R. Salvatore - The Collected Stories, The Legend of Drizzt

The young assassin was caught on the streets of Calimport a tenday later, after giving Pasha Basadoni’s powerful spy network a fine run. He was more resigned than afraid as two burly, older killers led him roughly back to the guild hall.

Entreri believed Basadoni would punish him, perhaps even kill him, for his actions; it was worth it just to know that Theebles Royuset had died horribly.

He had never been in the uppermost chambers of the guild hall before, never imagined what riches lay within. Beautiful women, covered in glittering jewels, roamed through every room. Great cushiony couches and pillows were heaped everywhere, and behind every third archway was a steaming tub of scented water.

This entire floor of the hall was devoted to purely hedonistic pursuits, a place dedicated to every imaginable pleasure. Yet to Entreri, it appeared more dangerous than enticing. His goal was perfection, not pleasure, and this was a place where a man would grow soft.

He was somewhat surprised, then, when he at last came to stand before Pasha Basadoni, the first time Entreri had actually met the man. Basadoni’s small office was the only room on this floor of the guild hall not fitted for comfort. Its furnishings were few and simple-a single wooden desk and three unremarkable chairs.

The pasha fit the office. He was a smallish man, old but stately. His gaze, like his posture, was perfectly straight. His gray hair was neatly groomed, his clothes unpretentious.

After only a couple moments of scrutiny, Entreri understood that this was a man to be respected, even feared. Looking at the pasha, Entreri considered again how out of place a slug like Theebles Royuset had been. He guessed at once that Basadoni must have hated Theebles profoundly. That notion alone gave him hope.

“So you admit you cheated at the quarter challenge?” Basadoni asked after a long and deliberate pause, after studying young Entreri at least as intently as Entreri was studying him.

“Isn’t that part of the challenge?” Entreri was quick to reply.

Basadoni chuckled and nodded.

“Theebles expected I would cheat,” Entreri went on. “A vial of universal antidote was found emptied within his room.”

“And you tampered with it?”

“I did not,” Entreri answered honestly.

Basadoni’s quizzical expression prompted the young rogue to continue.

“The vial worked as expected, and the cake was indeed conventionally poisoned,” Entreri admitted.

“But …” Basadoni said.

“But no antidote in Calimshan can defeat the effects of crushed glass.”

Basadoni shook his head. “Sly upon sly within sly,” he said. “A feint within a feint within a feint.” He looked curiously at the clever young lad. “Theebles was capable of thinking to the third level of deception,” he reasoned.

“But he did not believe that I was,” Entreri quickly countered. “He underestimated his opponent.”

“And so he deserved to die,” Basadoni decided after a short pause.

“The challenge was willingly accepted,” Entreri quickly noted, to remind the old pasha that any punishment would surely, by the rules of the guild, be unjustified.

Basadoni leaned back in his chair, tapping the tips of his fingers together. He stared at Entreri long and hard. The young assassin’s reasoning was sound, but he almost ordered Entreri killed anyway, seeing clearly the cruelty, the absolute lack of compassion, within this one’s black heart. He understood that he could never truly trust Artemis Entreri, but he realized, too, that young Entreri would not likely strike against him, an old man and a potentially valuable mentor, unless he forced the issue. And Basadoni knew, too, how valuable an asset a clever and cold rogue like Artemis Entreri might be-especially with five other ambitious lieutenants scrambling to position themselves in the hope that he would soon die.

Perhaps I will outlive those five, after all, the pasha thought with a slight smile. To Entreri he merely said, “I will exact no punishment.”

Entreri showed no emotion.

“Truly you are a cold-hearted wretch,” Basadoni went on with a helpless snicker, his voice honestly sympathetic. “Leave me, Lieutenant Entreri.” He waved his age-spotted hand as if the whole affair left a sour taste in his mouth.

Entreri turned to go, but stopped and glanced back, realizing only then the significance of how Basadoni had addressed him.

The two burly escorts at the newest lieutenant’s side caught it, too. One of them bristled anxiously, glaring at the young man. Lieutenant Artemis Entreri? the man’s dour expression seemed to say in disbelief. The boy, half his size, had only been in the guild for a few months. He was only fourteen years old!

“Perhaps my first duty will be to see to your continued training,” Entreri said, staring coldly into the muscular man’s face. “You must learn to mask your feelings better.”

The man’s moment of anger was replaced by a feeling of sheer dread as he, too, stared into those callous and calculating dark eyes, eyes too filled with evil for one of Artemis Entreri’s tender age.

Later that afternoon, Artemis Entreri walked out of the Basadoni guild hall on a short journey that was long overdue. He went back to his street, the territory he had carved out amidst Calimport’s squalor.

A dusty orange sunset marked the end of another hot day as Entreri turned a corner and entered that territory-the same corner the thug had turned just before Entreri had killed him.

Entreri shook his head, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by it all. He had survived these streets, the challenge Theebles Royuset had thrown his way, and the counter-challenge he had offered in response. He had survived, and he had thrived, and was now a full lieutenant in the Basadoni Cabal.

Slowly, Entreri walked the length of the muddy lane, his gaze stalking from left to right and back again, just as he had done when he was the master here. When these had been his streets, life had been simple. Now his course was set out before him, among his own treacherous kind. Ever after would he need to walk with his back close to a wall-a solid wall that he had already checked for deadly traps and secret portals.

It had all happened so fast, in the course of just a few months. Street waif to lieutenant in the Basadoni Cabal, one of the most powerful thieves’ guilds in Calimport.

Yet as he looked back over the road that had brought him from Memnon to Calimport, from this muddy alley to the polished marble halls of the thieves’ guild, Artemis Entreri began to wonder if, perhaps, the change was somewhat less miraculous. Nothing really happened so quickly; he’d been led to this seemingly remarkable state by years spent honing his street skills, years spent challenging and conquering brutal men like Theebles, or the old lecher in the caravan, or his father.…

A noise from the side drew Entreri’s attention to a wide alley where a group of boys came rambling past. Half the grimy mob tossed a small stone back and forth while the other half tried to get it away.

It came as a shock to Entreri when he realized that they were his own age, perhaps even a bit older. And the shock carried with it more than a little pain.

The boys soon disappeared behind the next shack, laughing and shouting, a cloud of dust in their wake. Entreri summarily dismissed them, thinking again of what he had accomplished and what heights of glory and power might still lay before him. After all, he had purchased the right to dream such dark dreams at the cost of his youth and innocence, coins whose value he did not recognize until they were spent.

Josidiah Starym skipped wistfully down the streets of Cormanthor, the usually stern and somber elf a bit giddy this day, both for the beautiful weather and the recent developments in his most precious and enchanted city. Josidiah was a bladesinger, a joining of sword and magic, protector of the elvish ways and the elvish folk. And in Cormanthor, in this year 253, many elves were in need of protecting. Goblinkin were abundant, and even worse, the emotional turmoil within the city, the strife among the noble families-the Starym included-threatened to tear apart all that Coronal Eltargrim had put together, all that the elves had built in Cormanthor, greatest city in all the world.