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

“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 hadn’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 parley? 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.