Entreri's sharp laugh cut him short. "You are a thief, or you are weak," he
snarled. "Either way you shall find no mercy in my heart. Either way you deserve
the wrath of Pook!" He snapped the pendant up into his hand from the end of its
golden chain and dropped it into his pouch.
Then he took out the other object, an onyx statuette intricately carved into
the likeness of a panther.
"Tell me of this," he instructed Regis.
Regis had wondered when Entreri would show some curiosity for the figurine.
He had seen the assassin toying with it back at Garumn's Gorge in Mithril Hall,
teasing Drizzt from across the chasm. But until this moment, that was the last
Regis had seen of Guenhwyvar, the magical panther.
Regis shrugged helplessly.
"I'll not ask again," Entreri threatened, and that icy certainty of doom,
the inescapable aura of dread that all of Artemis Entreri's victims came to know
well, fell over Regis once more.
"It is the Drow's," Regis stammered. "Its name is Guen-" Regis caught the
word in his mouth as Entreri's free hand suddenly snapped out a jeweled dagger,
readied for a throw.
"Calling an ally?" Entreri asked wickedly. He dropped the statuette back
into his pocket. "I know the beast's name, halfling. And I assure you, by the
time the cat arrived, you would be dead."
"You fear the cat?" Regis dared to ask.
"I take no chances," Entreri replied.
"But will you call the panther yourself?" Regis pressed, looking for some
way to change the balance of power. "A companion for your lonely roads?"
Entreri's laugh mocked the very thought. "Companion? Why would I desire a
companion, little fool? What gain could I hope to make?"
"With numbers comes strength," Regis argued.
"Fool," repeated Entreri. "That is where you err. In the streets, companions
bring dependence and doom! Look at yourself, friend of the drow. What strength
do you bring to Drizzt Do'Urden now? He rushes blindly to your aid, to fulfill
his responsibility as your companion." He spat the word out with obvious
distaste. "To his ultimate demise!"
Regis. hung his head and could not answer. Entreri's words rang true enough.
His friends were coming into dangers they could not imagine, and all for his
sake, all because of errors he had made before he had ever met them.
Entreri replaced the dagger in its sheath and leaped up in a rush. "Enjoy
the night, little thief. Bask in the cold ocean wind; relish all the sensations
of this trip as a man staring death in the face, for Calimport surely spells
your doom and the doom of your friends!" He swept out of the room, banging the
door behind him.
He hadn't locked it, Regis noted. He never locked the door! But he didn't
have to, Regis admitted in anger. Terror was the assassin's chain, as tangible
as iron shackles. Nowhere to run; nowhere to hide.
Regis dropped his head into his hands. He became aware of the sway of the
ship, of the rhythmic, monotonous creaking of old boards, his body irresistibly
keeping time.
He felt his insides churning.
Halflings weren't normally fond of the sea, and Regis was timid even by the
measures of his kind. Entreri could not have found a greater torment to Regis
than passage south on a ship, on the Sea of Swords.
"Not again," Regis groaned, dragging himself to the small portal in the
cabin. He pulled the window open and stuck his head out into the refreshing
chill of the night air.
* * *
Entreri walked across the empty deck, his cloak tight about him. Above him,
the sails swelled, as they filled with wind; the early winter gales pushed the
ship along its southern route. A billion stars dotted the sky, twinkling in the
empty darkness to horizons bordered only by the flat line of the sea.
Entreri took out the ruby pendant again and let its magic catch the
starlight. He watched it spin and studied its swirl, meaning to know it well
before his journey's end.
Pasha Pook would be thrilled to get the pendant back. It had given him such
power! More power, Entreri now realized, than others had assumed. With the
pendant, Pook had made friends of enemies and slaves of friends.
"Even me?" Entreri mused, enthralled by the little stars in the red wash of
the gem. "Have I been a victim? Or shall I be?" He wouldn't have believed that
he, Artemis Entreri, could ever be caught by a magic charm, but the insistence
of the ruby pendant was undeniable.
Entreri laughed aloud. The helmsman, the only other person on the deck, cast
him a curious glance but thought no more about it.
"No," Entreri whispered to the ruby. "You shan't have me again. I know your
tricks, and I'll learn them better still! I will run the path of your tempting
descent and find my way back out again!" Laughing, he fastened the pendant's
golden chain around his neck and tucked the ruby under his leather jerkin.
Then he felt in his pouch, grasped the figurine of the panther, and turned
his gaze back to the north. "Are you watching, Drizzt Do'Urden?" he asked into
the night.
He knew the answer. Somewhere far behind, in Waterdeep or Longsaddle or
somewhere in between, the drow's lavender eyes were turned southward.
They were destined to meet again; they both knew. They had battled once, in
Mithril Hall, but neither could claim victory.
There had to be a winner.
Never before had Entreri encountered anyone with reflexes to match his own
or as deadly with a blade as he, and memories of his clash with Drizzt Do'Urden
haunted his every thought. They were so akin, their movements cut from the same
dance. And yet, the drow, compassionate and caring, possessed a basic humanity
that Entreri had long ago discarded. Such emotions, such weaknesses, had no
place in the cold void of a pure fighter's heart, he believed.
Entreri's hands twitched with eagerness as he thought of the drow. His
breath puffed out angrily in the chill air. "Come, Drizzt Do'Urden," he said
through his clenched teeth. "Let us learn who is the stronger!"
His voice reflected deadly determination, with a subtle, almost
imperceptive, hint of anxiety. This would be the truest challenge of both their
lives, the test of the differing tenets that had guided their every actions. For
Entreri, there could be no draw. He had sold his soul for his skill, and if
Drizzt Do'Urden defeated him, or even proved his equal, the assassin's existence
would be no more than a wasted lie.
But he didn't think like that.
Entreri lived to win.
* * *
Regis, too, was watching the night sky. The crisp air had settled his
stomach, and the stars had sent his thoughts across the long miles to his
friends. How often they had sat together on such nights in Icewind Dale, to
share tales of adventure or just sit quietly in each others' company. Icewind
Dale was a barren strip of frozen tundra, a land of brutal weather and brutal
people, but the friends Regis had made there, Bruenor and Catti-brie, Drizzt and
Wulfgar, had warmed the coldest of the winter nights and taken the sting out of
the biting north wind.
In context, Icewind Dale had been but a short stopover for Regis on his
extensive travels, where he had spent less than ten of his fifty years. But now,
heading back to the southern kingdom where he had lived for the bulk of his
life, Regis realized that Icewind Dale had truly been his home. And those
friends he so often took for granted were the only family he would ever know.
He shook away his lament and forced himself to consider the path before him.
Drizzt would come for him; probably Wulfgar and Catti-brie, too.
But not Bruenor.
Any relief that Regis had felt when Drizzt returned unharmed from the bowels
of Mithril Hall had flown over Garumn's Gorge with the valiant dwarf. A dragon
had them trapped while a host of evil gray dwarves had closed in from behind.
But Bruenor, at the cost of his own life, had cleared the way, crashing down
onto the dragon's back with a keg of burning oil, taking the beast - and himself
- down into the deep gorge.
Regis couldn't bear to recall that terrible scene. For all of his gruffness
and teasing, Bruenor Battlehammer had been the halfling's dearest companion.
A shooting star burned a trail across the night sky. The sway of the ship
remained and the salty smell of the ocean sat thick in his nose, but here at the
portal, in the sharpness of the clear night, Regis felt no sickness - only a sad
serenity as he remembered all of those crazy times with the wild dwarf. Truly
Bruenor Battlehammer's flame had burned like a torch in the wind, leaping and
dancing and fighting to the very end.
Regis's other friends had escaped, though. The halfling was certain of it -
as certain as Entreri. And they would come for him. Drizzt would come for him
and set things right.
Regis had to believe that.
And for his own part, the mission seemed obvious. Once in Calimport, Entreri
would find allies among Pook's people. The assassin would then be on his own
ground, where he knew every dark hole and held every advantage. Regis had to
slow him down.
Finding strength in the narrow vision of a goal, Regis glanced about the
cabin, looking for some clue. Again and again, he found his eyes drawn to the
candle.
"The flame," he muttered to himself, a smile beginning to spread across his
face. He moved to the table and plucked the candle from its holder. A small pool
of liquid wax glittered at the base of the wick, promising pain.
But Regis didn't hesitate.
He hitched up one sleeve and dripped a series of wax droplets along the
length of his arm, grimacing away the hot sting.
He had to slow Entreri down.
* * *
Regis made one of his rare appearances on the deck the next morning. Dawn
had come bright and clear, and the halfling wanted to finish his business before
the sun got too high in the sky and created that unpleasant mixture of hot rays
in the cool spray. He stood at the rail, rehearsing his lines and mustering the
courage to defy the unspoken threats of Entreri.
And then Entreri was beside him! Regis clutched the rail tightly, fearing
that the assassin had somehow guessed his plan.
"The shoreline," Entreri said to him.
Regis followed Entreri's gaze to the horizon and a distant line of land.
"Back in sight," Entreri continued, "and not too far." He glanced down at
Regis and displayed his wicked smile once again for his prisoner's benefit.
Regis shrugged. "Too far."
"Perhaps," answered the assassin, "but you might make it, though your
half-sized breed is not spoken of as the swimming sort. Have you weighed the
odds?"
"I do not swim," Regis said flatly.
"A pity," laughed Entreri. "But if you do decide to try for the land, tell
me first."
Regis stepped back, confused.
"I would allow you to make the attempt," Entreri assured him. "I would enjoy
the show!"
The halfling's expression turned to anger. He knew that he was being mocked,
but he couldn't figure the assassin's purpose.
"They have a strange fish in these waters," said Entreri, looking back to
the water. "Smart fish. It follows the boats, waiting for someone to go over."
He looked back to Regis to weigh the effect of his chiding.
"A pointed fin marks it," he continued, seeing that he had the halfling's
full attention. "Cutting through the water like the prow of a ship. If you watch
from the rail long enough, you will surely spy one."
"Why would I want to?"
"Sharks, these fish are called," Entreri went on, ignoring the question. He
drew his dagger, putting its point against one of his fingers hard enough to
draw a speck of blood. "Marvelous fish. Rows of teeth as long as daggers, sharp
and ridged, and a mouth that could bite a man in half." He looked Regis in the
eye. "Or take a halfling whole."
"I do not swim!" Regis growled, not appreciating Entreri's macabre, but
undeniably effective, methods.
"A pity," chuckled the assassin. "But do tell me if you change your mind."
He swept away, his black cloak flowing behind him.
"Bastard," Regis mumbled under his breath. He started back toward the rail,
but changed his mind as soon as he saw the deep water looming before him; he
turned on his heel and sought the security of the middle of the deck.
Again the color left his face as the vast ocean seemed to close in over him
and the interminable, nauseating sway of the ship . . .
"Ye seem ripe fer de rail, little one," came a cheery voice. Regis turned to
see a short, bowlegged sailor with few teeth and eyes scrunched in a permanent
squint. "Ain't to findin' yer sea legs yet?"
Regis shuddered through his dizziness and remembered his mission. "It is the
other thing," he replied.
The sailor missed the subtlety of his statement. Still grinning through the
dark tan and darker stubble of his dirty face, he started away.
"But thank you for your concern," Regis said emphatically. "And for all of
your courage in taking us to Calimport."
