R.A. Salvatore - Maestro

“You know the answer to that.”

“But I want to hear it from you,” he said. “And of you. Am I your friend, Catti-brie?”

The woman put her hand up to cover Jarlaxle’s, but turned back to watch the waterfall. “You perplex me,” she admitted. “I am never quite sure of your motives or your goals, and yet, those have aligned with my own enough times now that I have come to trust you.”

“As a friend?”

“Yes.” She was surprised by her quick admission, but even in reflection, she couldn’t deny that she did indeed consider Jarlaxle a friend. He always had ulterior motives, of course, but he had never given Catti-brie or any of them any reason to believe that he would betray them. She remembered that day, long, long ago, when she, Drizzt, and Entreri were trying to escape Menzoberranzan only to find Jarlaxle and his band waiting for them in the tunnels.

He had them caught, but let them go.

Certainly Drizzt was fond of the mercenary leader-with caution, of course.

“I have a grand stake in the matter of King Bruenor remaining in control of this wondrous place,” Jarlaxle said with a smile. “I will endeavor to make sure that the drow of Menzoberranzan do not try to displace him, and the trading opportunities this arrangement presents for me … well, let me just say that I am quite pleased that the dwarves have retaken Gauntlgrym.”

Now Catti-brie looked at the mercenary a bit more cautiously. Jarlaxle was ever the opportunist. Could he really facilitate the movement of goods from Menzoberranzan and the surface through Gauntlgrym? Menzoberranzan and Mithral Hall had been mortal enemies-indeed, was it not Menzoberranzan that had spurred the most recent war in the Silver Marches? It was King Bruenor himself who had cleaved the head of Matron Mother Baenre in the Time of Troubles, cementing their enmity.

She stared at Jarlaxle for a long while, and finally understood that he really was thinking of such possibilities. In the end, she just shook her head. If anyone could accomplish such a ridiculously improbable thing, it would be Jarlaxle.

“Where is my husband?” she asked, thinking it time to change the subject-and why had Jarlaxle come here to see her?

“I was told he is patrolling the lower tunnels, as the dwarves attempt to widen their borders.”

Catti-brie nodded. That fit her expectations, though she hadn’t seen Drizzt since they’d split up earlier that morning.

“There are no Xorlarrins out there to concern you,” Jarlaxle added.

“You have seen to that?”

“To some extent, yes. Let us just say that I showed them a better opportunity at this time than some foolish attempt to retake what King Bruenor has secured. I cannot speak for any demons, however. It is my understanding that the Underdark has become thick with the wretched things.”

“What news, then, of the Hosttower?” Catti-brie asked.

“No news,” the mercenary replied.

Again Catti-brie studied him carefully, and when she found no clues there-Jarlaxle stood quite at ease-she bluntly asked, “Why have you come to this place? There is nothing here that concerns you.”

“I disagree, good lady. There is plenty here that concerns me greatly.”

“Me? If so, then perhaps you should get to the point of your visit.”

“More than that,” Jarlaxle said, and he walked over to the edge of the primordial pit, staring down into the watery swirl and to the fiery eye of the beast below the water elementals.

“Perhaps you should stop speaking in cryptic riddles.”

Jarlaxle turned to face her. “Do you know why Artemis Entreri is still alive?” he asked.

The question gave Catti-brie pause. “I do not know why I am still alive,” she replied after a few moments. “Why would I know the cause or purpose of that one’s existence?”

“He was cursed, so we all believed, with his life-force tied to a most wicked and powerful item.”

“The sword, yes,” the woman replied. “Drizzt came with him and Dahlia to this very place, so that Entreri could throw the weapon into the pit to be devoured by the primordial.”

“Believing he would also be destroyed.”

“But he was not,” said Catti-brie. “So it was not the sword after all.”

“Unfortunately, I believe it was,” said Jarlaxle.

“The sword was destroy-” Catti-brie’s declaration caught in her throat and she walked over to stand next to Jarlaxle.

“Was it?” he asked.

Catti-brie looked into the pit, and viewing the orange glow at the bottom, she could keenly feel the insatiable hunger of the great fiery beast. With hardly a thought to the movement, she ran the tips of the thumb and index finger of her right hand over the band she wore on her left.

“If not, it is irretrievable in any case,” she said, “swallowed by the molten stone that gives the primordial form.”

“Are you sure?” Jarlaxle asked.

“What are you proposing?”

“Have you ventured down there?” the drow asked. “You have a bond with the great beast, it is clear. It speaks to you through the ring you wear, and in the voice of the Elemental Plane of Fire, which you understand. So have you gone down there to be near the beast, to better see it, to better know it?”

Catti-brie balked and stepped back from the ledge, but kept her incredulous stare on Jarlaxle. Down there below the water elementals, she would be at the mercy of the primordial. Whatever protective magic she might don, the mighty creature could still swallow her and force her deep into its molten gullet.

“It wouldn’t kill you, though, would it?” Jarlaxle asked. “Not while you wear the ring. You have given the trapped primordial an outlet for its frustrations. It has shown you its secrets and lent you wisps of living flame. It led you to the ancient portal and helped you turn that staff you carry into something more potent.”

“And perhaps it knows that I am trying to keep it forever sealed in its hole,” she retorted.

Jarlaxle shrugged. “Perhaps. But how can you remain so near to such beauty and preternatural power and not be curious?”

“I never said I wasn’t curious.”

“You are not a coward. Of that I am certain.”

“Enough of your games, Jarlaxle!” the woman demanded. “What do you want?”

The mercenary drow reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a large gauntlet, one that seemed far too large to have fit in the pouch, which of course must be magical. Was anything on or about Jarlaxle not magical? Catti-brie wondered. He showed it to Catti-brie, then tossed it to her.

“This is a sister item to the sword Charon’s Claw,” he explained. “Necessary protection from the deadly magic of the weapon.”

“You expect me to go down into that pit and retrieve the sword, which is almost certainly not there?”

“If it is not there, then at least we will know, and then Entreri can rest easy that his longevity is not tied to the sword.”

Catti-brie tossed the gauntlet back. “You are not without magic. Go and get it yourself.”

“It is Catti-brie who has bonded with the primordial. Catti-brie who understands the beast. Catti-brie who has determined that we must act to keep the volcano dormant and what that action must be to achieve such an end. It is Catti-brie, not Jarlaxle, who carries a gift from the primordial, and who coaxes elementals from the flames of the beast’s tendrils.”

“And it is Catti-brie who is wise enough to respect the power of the beast,” she said.

Jarlaxle laughed and bowed. “There is another reason for my request, I admit,” he said, and he tossed the gauntlet back to her as she looked at him curiously. “You claim to know the beast-we are all counting upon your judgment to guide us to a solution for the future dangers you have foretold-but how certain are you of what you have determined? How well do you really know this creature, this living volcano? You have met its offspring and touched its outer edges, but you have not faced it directly. I have spoken to Archmage Gromph about this and we are in agreement. You should face the primordial directly. You should stand before it and let it reveal to you more of its secrets. It may be our only hope in reconstructing the magic that will keep it in place.”