met them on the docks.
And those who didn't know better learned quickly.
No, Pook couldn't argue about the benefits of having Rassiter and his
fellows around. But the guildmaster had no love for the wretched lycanthropes,
human by day and something beastly, half rat and half man, by night. And he
wasn't fond of the way they handled their business.
"Enough of him," Pook said, dropping his hands to the velvety black
tablecloth. "I am certain that I shall need a dozen hours in the harem to get
over our meeting!" His grin showed that the thought did not displease him. "But
what did you want?"
A wide smile spread over the wizard's face. "I have spoken with Oberon in
Baldur's Gate this day," he said with some pride. "I have learned of something
that may make you forget all about your discussion with Rassiter."
Pook waited curiously, allowing LaValle to play out his dramatics. The
wizard was a fine and loyal aide, the closest thing the guildmaster had to a
friend.
"Your assassin returns!" LaValle proclaimed suddenly.
It took Pook a few moments to think through the meaning and implications of
the wizard's words. But then it hit him, and he sprang up from the table.
"Entreri?" he gasped, barely finding his breath.
LaValle nodded and nearly laughed out loud.
Pook ran his hand through his hair. Three years. Entreri, deadliest of the
deadly, was returning to him after three long years. He looked curiously at the
wizard.
"He has the halfling," LaValle answered to his unspoken question. Pook's
face lit up in a broad smile. He leaned forward eagerly, his golden teeth
shining in the candlelight.
Truly LaValle was glad to please his guildmaster, to give him the news he
had waited so very long to hear. "And the ruby pendant!" the wizard proclaimed,
banging a fist on the table.
"Yes!" Pook snarled, exploding into laughter. His gem, his most prized
possession. With its hypnotic powers, he could rise to even greater heights of
prosperity and power. Not only would he dominate all he met, but he would make
them glad for the experience. "Ah, Rassiter," Pook muttered, suddenly thinking
of the upper hand he could gain on his associate. "Our relationship is about to
change, my rodent friend."
"How much will you still need him?" LaValle asked.
Pook shrugged and looked to the side of the room, to a small curtain.
The Taros Hoop.
LaValle blanched at the thought of the thing. The Taros Hoop was a mighty
relic capable of displacing its owner, or his enemies, through the very planes
of existence. But the power of this item was not without price. Thoroughly evil
it was, and every one of the few times LaValle had used it, he had felt a part
of himself drain away, as though the Taros Hoop gained its power by stealing his
life force. LaValle hated Rassiter, but he hoped that the guildmaster would find
a better solution than the Taros Hoop.
The wizard looked back to find Pook staring at him. "Tell me more!" Pook
insisted eagerly.
LaValle shrugged helplessly and put his hand on the crystal ball. "I have
not been able to glimpse them myself," he said. "Ever has Artemis Entreri been
able to dodge my scrying. But by Oberon's words, they are not too far. Sailing
the waters north of Calimshan, if not already within the borders. And they fly
on a swift wind, Master. A week or two, no more."
"And Regis is with him?" Pook asked.
"He is."
"Alive?"
"Very much alive," said the wizard.
"Good!" Pook sneered. How he longed to see the treacherous halfling again!
To have his plump hands around Regis's little neck! The guild had fallen on
tough times after Regis had run off with the magical pendant. In truth, the
problems had come mostly from Pook's own insecurity in dealing with people
without the gem, so long had he been using it, and from the guildmaster's
obsessive - and expensive - hunt to find the halfling. But to Pook, the blame
fell squarely upon Regis. He even blamed the halfling for the alliance with the
wererats' guild, for certainly he wouldn't have needed Rassiter if he had had
his pendant.
But now everything would work out for the best, Pook knew. Possessing the
pendant and dominating the wererats, perhaps he could even think of expanding
his power outside Calimport, with charmed associates and lyncanthrope allies
heading guilds throughout the southland.
LaValle seemed more serious when Pook looked back at him. "How do you
believe Entreri will feel about our new associates?" he asked grimly.
"Ah, he does not know," said Pook, realizing the implications. "He has been
gone too long." He thought for a moment then shrugged. "They are in the same
business, after all. Entreri should accept them."
"Rassiter disturbs everyone he meets," the wizard reminded him. "Suppose
that he crosses Entreri?"
Pook laughed at the thought. "I can assure you that Rassiter will cross
Artemis Entreri only once, my friend."
"And then you shall make arrangements with the new head of the wererats,"
LaValle snickered.
Pook clapped him on the shoulder and headed for the door. "Learn what you
can," he instructed the wizard. "If you can find them in your crystal ball, call
to me. I cannot wait to glimpse the face of Regis the halfling again. So much I
owe to that one."
"And you shall be?"
"In the harem," Pook answered with a wink. "Tension, you know."
LaValle slumped back in his chair when Pook had gone and considered again
the return of his principal rival. He had gained much in the years since Entreri
had left, even rising to this room on the third level as Pook's chief assistant.
This room, Entreri's room.
But the wizard never had any problems with the assassin. They had been
comfortable associates, if not friends, and had helped each other many times in
the past. LaValle couldn't count the number of times he had shown Entreri the
quickest route to a target.
And there was that nasty situation with Mancas Tiveros, a fellow mage.
"Mancas the Mighty," the other wizards of Calimport had called him, and they had
pitied LaValle when he and Mancas fell into dispute concerning the origins of a
particular spell. Both had claimed credit for the discovery, and everyone waited
for an expected war of magic to erupt. But Mancas suddenly and unexplainedly
went away, leaving a note disclaiming his role in the spell's creation and
giving full credit to LaValle. Mancas had never been seen again - in Calimport
or anywhere else.
"Ah, well," LaValle sighed, turning back to his crystal ball. Artemis
Entreri had his uses.
The door to the room opened, and Pook stuck his head back in. "Send a
messenger to the carpenter's guild," he said to LaValle. "Tell them that we
shall need several skilled men immediately."
LaValle tilted his head in disbelief.
"The harem and treasury are to stay," Pook said emphatically, feigning
frustration over his wizard's inability to see the logic. "And certainly I am
not conceding my chamber!"
LaValle frowned as he thought he began to understand.
"Nor am I about to tell Artemis Entreri that he cannot have his own room
back," said Pook. "Not after he has performed his mission so excellently!"
"I understand," said the wizard glumly, thinking himself relegated once
again to the lower levels.
"So a sixth room must be built," laughed Pook, enjoying his little game.
"Between Entreri's and the harem." He winked again at his valued assistant. "You
may design it yourself, my dear LaValle. And spare no expense!" He shut the door
and was gone.
The wizard wiped the moisture from his eyes. Pook always surprised him, but
never disappointed him. "You are a generous master, my Pasha Pook," he whispered
to the empty room.
And truly Pasha Pook was a masterful leader as well, for LaValle turned back
to his crystal ball, his teeth gritted in determination. He would find Entreri
and the halfling. He wouldn't disappoint his generous master.
9
Fiery Riddles
Now running with the currents of the Chionthar, and with the breeze at
enough of an angle from the north for the sails to catch a bit of a push, the
Sea Sprite cruised away from Baldur's Gate at a tremendous rate, spitting a
white spray despite the concurrent movement of the water.
"The Sword Coast by midafternoon," Deudermont said to Drizzt and Wulfgar.
"And off the coast, with no land in sight until we make Asavir's Channel. Then a
southern journey around the edge of the world and back east to Calimport.
"Calimport," he said again, indicating a new pennant making its way up the
mast of the Sea Sprite, a golden field crossed by slanted blue lines.
Drizzt looked at Deudermont suspiciously, knowing that this was not an
ordinary practice of sailing vessels.
"We run Waterdeep's flag north of Baldur's Gate," the captain explained.
"Calimport's south."
"An acceptable practice?" Drizzt asked.
"For those who know the price," chuckled Deudermont. "Waterdeep and
Calimport are rivals, and stubborn in their feud. They desire trade with each
other - they can only profit from it but do not always allow ships flying the
other's flag to dock in their harbors."
"A foolish pride," Wulfgar remarked, painfully reminded of some similar
traditions his own clannish people had practiced only a few years before.
"Politics," Deudermont said with a shrug. "But the lords of both cities
secretly desire the trade, and a few dozen ships have made the connections to
keep business moving. The Sea Sprite has two ports to call home, and everyone
profits from the arrangement."
"Two markets for Captain Deudermont," Drizzt remarked slyly. "Practical."
"And it makes good sailing sense as well," Deudermont continued, his smile
still wide. "Pirates running the waters north of Baldur's Gate respect the
banner of Waterdeep above all others, and those south of here take care not to
rouse the anger of Calimport and her massive armada. The pirates along Asavir's
Channel have many merchant ships to pick from in the straights, and they are
more likely to raid one that carries a flag of less weight."
"And you are never bothered?" Wulfgar couldn't help but ask, his voice
tentative and almost sarcastic, as though he hadn't yet figured out if he
approved of the practice.
"Never?" echoed Deudermont. "Not 'never,' but rarely. And on those occasions
that pirates come at us, we fill our sails and run. Few ships can catch the sea
Sprite when her sails are full of wind."
"And if they do catch you?" asked Wulfgar.
"That is where you two can earn your passage," Deadermont laughed. "My guess
is that those weapons you carry might soften a looting pirate's desire to
continue the pursuit."
Wulfgar brought Aegis-fang up in front of him. "I pray that I have learned
the movements of a ship well enough for such a battle," he said. "An errant
swing might send me over the rail!"
"Then swim to the side of the pirate ship," Drizzt mused, "and tip her
over!"
* * *
From a darkened chamber in his tower in Baldur's Gate, the wizard Oberon
watched the Sea Sprite sail out. He probed deeper into the crystal ball to scry
the elf and huge barbarian standing beside the ship's captain on the deck. They
were not from these parts, the wizard knew. By, his dress and his coloring, the
barbarian was more likely from one of those distant tribes far to the north,
beyond even Luskan and around the Spine of the World mountains, in that desolate
stretch of land known as Icewind Dale. How far he was from home, and how unusual
to see one of his kind sailing the open sea!
"What part could these two play in the return of Pasha Pook's gem?" Oberon
wondered aloud, truly intrigued. Had Entreri gone all the way to that distant
strip of tundra in search of the halfling? Were these two pursuing him south?
But it was not the wizard's affair. Oberon was just glad that Entreri had
called in the debt with so easy a favor. The assassin had killed for Oberon -
more than once - several years ago, and though Entreri had never mentioned the
favors in his many visits to Oberon's tower, the wizard had always felt as if
the assassin held a heavy chain around his neck. But this very night, the
long-standing debt would be cleared in the puff of a simple signal.
Oberon's curiosity kept him tuned to the departing Sea Sprite a bit longer.
He focused upon the elf - Drizzt Do'Urden, as Pellman, the harbormaster, had
called him. To the wizard's experienced eye, something seemed amiss about this
elf. Not out of place, as the barbarian seemed. Rather something in the way
Drizzt carried himself or looked about with those unique, lavender orbs.
Those eyes just did not seem to fit the overall persona of that elf, Drizzt
Do'Urden.
An enchantment, perhaps, Oberon guessed. Some magical disguise. The curious
