But he did see one face among the crowd, in the back and over by the door, which he could not ignore.
"Davis Eng?" he asked when he arrived by Calihye's side.
"Resting well," she curtly replied. "He nearly died when the gargoyles attacked the town, but I was there."
"Ever the hero."
Calihye turned a glare over him. "That would be your title, would it not?"
"We asked you to come along."
"To lie dead beside Ellery, no doubt."
Entreri merely smiled, bowed, and took his leave.
The cheering faded behind him as he walked out into the Palishchuk night. He was alone with his feelings, including a few that he hadn't even known he possessed. He pictured Arrayan's face then thought of Dwahvel Tiggerwillies. He considered his anger, his hurt, when Arrayan had professed her love to Olgerkhan.
Why had he felt that? Why so keenly?
He admitted to himself that he was indeed attracted to Arrayan, but he had been to Ellery and Calihye, as well, on that level. He didn't love the half-orc—how could he, when he didn't truly know her?
It all had him shaking his head, and as he considered it, with time to think and reflect, with no danger pressing and no distractions, he found his answer.
He drew out Idalia's flute and stared at it, then gave a helpless little laugh.
So, the dragon sisters—and his drow friend, no doubt—had conspired to manipulate him.
Strangely, at that moment of reflection, Artemis Entreri was not angry with them.
A wagon rolled out of Palishchuk three days later, carrying Entreri and Jarlaxle, Calihye, Athrogate, and Davis Eng. A handful of Palishchuk soldiers had agreed to serve as guards and drivers. Behind it came a second wagon, bearing the bodies of Pratcus and Commander Ellery. Of Mariabronne, they hadn't found enough to bury, and Canthan's lower torso, though supposedly retrieved by the Palishchuk guards who had returned to the castle, had not been placed in the cart. Whispered rumors said that it had been claimed and removed in quiet the day before, but even the ever-suspicious Jarlaxle and Entreri had put little credence in the confused reports.
"You would be wise to keep all curiosity seekers out of the castle," Jarlaxle told Wingham, who stood with Arrayan and Olgerkhan and a much older half-orc, who had been introduced as an old and renowned bard. "The book is destroyed, so the place should be dead, by all reasoning. But it was a Zhengyian artifact, after all, and we do not know what other surprises the Witch-King left in place."
"The soldiers who went in have told everyone of the fate of Pratcus," Wingham replied, "and that there was apparently no treasure to be found. The castle will remain as it is until King Gareth can send an appropriate force to investigate."
"Farewell then," the drow said with a low bow and a sweep of his great hat. "Expect my return here at Palishchuk, at a time when I might more fully peruse and enjoy the town."
"And you will be welcomed, Jarlaxle," Arrayan put in. "Though we'll not likely see you until the spring melt."
Jarlaxle smiled at her and held up the magical ring she had given him, on his request that he might study it further and perhaps replace its lost companion. Arrayan had no problem in handing it over after Wingham had agreed, for neither knew that Jarlaxle already had the sister ring in his possession. As soon as the others had left that room of battle, a quick spell had shown Jarlaxle its location, and the drow was never one to let such items go to waste.
"Winter is fast approaching," Wingham said. "But then, up here, winter is always fast-approaching, if it is not already here!"
"And you will be welcomed, as well, Artemis Entreri," Olgerkhan added.
Entreri locked stares with the half-orc then turned his gaze over Arrayan. Her smile was warm and friendly, and full of thanks.
Entreri reached into his cloak and pulled forth the flute of Idalia, then looked back to the pair. Feeling Jarlaxle's curious gaze upon him, he turned to the drow.
There was apprehension there, and Entreri got the sense that his friend was about to be quite disappointed.
He held up the flute but didn't toss it to Olgerkhan, as he had intended.
"Perhaps I will learn to play it well enough to entertain you upon my return," he said, and he saw the smile widen on Jarlaxle's dark face.
Entreri wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"I would like that," said Arrayan.
The wagons rolled away. Artemis Entreri spent a long time staring back at the half-orcs, and a long time letting his hands feel the craftsmanship of Idalia's work.
The rest of the day proved uneventful. Even Jarlaxle was quiet and left Entreri pretty much alone. They set their camp for the night, and Entreri chose one of the wagon benches as his bed, mostly because then no one was likely to sleep too close to him. He wanted very much to be alone again and only wished that he had been far enough away from all the others that he might take up the flute and try to learn more of its magic.
He found himself wishing he could be even farther away when, a short while into the quiet night, Calihye climbed up to stand beside him.
At first, he feared she might make a move against him. His dagger in hand, he knew he could easily defeat and kill her, but he did not wish to do that.
"The road will not be clear tomorrow," the half-elf said to him.
Entreri put on a puzzled look and swung around to sit up.
"Before mid-day, perhaps sooner, we will find pursuit, a band of riders coming with questions and accusations," she explained.
"What do you know?"
"The Citadel of Assassins wishes to know about Canthan," Calihye explained. "He was no minor player in that dark association, and now he is dead. Rumors say by your hands."
"Rumors say many things."
"Olgerkhan told of his near-death experience in the castle. He told of a dagger and of the fall of Canthan. Many ears beyond the small group of friends sitting beside the half-orc heard that tale."
Entreri stared at her hard.
"Archmage Knellict is not Canthan," Calihye went on. "Whatever success you found against that wretch will not easily be replicated where Knellict is concerned. Nor will he come alone, and the men beside him will not be novices to the art of murder."
"Why are you telling me this?"
The woman stared at him for a long while. "I will not live indebted to Artemis Entreri," she said and turned away.
Not for the first time, Entreri was glad that he had not killed her.
Dawn was still long away when Entreri and Jarlaxle moved out from the wagons.
"The word is 'Blackfire, " Jarlaxle explained as he handed the obsidian figurine over to his companion.
"Black—" Entreri started to ask, but the drow interrupted him with an upraised hand and a word of warning.
"Do not speak the summons until you are ready to ride," Jarlaxle explained. "And place the figurine on the ground before you do, for it will summon an equine beast from the lower planes to serve you. I found it on the body of Mariabronne—a curious item for a goodly ranger of the Army of Bloodstone to carry."
Entreri started at him, then at the figurine.
"So if you are ready, we should go," Jarlaxle said.
"You will ride behind me?"
"Beside you," said the drow, and from yet another of his many pouches, he produced an identical item.
Entreri couldn't find the heart to even shake his head.
The cries of the nightmares split the night, awakened the others at the wagons, and reminded those who were supposed to be guarding the troupe that they were supposed to be guarding the troupe. By the time any of them got to the south side of the encampment, though, Entreri and Jarlaxle were long gone.