Robert Salvatore - The Halfling’s Gem

“But not beyond your grasp, eh?” Pook said, somewhat sarcastically. “You have performed your task excellently, as always, Master Entreri. Your reward shall be as promised.” Pook sat back on his throne again and resumed his distant posture, rubbing a finger over his lips and eyeing Entreri suspiciously.

Entreri didn’t have any idea why Pook, after so many difficult years and a successful completion of the mission, would treat him so badly. Regis had eluded the guildmaster’s grip for more than half a decade before Pook finally sent Entreri on the chase. With that record preceding him, Entreri did not think three years such a long time to complete the mission.

And the assassin refused to play such cryptic games. “If there is a problem, speak it,” he said bluntly.

“There was a problem,” Pook replied mysteriously, emphasizing the past tense of his statement.

Entreri rocked back a step, now fully at a loss—one of the very few times in his life.

Regis stirred at that moment and managed to sit up, but the two men, engaged in the important conversation, paid him no notice.

“You were being followed,” Pook explained, knowing better than to play a teasing game for too long with the killer. “Friends of the halfling?”

Regis’s ears perked up.

Entreri took a long moment to consider his response. He guessed what Pook was getting at, and it was easy for him to figure out that Oberon must have informed the guildmaster of more than his return with Regis. He made a mental note to visit the wizard the next time he was in Baldur’s Gate, to explain to Oberon the proper limits of spying and the proper restraints of loyalty. No one ever crossed Artemis Entreri twice.

“It does not matter,” Pook said, seeing no answer forthcoming. “They will bother us no more.”

Regis felt sick. This was the southland, the home of Pasha Pook. If Pook had learned of his friends’ pursuit, he certainly could have eliminated them.

Entreri understood that, too. He fought to maintain his calm while a burning rage reared up inside him. “I tend to my own affairs,” he growled at Pook, his tone confirming to the guildmaster that he had indeed been playing a private game with his pursuers.

“And I to mine!” Pook shot back, straightening in his chair. “I know not what connection this elf and barbarian hold to you, Entreri, but they have nothing to do with my pendant!” He collected himself quickly and sat back, realizing that the confrontation was getting too dangerous to continue. “I could not take the risk.”

The tension eased out of Entreri’s taut muscles. He did not wish a war with Pook and he could not change what was past. “How?” he asked.

“Pirates,” Pook replied. “Pinochet owed me a favor.”

“It is confirmed?”

“Why do you care?” Pook asked. “You are here. The halfling is here. My pen—”

He stopped suddenly, realizing that he hadn’t yet seen the ruby pendant.

Now it was Pook’s turn to sweat and wonder. “It is confirmed?” Entreri asked again, making no move toward the magical pendant that hung, concealed, about his neck.

“Not yet,” Pook stammered, “but three ships were sent after the one. There can be no doubt.”

Entreri hid his smile. He knew the powerful drow and barbarian well enough to consider them alive until their bodies had been paraded before him. “Yes, there can indeed be doubt,” he whispered under his breath as he pulled the ruby pendant over his head and tossed it to the guildmaster.

Pook caught it in trembling hands, knowing immediately from its familiar tingle that it was the true gem. What power he would wield now! With the magical ruby in his hands, Artemis Entreri returned to his side, and Rassiter’s wererats under his command, he would be unstoppable!

LaValle put a steadying hand on the guildmaster’s shoulder. Pook, beaming in anticipation of his growing power, looked up at him.

“Your reward shall be as promised,” Pook said again to Entreri as soon as he had caught his breath. “And more!”

Entreri bowed. “Well met, then, Pasha Pook,” he replied. “It is good to be home.”

“Concerning the elf and barbarian,” Pook said, suddenly entertaining second thoughts about ever mistrusting the assassin.

Entreri stopped him with outstretched palms. “A watery grave serves them as well as Calimport’s sewers,” he said. “Let us not worry about what is behind us.”

Pook’s smile engulfed his round face. “Agreed, and well met, then,” he beamed. “Especially when there is such pleasurable business ahead of us.” He turned an evil eve upon Regis, but the halfling, sitting stooped over on the floor beside Entreri, didn’t notice.

Regis was still trying to digest the news about his friends. At that moment, he didn’t care how their deaths might affect his own future or lack of one. He only cared that they were gone. First Bruenor in Mithril Hall, then Drizzt and Wulfgar, and possibly Catti-brie, as well. Next to that, Pasha Pook’s threats seemed hollow indeed. What could Pook ever do to him that would hurt as much as those losses?

“Many sleepless nights I have spent fretting over the disappointment you have caused me,” Pook said to Regis. “And many more I have spent considering how I would repay you!”

The door swung open, interrupting Pook’s train of thought. The guildmaster did not have to look up to know who had dared to enter without permission. Only one man in the guild would have such nerve.

Rassiter swept into the room and cut an uncomfortably close circle as he inspected the newcomers. “Greetings, Pook,” he said offhandedly, his eyes locking onto the assassin’s stern gaze.

Pook said nothing but dropped his chin into his hand to watch. He had anticipated the meeting for a long time.

Rassiter stood nearly a foot taller than Entreri, a fact that only added to the wererat’s already cocky attitude. Like so many simpleton bullies, Rassiter often confused size with strength, and looking down at this man who was a legend on the streets of Calimport—and thus his rival—made him think that he had already gained the upper hand. “So, you are the great Artemis Entreri,” he said, contempt evident in his voice.

Entreri didn’t blink. Murder was in his eyes as his gaze followed Rassiter, who still circled. Even Regis was dumbfounded at the stranger’s boldness. No one ever moved so casually around Entreri.

“Greetings,” Rassiter said at length, satisfied with his scan. He bowed low. “I am Rassiter, Pasha Pook’s closest advisor and controller of the docks.”

Still Entreri did not respond. He looked over to Pook for an explanation.

The guildmaster returned Entreri’s curious gaze with a smirk and lifted his palms in a helpless gesture.

Rassiter carried his familiarity even further. “You and I,” he half-whispered to Entreri, “we can do great things together.” He started to place a hand on the assassin’s shoulder, but Entreri turned him back with an icy glare, a look so deadly that even cocky Rassiter began to understand the peril of his course.

“You may find that I have much to offer you,” Rassiter said, taking a cautious step back. Seeing no response forthcoming, he turned to Pook. “Would you like me to take care of the little thief?” he asked, grinning his yellow smile.

“That one is mine, Rassiter,” Pook replied firmly. “You and yours keep your furry hands off him!”

Entreri did not miss the reference.

“Of course,” Rassiter replied. “I have business, then. I will be going.” He bowed quickly and spun to leave, meeting Entreri’s eyes one final time. He could not hold that icy stare—could not match the sheer intensity of the assassin’s gaze—with his own.