R. Salvatore - The Last Threshold

“Eh?” Athrogate clearly hadn’t expected that answer.

“It is an interesting time,” Jarlaxle clarified. “I envy these Netherese lords in their endeavors and grand searches. Would that I had the time to join them!”

“Eh?” an even more confused Athrogate asked.

“Indeed,” said Jarlaxle. “And I know that if we remain here any longer, I will surely be drawn into Parise Ulfbinder’s work far more than I can afford. We will take our leave this very night.”

“Eh?” Athrogate asked again, now seeming alarmed and not very happy.

“Indeed,” was all that Jarlaxle would answer.

And that very night, Jarlaxle and Athrogate rode across the rolling ground of the region that had once been the great desert of Anauroch, Jarlaxle on his nightmare, Athrogate on his hellboar. Jarlaxle rejected Athrogate’s desire to find a proper shelter, and instead camped out on the open plain. The two sat across an open fire, Athrogate cooking some fine stew, their magical mounts standing around as sentries.

“Could’ve stayed,” Athrogate mumbled. He had been silent, but clearly annoyed, throughout the ride.

“There is something afoot,” Jarlaxle replied. “Something important.”

“Yeah, yeah, and it’d keep ye too busy and all that rot ye already said.”

“You understand that Parise Ulfbinder was watching us in our room, of course,” the drow replied.

“Eh?”

“That again? Yes, I assure you,” Jarlaxle said, and he tapped his eyepatch to reinforce the strength of his claim, for that magical item was well-known to protect against telepathic or clairvoyant intrusions. “Something important is afoot. Something connected to the Spellplague and the fall of the Weave.”

“Spellplague,” Athrogate muttered. “I keep hearing that name, but I ain’t much knowing what ye’re talkin’ about.”

“As subtle as the darkness,” the drow explained. “As quiet as the shadow. For some reason, with the fall of the Weave, we are bound to the Shadowfell and her dark minions.”

“Aye, seen too many o’ the damn shadow things. So what’re ye thinking’s happening, then?”

Jarlaxle shook his head. “Our friends of Shade Enclave might be making a move at domination.”

“Of?”

“Everything?” Jarlaxle asked as much as stated. “They are spending great energy in examining the old gods. Parise asked me if Drizzt might perhaps be a Chosen of Lolth.”

“Aye, he asked me a few things about that one, as well.”

That news surprised Jarlaxle. “When did you speak-?” he started to ask.

“When yerself went to him th’other day,” Athrogate answered. “He come to me right before yerself returned, wantin’ to know about that damned ranger.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Unicorn lady, Mylickin’ or something-”

“Mielikki,” Jarlaxle corrected.

“Aye, that’s me thinking. Heard Drizzt claim as much.”

Jarlaxle nodded, but remained intrigued by the other theory, that Lolth secretly considered Drizzt her champion of chaos, and indeed, that rogue had lived up to the billing as far as the city of Menzoberranzan was concerned.

“So ye’re thinkin’ that them shadow lords’re studying the gods and them Chosen such to find some plan o’ attack against us all?”

Jarlaxle was impressed that Athrogate had gone so quickly to that reasoning, and he reminded himself that this particular dwarf was no fool, despite his nonsensical rhyming and frivolous laughter, particularly in matters of battle strategies.

“Be interestin’ to see where we might fit into such plans of domination, eh?” the dwarf added, and Jarlaxle nodded.

Interesting indeed.

“It seems that many are interested in the rogue Do’Urden of late,” Kimmuriel said to Jarlaxle a couple of days later, when Jarlaxle and Athrogate arrived in Luskan.

“Tiago?”

“He’s a persistent one.”

“Where is Drizzt?” Jarlaxle asked.

“In or around town, though laying low, I expect,” Kimmuriel replied. “His boat arrived back in port some time ago, and he was aboard, but where he and his friends have gone, we cannot be sure.”

Jarlaxle nodded. Keeping track of any band that included Artemis Entreri would not be easy, he knew.

“Do you think that the inquiries of this Parise Ulfbinder are in any way connected to Tiago’s pursuit of Drizzt?” Kimmuriel asked. “Is it possible that the Netherese lords are trying to create a back-channel to the direct markets in Menzoberranzan?”

Jarlaxle shook his head. “Our agreement is fairly thorough,” he reminded, and Kimmuriel, who had just negotiated that very contract could not disagree. “My sense is that Parise’s interest in Drizzt extends only so far as to use Drizzt as a symbol of something larger.”

Kimmuriel nodded as Jarlaxle spoke, revealing that he was of like mind. “There have been other inquiries by the Netherese,” he explained.

“Of Drizzt?”

“No, none that I know of, but of others who have elevated themselves amongst the ranks of the mortals of Faerun. Elminster, for one. It seems that our Netherese neighbors have taken a special interest in those who have distinguished themselves in the eyes of one god or another.”

“The Chosen,” Jarlaxle reasoned. “Or perhaps they hold an interest in the gods themselves.”

“And our duty in any such a conflict?” Kimmuriel asked.

“Profit.”

“And Menzoberranzan’s role?”

“That is more interesting,” Jarlaxle admitted, meaning that he couldn’t begin to figure it out.

“If you are correct in your assumptions regarding their interest in Drizzt, then likely Menzoberranzan will be able to pick sides as is most convenient, but if you are wrong.…”

“If Drizzt is their focus, then perhaps their plans are also focused on our people.”

“And in that regard, what then is our new agreement worth, to us and to the Netherese?”

“Let us be very cautious in the manner of goods we send to Shade Enclave,” Jarlaxle decided. “And regarding any information we disclose. I do not believe that Parise means to move against Menzoberranzan, or against Bregan D’aerthe-to what end, after all? But let us make sure that we do not help them in whatever they think to accomplish.”

“You will remain in Luskan for the time being?” Kimmuriel asked.

“You’re leaving?”

“I will go to the city of the illithids,” the psionicist announced. “Their hive mind will help us find the answers. If something grand is unfolding, then the sooner we understand it, the larger our profit.”

“How long?”

“Who can tell with mind flayers?” Kimmuriel responded with a shrug.

Jarlaxle nodded.

“Drizzt Do’Urden,” Kimmuriel stated.

Jarlaxle shrugged.

“He is here, as is Artemis Entreri,” Kimmuriel clarified. “I trust that any contact you might find will be in the interest of Bregan D’aerthe, and not in the interest of Jarlaxle.”

“They are one and the same.”

Kimmuriel stared at him hard.

“Go,” Jarlaxle said, waving him away. “I am no fool, and I recognize that the events unfolding could well be important. Where is Beniago?”

“He is around, surely in the city. He was quite useful in getting Drizzt far from Luskan for the last several months.”

“Tiago again?”

“He is stubborn,” Kimmuriel admitted. “But then, he is a Baenre, after all.”

Jarlaxle Baenre grinned and bowed at the clever remark. “Tiago may well be stepping into something larger than he understands, and to his-and to all of our-detriment.”

“As I said, he is a Baenre.”

Jarlaxle could only chuckle in response.

“Well met, again,” Jarlaxle said to Tiago Baenre when he found the young warrior holed up in an abandoned farmhouse just outside of Luskan. As Beniago had informed Jarlaxle, Tiago had several companions with him, including a brother and sister of House Xorlarrin.