Road of the Patriarch ts-3

by Robert Anthony Salvatore

  "Do you think they have come for a banquet in my honor?" Entreri asked.

  "That would be my guess. Friar Dugald is dressed in finery, you see, and of course, the king shines as if the sun itself has settled upon him."

  "And yet that one," said Entreri, nodding to indicate the man standing to Gareth's right, "seems ill-dressed for anything other than the ruts of a cattle trail."

  "Master Kane," Jarlaxle agreed. "He truly is an embarrassment. One would think that the King of Damara would find someone to infuse some fashion sense into that fool."

  Entreri smirked, remembering all the days on the road with Jarlaxle, when his companion had set out fine shirts for him. He thought of the night when Jarlaxle had returned with a new belt and scabbard for Charon's Claw and Entreri's jeweled dagger. That belt was a magnificent black leather affair, and as fine in design as in appearance, for it held a pair of small throwing knives, fully concealed, within its back length.

  "Perhaps Gareth will hire you to instruct the monk," Entreri said.

  Jarlaxle hesitated for a moment before responding, "He could do worse."

  Six riders and Master Kane came forward from the line. The monk walked in front of Gareth, who was centered by Celedon Kierney and Olwen Forest-friend. Directly behind Gareth rode Riordan Parnell, the bard, strumming a lute and singing. Flanking the bard were Dugald and Emelyn, both quietly spellcasting, building defensive walls.

  The group closed half the distance to Castle D'aerthe then stopped, and Riordan came out around his king and galloped the short expanse to pull up before the great gates. He noted Jarlaxle and Entreri and trotted his mount off to the side, to sit directly below them.

  "Master Jarlaxle and Artemis Entreri, Apprentice Knight of the Order" he began.

  "King Artemis," Jarlaxle corrected, loudly enough so that Gareth and his friends heard, and bristled—which brought a smile to the drow's face.

  "Good subjects—" Riordan began again.

  "We are not."

  The bard stared hard at the obstinate drow. "You pair of fools, then," he said. "King Gareth Dragonsbane, he who defeated Zhengyi, who cast the Wand of Orcus across the planes of existence, who—"

  "Spare us," Jarlaxle interrupted. "It is cold, and we have heard this litany before—in Gareth's own court, and not so long ago."

  "Then your folly should be obvious to you."

  "Someday I will tell you my own litany of deeds, good bard," Jarlaxle called down. "Then indeed will your friends label you as long-winded."

  "King Gareth demands audience," Riordan called out. "If you refuse, then war is upon you." He looked to the east, and motioned with his right arm. Following that, the pair saw a light cavalry force flanking Castle D'aerthe, and a light infantry taking up defensive positions in its wake.

  Riordan then motioned west, and the pair saw a similar scene unfolding in that direction.

  "To grant audience or to accept a siege," Riordan said. "The choice seems quite obvious."

  "Why would we not grant free and friendly passage to King Gareth of Damara," Jarlaxle asked him, "our sister kingdom, after all, and no enemy to the throne of Artemis? You need not come to us so formally, and with threats. King Gareth is ever allowed free and welcomed passage through our lands—though if he intends to be accompanied by so large a contingent, who will tramp down our flora and fauna, I do fear that I might have to impose a toll."

  "A toll?"

  "For smoothing the bog after your passage, of course. Simple upkeep."

  Riordan sat perfectly still for a long while, clearly not amused. "Will you grant the audience?"

  "Of cour—" Jarlaxle started to answer, but Entreri grasped his shoulder and shifted in front.

  "Tell King Gareth that we do not enjoy the spectacle of an army at our doorstep unannounced," Entreri called down to Riordan, and again loud enough for Gareth, and perhaps even some of those in the ranks of the main force, to hear. Keeping his tone polite, and his voice loud, he continued, "But even so, Gareth may enter my home. We have many tall towers here, as you can see. Please tell Gareth, from me, that he is most welcomed to dive headlong off of any of them."

  Riordan sat a moment, as if digesting the words. He even glanced at one of the towers. "You are besieged!" he declared. "Know that war has come to your door!" He expertly turned his mount and galloped it back to his group, who were already turning for the main force.

  "That wasn't the wisest thing you've ever done," Jarlaxle remarked to his friend.

  "Isn't this what you wanted?" Entreri replied. "War with King Gareth?"

  "Hardly."

  Entreri's face screwed up with doubt. "You thought to parlay our good deeds to an independent kingdom for Jarlaxle?"

  "For King Artemis," the dark elf corrected.

  "You believe that Gareth would allow a drow to rule a kingdom within that which he now calls his own kingdom?" Entreri went on, disregarding the correction. "You are a bigger fool than I once thought you—and on that previous occasion, you had the excuse of the lure of Crenshinibon. What is your excuse now beyond abject stupidity?"

  Jarlaxle eyed him for a long while, his thin drow lips curling into a smile. He half-turned and looked to the courtyard below, then lifted his hand and clenched his fist.

  The drivers snapped into action, cracking their whips and setting the fodder into a frenzy. A great crank creaked, chain rattling in protest, and the massive portcullis that blocked Castle D'aerthe's main gate lifted.

  "I was shown two roads," Jarlaxle explained to Entreri. "One would lead me to operate in the shadows, much as I have always done. To find my niche here in the Bloodstone Lands in comfort behind the powers that be—perhaps to serve the Citadel of Assassins, though in a sense far removed from that which Knellict envisioned. Perhaps I would then convince Kimmuriel that this land was worth his efforts, and he and I would lead Bregan D'aerthe to grab at absolute leadership in the underworld of the Bloodstone Lands, similar to what we achieved back in Calimport for a short while, and certainly as we have created in the darkness of Menzoberranzan for nearly two centuries." He ended with a laugh, as he finished with, "It would be worth the effort, perhaps, merely to see Knellict beg for his eternal soul."

  Jarlaxle stopped and stood staring at his friend. Beneath them, the gates of the castle swung open and the three hundred goblins and kobolds, the unfortunate shock troops who had only death and pain behind them and a waiting army before them, flooded out onto the field in full charge.

  "And the other road?" Entreri finally, and impatiently, prompted.

  "The one we have walked," Jarlaxle explained. "Autonomy. The Kingdom of D'aerthe, presented to King Gareth and the other powers of the Bloodstone Lands, aboveboard and with all legitimacy. A sister and allied kingdom to Damara's north, living in harmony with Damara, and with Palishchuk."

  "They would accept a kingdom of drow?" Entreri made no effort to keep the incredulity out of his voice, which elicited a smirk from Jarlaxle.

  "It was worth a try, as I found the other option… boring. Would you disagree?"

  "You wanted it, not I."

  Jarlaxle looked at him as if wounded.

  "You led our adventures here," Entreri said. "You put us in the service of a pair of dragon sisters, and tricked me to Vaasa, knowing well, all the while, the destination of this road we walk and the inevitable ending."

  "I could not have known that such an opportunity as Urshula would present itself so readily," Jarlaxle argued, but he stopped short and threw up his hands in defeat. "As you will," he said. "In any event, our time here is at its end."

  * * * * *

  "Beware the ruse!" Friar Dugald and his clerics shouted out the length of the line, using magic to enhance their shouts.

  Before the heavy priest, King Gareth and the others coordinated the response to the monstrous charge. Left and right, great longbows bent back and volleys of arrows flew at the goblins and kobolds, the shots spaced properly so that a falling, dying target would not intercept a second
arrow.

  Emelyn the Gray and his wizards held back as the monstrous ranks thinned under the rain of arrows. "Minor spells only!" the archmage instructed his forces. "Keep your power in reserve. They are trying to exhaust us!"

  "And to lessen the burden on their foodstuffs, perhaps," Kane quietly added. He was between Gareth and Emelyn when he spoke, and both caught his meaning well. "They expect a siege, we can conclude, and believe that they can outlast us with winter fast approaching."

  Before them, those monsters who had somehow managed to avoid the arrows came on fast, and were met by a barrage of minor spells. Missiles of wizardly energy—blue, green, and red—shot out and swerved of their own accord, it seemed, unerringly blasting into the targeted creatures. When a pair of ambitious goblins drew too near, Emelyn waved away his charges and stepped forward personally. He touched the tips of his thumbs together, fingers spread wide before him, and spoke a simple command.

  The goblins, more confused and terrified than bloodthirsty, could not pull up in time, and burst into flame as a wave of fire erupted from the wizard's hands, fanning out before him.

  "Archers fire a volley over the wall!" Gareth called, and the order echoed down the line. Indeed, with the monstrous ranks so depleted, there was no need for another, point-blank barrage.

  Out rode Gareth with Celedon, Olwen and Riordan beside him, and, amazingly, the monk Kane sprinted before the charging horses and was the first to engage. He leaped and fell straight out, feet leading, as he neared a goblin and kobold duo, taking the smaller, doglike kobold with a snap kick to the face and slamming the five-foot goblin with a solid hit to the chest.

  Both shot back as surely as if a horse had kicked them.

  Kane landed on his back, but moved so quickly and fluidly that many onlookers blinked and shook their heads. For he was up again, in perfect balance, almost as soon as the trailing folds of his dirty robes touched the ground. He stomped on the downed kobold's neck for good measure, then leaped ahead and to the side, spinning as he landed beside a surprised goblin. The creature took an awkward swing with its mace, one that Kane easily pushed up into the air as he came around. Not breaking the momentum of his turn, the monk snapped his arm back to the right angle and followed through with a jarring elbow, catching the goblin right below the chin and fully crushing its windpipe.

  "He does steal all the fun," Celedon remarked to Gareth.

  Gareth began to reply that there were plenty of enemies to be found, but he didn't bother. The infantry came on hard, and Emelyn's wizards continued their devastation, and the paladin realized that he would have to be quick if he intended to stain his brilliant sword, Crusader the Holy Avenger, in that initial battle. A quick glance at his friend Kane told him to veer in a different direction if he hoped to find a target.

  Gasping for breath from the perfectly aimed, driving elbow, the goblin fell away, and before it had even hit the ground, Kane had already engaged another, his hands working furiously in the air before him, like great sweeping fans.

  And it was all a ruse, designed to get the goblin leaning forward, to get its weapon shifted out just a bit to the side. As soon as that happened, Kane sprang forward, high and turning a somersault as he went. He hooked his leading forearm under the goblin's chin then planted his shoulder against the goblin's back as he came around and over. The monk landed on his feet back-to-back with the dizzy goblin, and as he continued forward, he pulled his arm up and over the goblin, forcing its head back and up.

  Hearing the snap of the creature's neck bone, Kane quickly released, let the limp thing fall dead to the ground, and charged on.

  The battle, the slaughter, was over in minutes, with the charge stalled and crushed, the goblins and kobolds lying dead or dying, other than a few who knelt on the ground, their arms up in the air, pleading for their lives.

  Across the field, the portcullis had already fallen back in place and the gates had swung closed.

  "Beware the following wave!" Dugald and others cried out. "Beware the gargoyles!"

  But there were none. Nothing. The castle sat before them, enormous and deathly quiet. Goblin statues set along the wall leered out, but merely as unmoving, unthreatening stone. No figures moved behind them.

  Another volley of arrows went over that wall, then a second, but if they hit anything other than the interior walls or the empty ground, no confirming cries of alarm or agony indicated it.

  "Hold fire!" Gareth called as he and the other warriors turned back to reform their previous ranks. The paladin king cast a disparaging glance at the castle of King Artemis the First as he rode, thinking that Kane's observation had been quite on the mark.

  But knowing as well that he had neither the patience nor the supplies to support such a siege.

  * * * * *

  Entreri and Jarlaxle heard the arrows cracking on the front door of the main keep, and the assassin was glad that he had thought to close the repaired portal behind him as he had entered.

  Inside the main room of the ground level, Kimmuriel and several other dark elves waited for the pair, and Entreri couldn't contain a sour expression at the sight of the hated creatures.

  "They will not wait long," Kimmuriel told Jarlaxle in the drow tongue, and it bothered Entreri that he still understood that paradoxically lyrical language. How could creatures so vile sound so melodious? "Gareth will show no patience with the winter winds blowing. As soon as they come to believe that our assault was not merely a diversion for a greater attack, expect that they will come on. They've dragged war engines across the miles, and they will not let the catapults remain silent."

  "We are well prepared, of course."

  "We are the last," Kimmuriel replied. "The gate is held fast in the lower chamber. It is time to choose, Jarlaxle."

  "Choose what?" Entreri asked his companion, using the common tongue of the surface world.

  That didn't exclude the fluent Kimmuriel in the least. "Choose between flight and awakening the full power of the castle," he said in the same language, his inflection perfect. He seamlessly went back to the drow tongue as he added to Jarlaxle, "Will you awaken Urshula?"

  Jarlaxle thought on that for a short while. Another volley of arrows streamed into the castle, some cracking against the keep's doors.

  "We might fight a great battle here," Jarlaxle said. "With Urshula and the gargoyles, with the undead who will come to my call, we could inflict great misery on our enemy. And with Bregan D'aerthe's full power, there is no doubt that we would win the day."

  "The gain would be temporary, and not worth the price," said Kimmuriel. "We have no reinforcements, yet Damara is a country of King Gareth's minions, who will not sit idly by. And Gareth likely has many treaties that would bring other nations against us in time."

  Jarlaxle looked to Entreri. "What say you?"

  "I say that I have traveled with an idiot," the assassin replied, and Jarlaxle merely laughed.

  "Many dead dark elves have said the same," Kimmuriel warned, and Entreri shot him a threatening look.

  But Jarlaxle's laughter defeated all of the tension. "It was a good attempt," he decided. "But now that we've seen the response, it is time to take our leave of King Gareth and his Bloodstone Lands."

  He motioned for Kimmuriel and the others to lead the way into the tunnels, then waited for Entreri to walk up beside him before following. As they passed the mushroom throne, Jarlaxle tossed a rolled scroll, bound with two strings of gold, onto its seat.

  Entreri turned as if to retrieve it, but Jarlaxle put a hand on his shoulder and guided him along.

  They moved through the tunnels, to the room where Mariabronne had fallen to the daemons, then farther down the winding way. Dust fell from the ceiling as the bombardment began above in full. Finally they entered the chamber of Urshula, the scars of the battle bringing that deadly encounter clearly back into Entreri's thoughts.

  And reminding him that, in his darkest hour, Jarlaxle had abandoned him.

  At the back of the huge
chamber, beyond the sprawled, bony corpse of the dracolich, its head and neck blackened from the fire of Entreri's killing trap, an ornate portal, a glowing blue doorway, loomed. While the walls of the chamber could be seen all around its edges, within the frame of the jamb there was only blackness.

  One after another, the dark elf soldiers of Bregan D'aerthe walked through and disappeared.

  Soon there were only three left, and Kimmuriel nodded to Jarlaxle then stepped through.

  "After you," Jarlaxle invited Entreri.

  "Where?"

  "Why, in there, of course."

  "Not that where," Entreri growled. "Where does it lead?"

  "Where does it look like?"

  "A place I do not wish to go." As he spoke the words, the truth of them assaulted the human assassin. It was time to leave Gareth and the Bloodstone Lands, so Jarlaxle had said, and that was a sentiment Entreri shared. But to leave with Kimmuriel and the Bregan D'aerthe soldiers implied something entirely different than what he had in mind.

  "But the choice has been made," said Jarlaxle.

  "No. That is the Underdark."

  "Of course."

  "I will not return there."

  "You act as if there's an option to be found."

  "No," Entreri said again, staring at the portal as if it was the gateway to the Nine Hells. His memories of Menzoberranzan, of his subjugation to twenty thousand cruel drow, of his understanding that he was no more than iblith, offal, and that anything he might do, anyone he might kill, would be completely irrelevant in altering that recognition of his worth, flooded back to him at that terrible moment.

  And he thought of Calihye, the first woman he had loved both emotionally and physically, the first woman with whom the bond had become complete. How could he desert her?

  But what choice did he have?

  He took a step toward the doorway, and paused as he saw its lines waver, as he saw that the magic was fast diminishing.