through the banister poles to hear the discussion below.
"He's been gone but a week!" Catti-brie argued.
"A week with no word," snapped Cassius, obviously upset. "With my
beautiful house empty and unguarded. Why, the front door was unlocked when
I came by a few days ago!"
"Ye gave the house to Regis," Catti-brie reminded the man.
"Loaned!" Cassius roared, though in truth the house had indeed been a
gift. The spokesman had quickly regretted turning over to Regis the key to
this palace, the grandest house north of Mirabar. In retrospect, Cassius
understood that he had been caught up in the fervor of that tremendous
victory over the goblins, and he suspected that Regis had lifted his
emotions even a step further by using the reputed hypnotic powers of the
ruby pendant.
Like others who had been duped by the persuasive halfling, Cassius had
come to a very different perspective on the events that had transpired, a
perspective that painted Regis unfavorably.
"No matter the name ye call it," Catti-brie conceded, "ye should not be
so hasty to decide that Regis has forsaken the house."
The spokesman's face reddened in fury. "Everything out today!" he
demanded. "You have my list. I want all of the halfling's belongings out of
my house! Any that remain when I return tommorrow shall become my own by
the rights of possession! And I warn you, I shall be compensated dearly if
any of my property is missing or damaged!" He turned on his heel and
stormed out the doors.
"He's got his hair up about this one," chuckled Fender Mallot, one of
the dwarves. "Never have I seen one whose friends swing from loyalty to
hatred more than Regis!"
Catti-brie nodded in agreement of Fender's observation. She knew that
Regis played with magical charms, and she figured that his paradoxical
relationships with those around him were an unfortunate side effect of his
dabblings.
"Do ye suppose he's off with Drizzt and Bruenor?" Fender asked. Up the
stairs, Entreri shifted anxiously.
"Not to doubt," Catti-brie answered. "All winter they've been asking
him to join in the quest for Mithril Hall, an' to be sure, Wulfgar's
joining added to the pressure."
"Then the little one's halfway to Luskan, or more," reasoned Fender.
"And Cassius is right in wantin' his house back."
"Then let us get to packing," said Catti-brie. "Cassius has enough o'
his own without adding to the hoard from Regis's goods."
Entreri leaned back against the banister. The name of Mithril Hall was
unknown to him, but he knew the way to Luskan well enough. He grinned
again, wondering if he might catch them before they ever reached the port
city.
First, though, he knew that there still might be some valuable
information to be garnered here. Catti-brie and the dwarves set about the
task of collecting the halfling's belongings, and as they moved from room
to room, the black shadow of Artemis Entreri, as silent as death, hovered
about them. They never suspected his presence, never would have guessed
that the gentle ripple in the drapes was anything more than a draft flowing
in from the edges of the window, or that the shadow behind a chair was
disproportionately long.
He managed to stay close enough to hear nearly all of their
conversation, and Catti-brie and the dwarves spoke of little else than the
four adventurers and their journey to Mithril Hall. But Entreri learned
little for his efforts. He already knew of the halfling's famed companions
- everyone in Ten-Towns spoke of them often: of Drizzt Do'Urden, the
renegade drow elf, who had forsaken his dark-skinned people in the bowels
of the Realms and roamed the borders of Ten-Towns as a solitary guardian
against the intrusions of the wilderness of Icewind Dale; of Bruenor
Battlehammer, the rowdy leader of the dwarven clan that lived in the valley
near Kelvin's Cairn; and most of all, of Wulfgar, the mighty barbarian, who
was captured and raised to adulthood by Bruenor, returned with the savage
tribes of the dale to defend Ten-Towns against the goblin army, then struck
up a truce between all the peoples of Icewind Dale. A bargain that had
salvaged, and promised to enrich, the lives of all involved.
"It seems that you have surrounded yourself with formidable allies,
halfling," Entreri mused, leaning against the back of a large chair, as
Catti-brie and the dwarves moved into an adjoining room. "Little help they
will offer. You are mine!"
Catti-brie and the dwarves worked for about an hour, filling two large
sacks, primarily with clothes. Catti-brie was astounded with the stock of
possessions Regis had collected since his reputed heroics against Kessell
and the goblins - mostly gifts from grateful citizens. Well aware of the
halfling's love of comfort, she could not understand what had possessed him
to run off down the road after the others. But what truly amazed her was
that Regis hadn't hired porters to bring along at least a few of his
belongings. And the more of his treasures that she discovered as she moved
through the palace, the more this whole scenario of haste and impulse
bothered her. It was too out of character for Regis. There had to be
another factor, some missing element, that she hadn't yet weighed.
"Well, we got more'n we can carry, and most o' the stuff anyway!"
declared Fender, hoisting a sack over his sturdy shoulder. "Leave the rest
for Cassius to sort, I say!"
"I would no' give Cassius the pleasure of claiming any of the things,"
Catti-brie retorted. "There may yet be valued items to be found. Two of ye
take the sacks back your rooms at the inn. I'll be finishing the work up
here."
"Ah, yer too good to Cassius," Fender grumbled. "Bruenor had him marked
right as a man taking too much pleasure in counting what he owns!"
"Be fair, Fender Mallot," Catti-brie retorted, though her agreeing
smile belied any harshness in her tone. "Cassius served the towns well in
the war and has been a fine leader for the people of Bryn Shander. Ye've
seen as well as meself that Regis has a talent for putting up a cat's fur!"
Fender chuckled in agreement. "For all his ways of gettin' what he
wants, the little one has left a row or two of ruffled victims!" He patted
the other dwarf on the shoulder and they headed for the main door.
"Don't ye be late, girl," Fender called back to Catti-brie. "We're to
the mines again. Tomorrow, no later!"
"Ye fret too much, Fender Mallot!" Catti-brie said, laughing.
Entreri considered the last exchange and again a smile widened across
his face. He knew well the wake of magical charms. The "ruffled victims"
that Fender had spoken of described exactly the people that Pasha Pook had
duped back in Calimport. People charmed by the ruby pendant.
The double doors closed with a bang. Catti-brie was alone in the big
house - or so she thought.
She was still pondering Regis's uncharacteristic disappearance. Her
continued suspicions that something was wrong, that some piece of the
puzzle was missing, began to foster within her the sense that something was
wrong here in the house, as well.
Catti-brie suddenly became aware of every noise and shadow around her.
The "click-click" of a pendulum clock. The rustle of papers on a desk in
front of an open window. The swish of drapes. The scutterings of a mouse
within the wooden walls.
Her eyes darted back to the drapes, still trembling slightly from their
last movement. It could have been a draft through a crack in the window,
but the alert woman suspected differently. Reflexively dropping to a crouch
and reaching for the dagger on her hip, she started toward the open doorway
a few feet to the side of the drapes.
Entreri had moved quickly. Suspecting that more could yet be learned
from Catti-brie, and not willing to pass up the opportunity offered by the
dwarves' departure, he had slipped into the most favorable position for an
attack and now waited patiently atop the narrow perch of the open door,
balanced as easily as a cat on a window sill. He listened for her approach,
his dagger turning over casually in his hand.
Catti-brie sensed the danger as soon as she reached the doorway and saw
the black form dropping to her side. But as quick as her reactions were,
her own dagger was not halfway from its sheath before the thin fingers of a
cool hand had clamped over her mouth, stifling a cry, and the razored edge
of a jeweled dagger had creased a light line on her throat.
She was stunned and appalled. Never had she seen a man move so quickly,
and the deadly precision of Entreri's strike unnerved her. A sudden
tenseness in his muscles assured her that if she persisted in drawing her
weapon, she would be dead long before she could use it. Releasing the hilt,
she made no further move to resist.
The assassin's strength also surprised her as he easily lifted her to a
chair. He was a small man, slender as an elf and barely as tall as she, but
every muscle on his compact frame was toned to its finest fighting edge.
His very presence exuded an aura of strength and an unshakable confidence.
This, too, unnerved Catti-brie, because it wasn't the brash cockiness of an
exuberant youngster, but the cool air of superiority of one who had seen a
thousand fights and had never been bested.
Catti-brie's eyes never turned from Entreri's face as he quickly tied
her to the chair. His angular features, striking cheekbones and a strong
jaw line, were only sharpened by the straight cut of his raven black hair.
The shadow of beard that darkened his face appeared as if no amount of
shaving could ever lighten it. Far from unkempt, though, everything about
the man spoke of control. Catti-brie might even have considered him
handsome, except for his eyes.
Their gray showed no sparkle. Lifeless, devoid of any hint of
compassion or humanity, they marked this man as an instrument of death and
nothing more.
"What do ye want o' me?" Catti-brie asked when she mustered the nerve.
Entreri answered with a stinging slap across her face. "The ruby
pendant!" he demanded suddenly. "Does the halfling still wear the ruby
pendant?"
Catti-brie fought to stifle the tears welling in her eyes. She was
disoriented and off guard and could not respond immediately to the man's
question.
The jeweled dagger flashed before her eyes and slowly traced the
circumference of her face.
"I have not much time," Entreri declared flatly. "You will tell me what
I need to know. The longer it takes you to answer, the more pain you will
feel."
His words were calm and spoken with honesty.
Catti-brie, toughened under Bruenor's own tutelage, found herself
unnerved. She had faced and defeated goblins before, even a horrid troll
once, but this collected killer terrified her. She tried to respond, but
her trembling jaw would allow no words.
The dagger flashed again.
"Regis wears it!" Catti-brie shrieked, a tear tracing a solitary line
down each of her cheeks.
Entreri nodded and smiled slightly. "He is with the dark elf, the
dwarf, and the barbarian," he said matter-of-factly. "And they are on the
road to Luskan. And from there, to a place called Mithril Hall. Tell me of
Mithril Hall, dear girl." He scraped the blade on his own cheek, its fine
edge poignantly clearing a small patch of beard. "Where does it lie?"
Catti-brie realized that her inability to answer would probably spell
her end. "I-I know not," she stammered boldly, regaining a measure of the
discipline that Bruenor had taught her, though her eyes never left the
glint of the deadly blade.
"A pity," Entreri replied. "Such a pretty face. . .
"Please," Catti-brie said as calmly as she could with the dagger moving
toward her. "Not a one knows! Not even Bruenor! To find it is his quest."
The blade stopped suddenly and Entreri turned his head to the side,
eyes narrowed and all of his muscles taut and alert.
Catti-brie hadn't heard the turn of the door handle, but the deep voice
of Fender Mallot echoing down the hallway explained the assassin's actions.
"'Ere, where are ye, girl?"
Catti-brie tried to yell, "Run!" and her own life be damned, but
Entreri's quick backhand dazed her and drove the word out as an
indecipherable grunt.
Her head lolling to the side, she just managed to focus her vision as
Fender and Grollo, battle-axes in hand, burst into the room. Entreri stood
ready to meet them, jeweled dagger in one hand and a saber in the other.
For an instant, Catti-brie was filled with elation. The dwarves of
Ten-Towns were an iron-fisted battalion of hardened warriors, with Fender's
prowess in battle among the clan second only to Bruenor's.
Then she remembered who they faced, and despite their apparent
advantage, her hopes were washed away by a wave of undeniable conclusions.
She had witnessed the blur of the assassin's movements, the uncanny
precision of his cuts.
Revulsion welling in her throat, she couldn't even gasp for the dwarves
to flee.
Even had they known the depths of the horror in the man standing before
them, Fender and Grollo would not have turned away. Outrage blinds a
dwarven fighter from any regard for personal safety, and when these two saw
their beloved Catti-brie bound to the chair, their charge at Entreri came
by instinct.
Fueled by unbridled rage, their first attacks roared in with every
