The Servant of the Shard Read online

  Jarlaxle was waiting for him on the second floor of the tower in a round room sparsely adorned with two chairs and a small desk. The mercenary leader stood across the way, directly opposite the doorway through which Entreri entered. Jarlaxle put himself as far, Entreri noted, as he could be from the approaching assassin.

  “Greetings,” Entreri said.

  Jarlaxle, curiously wearing no eye patch this day, tipped his broad-brimmed hat and asked, “Why have you come?”

  Entreri looked at him as if surprised by the question, but turned the not-so-secret notion in his head to one appearing as an ironic twist: Why have I come indeed!

  Jarlaxle’s uncharacteristic scowl told the assassin that the Crystal Shard had heard those thoughts and had communicated them instantly to its wielder. No doubt, the artifact was now telling Jarlaxle to dispose of Entreri, a suggestion the mercenary leader was obviously resisting.

  “Your course is that of the fool,” Jarlaxle remarked, struggling with the words as his internal battle heightened. “There is nothing here for you.”

  Entreri settled back on his heels, assuming a pensive posture. “Then perhaps I should leave,” he said.

  Jarlaxle didn’t blink.

  Hardly expecting one as cunning as Jarlaxle to be caught off guard, Entreri exploded into motion anyway, a forward dive and roll that brought him up in a run straight at his opponent.

  Jarlaxle grabbed his belt pouch—he didn’t even have to take the artifact out—and extended his other hand toward the assassin. Out shot a line of pure white energy.

  Entreri caught it with his red-stitched gauntlet, took the energy in, and held it there. He held some of it, anyway, for it was too great a power to be completely held at bay. The assassin felt the pain, the intense agony, though he understood that only a small fraction of the shard’s attack had gotten through.

  How powerful was that item? he wondered, awestruck and thinking that he might be in serious trouble.

  Afraid that the energy would melt the gauntlet or otherwise consume it, Entreri turned the magic right back out. He didn’t throw it at Jarlaxle, for he hardly wanted to kill the drow. Entreri loosed it on the wall to the dark elf’s side. It exploded in a blistering, blinding, thunderous blow that left both man and dark elf staggering to the side.

  Entreri kept his course straight, dodging and parrying with his blade as Jarlaxle’s arm pumped, sending forth a stream of daggers. The assassin blocked one, got nicked by a second, and squirmed about two more. He then came on fast, thinking to tackle the lighter dark elf.

  He missed cleanly, slamming the wall behind Jarlaxle.

  The drow was wearing a displacement cloak, or perhaps it was that ornamental hat, Entreri mused, but only briefly, for he understood that he was vulnerable and came right around, bringing Charon’s Claw in a broad, ash-making sweep that cut the view between the opponents.

  Hardly slowing, Entreri crashed straight through that visual barrier, his straightforwardness confusing Jarlaxle long enough for him to get by—and properly gauge his attack angle this time—close enough to work his own form of magic.

  With skills beyond those of nearly any man alive, Entreri sheathed Charon’s Claw, drew forth his dagger in his gloved hand, and pulled out his replica pouch with his other. He spun past Jarlaxle, deftly cutting the scrambling drow’s belt pouch and catching it in the same gloved hand, while dropping the false pouch at the mercenary’s feet.

  Jarlaxle hit him with a series of sharp blows then, with what felt like an iron maul. Entreri went rolling away, glancing back just in time to pick off another dagger, then to catch the next in his side. Groaning and doubled over in pain, Entreri scrambled away from his adversary, who held, he now saw, a small warhammer.

  “Do you think I need the Crystal Shard to destroy you?” Jarlaxle confidently asked, stooping over to retrieve the pouch. He held up the warhammer then and whispered something. It shrank into a tiny replica that Jarlaxle tucked up under the band of his great hat.

  Entreri hardly heard him and hardly saw the move. The pain, though the dagger hadn’t gone in dangerously far, was searing. Even worse, a new song was beginning to play in his head, a demand that he surrender himself to the power of the artifact he now possessed.

  “I have a hundred ways to kill you, my former friend,” Jarlaxle remarked. “Perhaps Crenshinibon will prove the most efficient in this, and in truth, I have little desire to torture you.”

  Jarlaxle clasped the pouch then, and a curious expression crossed his face.

  Still, Entreri could hardly register any of Jarlaxle’s words or movements. The artifact assailed him powerfully, reaching into his mind and showing such overwhelming images of complete despair that the mighty assassin nearly fell to his knees sobbing.

  Jarlaxle shrugged and rubbed the moisture from his hand on his cloak, and produced yet another of his endless stream of daggers from his enchanted bracer. He brought it back, lining up the killing throw on the seemingly defenseless man.

  “Please tell me why I must do this,” the drow asked. “Was it the Crystal Shard calling out to you? Your own overblown ambitions, perhaps?”

  The images of despair assailed him, a sense of hopelessness more profound than anything Entreri had ever known.

  One thought managed to sort itself out in the battered mind of Artemis Entreri: Why didn’t the Crystal Shard summon forth its energy and consume him then and there?

  Because it cannot! Entreri’s willpower answered. Because I am now the wielder, something that the Crystal Shard does not enjoy at all!

  “Tell me!” Jarlaxle demanded.

  Entreri summoned up all his mental strength, every ounce of discipline he had spent decades grooming, and told the artifact to cease, simply commanded it to shut down all connection to him. The sentient artifact resisted, but only for a moment. Entreri’s wall was built of pure discipline and pure anger, and the Crystal Shard was closed off as completely as it had been during those days when Drizzt Do’Urden had carried it. The denial that Drizzt, a goodly ranger, had brought upon the artifact had been wrought of simple morality, while Entreri’s was wrought of simple strength of will, but to the same effect. The shard was shut down.

  And not an instant too soon, Entreri realized as he blinked open his eyes and saw a stream of daggers coming at him. He dodged and parried with his own dagger, hardly picking anything off cleanly, but deflecting the missiles so that they did not, at least, catch him squarely. One hit him in the face, high on his cheekbone and just under his eye, but he had altered the spin enough so that it slammed in pommel first and not point first. Another grazed his upper arm, cutting a long slash.

  “I could have killed you with the return bolt!” Entreri managed to cry out.

  Jarlaxle’s arm pumped again, this dagger going low and clipping the dancing assassin’s foot. The words did register, though, and the mercenary leader paused, his arm cocked, another dagger in hand, ready to throw. He stared at Entreri curiously.

  “I could have struck you dead with your own attack,” Entreri growled out through teeth gritted in pain.

  “You feared you would destroy the shard,” Jarlaxle reasoned.

  “The shard’s energy cannot destroy the shard!” Entreri snapped back.

  “You came in here to kill me,” Jarlaxle declared.

  “No!”

  “To take the Crystal Shard, whatever the cost!” Jarlaxle countered.

  Entreri, leaning heavily back against the wall now, his legs growing weak from pain, mustered all his determination and looked the drow in the eye—though he did so with only one eye, for his other had already swollen tightly closed. “I came in here,” he said slowly, accentuating every word, “making you believe, through the artifact, that such was my intent.”

  Jarlaxle’s face screwed up in one of his very rare expressions of confusion, and his dagger arm began to slip lower. “What are you about?” he asked, his anger seemingly displaced now by honest curiosity.

  “They are coming fo
r you,” Entreri vaguely explained. “You have to be prepared.”

  “They?”

  “Rai-guy and Kimmuriel,” the assassin explained. “They have decided that your reign over Bregan D’aerthe is at its end. You have exposed the band to too many mighty enemies.”

  Jarlaxle’s expression shifted several times, through a spectrum of emotions, confusion to anger. He looked down at the pouch he held in his hand.

  “The artifact has deceived you,” Entreri said, managing to straighten a bit as the pain at last began to wane. He reached down and, with trembling fingers, pulled the dagger out of his side and dropped it to the floor. “It pushes you past the point of reason,” he went on. “And at the same time, it resents your ability to …”

  He paused as Jarlaxle opened the pouch and reached in to touch the shard—the imitation item. Before he could begin again, Entreri noted a shimmering in the air, a bluish glow across the room. Then, suddenly, he was looking out as if through a window, at the grounds of Dallabad Oasis.

  Through that portal stepped Rai-guy and Kimmuriel, along with Berg’inyon Baenre and another pair of Bregan D’aerthe soldiers.

  Entreri forced himself to straighten, growled away the pain, knowing that he had to be at his best here or he would be lost indeed. He noted, then, even as Rai-guy brought forth a curious-looking lantern, that Kimmuriel had not dismissed his dimensional portal.

  They were expecting the tower to fall, perhaps, or Kimmuriel was keeping open his escape route.

  “You come unbidden,” Jarlaxle remarked to them, and he pulled forth the shard from his pouch. “I will summon you when you are needed.” The mercenary leader stood tall and imposing, his gaze locked onto Rai-guy. His expression was one of absolute competence, Entreri thought, one of command.

  Rai-guy held forth the lantern, its glow bathing Jarlaxle and the shard in quiet light.

  That was it, Entreri realized. That was the item to neutralize the Crystal Shard, the tip in the balance of the fight. The intruders had made one tactical error, the assassin knew, one Entreri had counted on. Their focus was the Crystal Shard, as well as it should have been, along with the assumption that Jarlaxle’s toy would be the dominant artifact.

  You see how they would deny you, Entreri telepathically imparted to the artifact, tucked securely into his belt. Yet these are the ones you call to lead you to deserved glory?

  He felt the artifact’s moment of confusion, felt its reply that Rai-guy would disable it only thereby to possess it, and that …

  In that instant of confusion, Artemis Entreri exploded into motion, sending a telepathic roar into Crenshinibon, demanding that the tower be brought crumbling down. At the same time he leaped at Jarlaxle and drew forth Charon’s Claw.

  Indeed, caught so off its guard, the shard nearly obeyed. A violent shudder ran through the tower. It caused no real damage, but was enough of a shake to put Berg’inyon and the other two warriors, who were moving to intercept Entreri, off their balance and to interrupt Rai-guy’s attempt to cast a spell.

  Entreri altered direction, rushing at the closest drow warrior, batting the sword of the off-balance dark elf aside and stabbing him hard. The dark elf fell away, and the assassin brought his sword through a series of vertical sweeps, filling the air with black ash, filling the room with confusion.

  He dived toward Jarlaxle into a sidelong roll. Jarlaxle stood transfixed, staring at the shard he held in his hand as if he had been betrayed.

  “Forget it,” the assassin cried, yanking Jarlaxle aside just as a hand crossbow dart—poisoned, of course—whistled past. “To the door,” he whispered to Jarlaxle, shoving him forward. “Fight for your life!”

  With a growl, Jarlaxle put the shard in his pouch and went into action beside the slashing, fighting assassin. His arm flashed repeatedly, sending a stream of daggers at Rai-guy, where they were defeated, predictably, by a stoneskin enchantment. Another barrage was sent at Kimmuriel, who merely absorbed their power into his kinetic barrier.

  “Just give it to them!” Entreri cried unexpectedly. He crashed against Jarlaxle’s side, taking the pouch back and tossing it to Rai-guy and Kimmuriel, or rather past the two, to the far edge of the room beyond Kimmuriel’s magic door. Rai-guy turned immediately, trying to keep the mighty artifact in the glow of his lantern, and Kimmuriel scrambled for it. Entreri saw his one desperate chance.

  He grabbed the surprised Jarlaxle roughly and pulled him along, charging for Kimmuriel’s magical portal.

  Berg’inyon met the charge head on, his two swords working furiously to find a hole in Entreri’s defenses. The assassin, a rival of Drizzt Do’Urden, was no stranger to the two-handed style. He neatly parried while working around the skilled drow warrior.

  Jarlaxle ducked fast under a swing by the other soldier, pulled the great feather from his magnificent hat, put it to his lips, and blew hard. The air before him filled with feathers.

  The soldier cried out, slapping the things away. He hit one that did not so easily move and realized to his horror that he was now facing a ten-foot-tall, monstrous birdlike creature—a diatryma.

  Entreri, too, added to the confusion by waving his sword wildly, filling the air with ash. He always kept his focus, though, kept moving around the slashing blades and toward the dimensional portal. He could easily get through it alone, he knew, and he had the real Crystal Shard, but for some reason he didn’t quite understand, and didn’t bother even to think about, he turned back and grabbed Jarlaxle again, pulling him behind.

  The delay brought him some more pain. Rai-guy managed to fire off a volley of magic missiles that stung the assassin profoundly. Those the wizard had launched Jarlaxle’s way, Entreri noted sourly, were absorbed by the broach on the band in his hat. Did this one ever run out of tricks?

  “Kill them!” Entreri heard Kimmuriel yell, and he felt Berg’inyon’s deadly sword coming in fast at his back.

  Entreri found himself rolling, disoriented, out onto the sand of Dallabad, out the other side of Kimmuriel’s magical portal. He kept his wits about him enough to keep scrambling, grabbing the similarly disoriented Jarlaxle and pulling him along.

  “They have the shard!” the mercenary protested.

  “Let them keep it!” Entreri cried back.

  Behind him, on the other side of the portal, he heard Rai-guy’s howling laughter. Yes, the drow wizard thought he now possessed the Crystal Shard, the assassin realized. He’d soon try to put it to use, no doubt calling forth a beam of energy as Jarlaxle had done to the fleeing spy. Perhaps that was why no pursuit came out of the portal.

  As he ran, Entreri dropped his hand once more to the real Crystal Shard. He sensed that the artifact was enraged, shaken, and understood that it had not been pleased when Entreri had gone near to Jarlaxle, thus bringing it within the glow of Rai-guy’s nullifying light.

  “Dispel the magical doorway,” he commanded the item. “Trap them and crush them.”

  Glancing back he saw that Kimmuriel’s doorway, half of it within the province of Crenshinibon’s absolute domain, was gone.

  “The tower,” Entreri instructed. “Bring it tumbling down and together we will construct a line of them across Faerun!”

  The promise, spoken so full of energy and enthusiasm, offering the artifact the very same thing it always offered its wielders, was seized upon immediately.

  Entreri and Jarlaxle heard the ground rumbling beneath their feet.

  They ran on, across the way to a campground beside the small pond of Dallabad. They heard cries from behind them, from soldiers of the fortress, and the cries of astonishment before them from traders who had come to the oasis.

  Those cries only multiplied when the traders saw the truth of the two approaching, saw a dark elf coming at them!

  Entreri and Jarlaxle had no time to engage the frightened, confused group. They ran straight for the horses that were tethered to a nearby wagon and pulled them free. In a few seconds, with a chorus of angry shouts and curses behind them, the duo char
ged out of Dallabad, riding hard, though Jarlaxle looked more than a little uncomfortable atop a horse in bright daylight.

  Entreri was a fine rider, and he easily paced the dark elf, despite his posture, which was bent over and to the side in an attempt to keep his blood from flowing freely.

  “They have the Crystal Shard!” Jarlaxle cried angrily. “How far can we run?”

  “Their own magic defeated the artifact,” Entreri lied. “It cannot help them now in their pursuit.”

  Behind them the first tower crashed down, and the second toppled atop the first in a thunderous explosion, all the binding energies gone, and all the magic fast dissipating to the wind.

  Entreri held no illusions that Rai-guy and Kimmuriel, or their henchmen, had been caught in that catastrophe. They were too quick and too cunning. He could only hope that the wreckage had diverted them long enough for he and Jarlaxle to get far enough away. He didn’t know the extent of his wounds, but he knew that they hurt badly, and that he felt very weak. The last thing he needed then was another fight with the wizard and psionicist or with a swordsman as skilled as Berg’inyon Baenre.

  Fortunately, no pursuit became evident as the minutes turned to an hour, and both horses and riders had to slow to a stop, fully exhausted. In his head, Entreri heard the chanting promises of Crenshinibon, whispering to him to construct another tower then and there for shelter and rest.

  He almost did it and wondered for a moment why he was even thinking of disagreeing with the Crystal Shard, whose methods seemed to lead to the very same goals that he now held himself.

  With a smile of comprehension that seemed more a grimace to the pained assassin, Entreri dismissed the notion. Crenshinibon was clever indeed, sneaking always around the edges of opposition.

  Besides, Artemis Entreri had not run away from Dallabad Oasis into the open desert unprepared. He slipped down from his horse, to find that he could hardly stand. Still, he managed to slip his backpack off his shoulders and drop it to the ground before him, then drop to one knee and pull at the strings.

  Jarlaxle was soon beside him, helping him to open the pack.