Druia walked into the tavern cautiously, taking stock of all those inside.

The palatial home of their host was built into the side of the island, and there were scores of subterranean levels, some cavernous in size. Down there was where the arena was and where the entertainment venues were located.

Druia had walked into many taverns in her life, each time taking stock of those inside. Before, it had always been to determine weaknesses and strengths, to find out whom she needed to worry about and whom she could ignore. She didn't always look to get into a brawl, but things happened. Now she did not do that. Everyone in this room was a top-notch fighter of a level she had never encountered. A brawl that could take place here would be something of legend.

There were several empty tables, but Druia was not looking for time alone for once. If that's what she wanted, she could have stayed in her room. What Deltrophan had said was true. This was a great chance to learn about your enemies. She spotted Drizzt and Enrique sitting at a table in the middle of the room and started toward them but stopped. She knew them pretty well already.

Instead, Druia scanned the rest of the tables but cringed at the idea of sitting with any of their occupants. The black knight sat by himself, brooding over a mug of ale. Xorian Rockbottom and Quinn were seated next to each other and seemed to be engaged in a belching contest. The dwarf was winning. Urenchick De'Astrilion and Yelthium Oleander, though the elves differed in skin color, seemed to be long-lost brothers. There was one relatively quiet table in the corner with a lone figure.

Druia made her way toward the solitary man, aware that she was being watched the whole way. She stopped before sitting down. "Artemis Entreri."

Entreri looked up at her, taking a moment to realize this woman knew his name, not because of reputation, but because of the familiarity spell. She was tall, taller than Entreri, though they likely weighed the same. Her arms were thick and her legs powerful, yet by the way she moved, one could tell she was as spry as a cat. Though it didn't need to be said at a tournament like this, she looked formidable.

"Have a seat, Druianalla," Entreri offered graciously.

Druia sat down, and a barmaid was next to her in a moment. She saw that Entreri was drinking water and asked for the same. There was silence between them for two minutes before Druia spoke. "What do you think?"

Entreri took a long draw from his glass and looked out over the crowd. It was a very open-ended question, and he paused before answering it. "I think all of us but one will die." He looked at Druia now to see her reaction. Her face was unreadable. "Are you afraid to die?"

Druia shook her head. Entreri believed her. "I am not afraid," she clarified, "but neither is it a comfortable feeling to realize that we are dining with dead men."

"What do you feel your chances are?" Entreri asked. She seemed young and inexperienced, but Entreri wondered how she saw herself.

"As good as anyone else's. And you?"

"The same," Entreri smiled, not willing to give anything away.

"If you had to put money on someone other than yourself, who would it be?"

Entreri's reply came without hesitation. "One of the two fighters sitting at that table." Druia did not have to look to see which table he was motioning to.

"What do you know of them?" she asked.

Entreri turned to stare at the pair. "I know a great deal about the drow." He looked at the scimitars hanging from Drizzt's belt, remembering how the curved blades flowed around his body. "I know that one too well. As far as the human, I know nothing more than you. Enrique Cortez is the returning champion. He carries himself with an air of confidence. He has lived well in the 250 years since he won and has survived everything that has been thrown at him. Plus, he reminds me of someone else I know who could be here if he wanted."

"Who?" Druia asked.

Entreri remembered the last time he had seen Jarlaxle. He shook his head. "Another drow. You don't know him."

"So why do you think the two best fighters here have decided to become friends?" Druia asked, for Drizzt and Enrique had never been far apart.

"That is what I am trying to figure out."

The table at which the two mismatched fighters sat was in the middle of the room on purpose. Enrique liked to be the center of attention. He threw back the last of his ale and called for another, the third of the night.

"Are you not worried how that drink will affect your fighting?" Drizzt asked, who, like Entreri, had decided to drink water tonight.

Enrique laughed. "Nonsense. You cannot get drunk here. It has something to do with another spell. Deltrophan treats his guests to the best luxuries imaginable, that is before he watches them die. Have I told you I love it here?"

"So, is this why you came back? Seems a high price to pay for a chance at death."

Enrique grew suddenly serious. "Yes, well, Deltrophan didn't advertise that part of the deal. If you win, you have to return to the next tournament if you are still alive. It has something to do with the spell. I do not want to be here." He leaned back from Drizzt, raising his voice again. "But as long as I am here, I might as well enjoy it."

"And when you won last time and unleashed a demon into the realms, how did you celebrate your victory?"

Enrique could tell Drizzt wanted to discern his true nature or motivation, but the flamboyant man wasn't playing. "I ran like hell. That stupid balor found me, I freed him, and then our contract was over as far as I was concerned. He raided some city, and I sailed to the next continent."

"You cared nothing for the people he killed?"

"No more than for the people I had to kill to win the tournament, nor any more than you will feel for the people you must kill to fight in this one. He got what he had coming to him anyway. A few mages assembled and destroyed him. Not banished mind you, destroyed."

Drizzt knew this already since Enrique did not have a balor sponsoring him this time. The familiarity spell told him what was sponsoring him now, and he shuddered to think of the possibilities.

Druia approached their table now. Drizzt looked up and saw that she had just been talking with Entreri. Drizzt shook his head. He could stand to see ogres and drow here. He even understood why dwarves and elves might be here. But this young woman had no business at this tournament. He said as much.

"What are you doing here?"

Druia sat down at the table, smiling. "My other conversation partner is too shy to come over here to find out what you two are talking about, so I thought I would see for myself."

"This isn't a game," Drizzt said sternly. Enrique rolled his eyes, but the drow continued. "This is life and death. This is no place for you."

"But it is a place for you!" she scolded back.

"You tell him," Enrique cheered.

"Why are you allowed to be here, and I am not?"

Drizzt looked at her solemnly. "Are you ready? What in your short life has prepared you for what you are going to face?"

"I am not scared to die." Hadn't she just had this conversation with Entreri?

Drizzt smiled at her, and she was surprised at how attractive it made his face. "No, I can see you are not. But that is not what I am talking about. Most people are prepared to die, for we all will one day. But are you prepared to kill?"

Druia paused. She almost started a response, but Drizzt cut her off. "Oh, I'm sure you've killed before. What were they? Goblins? Trolls? Maybe a vigilante or two. You might have killed several men already. But have you looked into their face as you did it? Did you know their names? Could you stick a blade into my chest right now?"

"If it kept you from sticking one into mine, yes."

Drizzt leaned back in his chair. "We shall see."

The table was quiet for a moment. "Come on," Enrique spoke up, "what's with all this talk of dying for? None of us are going to die. I'm sure we will all tie for the championship. Now, my fine young lady, what do you say about joining me at a more private table away from this brooding drow."

"Cortez," the voice came from behind him. "I figured I would find you here, schmoozing it up with another woman."

Drizzt looked over Enrique's shoulder at the woman who approached. She was Drizzt's height with a rich tan and dangerously attractive. Her dress hung down to her ankles but was slit up high on either side, letting everyone who cared to know that she was wearing nothing else but that dress. It was gathered tight around the waist and loose above to envelop her voluptuous chest, which it barely did. Her name was Dekaina. She was a succubus. She was Enrique's sponsor.

"Honey, you know I wouldn't do anything," Enrique said, half turning to look at her. Her attention was focused on Drizzt, though.

"My dear, you have not yet introduced me to your friend. I never thought a drow could look so regal."

Drizzt could feel her enchanting spell at work, but he shook it off easily. "You've known each other longer than just for this tournament, haven't you?" It was clear from Drizzt's tone what decision he had made about Enrique's moral standing.

"She came to the realms with my previous sponsor, took one look at me, and has thought of nothing else since." Enrique rolled his eyes, "Except when she sees any other warm-blooded male with two legs."

Dekaina acted insulted. "How dare you! They didn't all have two legs, and there were a few females too. In fact," she turned her attention to Druia, "you look like you could hold your own in a tussle."

"This is your sponsor?!" she cried, sliding her chair back from the table. She had the information from the familiarity spell but had no idea what a succubus was.

"Yes," Drizzt informed, also sliding his chair away from the table. "She is a succubus. A life sucker. Little better than a vampire if you asked me, only far more demonic."

"And when you have as much life as I do," Enrique started, but Dekaina shut him up by sitting on his lap and kissing him.

"Let's just say there is a lot of sucking," she added in a lewd tone.

Drizzt stood in disgust and turned to leave. He stopped short. The other two elves stood in front of him. The drow spoke first.

"We care to settle a wager," Urenchick said. "I have heard much of Drizzt Do'Urden from Menzoberranzan. We care to see if the legend is true."

"I am not convinced that you drow are superior in any way to us," the moon elf spoke up. "We propose a contest."

"Any contest of skill will be decided when the tournament begins," Drizzt said. "There shall be no fighting before." Drizzt tried to step around them, but the surface elf grabbed his arm.

"And will our host arrange for all three of us to be put in the ring at once?" Yelthium continued.

Drizzt eyed these two elves in front of him. Did they really want to fight it out between the three of them regardless of what Deltrophan had said? "Whatever we do, it should be done outside, away from this crowd." Drizzt looked around at the tavern, noticing that they were suddenly the center of attention. Entreri had even gotten up from his table and walked over to see the show.

"No," Urenchick said, "we should do it here."

"This is not the place or time for weapons," Drizzt disagreed.

"Who said anything about weapons?" Yelthium asked.

Drizzt looked confused for a moment before the surface elf reached out his arm and opened his hand. On his palm lay three jeweled darts. Drizzt looked beyond the two elves and saw a dartboard hanging on the far wall.

"A test of precision and accuracy," Urenchick said. "This surface elf won't have a chance."

"Watch your tongue, drow," Yelthium admonished. "I'll drive this dart through your eye if you're not careful."

Drizzt raised his hand to quiet them. "I accept your challenge."

The crowd behind them parted to let them through, and Entreri started after them to see the contest. A hand grabbed him fast. "Excuse me; I don't believe we have been properly introduced yet."

Entreri didn't need to look to know who it was. Instead, he yanked the arm hard and turned while drawing his dagger. Dekaina stood quickly from Enrique's lap and came in close to Entreri. The assassin slipped the blade into the left armhole of her dress, pricking her beneath her ample breast. Her breath was caught in her throat as she felt the life-stealing energy of the dagger.

"You're not the only one who can suck the life out of someone." Entreri's eyes bore holes into the temptress' skull, her enchantment spell completely forgotten. For the first time in 250 years – the last time she was on the demonic plane – she was frightened. She tried to pull away, but Entreri used her own strength against her, channeling it through his blade.

The assassin finally smiled at her, pulled his blade out from inside her dress, drawing a line of blood as he did, and pushed her back toward her fighter. She landed on Enrique's lap just as he was trying to stand. He grunted as he sat back down hard. "Not now, Dekky," he said as he pushed her away, his attention focused elsewhere.

"But sweetie," Dekaina said, pulling the top of her dress aside to reveal half of her chest, "that man cut me. Can you kiss it all better?"

He didn't even bother to glance at the nudist display, but gently pushed her away and stood. She slumped to the floor without his lap to support her and watched as he followed Entreri to watch the dart match. Druia also stepped past her and laughed. Dekaina pouted.

The three elves set up ten feet away from the board to start, a ridiculously close range for competitors of their skill. After nine bull's eyes, they doubled the distance. After nine more, they added another ten feet. Drizzt saw quickly what the results would be. At this range, 30 feet, you needed to put considerable loft on the dark to keep it on target.

Drizzt and Urenchick had grown up in the Underdark, where the only projectiles were darts or crossbows. The moon elf had grown up with arrows, which are entirely different. You didn't need to adjust for gravity with a bow at this range. On Yelthium's first throw, he was too low, then too high on his second. His third hit the mark, but Drizzt and Urenchick had hit the bull's eye twice.

The drow looked at each other after they had eliminated the surface elf. "Do you want to move back or stay here?" Urenchick asked.

Drizzt glanced back and saw they only had about five more feet to move. "Do you think you would miss from this range again?" The other drow shook his head. Drizzt didn't think so either. They had both missed their first throw from that range but had made the appropriate correction and made the second two.

Drizzt stepped back five feet until he was up against the bar. He hit all three. Urenchick confidently threw and also hit all three. "This will go on forever," Druia moaned.

"They will miss eventually," Yelthium said.

"No, they won't," Entreri corrected. They hit six more.

"I'll put an end to this," Druia said and pushed her way through the crowd. Urenchick was just getting ready to throw when she stepped up behind the pair. "To make it more interesting, I thought I might sleep with the winner," she whispered into their ears. Urenchick ignored her and hit the bull's eye.

"I can do things to you that you have never imagined." Bull's eye. "Things that would make your legs weak and make you cry out for mercy." Bull's eye.

It was Drizzt's turn. "What about you? Could you take me?"

"Please," Drizzt replied sarcastically as he hit his first bull's eye.

"I could bring friends," Druia continued in her most sultry whisper. "I'm sure I could convince a few of the multiracial attendants here to help." Bull's eye. "Or maybe the succubus could help."

Drizzt's arm faltered on the last throw, and not only did he miss the bull's eye, but he missed the entire dartboard by two feet, the dart embedding into the wall beside it. Drizzt turned with a frustrated look on his face, but Druia just smiled at him.

"Looks like your friend here is better under pressure than you," she said.

"Yes," Urenchick agreed, "it looks that way."

Entreri didn't buy it. As the crowd began to clear, the assassin made his way over to the dartboard. Before moving to Drizzt's last shot, he noticed how centered each of the bull's eyes was. He didn't know how the darts hadn't split each other, so tightly packed they were. Then he moved to the dart that was stuck in the wall. Entreri took one look at it and smiled. "Sacrilege," he muttered under his breath.

He pulled the dart free from the wall. Pierced on the center of the prong was a tiny spider. "Interesting," the voice spun Entreri around. It was Enrique. "He a friend of yours?"

Entreri looked to where Drizzt was, back at the table, finishing his drink and the rest of Enrique's. "An acquaintance," Entreri clarified.

Enrique smiled. "He's good. Very good."

Drizzt put down the ale, thought about getting another one, for it was excellent, and if what Enrique had said about the sobriety spell was true . . . He shook his head and moved toward the exit. As he tried to leave, another figure was coming in. Though the cloaked figure appeared to be the same size as Drizzt, the elf was thrown back a few steps. Drizzt wondered if the ale hadn't had some effect on him after all until he looked up and saw who it was.

Lynn Shallarock looked at the drow in front of her and smiled. She threw her hood back and let him see her elongated teeth. "Drizzt Do'Urden." She said it with the same tone of voice Druia had used when addressing Entreri earlier, but Drizzt could tell her familiarity with him had nothing to do with the spell. "I have heard a lot about you."

Drizzt could tell without looking about that all eyes were on the two of them. "I'm happy to say the familiarity is not mutual." He tried to move around her, but she side-stepped to stop him.

"Jarlaxle never mentioned me?" her voice sounded hurt. "He's said a great deal about you over the past few decades. He said that he had finally found someone that could take me down."

Drizzt ignored her and tried to step the other way. It didn't work. Her hands snaked out from under her cloak, grabbing Drizzt's upper arms. The drow was amazed by the strength of the grip. "I love the taste of drow blood," she whispered so only he could hear. "It is unspoiled by the sun."

Drizzt's hands snapped up, a dagger in each, though no one had seen him draw them. He drove the pommels of each into the soft wrist of his new friend. Her arms went wide as each hand went momentarily numb. "I guess you are out of luck," Drizzt replied, his daggers back in their hidden sheathes before any of the watching apprentice mages who were keeping guard over the tavern could interpret his move as an attack. "I've spent the past two years sailing the sword coast, basking in the sun."

The vampire clicked her tongue in disappointment. "That's a pity. To spoil something as pure as drow blood." She stepped aside to let him pass. "Who knows," she threw at him as he left, "a little sun might add some spice. Then I wouldn't have to add cinnamon."

Drizzt shuddered but did not turn around to acknowledge the comment as he headed back to his room.

Gunthor held his axe in a ready position, the right-hand low on the handle, the other cradling the shaft of the massive weapon just beneath the head. The blade of the axe bounced up and down slowly, in and out of the left hand, staying ready for a quick strike to come. It came.

The axe spun upright, perpendicular to the ground, and slashed diagonally down. It twirled and came back up, meaning to cleave its opponent in two up the middle. Both cuts had been made with one hand, but now the left joined the right on the handle as the axe stayed high in a defensive position. The block moved left, then right, and spun down into an attack. It cut across at knee level and then swung up and around, coming back down in a massive overhead chop.

The attack turned quickly defensive, returning to block a blow at waist height and then rotating to the side to fend off another attack. It jabbed forward twice to put the opponent off balance and then moved forward, hacking left and right as if clearing a path in the jungle. Then it suddenly stopped. It was back at the ready, the axe head bouncing slowly in the left hand.

"Impressive."

Styne shook himself from the meditative trance he had been in to control the flesh golem and looked over his shoulder to see Errtu hunched behind him. They had a big room, for Gunthor was not a small fighter, and while it was spacious enough for Styne to practice, the demon sponsor found it a tight fit.

"That display is impressive but no less so than any of the other fighters here."

Styne stood from the edge of the bed where he had been sitting and walked over to look at the golem. "You think we will not win?" he asked calmly as he checked Gunthor's stance for the hundredth time. Programming the golem had been a work in progress for the past week. Styne had several poses and actions for the golem that could be performed with little or no effort on his part, and he was constantly adjusting the way Gunthor stood to make him look as life-like as possible.

"We might win," Errtu said, "but I am not confident you can keep your chicanery a secret for long. You will be discovered."

Styne took note that when the demon spoke of winning, it was always as "we," but when it came to cheating and the penalties they might incur for it, Styne appeared to be on his own. "Do not worry. I have spent a lifetime perfecting my magic, and no one will suspect a thing."

"And how many lifetimes has our host spent perfecting his craft?" The brief display of Deltrophan's power at dinner had unnerved Errtu.

Styne looked up from his examination after making a slight alteration to the bend in Gunthor's knees. He smiled at Errtu. "Deltrophan is the least of our worries."

The demon threw his head back and laughed. "You must not have seen what I did. He could end either of our lives with a wave of his hand."

"But he won't," Styne insisted. "For if he did, his reputation would be ruined, and no one would risk entering his tournament. The display at dinner was meant to keep us in line. He will not randomly kill anyone else."

"But if he catches you cheating . . ."

"He will not. I know how his magic works. I will avoid detection."

Errtu frowned. "And where have you gained this intimate knowledge of our host?"

Styne thought about telling this demon the truth. Should he tell him the real reason Styne was here? Not yet. "Did I not seek you out?" Styne asked instead.

Errtu nodded. Unlike everyone else at the tournament, the fighter picked this sponsor. It hadn't taken Styne long to find a powerful being banished to the abyss and longing to be freed. "I know what I am doing. We will win, and you shall once again walk the material plane."

Errtu smiled at this and flexed his claws. "And then I shall enact my revenge on the one that banished me."

Styne smiled, wondering if he should speak up. He couldn't resist. "You do realize that if we win, the drow will have to be killed in this tournament."

Errtu's smile disappeared. "Just make sure you are not caught," he said gruffly and faded out of the room in a swirl of smoke. Styne laughed to himself, sat back down on the edge of the bed, and continued to practice.

Deltrophan was relaxing in his hot tub when Yeltriz popped into the room. The imp struggled briefly to breathe in the thick steam and then flapped away to a clear corner. The mage heard the commotion and stood from the bubbling water. The magical energy that had been surging through the water, heating and agitating it, suddenly stopped, and with a wave of his hand, the room cleared of steam.

"You should learn to knock first," he said as he wrapped a robe around himself.

"On what, master?"

Deltrophan flicked a finger in the air, and the space in front of him sparked and snapped. "Instead of transporting yourself through the portal, send a warning sound first. Not a difficult alteration to the spell."

The imp nodded slowly, going through his mind about how he could change his spell. "Yes, master. I will make an effort to guard your privacy better."

"Good," Deltrophan sat down in his chair and motioned for his familiar to settle down on a stool. His constant flapping annoyed the mage. "Now, what do you have to report?"

Yeltriz had spent the last while observing the fighters at the various taverns. There were protection spells on the individual rooms to avoid prying, but the taverns were free game. It was another reason Deltrophan encouraged the fighters to socialize. "This will be a good tournament, master. Rivalries are almost setting themselves up."

The imp pulled out a parchment and looked at his notes. "Yelthium and Urenchick despise each other. Their hatred couldn't be more obvious from how they act as long-lost friends. Neither, I think, has a chance to win, but their fight should be enjoyable. Cortez and Entreri are cut from the same mold. Besides testing them each early, I would hold these two till the end."

Yeltriz scanned down some more. "Drizzt might be a problem. He doesn't want to be here."

"Then why did he come?" Deltrophan asked. He hated apathetic fighters.

"His goddess charged him to come. He doesn't want to fight, but he might be the best fighter here. You will need to give him someone he can fight with a clear conscience."

Deltrophan scoffed at the idea. He might have an immortal life, but his conscience was long dead.

"I recommend the vampire," the imp said.

Suddenly the mage's face picked up. Yes, he would like to see that. The most moral fighter in the world shouldn't have a problem fighting a vampire. Especially one sponsored by a demilich. "Anyone else of interest?"

"You don't like female fighters. Besides the vampire, we still have two. Driuanalla seems formidable and might win a time or two. Cortez seems to have gained a liking toward her. The other, Adenae De'Aneda, an elf, doesn't look like much. She and the tiefling should go down early; to make the most of them, you might want to fight them against each other to start.

"The rest is standard fare," he said, going down his list. "There are two knights, an ogre, a dwarf, and a . . ." he paused. "I'm not sure what Gunthor is. He is unlike any human I've seen before, but he doesn't seem to fit a different race. Whatever he is, he will need a massive opponent. I recommend the ogre or paladin.

"Lastly, we have a pirate, whom Cortez is practically begging to kill."

"He can't fight everyone," Deltrophan said, though he wouldn't mind watching that. As the returning champion, he would have immortal stamina, but everyone has their limits. "Is that it?"

The imp went over his list again and nodded. Deltrophan stood and reached for his customary robes. "Fifteen fighters, excellent. I shall sit in contemplation, and then we will begin. You may tell the fighters that they have . . ." he pretended to glance at an imaginary watch, "the rest of their lives to get ready." He laughed as Yeltriz disappeared to deliver the message.