Beyond any doubt, he knew.
The shocked drow stepped back, despite the protests of Dahlia.
“You should be long dead,” he said.
“So should you,” Artemis Entreri replied. “I killed you in a crystal tower, in single combat.”
Drizzt’s mind flew back to that moment. Jarlaxle had arranged the duel, in a magical tower chamber full of obstacles-props for the showdown between mortal enemies. Drizzt believed he had the fight won, but Entreri had countered with some magic against which Drizzt, caught so unprepared, had no practical defense. Entreri’s claim was correct: He had killed Drizzt in that tower the last time the two had crossed paths, and crossed swords, and only the intervention of Jarlaxle and his companion, a mighty mind-mage from Menzoberranzan, had brought Drizzt back from the edge of oblivion.
Drizzt had felt deceived by the psionicist’s intervention in that personal duel, and felt it again as he recalled that long-ago day. Apparently Jarlaxle had deceived Entreri as well, for the assassin’s surprise that Drizzt remained alive seemed genuine enough.
“You beat me fairly?” Drizzt had to ask, a wee bit of his pride forcing the question despite their more pressing issue-like what he and Dahlia might do with the likes of a captured Artemis Entreri!
“I beat you because that wretch Kimmuriel lent me his strange psionic power, and he did so without my asking.”
“You admit it?”
Entreri held up his hands helplessly.
Drizzt didn’t know what to think, what to feel. This was Artemis Entreri before him, of that he had no doubt. And yet, strangely, he was not prepared to strike at the assassin. He had no intention of killing Entreri. Drizzt couldn’t yet sort through his feelings at seeing this man who should be long dead, but he recognized those feelings clearly, and if he denied them, he would be a liar, to himself above all others.
He was not unhappy to see Artemis Entreri. Quite the contrary, Drizzt Do’Urden felt somehow relieved, wistful even, to find a remnant of those long ago days standing in front of him. Perhaps it was the recent loss of Bruenor, the last of his old friends, the last of the other Companions of the Hall, that granted Artemis Entreri more leniency than he deserved, and which facilitated more charity than seemed reasonable and sensible, than seemed perhaps even safe, from Drizzt.
“What are you doing?” Dahlia demanded, and her voice became more desperate as Drizzt slid his scimitars away.
“Why are you here?” Drizzt demanded.
Artemis Entreri rubbed his throat and considered the blood on his fingers. He glanced over at Dahlia again and said with complete calm, “To kill her.”
He looked back at Drizzt again, shrugged, and laughed in a self-deprecating way. “That’s what I’ve been told to do, at least.”
“Care to try?” Drizzt asked.
Entreri laughed again and asked, “Why are you here?”
“You expect me to tell you?”
“No need,” Entreri assured him, and he nodded his chin at Dahlia. “Sylora Salm’s champion and I are acquainted, and since Sylora and my master have become mortal enemies, so I’m charged with defeating her champion. You’re here to serve Sylora, which surprises me.” He ended with a little laugh.
Drizzt gave a quick glance over at Dahlia, who remained stone-faced.
“I wouldn’t expect Drizzt Do’Urden to fight in support of Szass Tam, Sylora’s master,” Entreri went on, and now there was a level of taunting entering his tone. “The archlich of Thay, who hates all living creatures. Does Mielikki approve of your choice, or have you seen enough of the world’s darkness to dismiss the pretty lies of gentle souls?”
Again Drizzt looked back at Dahlia, and this time he nodded ever so slightly. Dahlia’s expression remained tight and she shook her head, again slightly, in response.
When Drizzt turned back to Entreri, the drow was grinning.
“I come not to serve Sylora,” the drow explained, “but to kill her.” The assassin tried unsuccessfully to hide his surprise by laughing at him.
“Sylora facilitated the death of Bruenor Battlehammer,” Drizzt said, stealing Entreri’s doubting mirth.
“You have chosen your companion poorly, then,” Entreri said.
“I battled beside Dahlia against Sylora’s minions in Gauntlgrym,” Drizzt replied. “Dahlia is no friend to the sorceress of Thay, nor to Szass Tam.”
“Nor to Shadovar dogs,” Dahlia added, spitting every word, and if she were trying to intimidate the man she knew as Barrabus the Gray, her words had an opposite effect.
“I’m fortunate that I’m no Shadovar, then,” he said lightheartedly.
“Any Netherese will do,” Dahlia assured him.
“I’m fortunate that I’m not Netherese, then,” came the quick retort.
Dahlia narrowed her eyes and studied him curiously, her gaze scanning all areas of his exposed gray skin.
“They pay you well, then,” Drizzt reasoned. “Ever was Artemis Entreri for sale to the highest bidder.”
He was surprised by Entreri’s reaction, the assassin’s face tightening into a grimace, and Drizzt knew immediately that Entreri’s relationship with the Netherese was not a bargain of gold coins. Entreri had claimed he served a master, but Drizzt understood then that it was not by choice.
Entreri stared hard at him.
“What is it?” Drizzt asked.
Entreri didn’t blink.
“If not gold, then what?” Drizzt demanded. He draped his wrists over his sword hilts, a poignant reminder of who held the upper hand. “Why would Artemis Entreri serve the Nether-” He stopped and considered Entreri’s earlier words, a claim that Jarlaxle had betrayed him to the Netherese. Instead of continuing with the line of reasoning, Drizzt looked into the eye of his old enemy and asked, simply, “Why?”
“Because he has my sword,” Entreri admitted after a long pause.
“Khazid’hea?” Drizzt asked, and he was a bit confused, for as far as he knew, that sword was still in the possession of the dark elf To’sun Armgo, who lived in the Moonwood in the Silver Marches.
Entreri considered him with a bit of obvious puzzlement, then nodded, as if realizing something. “You wouldn’t know of Claw,” he explained. “Charon’s Claw, actually. Truly a mighty blade, greater by far than Khazid’hea.”
“And you wish to have it back, so you serve the hateful Empire of Netheril?”
“I wish it destroyed!” Entreri countered angrily, but that fast melted into resignation. He laughed helplessly. “I’m its slave. The Shadovar lord in Neverwinter holds the sword, my sword, and it has taken power over me.” He looked over at Dahlia. “And so I’m compelled to kill you,” he explained with a shrug. “Nothing personal.”
His flippant remark had Dahlia advancing a step, her hands going to her weapons, before Drizzt intercepted her.
“He would prefer death,” the woman protested.
“Indeed!” Entreri agreed, and Drizzt looked at him curiously.
“If you could,” Entreri explained.
“He just had his blade to your throat,” Dahlia reminded the assassin.
“But the sword would just bring me back to fight you again,” Entreri went on, ignoring her. Again he looked past Drizzt to Dahlia, and this time, there was more sadness than cleverness showing on his face.
“You’re a slave to a sword you once possessed?” Drizzt asked.
“If I don’t work to its ends, I’m tormented.” He shook his head. “You cannot imagine the torment, my old nemesis. It would do your mother proud.”
Drizzt scrutinized him closely and understood from the assassin’s truly helpless expression-a visage that seemed so out of place on the face of Artemis Entreri!-that the assassin was not exaggerating.
“And its ends include killing Dahlia?” Drizzt asked.
Entreri shrugged. “That’s part of it.”
“Then you die,” Dahlia interrupted, but Drizzt continued to hold her back, and he silenced her with a look.
“Does Dahlia truly matter?” Drizzt asked, drawing confused expressions from both of the others. “Or is she a means to an end?”
“What are you plotting here?” Dahlia demanded, but Drizzt ignored her.