Chapter 14: A Fine Art

Garrilport was quiet this night. Like Quinton had predicted, the city was not ready to believe the councilmen’s stories of doom and gloom. Those that did were either not of the fighting ilk, or they were just too scared to face a mage who could summon instant death with a flick of his wrist.

Quinton had also made good on his word to hire more men. The City Guard now boasted twice as many men as before, and they patrolled the streets with a purpose. Quinton had also called off his pickpockets and thieves, and most people saw the latter as a result of the former.

The mood was not one of jubilation that the crime was disappearing because the average citizen understood that the salaries of the city guards came from their taxes, and if twice as many guards were now employed, the money had to come from somewhere.

The guardhouse itself was quiet. Most of the men were either home asleep or out on patrol. Even so, Quinton did not feel completely safe, and his large workforce allowed him to retain a dozen men at the guardhouse along with several of his thieves and thugs. Two of the guards stood outside.

The guardhouse was in the center of town, reachable by either the northern or southern half. Right now, the two guards were looking north, eyeing a particularly unstable form as it wove from side to side. The beggar was obviously drunk, and as he came within two dozen feet of the guardhouse, he demonstrated as much by throwing up on one of the bushes that lined the entry to the fortress.

“Here now!” one of the guards called out. “Don’t do that. Get away with you!”

“Pardon,” the man said, “but do you have some change? I feel I need some drink to make it through the night.”

The two guards looked at each other and sighed. “You cannot beg here. Now get lost before we have to remove you with force.”

“No, no,” the man started to say, trying to stand up a little straighter under his black cloak, “that won’t be necessary, sirs,” he continued, slurring every word. “I just want some-” He passed out, sprawling headlong right in the main walkway to the guardhouse.

“Please,” one of the guards said in a tired voice. “Of all the things.” He turned to his partner. “Can you give me a hand with this guy?”

The other guard smirked, and they both walked up to the fallen drunk. “What do you want, beggar?” one of them bent to shout at the unconscious man.

“Keys,” Entreri replied as he sprang up from the ground, his dagger and short sword thrusting forward. Both weapons slid under the guards’ breastplates and doubled them over. Cicle was still strapped to Entreri’s side, waiting for later.

The assassin felt the power jolt from his dagger and used the energy rush to heave both men backward onto the steps up to the front door. Entreri’s sword had been long enough to puncture several vital organs, and that guard was dead before he could shout out. The other was sucking for breath as he felt his life essence drain from him. Entreri pulled his sword out of his first kill and sliced it across the throat of his soon-to-be second.

As both men fell dead to the steps and Entreri dragged them behind the bushes, he sincerely hoped they worked for Quinton and not the former captain. He would have to be cautious of that from now on. He quickly took the guardhouse keys from one of the dead men and stepped out from behind the bushes, sheathing his weapons and moving to the door. As he turned the appropriate key in the lock, he noticed that a few drops of the vegetable soup he had dumped in the bushes earlier had splattered on his boots. “Better than real vomit, at least,” he said to himself.

Two guards were straightening the entryway as Entreri entered. “Hey,” one of them shouted as the black-clad assassin calmly stepped into the building, “what are you doing here?”

Entreri paid the man no mind as he turned his back to him to close and lock the door behind him. “I said,” the man repeated, pulling his sword as he approached the intruder’s back, “what are you doing here?”

Entreri spun about suddenly, Cicle coming out fast and leaving a bluish frost as it cut through the humid air and batted aside the guard’s weakly held weapon. “To arms!” the man tried to shout, but Entreri kicked him in the stomach, blasting the wind from his lungs.

The man stumbled backward, and Entreri leaped to his side and straddled one of his legs behind the man as he poked his dagger at the guard’s weapon hand. The man dropped his sword and stepped back, tripping over Entreri’s well-positioned leg. His back slammed against the wall, and the assassin was on him in a second.

With the frost blade at his neck and the jeweled dagger pricking the guard’s gut, Entreri had the man shaking in fright. “Who do you work for?”

“Quinton,” the man said in barely more than a whisper. He figured this man had to be one of the fighters just hired by the new mayor.

“Wrong answer,” Entreri said, pulling his rapier across the man’s neck. The perfect blade cut through the guard’s throat like butter, toppling the man’s head to the ground. The blood spurted out only briefly as the frost blade seared the massive wound closed.

Entreri spun to face the second man in the entry, but the terrified guard was watching his former partner’s frozen blood shatter on the floor. When he saw that the assassin’s attention was now turned on him, he quickly unbuckled his sword and tossed it to the ground. “I serve Captain Irenum.”

Entreri could tell it was a lie, but he also saw this man was not worth his time. “Stay here,” Entreri said. “If I find out you are lying or that you sounded any type of alarm, you’ll spend the last few moments of your life counting stab wounds. Understand?”

The man nodded furiously. Entreri moved into the next room and found it empty. This was the weapon room, and all sorts of bows and swords stood on racks and shelves. There were stairs leading down, but Entreri was sure he needed to go up.

The next room was the mess hall, but it held only one man this late at night. He was sitting at a table with his back to the door drinking mead. Entreri ran up to him without a sound and placed his dagger snuggly against the man’s neck. The guard spit out the alcohol in his mouth and started to rise and reach for his sword, but Entreri applied pressure, and the man went rigid.

“Tell me about Captain Irenum?” Entreri asked.

“He’s a spineless wretch who does not deserve any place in this guardhouse,” the man responded carefully.

“And where can I find him?”

“He’s upstairs on the fourth floor with the rest of the captives.”

“You’ve done well,” Entreri whispered in his ear. The man sighed deeply and relaxed. Entreri killed him.

The assassin climbed the stairs and paused in front of the next room. Through the closed door, he could hear the sounds of fighting. He was about to burst in when he heard voices too. It sounded like someone was giving instructions. Entreri cracked the door and looked into the guardhouse’s training room. Three men, none of them guards, were busy sparring.

He was about to pass it by, but he saw the stairs in the far corner and knew he had to cross through this room. The entry was not well lit, and Entreri slipped in and closed the door without detection. However, he saw that he would not be able to get to the stairs without being seen. Instead of trying, he turned his attention to the men in the middle of the room.

“No, no,” Parnid said to the other thief, “lead with this leg, not that one. This way, you’ll be able to snap the attack back without crossing yourself up.”

“Let me show him,” Entreri said, stepping from the shadows, Cicle in his hand.

Parnid had never seen Entreri before, but he had gotten descriptions from Trevor and Billy. “Artemis?”

Entreri bowed low. “At your service.”

Parnid turned to the other two men in the room. “Take him.” Both trainees dropped their practice weapons and picked up real ones. Entreri kept only his magical rapier out and put himself in a classic fencing pose.

As the two men rushed him, Entreri leaped forward and slapped both swords twice in a quick “Z” cut. He then fell back a step, letting the off-balanced men lunge forward. They both led with the wrong foot. “No, didn’t you listen to anything your teacher said,” Entreri criticized, and as he batted their thrusts aside, neither was able to pull back in time, and one of them took a stunning blow in the face from Entreri’s hilt.

The man went sprawling to the ground. The other thief did not like this derogatory treatment and rushed the assassin. This was not a traditional fencing move, and Entreri had to change his footing quickly. He had his back up against the wall a moment later, and Cicle was locked with the other man’s sword.

The thief was taller and stronger than Entreri, and he used these advantages well, pushing hard against the assassin’s blocking blade. They held the pose for a few seconds, the thief slowly pushing his weapon toward Entreri’s face. “Where’s your advice now, stranger?” the thief chuckled.

“Look down,” Entreri complied.

The thief did and saw the jeweled dagger stab out towards his gut. As the blade started to bite into his leather vest, he jumped backward, stumbling as he stepped onto the raised practice mat. He began to charge Entreri again but stopped and looked down at his blade with interest. Being locked with Cicle for as long as it had made the metal bitterly cold. The leather grip on the sword could only insulate it so much.

Entreri leaped from the wall and swung hard at the confused man. The thief held up his sword to block, but the cheap and now brittle blade shattered on impact. Sensing movement from the side where the first thief had fallen, Entreri reversed his grip on the rapier, pivoted next to the weaponless man, and stabbed backward. As the frost blade entered the man’s chest, the other thief impaled himself on Entreri’s extended dagger, not expecting the assassin to turn about so suddenly.

Entreri held up both men for another second and then retracted his weapons, sending both thieves to the mat, quite dead. Entreri wiped his blades off as he looked for the third man. At least he wiped his dagger off. All the blood on the rapier had frozen and fallen off as soon as the sword was pulled from its victim. Parnid was nowhere to be found.

Quinton, Draick, and Reillon were sitting at the table on the top floor discussing their plans while the three captives looked on. Jerithon did not like the fact that they were so open about their intentions with both he and John present. John could obviously do nothing about it. He would be lucky to even walk again. But if Jerithon got out, he would be able to throw a big wrench into their plans. This just confirmed the fact that they were not going to ever let him out.

Ellen was still tending to John and had not been restrained in any way. This total lack of respect for his daughter made Jerithon mad, but he also realized his daughter could do nothing to seriously jeopardize their plans while she was in here. Besides the three men at the table, Trevor was still in his favorite chair off to the side of the room, treating himself to a drink bar in the corner. Also, there were two guards stationed at the door.

That door burst open suddenly, and Parnid came rushing in. Draick stood quickly at the table, pulling his sword halfway. He pushed it back in when he saw who it was, but the worried look on the thief’s face kept him standing. “What is it?”

“Artemis is here,” Parnid announced.

“What?” Quinton responded. Ellen was startled too. This was the last thing she had expected. “What do you mean he’s here?” Quinton continued. “Where?”

“Here,” Parnid reiterated, pointing to the floor. “I left him in the sparring room.”

“And?” Quinton prompted.

“He butchered two of my men.”

Quinton scowled. He turned to Draick. “How many men did you have on the first floor?”

“Five,” Draick said, not believing anyone could have made it past all of them.

“How many on the third floor?” Quinton continued.

While Draick tried to count in his head, Parnid spoke up. “I saw three more on the third floor. I told them to follow me.” Sure enough, the guards soon filtered into the room.

“Lock that door,” Quinton ordered. He turned to Reillon. “And make sure Artemis pays a price when he tried to open it.”

The mage smiled as he walked up to the door to do his job. The five guards parted for him, and Parnid moved to the center of the room, wanting nothing to do with the mage’s trapped doors.

After three spells, Reillon stepped away from the door, and the guards closed in around it. “Stop!” the mage said. “Do not touch that door.” The guards each took a step back.

“I did not want you to trap our side,” Quinton said.

“Both sides are hot,” Reillon responded. “These spells are ten times as powerful as the one I used on my door back in your home. With the increase in power comes an added risk. Don’t worry; Artemis will be quite dead as soon as he touches the door, and then your men will have no problem opening it and cleaning up the mess. I have practiced-”

Reillon was cut off by the sound of shattering glass and the sight of Artemis Entreri rolling through one of the many windows that looked out onto the city. Even before the broken glass had stopped dancing around him, the deadly assassin whipped a throwing dagger at the collection of guards by the door.

The five men had been facing the door, waiting patiently for the explosion on the other side that would tell them they could open it. The sound of the glass spun them around, and the sight of the flying dagger made them freeze. The guard in front ducked just in time and sighed as the dagger flew over his head but swore viciously as he heard it “thunk” into the trapped door behind him.

Wave after wave of fire engulfed the five men, and bolts of powerful lightning jumped between them, welding their flexible metal armor into solid pieces. After a few short seconds, the display was over, and the number of Entreri’s potential enemies had been reduced by half. Entreri looked at Reillon. “Thanks.”

Draick was the first to recover from the dramatic display and pulled his sword to cut Entreri down. Actually, it was John’s sword, and it was huge. Instead of drawing his dagger, Entreri paired Cicle with his other short sword, fearing the shorter blade would not be able to block the enormous weapon.

Draick swung the borrowed sword in massive scythe-like attacks, trying to force Entreri back out the window he had just flown through. Entreri jumped back to the windowsill, teetering ever so slightly backward before leaping over the rushing Draick.

The new captain spun about but neglected to swing his weapon as he did and was forced on the defensive. Entreri’s weapons picked at Draick’s solid armor, finding holes and sending shivers down his spine every time Cicle hit home. Draick kept his big weapon down low to protect his vulnerable legs and quickly realized that he would die if something didn’t happen fast.

Reillon could see the inevitable ending as well and decided to enter the fight. Entreri had expected this eventually, but when the five energy bolts hit him in the back, it was almost more than he could take. His attacks against Draick slowed slightly as a result, and he began to time a roll away from the guard to catch his breath when a second wave of energy bolts slammed into him.

This second attack was meant to be disabling, and Entreri felt his senses failing, and his limbs stiffened. He had lots of experience battling such spells and fought hard against this one. He dropped his short sword and fell to one knee under the effort.

“You are no match for me,” Reillon said from behind, and Entreri could sense him casting yet another spell. How was he getting these off so quickly?

Draick, too, was preparing to end the battle and heaved his heavy sword above his head with both hands. With strength and speed the assassin should not have possessed at this point in the battle, his free hand reached into his cloak and pulled his jeweled dagger. With Draick’s arms above his head, the bottom of his plate armor was lifted slightly, and Entreri plunged the dagger home.

At just that moment, Reillon released his next attack, which was his death spell. With Entreri’s dagger feeding on Draick’s life energy, the assassin merely shrugged off the powerful magic and passed it on to Draick. The now ex-Captain of the City Guards felt the cold death creep into him through the dagger in his gut, and his breath left him.

The weight of the great sword slowly pulled him backward, and Entreri would have liked to watch him fall, but his heightened senses picked up Reillon releasing yet another spell, and he rolled to the side. A jet of flame filled the area where Entreri had just been, and since the attack was not magically guided, it just took the next person in line.

Draick was already dead, but now his torso was on fire as he tumbled backward out of the broken window. Reillon cursed, and with flame still shooting from his right hand out the window, his left crossed over to hurl a fireball at the assassin. As Entreri leaped away from the attack, he now understood how the mage was casting so quickly. He had never fought anyone who could cast two spells simultaneously, one with each hand.

The fireball exploded behind him, and Entreri felt the edges of the blast singe his skin. He knew about the protection Drizzt’s magical scimitar offered the drow, and Entreri was disappointed to find that his frost blade did not provide comparable fire protection. In fact, if Entreri even touched his sword, it would actually hurt him. But Entreri realized what Reillon had said earlier; with increased power comes increased risk.

Entreri came out of his roll with his two weapons ready and the rest of the room looking at him. “Is that all you’ve got, mage?”

Reillon growled and took a step toward Entreri as if he wanted to engage the assassin in physical combat. Quinton grabbed onto his mage’s shoulder to hold him back and motioned to his two thieves instead. They each drew their weapons. Trevor had upgraded his arsenal since the fight in the alley and pulled a high-quality long sword that he had almost certainly stolen from the armory downstairs. Parnid drew an equally nice short sword and mimicked Entreri’s style with a dagger in his second hand.

The two men crept toward the assassin, and Entreri calmed himself. He did not feel deeply concerned. He had faced Trevor before and knew he could finish him in the opening seconds. Parnid could not be too difficult either if his trainees were any indication of his skill. Then he saw Reillon motion with his hands and send two white spheres toward the thieves. Entreri swallowed hard as he guessed the spell and was proven right a second later when the two men exploded into lightning-fast attacks.

Entreri had caught the tail end of Drizzt’s battle with Dantrag, the former Baenre weapon master who wore speed-enhancing bracers. Drizzt had been able to trap the skilled fighter within his own speed. Dantrag had not been able to improvise, for his motions were too quick to change.

Drizzt had trained under the greatest weapon master Menzoberranzan had ever seen and knew all the routines Dantrag performed better than the Baenre did himself. Therefore, he had been able to predict precisely what Dantrag would do next and was able to defeat him.

There were two main differences here. The first was that neither of these men had ever undergone extensive training and therefore would not operate within expected and predictable routines. Instead, their attacks would be random and haphazard.

If Entreri understood the haste spell Reillon had used, the second, more meaningful difference was that these men did not see themselves moving faster as much as they saw Entreri and everything else moving slower. The enchantment actually put them in a slightly different dimension. This meant that in their minds, they still had plenty of time to change their attacks in mid-swing, and Entreri would have to counter those improvisations.

The assassin did not try to block the initial attacks but instead initiated his own offensive routine. Like he had hoped, to the two thieves, the attacks seemed slow, and they changed their stance to intercept them. If they had disregarded Entreri’s blades, they probably could have scored a hit before the assassin’s weapons even came near them.

Entreri circled now that he had the two on the defensive, trying to get them to shield each other, so he only had to face one at a time. They were better than that, though, and had obviously worked together before and quickly adjusted to Entreri’s tactics.

The assassin took notice of this coordination and backed off for a moment. To Parnid and Trevor, this moment seemed like an eternity, and they both attacked. Entreri smiled as he saw their weapons work together, each filling a gap the other left open, but he was already on the floor, rolling towards Parnid’s legs. With their attacks intertwined, when Parnid went down, they both went down.

Entreri rolled out of the jumbled mess, managing to slap Cicle’s blade against Parnid’s cheek. The frost blade ripped a patch of skin away from the thief’s face, and he howled in pain. Both men stood, and Entreri could see blood running from Parnid’s face. The man was furious, and Entreri opened his side to him.

Both men attacked again, but Parnid, seeing the obvious opening in Entreri’s defenses, stepped in too quickly. Trevor had become so used to Entreri’s slow movements that his partner’s quicker step startled him, and he could not check his blade in time. It did not matter, though, for as Parnid stepped in his partner’s way, receiving a cut to the side from Trevor’s sword, Entreri had already snapped both his weapons back to cover his opening, knowing the attack from Trevor was no longer coming.

Parnid’s blades faltered, and Entreri had his opening; he swept his rapier across the thief’s short sword, clearing the path for his dagger to plunge into the unarmored chest. Entreri hugged the man tightly as his body convulsed quicker than usual under the haste spell and used him as a shield to prevent Trevor from attacking.

Soon Parnid’s dead weight was too cumbersome, and Entreri dropped it. “You’ll die now!” Trevor shouted, but the speed talk was just a jumbled mess. The agile thief leaped over his fallen comrade and attacked in a flurry. Entreri had no choice but to backpedal under the furious attacks. Soon he found himself nearing the edge of the room, and furniture began to clog his path. He backed into Trevor’s favorite high-backed chair and knew he had to change his strategy.

Instead of blocking the next high attack, Entreri ducked and thrust his rapier forward. Trevor easily leaped backward from the attack, but it gave Entreri some room. He began to spin. His cape flared out with each pass, hiding his body and blades. Trevor knew they were there, though, and deflected the circular attacks when they came around. The spin was very similar to the one Drizzt had used on numerous occasions; only Entreri’s off weapon was not long enough to make it as effective.

Trevor quickly caught on to the rhythm and noticed with great interest that Entreri’s back was turned to him for a brief second on every revolution. Only to Trevor, that quick second looked much longer, and he rocked back and forth with the assassin, waiting for a chance to strike.

Then it came. There was a brief hitch in Entreri’s spin, and Trevor came diving in. His long sword thrust time and again into the back of the cape with blinding speed, and he felt his blade cut and tear into the assassin’s flesh underneath.

Trevor was a little confused as to why Entreri had not fallen dead after half a dozen jabs, for surely he had pierced the assassin’s heart several times by now. Then he felt Entreri’s dagger slide slowly into his own back and knew his folly.

“You killed that chair well,” Entreri whispered into the dead man’s ear and let him fall. Trevor slumped to the ground, his blade pulling the cape from the back of the upholstered chair where Entreri had draped it a moment before during mid-spin.

Entreri did not take the time to marvel over his clever trick but turned to track down the mage. Reillon was terrified of the man that walked toward him and barely got off a spell before Entreri was in striking distance.

The assassin recognized the shimmering outline that came upon the mage as a stoneskin spell, and he smiled. “Trying to buy yourself some time?” Entreri asked. “It won’t work.” The assassin exploded into motion, counting aloud each time one of his blades struck the magical barrier.

Reillon’s voice quivered as he tried to get out a stun spell. He knew if he could just touch the assassin with it, Entreri would be helpless, for it was far more potent than the projectile version. But the assassin’s insane speed and unnerving counting, which made it very clear exactly how long Reillon had left to live, also made it very difficult to concentrate.

Reillon had cast a double stoneskin on himself, and as Entreri struck the magical barrier for the sixteenth and final time in a fourth as many seconds, he reversed the grip on his rapier, turned about, and plunged it backward.

Reillon had just been ready to cast the hold spell, but as Entreri turned quickly about, Reillon missed him, and the attack misfired. As the frost blade sunk into his unprotected chest, Reillon stunned himself. As the last word of the spell escaped his lips, it was followed by a blue puff of frost.

The rest of the room watched in horror as the mage’s stunned body quickly lost all heat and began to freeze over. Entreri walked a few paces away and turned to regard the spectacle. Reillon’s mouth was still open as the pale skin around it became even whiter under Cicle’s influence. A sickening crackle sounded through the room when the process was complete, and Reillon was completely frozen.

Entreri walked back up to the mage and yanked his sword free. It sounded like a blade scraping against stone. The added momentum also started Reillon’s statue falling forward. It hit the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces. A chill ran down Entreri’s spine as he realized the power of his new weapon, and he quickly sheathed it.

Quinton was aghast. He leaned against the table for support as pieces of his mage scattered about his feet. At first, he was too stunned at the display he had just seen to contemplate that he was next, but as Entreri slowly walked up to him, only his dagger in his hand, Quinton realized that his time had come to an end.

“Wait!”

Entreri paused in front of the terrified man, his dagger held so its glint reflected into Quinton’s eyes. The call had not come from Quinton but from Jerithon. “Don’t kill him.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Entreri said, and his following three words ensured his future in this city, “he isn’t armed.”

Quinton relaxed visibly, and Entreri grabbed him roughly by the collar with his free hand. “You set me up. For that, I should gut you like the spineless pig that you are. And if I weren’t feeling so damned righteous right now, I would.”

With that, Entreri let go of the man, slapped him twice, and turned to leave. “Wait!” Jerithon called again. “You can just leave us like this!”

Entreri turned back around, already halfway to the door. “I was asked to kill a mage.” He motioned to the shrapnel on the floor, slowly melting back to flesh. “I’ve done that.”

“Please,” Ellen asked. She had watched this whole display without leaving John’s side. As much as he would have loved to see the assassin at work, the captain had been unconscious through the entire affair.

When Ellen had heard from Parnid that Entreri had indeed come to rescue them, she had been confused. Then when he had whirled about the room, cutting up everything that moved, she realized she had no idea what he was. But having just spared Quinton’s life, when he was probably the most deserving of death, she understood that she had been right all along.

“Please,” she said again.

Entreri looked at Quinton. “Do you have the key?” he asked, nodding toward Jerithon’s suspended cage. Quinton nodded. “Let him go.” The older man hesitated. “Let. Him. Go.” Entreri made sure it was clear that he would not repeat himself again.

Quinton moved like a scolded child and did as he was told. He went to the winch on the wall and gently lowered the cage to the ground. He then unlocked the door and backed away. Jerithon wanted to leap out of the cell and throttle the man, but his legs had been cramped for almost two days, and he found he could barely stand. Still, Quinton kept his distance.

Entreri was not finished yet. “Go pick up that sword,” he ordered, pointing to where Trevor had fallen. Quinton looked confused. Entreri did not bother repeating himself but merely cocked his head and stared hard at the man. Even from across the room, the look was enough to get Quinton moving. He ran over to Trevor and pried the long sword from the dead man’s hand.

“Now give it to the mayor.”

“What?” Quinton responded. “He’ll kill me.”

“You give him that one,” Entreri said as he drew his new blade and swiped it back and forth, leaving a frosty wake hanging in the air, “or I’ll give him this one.”

Quinton nearly impaled himself as he scrambled to give the weapon to Jerithon. As soon as the mayor held the sword up, he regained a measure of his strength and confidence. “Sit down,” he ordered Quinton.

Entreri turned to Ellen. “Anything else?”

Ellen smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Entreri gritted his teeth as he prepared to say two particular words for the first time in his life. “You’re welcome.” With that, he left.

Mayor Jerithon Alexander looked out of his window toward the river. He could see that the construction on the new warehouses on the far bank had already begun, and he was happy his daughter had been able to employ the workers required. Ellen was a member of the City Council now, and she was more than taking up the slack for the four they had lost.

It had been two weeks since the night when Entreri had taken back the city and handed it to Jerithon. The mayor had still harbored doubts about the man, but Ellen insisted that he allow him to stay within the city.

He had killed ten men directly that night, not including the five from the trapped door. That alone should have given him the death penalty or earned him banishment from the city. It was not just that he had killed them; it was how he had killed them.

Ellen had argued against this thinking. The men who died were evil. They had been hired to take over the city and kill anyone who stood against them if necessary. Entreri had done what he needed to do. She said that if he had just shot them all with a crossbow, Jerithon would not have given it a second thought and would have held a parade in his honor. Dead is dead. It did not matter how Entreri had done it, just that he had. What was more important was whom he had killed, why he had killed them, and when he had stopped.

When it was presented to him in that light, Jerithon agreed with his daughter and allowed the assassin to stay. After some extra thought, he had even asked if he wanted to be Captain of the City Guard, but Entreri had just laughed, saying he was happy with his shack on the city’s edge.

Jerithon relented and instead promoted one of the loyal men who had survived the takeover. He was still looking for three more council members, but that would take time. People were not too eager to join a group that had so recently been a target of assassins, no matter how much assurance Jerithon gave them that the threat had ended.

There was a knock on his door. “Come,” Jerithon called. His page opened the door and scampered in. “Yes?”

The boy had ended his silent servitude and was allowed to speak now. “A woman is here to see you, sir. She said that she has traveled a long way to get here and that it is imperative she speaks with you.”

“Does she have a name?”

The boy shrugged. “She did not give one.”

Jerithon frowned. “Next time, get one. Show her up.”

The boy disappeared and led a thin, elegant woman into the room a minute later. She was dressed for the outdoors, but her clothes had a regal look that said she was someone of importance. Her face could have been pretty, but her gaze was utterly serious, making her almost homely. She was tall, and her movements fluid and graceful except for a slight limp.

“My name is Elliorn,” she said once the page had left and closed the door behind him. “I am a ranger from up north.”

Jerithon rose from behind his desk to greet his guest. She did not accept his offered hand. “Please have a seat,” he offered. She shook her head. “Would you like a drink?” She shook it again.

“I’m here on business,” she replied.

Regardless, Jerithon poured himself one and took his seat back behind the desk. “What about?”

“I understand you were victimized by some brutal murders lately,” she said.

“Yes,” Jerithon agreed. “It was about two and a half weeks ago, but we caught the murderer. He was publicly executed last week, in fact.”

“Quinton Palluge,” Elliorn said, letting Jerithon know she knew what she was talking about, “a 53-year-old gem and precious metal merchant. He was your killer?”

“Well,” Jerithon replied, “he had a few hired goons, but we tracked them down without too much difficulty.”

“Indeed. Let me get to the point, Mayor. I am looking for a deadly assassin who goes by the name Artemis. He is a few inches shorter than I am, with a neatly trimmed goatee. He wears a black cape and hat and uses a short sword and dagger. Do you know anyone who matches that description?”

Jerithon paused in thought and then shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t think of anyone.” Entreri used a rapier now.

Elliorn looked a little annoyed. “I have reason to believe he is in your city and would request permission to conduct a search.”

“Please,” Jerithon agreed, “by all means, conduct your search. If this man lives within my city, I would appreciate any help you could offer to remove him.”

“Can I retain the services of your city guards?”

“Alas,” Jerithon sadly said, “we are a little short-handed right now, and I cannot guarantee you any. But feel free to question them as much as you like.” They had all been told how to respond, and since Entreri was responsible for saving their jobs and lives, they would comply.

“Well, please let me know if you remember anything that might help me.”

“Of course,” Jerithon said. “If he turns up after you leave, I’ll be sure to send a message to you as soon as possible.”

Elliorn left. Jerithon waited a few minutes until he was sure she had left the building and then rang for his page. The boy appeared within moments. “Bring this to Artemis’s house on the edge of the city,” Jerithon said, handing the boy a rolled parchment he had prepared in advance. “Be quick about it.”

The boy left, and Jerithon went back to looking at the construction across the river.