R.A. Salvatore - Maestro

“Ah, Braelin, my friend,” he said quietly, dodging back as the drider came on fearlessly. “I fear this will prove my greatest gift to you of all.”

And with that, Jarlaxle nodded.

Charon’s Claw took a drider leg, and before Braelin even tipped that way, a lightning arrow hit him in the back of the neck. He stumbled and swerved, seven legs skittering wildly to keep him upright, his head lolling from side to side.

A second arrow plunged into his back. Entreri got underneath enough to prod Charon’s Claw into the drider’s spidery belly, spilling ichor.

Braelin tumbled against the wall and folded over, struggling mightily, but futilely.

Drizzt put the bow up and Entreri backed away, both allowing Jarlaxle to move in for the final blow.

“Ah, Braelin,” the mercenary said, kicking aside the spear and moving in close to regard his old companion.

The drider grabbed at him, even got his hands around Jarlaxle’s throat.

But only until Jarlaxle’s fine-edged sword sliced into Braelin’s heart.

Jarlaxle stood up and gave a sigh.

Noise down the corridor behind revealed pursuit, and so the three ran off, out the door and onto the web bridges that fronted House Melarn.

They didn’t descend, and if they had, they would have found an organized ambush awaiting them.

“Use the emblems,” Jarlaxle instructed.

When the three were able to levitate, the mercenary led them off along the western wall of the great cavern, toward the sound of fighting on the balconies of House Do’Urden.

Back by the doorway on the bridge of webs, the drider heaving his dying breaths behind them, Yvonnel and Yiccardaria watched the three depart. Behind them, studying the dying abomination, K’yorl seemed quite amused.

“The champion battle should be singular,” the handmaiden instructed, and Yvonnel nodded.

“That human has been in the city before,” said Yiccardaria.

“I know, from the memories of the Eternal. He is Artemis Entreri.”

“It is a small world after all,” said Yiccardaria. “And one rich with the simple beauty of coincidence.”

Yvonnel looked at her curiously.

“Artemis Entreri,” the handmaiden prompted. “There is history with House Horlbar.”

Yvonnel got the reference then, and chuckled.

“So you have not forgotten.”

Yvonnel laughed louder. “Beautiful indeed!” she replied. In his escape from Menzoberranzan those many years ago-thirteen decades and more-Artemis Entreri had encountered one of the two Matron Mothers of House Horlbar, a woman named Jerlys, and had promptly and efficiently dispatched her.

Jerlys Horlbar was Matron Mother Zhindia Melarn’s mother.

“Matron Mother Zhindia’s daughter, the young priestess Yazhin, was in the bloodied war room,” Yiccardaria explained. “And she, too, fell to Artemis Entreri.”

“And Lolth will not allow her resurrection?”

“Lolth cannot.”

That brought a surprised look from Yvonnel.

“The human carries a most awful and effective dagger,” Yiccardaria explained. “Matron Mother Zhindia will learn that there is nothing left of Yazhin, no soul, to resurrect.”

Yvonnel nodded and looked at the now-distant departing trio. “And Kyrnill will be in the room before Zhindia, no doubt,” she said. “Perhaps Zhindia will blame her rival for her inability to bring back her dead daughter.”

“Chaos is a beautiful thing,” said the handmaiden. “Full of excitement, the very edge of existence.”

Yvonnel looked back, and stuttered. Yiccardaria had become again a yochlol in form, ugly and without symmetry, tentacles waving and dripping ooze.

“We will be watching with great amusement,” Yiccardaria promised in her bubbly, watery, mud-filled voice, and with that, she melted away.

Yvonnel light-stepped past the puddle of Abyssal mud left in the departing yochlol’s wake, back into the corridor.

“Come, my pet,” she told K’yorl. “I will give you the image of House Do’Urden and show you where to bring us.”

As K’yorl began to fall within herself, within her psionic powers, a death rattle issued from crumpled Braelin.

“Wait!” ordered Yvonnel. She moved fast to the drider and began casting, and in moments, Braelin’s breath came easier, as Yvonnel healed his mortal wounds.

And then Yvonnel did something else, something she wasn’t supposed to do, something she wasn’t supposed to be able to do, and K’yorl gasped in recognition and in horror.

Even she understood the blasphemy.

And the sheer power.

A trio of warriors dropped upon the battle raging on the balcony of House Do’Urden.

They had been up on the wall, levitating and pulling themselves along until they were above the balcony. And there they had waited, sorting out the combatants, determining Do’Urden defenders from the invading Hunzrin warriors. Hands flashed the silent drow code, the three coming to agreement and tactics.

Down they went, landing in the midst of the Hunzrin line, exploding into coordinated motion before the enemy drow even realized they were there. A blurring dance of four masterful swords, a jeweled dagger, and a stream of magical daggers fed into Jarlaxle’s free hand by his enchanted bracer soon broke the center of that Hunzrin line so brutally, so efficiently, that the remaining invaders wanted no part of this whirling cyclone of death.

More went over the balcony railing than continued to fight, and with the Do’Urden garrison pressing from the room beyond, Jarlaxle and his companions soon confronted the House defenders, a group that clearly didn’t know what to make of them.

“Step aside, you fools!” Jarlaxle insisted, and he dropped his magical disguise and revealed himself. “Your salvation has arrived!”

Gasps and cheers followed the trio through the anteroom, and many of the garrison moved to follow.

“This is your post,” Entreri said, turning back on them and pointing to the balcony. “The enemy will likely return! Do not let them through this door!”

They ran through the second anteroom, and into the winding corridor within the house proper, and there the trio almost crashed into Faelas Xorlarrin.

“The Xorlarrins and Tiago should be soon to this place,” Faelas warned the Bregan D’aerthe leader. “I received a magical whisper from Jaemas that they had just dispatched Melarni driders.” He pointed down to the right and motioned for them to be away quickly.

Jarlaxle nodded and patted the wizard on the shoulder, starting away, Entreri close behind.

“Tiago?” Drizzt asked, his lips curling into a snarl.

“Pray go,” Faelas said, shaking his head. “And be quick!”

But Drizzt didn’t move, and his hands tightened on the handles of his bloody scimitars.

“Not now!” Jarlaxle scolded, moving back a step.

Entreri took it even farther, leaping back to grab Drizzt by the arm. “Dahlia!” he said, and he pulled Drizzt along.

Drizzt went, but kept glancing back, hoping they would be too slow and Tiago Baenre would catch up to them.

They found few guards and no enemies along the crisscrossing corridors, and through many chambers.

“We can wind about the chapel and approach from the rear of the compound,” Jarlaxle explained.

“This way,” corrected Drizzt, and he kicked through a side door opposite of Jarlaxle’s instruction. He moved with purpose and with confidence. It was all coming back to him, and he felt as if he had never left this place, his first home.

He could almost hear his sister Vierna’s voice as he stormed through the familiar rooms, and down a secret passageway that even Jarlaxle had not yet discovered. The passageway was small and tight, one that child Drizzt had often run along to frustrate his violent sisters.