He slept uneasily though, for in his heart, Mariabronne suspected that this time the remnant of Zhengyi might be something more.
You are a Paladin of Bloodstone, after all.
Ellery couldn't prevent a wince from tightening her features at that remark, for it was not yet true—and might never be, she knew, though many others, like Dannaway, apparently did not. Many in her family and among the nobles awaited the day when she would demonstrate her first miracle, laying on hands to heal the wounded, perhaps. None of them doubted it would happen soon, for the woman held a sterling reputation and was descended from a long line of such holy warriors.
Ellery's other friends, of course, knew better.
Well away from the general, she moved from foot to foot, betraying her nervousness.
"I can defeat him if need be," she told the thin man standing in the shadow of the wall's angular jag. "I have taken the measure of his skill and he is as formidable as you feared."
"Yet you believe you can kill him?"
"Have you not trained me in exactly that art?" the woman replied. "One strike, fatal? One move, unstoppable?"
"He is superior," came the thin voice of the thin man, a scratching and wheezing sound, but strangely solid in its confident and deathly even tone.
Ellery nodded and admitted, "Few would stand against him for long, true."
"But Ellery is among those few?"
"I do not make that claim," she replied, trying hard to not sound shaken. Then she added the reminder, as if to herself and not to the thin man, "My axe has served me well, served King Gareth well, and served you well."
That brought a laugh, again wheezy and thin, but again full of confidence—well-earned confidence, Ellery knew.
"An unlikely continuum of service," he observed. She could see the man's smirk, stretching half out of the shadows. "You do not agree?" asked the thin man, and Ellery, too, smirked and found humor in the irony.
Few would see the logic of her last statement, she realized, because few understood the nuance of politics and practicality in Damara and Vaasa.
"Speak it plainly," the thin man bade her. "If the need arises, you are confident that you can defeat the drow elf, Jarlaxle?"
The woman straightened at the recriminating tone. She didn't glance around nervously any longer, but stared hard at her counterpart.
"He has a weakness," she said. "I have seen it. I can exploit it. Yes. He will not be able to defeat that which you have trained me to execute."
The thin man replied, "Ever were you the fine student."
Emboldened, Ellery bowed at the compliment.
"Let us hope it will not come to that," the thin man went on. "But they are a hard pair to read, this drow and his human companion."
"They travel together and fight side by side, yet the human seems to hold the black-skinned one in contempt," Ellery agreed. "But I see no weakness there that we might exploit," she quickly added, as her counterpart's countenance seemed to brighten with possibility. "A blow against one is a blow against both."
The thin man paused and absorbed that reasoning for a short while, and she was far from certain he agreed.
"The ranger is an excitable one," he said, shifting the subject. "Even after twenty years of hunting the Vaasan wilderness, Mariabronne is easily agitated."
"This is a relic of Zhengyi he has discovered. Many would consider that reason to become agitated."
"You believe that?"
"Wingham believes that, so says Mariabronne, and not for the purposes of making a deal, obviously, or the half-orc opportunist would have quietly sold the artifact."
That had the thin man leaning back more deeply into the shadows, the darkness swallowing almost all of his fragile form. He brought his hands up before him, slender fingertips tap-tapping together.
"Wingham is no fool," the shadowy figure warned.
"He knows magic, if nothing else," Ellery replied. "I would trust his judgment on this."
"So Zhengyi left a book," muttered the thin man, "a book of power."
"A book of creation, so says Mariabronne."
"You will go to Palishchuk?"
"I will."
"With an appointed escort of your choosing?"
"Of course. Mariabronne will lead a small group in the morning."
"You know whom to choose?"
Ellery didn't even try to hide her surprise when she said, "You wish a place on the caravan?"
The thin man tapped his fingers together a few more times, and in the shadows, Ellery could see him nodding.
"Your exploits have not gone unnoticed," Ellery said to Jarlaxle that night, back in Muddy Boots and Bloody Blades.
"If they had, I would be deeply wounded," the drow replied, tipping his glass and offering a lewd wink.
Ellery blushed despite herself, and Jarlaxle thought her red hair only accentuated the sudden color in her cheeks.
"I travel to Palishchuk tomorrow," she said, composing herself.
"I have heard of this place, Palishchuk—half-orcs, correct?"
"Indeed, but quite civilized."
"We should celebrate your departure."
"Our departure."
That caught the drow off his guard, but of course, he didn't show it.
"I am assembling a troupe to make the journey," she explained. "Your exploits have not gone unnoticed."
"Nor have they been accomplished alone."
"Your friend is invited as well."
As she spoke of Entreri, the pair of them turned together to regard the man who stood beside the bar, a mug of ale growing warm on the counter before him, and his typical background sneer hidden just behind his distanced expression. He wore his gray cloak back over one shoulder, showing the fine white shirt that Ilnezhara had given him before the journey to the Vaasan Gate and also revealing the jeweled hilt of his fabulous dagger, sheathed on his hip. It did not escape the attention of Jarlaxle and Ellery that those around Entreri were keeping a respectful step back, were affording him more personal space than anyone else in the bar.
"He has that quality," Jarlaxle mused aloud.
He continued to admire Entreri even as Ellery looked at him for an explanation. But the drow didn't bother to voice his observation. Entreri was far from the largest man in the tavern and had made no aggressive moves toward anyone, yet it was obvious that those around him could sense his strength, his competence. It had to be his eyes, Jarlaxle presumed, for the set of his stare spoke of supreme concentration—perhaps the best attribute of a true warrior.
"Will he go?" the drow heard Ellery ask, and from her tone, it was apparent to him that it was not the first time she had posed the question.
"He is my friend," Jarlaxle replied, as if that description settled everything. "He would not let me walk into danger alone."
"Then you agree?"
Jarlaxle turned to her and grinned wickedly. "Only if you promise me that I will not be cold in the night wind."
Ellery returned his smile then placed her drink down on the table beside them.
"At dawn," she instructed, and she started away.
Jarlaxle grabbed her arm and said, "But I am cold."
"We are not yet on the road," she said.
Ellery danced from his grasp and moved across the floor and out of the tavern.
Jarlaxle continued to grin as he considered her curves from that most advantageous angle. The moment she was out of sight, he snapped his gaze back at Entreri and sighed, knowing the man would resist his persuasion, as always. It was going to be a long night.