Jarlaxle sprang from the divan, but Ilnezhara moved with equal speed, slipping behind a screen and running off.
"Well done," Jarlaxle said to Entreri, the two taking up the chase.
Entreri thought to argue that he had defeated every entryway trap, and that he could not have expected Ilnezhara to be so prepared, but he stayed silent, having no real answer to the sarcasm.
Behind the screen, they found a corridor between the racks of artwork and jewelry cases. Up ahead, the woman's form slipped behind yet another delicate, painted screen, and as it was very near to the curving back wall, it seemed as if they had her-and would get to her before the constructs fully animated and caught up to them.
"You have nowhere to run!" Jarlaxle called, but even as he spoke, he and Entreri saw the wall above the screen crack open, a secret door swinging in.
"You didn't find that?" the drow asked.
"I had but a few minutes," Entreri argued, and he went left around the screen as Jarlaxle went right.
Entreri hit the door first, shouldering it in and fully expecting that he would find himself out the back side of the tower. As he pushed through, though, he felt that there was nothing beneath his foot. He grabbed hard at the door, finding a pull ring, and held on, hanging in midair as it continued to swing. As he came around and took in the scene before him, he nearly dropped, as his jaw surely did.
For he was not outside, but in a vast magically-lighted chamber, an extra-dimensional space, it had to be, going on and on beyond Entreri's sight. Having served among the wealthiest merchants in Calimport, and with the richest pashas, Artemis Entreri was no stranger to treasure hoards. But never before in all his life had he imagined a collection of coins, jewels, and artifacts to rival this! Mounds of gold taller than he lay scattered about the floor, glittering with thousands of jewels sitting on their shining sides. Swords and armor, statues and instruments, bowls and amazing furniture pieces were everywhere, every item showing wonderful craftsmanship and care in design.
Entreri glanced back to see Jarlaxle at the threshold, staring in and appearing equally dumbfounded.
"An illusion," Entreri said.
Jarlaxle shifted his eye patch from one eye to the other and peered intently into the room.
"No, it's not," the drow said, and he glanced back to the tower's entry room.
With a shrug, Jarlaxle casually stepped into the room, dropping the eight feet or so to the floor. Hearing the clatter of the approaching constructs behind him, Entreri let go of the door, swinging it closed as he dropped. It shut with a resounding thud, and the tumult disappeared.
"It is wonderful, yes?" Ilnezhara asked, stepping out from behind a pile of gold.
"By the gods…" whispered Entreri, and he glanced at his partner.
"I have heard of such treasures, good lady," the drow said. "But always in the care of-"
"Don't even say it," whispered Entreri, but it didn't matter anyway, for Ilnezhara's features began to shift and scrunch suddenly, accompanied by the sound of cracking bones.
A huge copper-colored tail sprang out behind her, and gigantic wings sprouted from her shoulders.
"A dragon," Entreri remarked. "Another stinking dragon. What game is this with you?" he asked his partner. "You keep placing me in front of stinking dragons! In all my life, I had never even seen a wyrm, and now, beside you, I have come to know them far too well."
"You took me to the first one," Jarlaxle reminded.
"To get rid of that cursed artifact, yes!" Entreri countered. "You remember, of course. The artifact that had you under a destructive spell? Would I have chosen to go to the lair of a dragon, else?"
"It does not matter," Jarlaxle argued.
"Of course it matters," Entreri spat back. "You keep taking me to stinking dragons."
Ilnezhara's "ahem" shook the ground beneath their feet and drew them from their private argument.
"I could do without the disparaging adjectives, thank you very much," she said to them when she had their attention, her voice sounding very similar to what it had been when she had appeared as a human woman, except that it was multiplied in volume many times over.
"I suspect we need not worry about the constructs coming in to attack us," said Jarlaxle.
The dragon smiled, rows of teeth as long as Entreri's arm gleaming in the magical light.
"You do entertain me, pretty drow," she said. "Though I lament that you are not as wise as I had believed. To try to steal from a dragon at the behest of a fool like Tazmikella? For it was she who sent you, of course. The foolish woman can never understand why I always seem to best her."
"Go," Jarlaxle whispered, and the assassin broke left, while the drow broke right.
But the dragon moved, too, breathing forth.
Entreri cried out and dived into a roll, not knowing what to expect. He felt the wind of dragon breath passing over him, but came back to his feet, apparently unhurt. His elation at that lasted only a moment, though, until he realized that he was moving much more slowly.
"You cannot win, of course, nor is there any escape," said Ilnezhara. "Tell me, pretty drow, would you have come here to steal from me if you had known of my true identity?"
Entreri looked past the dragon to see Jarlaxle simply standing there, vulnerable, before the great wyrm. His incredulous expression was all the answer Ilnezhara needed.
"I thought not," she said. "You admit defeat, then?" Jarlaxle just shrugged and held his arms out to the side.
"Good, good," said the dragon.
Her bones began to crunch again, and soon she appeared in her human form.
"I did not know that copper dragons were so adept at shape-changing," the drow said, finding his voice.
"I spent many years studying under an archmage," Ilnezhara replied. "The passage of centuries can be quite boring, you understand."
"I do, yes," the drow answered. "Though my friend…"
He swept his arm out toward Entreri.
"Your friend who still thinks he might get behind me and stab me with his puny dagger, or cut off my head with his mighty sword? Indeed, that is a formidable weapon," she said to Entreri. "Would you try it against Ilnezhara?"
The assassin glared at her, but did not answer.
"Or perhaps you would give it to me, in exchange for your lives?"
"Yes, he would," Jarlaxle was quick to answer.
Entreri turned his scowl over his friend, but realized that he really couldn't argue the point.
"Or perhaps," said Ilnezhara, "you would instead agree to perform a service for me. Yes, you seem uniquely qualified for this."
"You need something stolen from Tazmikella," Entreri reasoned.
Ilnezhara scoffed at the notion and said, "What could she have that would begin to interest me? No, of course not. Kill her."
"Kill her?" Jarlaxle echoed.
"Yes, I grow weary of our facade of a friendship, or friendly rivalry, and I grow impatient. I do not wish to wait the few decades until old age takes her or renders her too infirm to continue her silly games. Kill her and arouse no suspicion from the authorities. If you can do that, then perhaps I will forgive your transgression."
"Perhaps?" asked the drow.
"Perhaps," answered the dragon, and when the two thieves hesitated, she added, "Do you believe that you can find a better deal?"
Entreri watched Tazmikella stiffen when she noticed Jarlaxle sitting casually in a chair in the back of her modest cabin.
"You have the flute of Idalia?" she asked, breathless.
"Hardly," the drow replied. "It would seem that you did not fully inform us regarding the disposition of your rival."
From his hiding spot off to the side, Entreri measured Tazmikella's reaction. He and Jarlaxle had agreed that if the woman knew Ilnezhara's true form, then they would indeed kill her, and without remorse.
"I told you she would be well-protected," Tazmikella started to say, and she stiffened again as a dagger came against her back.
"What are you doing?" she asked. "I hired you honestl-" She paused. "She sent you back here to kill me, didn't she? She offered you gold against my silver."
Entreri hardly heard her question. He hain't even pricked her with his vicious, life-drawing dagger, and yet the enchanted blade had sent such a surge of energy up his arm that the hairs were standing on end. Trembling, confused, the assassin lifted his free hand, placed it against Tazmikella's shoulder, and gave a push.
He might as well have tried to push a mountain. Entreri groaned and retracted both open hand and dagger.
"For the love of an eight-legged demon queen," he muttered as he walked off to the side, shaking his head in disgust.
He glanced over at Jarlaxle, who was staring at him curiously.
"Her?" the drow asked.
Entreri nodded.
Tazmikella sighed and said, "My own sister sent you to kill me…."
"Your sister?" asked the drow.
"One dragon's not good enough for you, is it?" Entreri growled at his partner. "Now you've put me in the middle of a feud between two!"
"All that you had to do was steal a simple flute," Tazmikella reminded them.
"From a dragon," said Entreri.
"I thought you quick and clever."
"Better if we had known the power of our enemy."
"And now you have come to kill me," said Tazmikella. "Oh, is there no room for loyalty anymore."
"We weren't going to kill you, actually," said Jarlaxle.
"You would say that now."
"If we found out that you knew you were sending us into the home of a dragon, then yes, we might have killed you," Entreri added.
"You'll note that my friend did not drive the blade into your back," said the drow. "We came to talk, not murder."
"So, now that you are aware of my… disposition, you wish to parlay? Perhaps I can persuade you to go and kill Ilnezhara."
"My good … lady," the drow said, and he dipped a polite bow. "We prefer not to involve ourselves in such feuds. We are thieves-freely admitted! — but not killers."
"I can think of a drow I wouldn't mind killing right now," said Entreri, and he took some hope, at least, in noticing that Tazmikella smirked with amusement.
"I would suggest that you and your sister sort this out reasonably. Through talk and not battle. Your king carries Dragonsbane as his surname, does he not? I would doubt that Gareth would be pleased with having his principal city leveled in the fight between a pair of great dragons."
"Yes, dear sister," came another voice, and Entreri groaned again.
Jarlaxle bowed even lower as Ilnezhara stepped into view, as if she had simply materialized out of nowhere.
"I told you they wouldn't try to kill me," Tazmikella replied.
"Only because that one discovered your true identity before he plunged his dagger home," Ilnezhara argued.
"That is not entirely true," said Entreri, but they weren't listening to him.
"I suppose I could not blame them if they did try to kill me," said Tazmikella. "They were instructed to do so by a dragon, after all."
"Self-preservation is a powerful incentive," her sister agreed as she moved next to Jarlaxle.
Ilnezhara reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, and again began tracing lines on his chest with her long finger.
"You wish to play with me before you kill me, then?" Jarlaxle asked her.
"Kill you?" Ilnezhara said with feigned horror. "Pretty drow, why would I ever wish such a thing as that? Oh no, I have plans for you, to be sure, but killing you isn't in them."
She snuggled a bit closer as she spoke, and Jarlaxle grinned, seeming very pleased.
"She's a dragon!" Entreri said, and all three looked at him.
There usually wasn't much emotion in Artemis Entreri's voice, but so heavily weighted were those three words that it hit the others as profoundly as if he had rushed across the room, grabbed Jarlaxle by the collar, lifted him from the ground, and slammed him against the wall, shouting, "Are you mad?" with abandon.
"That one is so unimaginative," Ilnezhara said to her sister. "He is practical."
"He is boring," Ilnezhara corrected. She smirked at Entreri. "Tell me, human, as you walk along the muddy trail, do you not wonder what might be inside the gilded coach that passes you by?"
"You're a dragon," said Entreri.
Ilnezhara laughed at him.
"You have no idea what that means," Ilnezhara promised.
She put her arm around Jarlaxle and pulled him close,
"I know that if you squeeze harder, Jarlaxle's intestines will come out of his mouth," Entreri said, stealing Ilnezhara's superior smile.
"He has no imagination," Jarlaxle assured her.
"You are such a peasant," Ilnezhara said to Entreri. "Perhaps you should get better acquainted with my sister."
Entreri rubbed a hand over his face, and looked at Tazmikella, who seemed quite amused by it all.
"Enough of this," Tazmikella declared. "It is settled, then."
"Is it?" Entreri asked.
"You work for us now," Ilnezhara explained. "You do show cleverness and wit, even if that one is without imagination."
"We had to learn, you must understand," added her sister.
"Are we to understand that this whole thing was designed as a test for us?" asked Jarlaxle.
"Dragons-" Entreri muttered.
"Of course," said Ilnezhara.
"Then you two do not wish to battle to the death?"
"Of course not," both sisters said together.
"We wish to increase our hoards," said Tazmikella. "That is where you come in. We have maps that need following, and rumors that need confirming. You will work for us."
"Do not doubt that we will reward you greatly," Ilnezhara purred.
She pulled Jarlaxle closer, drawing an unintentional grunt from him.
"She's a dragon," Entreri said.
"Peasant," Ilnezhara shot back. She laughed again, then pulled Jarlaxle around and released him back toward the door. "Go now back to your apartment. We will fashion some instructions for you shortly."
"Your discretion is demanded," her sister added.
"Of course," said Jarlaxle, and he bowed low again, sweeping off his feathered hat.
"Oh, and here," said Ilnezhara. She pulled out a plain-looking flute of gray driftwood. "You earned this," she said. She motioned as if to toss it to the drow, but turned and flipped it out to Entreri instead. "Learn it well, peasant-to amuse me, and also because you might find it possessed of a bit of its own magic. Perhaps you will come to better appreciate beauty you cannot yet understand."
Jarlaxle grinned and bowed again, but Entreri just tucked the flute into his belt and headed straight for the door, wanting to get far away while it was still possible. He passed by Tazmikella, thinking to go right out into the night, but she held up her hand and stopped him as completely as if he had walked into a castle wall.
"Discretion," she reminded.
Entreri nodded and slipped aside, then went out into the foggy night, Jarlaxle right behind him.
"It worked out quite well, I think," said the drow, moving up beside him.
Jarlaxle reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, and in the cover of that shake, the drow's other arm snaked behind his back, reaching out and gently lifting the flute from Entreri's belt.
"Dragons…." Entreri argued.
He shoved Jarlaxle's arm away, and used the cover of the movement to flash his other hand across and secretly take back the flute, even as Jarlaxle set it in his belt.
"Are you so much the peasant, as beautiful Ilnezhara claims?" asked the drow, moving back beside his partner. "Your imagination, man! Have we ever known wealthier benefactors? Or more alluring?"
"Alluring? They're dragons!"
"Yes, they are," said a smug Jarlaxle, and he seemed quite entranced with that notion.
Of course, that didn't stop him from sliding his hand across to relieve Entreri of the magical flute
once more. The drow brought it farther around his back to a waiting loop on his belt-a magical loop that would tighten and resist thieving fingers.
Except that what Jarlaxle thought was the loop was really Entreri's cupped hand and the man wasted no time in bringing the flute back.
Such was the fog in the friendship of thieves.
SERPESTRILLVYTH
Richard Baker
Flamerule, the Year of the Banner
On the hottest day of the summer, Erzimar rode into the dusty town with the Company of the Argent Hawk at his back. A cooper looked up from his work as Erzimar and his companions rode past, clutching an iron hoop in his broad hands. A small knot of women speaking together in the thin shade of a browned oak stopped their gossiping to stare at the travelers.
The half-elf Gethred dismounted with a creak of leather and shrugged his cloak from his shoulder, leaving his sword arm clear. Despite the heat, the handsome swordsman wore a breastplate of gold-chased steel. Sweat and dust grimed his face. He took in the dry, bare ground, and the straw-thatched homes and workshops with a single slow look.
"What's the name of this town again?" he asked.
"Pelldith Lake," answered Isildra. She, too, wore mail and leather, though her surcoat was emblazoned with the sleepless eye of Helm's faith. She drew off her gauntlets to wipe strong hands across her brow, frowning at the dirt around her. "That's what they said in Elturel, anyway."
Erzimar swung himself down from his own mount. Short and wiry, Erzimar did not mind the sweltering summer heat as much as his companions. He was a Shaaran, from the sweltering cities by the Lake of Steam, with golden-bronze skin and straight black hair. He wore a short, curved scimitar at his belt. But his preferred weapon was the staff of rich mahogany he carried across the saddlebow.
"There's the inn," he said.
"It'll do," Bragor the dwarf said as he lowered himself gingerly to the ground from his sturdy pony. As round and strong as a barrel of oak, the taciturn dwarf didn't like riding much, and liked riding on a hot day even less. "I don't care if this is the right village or not, I'm not going another mile today."
The Vaasan swordsman Murgolm followed suit, sparing one sullen look for the staring townsfolk before shaking the sweat from his long, black hair. Murgolm spoke little Common, but he had some Dwarvish and therefore tended to stay close to Bragor, who translated for him at need.
Realms of the Dragons vol.1 a-9 Page 14
