R.A. Salvatore - Maestro

Jarlaxle sighed and seemed at a loss, though only for a moment, of course. He was, after all, Jarlaxle. “Kimmuriel,” he said with a wry grin.

Faelas nodded.

“His magical abilities are apart from their wards,” Jarlaxle reasoned. “In the days of House Oblodra, the greatest Houses always held a measure of fear and watchfulness for Matron Mother K’yorl, for she and her mind-magic minions could walk past their wards.”

Thinking he had found the answer, Jarlaxle grinned more widely and nodded at his own cleverness. Until he got to the scowling Gromph.

“I will reduce him to ash,” the archmage promised, and there was no compromise or debate to be found in his tone. “Yes, dear Jarlaxle, do go find him.”

All four of the others took a cautious step back from the sheer weight of the threat.

“He was your instructor in what you most desired,” Jarlaxle dared to reply.

“Was,” said Gromph. “And he betrayed me.”

“You do not know that.”

Gromph glared at him.

“Am I to believe that mighty Gromph Baenre considers himself to have been used as a puppet by Kimmuriel?” Jarlaxle answered. “You think it was Kimmuriel who tricked you into casting a spell beyond your control, one that brought the great Demogorgon into the tower of Sorcere?”

“There are many times when Jarlaxle speaks too much,” Gromph warned.

“But that cannot be,” Jarlaxle pressed anyway. “How can Kimmuriel have had knowledge of that kind of power? To summon the Prince of Demons? Every matron mother in the city would have murdered her own children to find such a secret.”

“Most matron mothers would do so simply for the pleasure of it,” Entreri remarked under his breath, so that only Drizzt could hear.

“To summon a power that cannot be controlled?” Faelas asked doubtfully.

“Yes, because such a threat alone would elevate the summoner!” Jarlaxle insisted. “It matters not if House Baenre, or Barrison Del’Armgo, or Xorlarrin, or any of the others would also be consumed in the process. A matron mother possessing the power to call forth the greatest of demonkind would dominate the Ruling Council by mere threat! Besides, such an act would be to the pleasure of Lolth, the Lady of Chaos. Is not Demogorgon the epitome of chaos, even among his own frenzied kind?

“No, it could not have been Kimmuriel,” Jarlaxle finished.

“You deflect and dodge!” Gromph declared. Then he added with finality, “If I find your Oblodran stooge, I will destroy him.”

When Jarlaxle started to respond, Gromph held up a finger, just a finger, and it was enough of a warning to lock Jarlaxle’s retort into his throat.

“You should be leaving,” Gromph said to Jarlaxle and his two warrior companions a few uncomfortable heartbeats later. “You have a long walk ahead of you.”

“Your own journey will prove no less trying,” Jarlaxle replied to his brother.

“Farewell. Perhaps we will meet again soon,” Faelas said, and he began casting a spell that would transport him back to the waiting Sos’Umptu.

Gromph, too, began casting the spell that would return him to Luskan, but not until offering a derisive snicker at the trio of travelers.

“Always a pleasant one,” Entreri said when the wizards were gone.

“It will be his death,” Jarlaxle noted. “Someday.”

“Not soon enough,” Entreri muttered.

“The way is full of demons,” Drizzt reminded them both.

“We’ll be fighting every day,” Entreri agreed, “and likely will find little rest when we pause our journey to eat or sleep. Would it have been too much trouble for Gromph or the other one to have magically brought us nearer to the city, at least?”

“The matron mothers are watching for such spells,” Jarlaxle said as they started off once more. “Who knows how far their scrying eyes might extend?”

“Even here?” Entreri remarked, glancing around as if expecting the might of Menzoberranzan to descend upon him then and there. Drizzt, too, shuffled nervously, but when he looked at the nonchalant Jarlaxle he found some peace.

“This was the appointed meeting place,” Jarlaxle explained to the others. “No one is more careful than Archmage Gromph, and no one is less inclined to have a visit with the matron mothers. I trust that we were properly warded from any prying eyes.”

“But going forward?” Drizzt asked.

“They are looking for magic. We’ll be using little, so it seems.” Jarlaxle paused and turned his gaze aside, a sudden thought taking his attention. “We will eventually need Kimmuriel,” he explained after a few moments. “And not just to help us get into the city-perhaps we can accomplish that on our own. But Dahlia’s mind is twisted, her thoughts are wound like a writhing pile of worms. The only person who can hope to unravel that is Kimmuriel. Rescuing Dahlia without that resource would do us little good. Better in that event that we simply and mercifully end her life.”

Drizzt glanced sideways at Entreri as Jarlaxle spoke and noted the man’s profound grimace.

“So just call to him now then and let us be done with this,” an agitated Entreri said. “And save us the pain of the march.”

It wasn’t about the march at all, Drizzt knew, or about any demons that might rise to block their path. Entreri had to get to Dahlia and had to learn if she could be saved. His tone suggested that he merely wanted to rid himself of the inconvenience, that he had better things to do with his time. But were that the case, why would he even be with them now?

“We are in less of a hurry than your impatience demands,” Jarlaxle answered. “Let us search the tunnels about Menzoberranzan and devise our plans, perhaps?”

“Battling fiends all the way?” Entreri asked.

Jarlaxle laughed, but Drizzt caught something behind that dismissive gesture. And then it hit him: Jarlaxle didn’t know how they were going to accomplish this mission. Jarlaxle, the maestro who prepared for every eventuality, who never stepped along the roads of a journey without complete preparation, was truly at a loss.

And had been since the beginning.

Jarlaxle took the point and started away, and Drizzt held Entreri back a bit so that he could ask, “Have you ever seen him like this? So unsure?”

“Consider where we’re going,” Entreri replied. “And consider that the whole of Menzoberranzan is on its highest guard right now. Would you believe his confidence if he pretended as much?”

Drizzt couldn’t disagree with that. Menzoberranzan was shut down, the drow locking out the demons and monitoring every movement about the city. If their task to sneak in and steal Dahlia away had seemed difficult before, it surely seemed impossible now.

Foolhardy.

Suicidal.

Jarlaxle was uneasy-that much was clear-because he now lacked information about his adversaries. Lack of knowledge was never Jarlaxle’s way.

They were still going, though, each putting one foot in front of the other on the winding way into the deeper Underdark. Perhaps Jarlaxle was already considering ways in which he might correct his lack of understanding and accordingly adjust his course. Perhaps he would find the solutions.

Drizzt had to believe that, had to hope for that, because he wasn’t about to turn back either. His friendship to Dahlia, his debt to Jarlaxle, and surprisingly, his relationship to Artemis Entreri would demand no less of him that he try.

“We always knew this would be difficult,” he said to Entreri as they made their way along in Jarlaxle’s wake.

Up ahead, there came a demonic shriek, followed by a sharp whistle from Jarlaxle.

Already the fiends had found them once more.

“Some things we knew,” Entreri corrected with an angry snort. But he drew Charon’s Claw and his jeweled dagger and rushed ahead.