"As Kane would make Emelyn feel rather silly and more than a little inept as he avoided all of your magical lightning bolts and fireballs and sprays of all colors of the prism," Riordan was quick to leap to Celedon's defense.

"That strange one mocks us all," Dugald agreed. "But he's too tight to down a belt of brandy, and too absorbed to bed a woman. You have to wonder when it's simply not worth the concentration anymore!"

That brought laughter from all the friends, and all those nearby.

Except from Olwen. The ranger stared at the spot where Kane had disappeared, unblinking, his hands tight on his war axe, his beard wet from chewing his lips.

Two flashes from the monk's jewel, atop the wall, signaled that the way was clear.

"Emelyn and Celedon," Gareth instructed, for that was the usual course this group would take, with the wizard magically depositing the stealthy Celedon to join up with Kane. "A quick perusal and raise the portcullis—"

"I'm going," Olwen interrupted, and stepped before Celedon as the rogue made his way toward the waiting Emelyn. "You take me," the ranger instructed Emelyn.

"It has always been my place," Celedon replied.

"I'm going this time," Olwen said, and there was no compromise to be found in his steady, baritone voice. He looked past Celedon to Gareth. "You grant me this," he said. "For all the years I followed you, for all the fights we've shared, you owe me this much."

The proclamation didn't seem to please any of the friends, and Friar Dugald in particular put on a sour expression, even shook his head.

But Gareth couldn't ignore the stare of his old friend. Olwen was asking Gareth to trust him, and what sort of friend might Gareth be if he would not?

"Take Olwen," Gareth said to Emelyn. "But again, Olwen, your duty is to quickly ensure that the immediate area about the courtyard is secure then raise that portcullis and open those gates. We will all be together when we face Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle, and whatever minions they have hidden inside their castle."

Olwen grunted—as much of a confirmation as Gareth would get—and moved to Emelyn, who, after a concerned look Gareth's way, launched into his spellcasting. Olwen grabbed onto the wizard's shoulder and a moment later, with a flash of purple light, the pair disappeared, stepping through a dimensional doorway to the spot on the wall where Master Kane waited.

In the tunnels of the upper Underdark, far below the construct Jarlaxle had named Castle D'aerthe, the soldiers of Bregan D'aerthe set their camp, along with those fortunate slaves who had not been forced onto the field to face the might of King Gareth. Off to one side of the main group, in a short, dead-end corridor, Kimmuriel and a pair of wizards had already enacted a scrying pool, and by the time Jarlaxle caught up to them, they looked in on various parts of the castle.

Jarlaxle smiled and nodded as the image of Entreri moved through the dark waters of the pool. The assassin had traveled up from the dracolich's lair, back into the upper tunnels, near where he had battled Canthan the wizard.

"He tried to kill you," Kimmuriel said. "We cannot go back immediately, but if he somehow escapes this time, I promise you that Artemis Entreri will fall to a drow blade, or to drow magic."

Jarlaxle was shaking his head throughout the speech. "If he had wanted to kill me, he would have used his wicked little dagger and not his cumbersome sword. He was making a statement—perhaps even one of complete rejection—but I assure you, my old friend, that if Artemis Entreri had truly tried to slay me before the portal, he would now lie dead on the floor."

Kimmuriel cast a doubting, even disappointed look at his associate, but let it go. A wave of his hand over the pool brought a different, brighter image into focus, and the four dark elf onlookers watched the movements of three men.

"It is a moot point anyway," the psionicist said. "I warned you of these enemies."

"Kane," Jarlaxle said. "He is a monk of great renown." One of the drow wizards cast him a confused look. "He fights in the manner of the kuo-toa," Jarlaxle explained. "His weapon is his body, and a formidable weapon it is."

"The second one is the most dangerous," Kimmuriel said, speaking of Emelyn the Gray. "Even by the standards of Menzoberranzan, his magic would be considered powerful."

"As great as Archmage Gromph?" one of the drow wizards asked.

"Do not be a fool," said Kimmuriel. "He is just a human."

Jarlaxle hardly heard it, for his gaze had settled on the third of the group, a man he did not know. While Kane and Emelyn appeared to be searching about cautiously, the other was far more agitated. He held his large axe in both hands before him, and it was quite obvious to Jarlaxle that he desperately wanted to plant it somewhere fleshy. And while Kane and Emelyn kept looking toward, and moving in the direction of, the front gates, the third man's attention had been fully grabbed by the central keep across the courtyard.

Kimmuriel waved his black hand over the pool again, and the image shifted back to Entreri. He was in a chamber Jarlaxle did not recognize, with his back to the wall just beside an upward-sloping tunnel. He had not yet drawn his weapons, but he seemed uneasy, his dark eyes darting about the torchlit tunnels, his hands resting comfortably close to his weapon hilts.

He gave a sudden laugh and shook his head.

"He knows we are watching him," one of the wizards surmised.

"Perhaps he thinks we will come to his aid," remarked the other.

"Not that one," said Jarlaxle. "He saw his choices clearly, and accepted the consequences of his decision." He looked at Kimmuriel. "I told you Entreri was a man of integrity."

"You confuse integrity with idiocy," the psionicist replied. "Integrity is the course of protecting one's own needs for survival, first and foremost. It is the ultimate goal of all wise people."

Jarlaxle nodded, not in agreement, but in the predictability of the response. For that was the way of the drow, of course, where the personal trumped the communal, where selfishness was a virtue and generosity a weakness to be exploited. "Some would consider simple survival the penultimate goal, not the ultimate."

"Those who would are all dead, or soon to be," Kimmuriel replied without hesitation, and Jarlaxle merely continued to nod.

"We cannot get back to help him without great cost," Kimmuriel added, and from his tone alone, Jarlaxle understood that return was not an option in Kimmuriel's mind. The psionicist was not willing to bring Bregan D'aerthe back into the fray, clearly, and from his inflection—and perhaps he had added a telepathic addendum to his statement; Jarlaxle could never be certain with that one! — it was clear to Jarlaxle that if he tried to use the opportunity to assume the mantle of leadership over Bregan D'aerthe once more, and order a return to Entreri's defense, he would be in for a fight.

But Jarlaxle had no such intention. He accepted fate's turn, even if he was not pleased by it.

The courtyard remained visible in the scrying pool, but the three figures had moved out of view. Then movement at the side of the pool revealed one, the anxious man with the axe, as he briefly showed himself. He moved fast, from cover to cover, and given the angle in which he moved out of view again, it was clear that he was making his way fast for the door of the keep.

"Farewell, my friend," Jarlaxle said, and he reached forward and tapped his hand on the still water of the pool. Ripples distorted the image before it blacked out entirely.

"You will return to Menzoberranzan with us?" Kimmuriel asked.

Jarlaxle looked at his former lieutenant and gave a resigned sigh.