Entreri jogged over the pile. The bones were all tangled up inside of tattered clothing and rusted armor, but Entreri did notice one thing that seemed to be in perfect condition. He fished the dead man’s belt out of the mess and examined the attached scabbard. The belt was brittle and flaking away in his hands, but the sheath seemed brand new.

The magic that came off of it was almost palpable, and Entreri looked back at the metal glint of the pommel between the dragon’s eyes. “That must be something special in there,” he said. As he walked back to the maw, he shook the scabbard completely loose from the decayed belt and tried to decipher the writing. Most of it was an ancient magical script that was unreadable, but on the other side, one calligraphic word stood out clearly: “Cicle.”

Entreri tossed the scabbard aside for now and looked at what he needed to do to get the sword. The dragon’s rigor mortis was clenching the blade, and Entreri knew that even Wulfgar in a fit of rage would likely not be able to pry it out. Still . . .

Entreri ran around the piles of gold to where he had met Trent and Reichen almost two months ago. The golden battle-axe that Trent had tried to wield was still lying where Entreri had tossed it, and he scooped it up. The assassin walked carefully back to the dragon as he examined the edge of the magnificent weapon. “Bruener Battlehammer, eat your heart out,” he said under his breath. The blade’s razor edge was immaculate, and Entreri was sure it would do the job.

He climbed back up to his previous perch and steadied his feet. With all his might, he swung down onto the dragon’s left eyebrow. The blade sunk in all the way to the bone, and the taut muscle snapped back into the side of the red’s face, exposing part of the enormous eye socket. Entreri then went to work on the other brow.

Soon the hilt of the sword was visible between the slackened scales. Entreri set the axe down gently, grabbed onto the stuck weapon with both hands, and tugged hard. After releasing the brow, the blade was not nearly as tight as Entreri had guessed it would be, and he went tumbling backward off the maw. Only the assassin’s dexterity and poise kept him from running himself through as he somersaulted off the dragon.

Entreri sat up after the short, embarrassing trip to look at his find. It was a rapier. The slightly curved blade was a bit longer than most found in use by pirates along the sword coast, but it was far from a long sword.

Entreri twisted it about in a few hasty jabs and cuts and found its balance to be exquisite. Also, it was extremely light, and Entreri found he could move it almost as quickly as his dagger.

The most distinctive thing about it was its crystal blue blade. Entreri felt a shiver as he looked at it, and as he brought it toward his face for a closer look, he could feel it sucking at his body heat. “A frost blade,” Entreri said, his pulse quickening, “Cicle.” He brought the weapon just under his chin and spit on it. The saliva crackled and froze instantly, sliding off the blade and shattering on the stone floor like a glass bead.

Entreri knew that if he touched this blade with any moist part of his body, it would stick fast until either Entreri had frozen to death or ripped it free, taking a good portion of skin with it. It only clung to living flesh.

Entreri also knew this weapon had to have a mighty enchantment to retain its power while being sheathed inside a red dragon for who knows how many years. He carefully slid the blade into its scabbard and noticed how the leather of the sheath did not grow cold in the slightest. The scabbard contained the powerful weapon completely, probably regenerating it.

As Entreri added this new weapon to his belt, his mind went back to Drizzt. He knew how the drow had finally been accepted into society. He had been placed on Kelvin’s Cairn, a mountain cave just outside Bryn Shander. He had been given the responsibility of a protector and a scout, making sure no dangerous predators made their way too close to the town.

By protecting the town from the evil that lived around it, Drizzt was respected and accepted. Some still feared him, for he was a drow, and nothing could change that, but at least he was accepted. Entreri now itched for a fight to try out his new toy, and there was only one open to him.

With a smug look back at the red dragon, Entreri tipped his black hat as he moved toward the glowing portal. “We’ll be seeing you, Red. I’ve got me a mage to kill.”