Jarlaxle glanced at Kimmuriel and chuckled. Then suddenly, almost crazily, he retracted the blade and danced back from Knellict.

"But it does not need to be like this," Jarlaxle said. "I am a businessman, first and foremost. I want something and so I shall have it, but there is no reason that Knellict, too, cannot gain here."

"Am I to trust—"

"Have you a choice?" Jarlaxle interrupted. "Look around you. Or are you one of those wizards who is brilliant with his books but perfectly idiotic when it comes to understanding the simplest truism of the people around him?"

Knellict straightened his robes.

"Ah, yes, you are the second leader of a gang of assassins, so the latter cannot be true," said Jarlaxle. "Then, for your sake, Knellict, prove yourself now."

"You would seem to hold all of the bargaining power."

"Seem?"

Knellict narrowed his gaze.

Jarlaxle turned to one of his wizards, the one who still stood beside Kimmuriel while the other continued to ransack Knellict's desk. The drow leader looked around, then nodded toward the wizard trapped on the wall.

The wizard walked over and began to cast an elaborate and lengthy spell. Soon into it, Kimmuriel focused his psionic powers on the casting drow, heightening his concentration, strengthening his focus.

"What are you…" Knellict demanded, but his voice died away when all of the dark elves turned to eye him threateningly.

"I tell you this only once," Jarlaxle warned. "I need something that I can easily get from you. Or…" He turned and pointed at the terrified, flailing wizard on the wall. "I can take it from him. Trust me when I tell you that you want me to take it from him."

Knellict fell silent, and Jarlaxle motioned for his wizard and psionicist to resume.

It took some time, but finally the spellcaster completed his enchantment, and the poor trapped wizard glowed with a green light that obscured his features. He grunted and groaned behind that veil of light, and he thrashed even more violently behind the trapping goo.

The light faded and all went calm, and the man hanging on the wall had transformed into an exact likeness of Archmage Knellict.

"Now, there are conditions, of course, for my mercy," said Jarlaxle. "We do not lightly allow other organizations to pledge allegiance to Bregan D'aerthe."

Knellict seemed on the verge of an explosion.

"There is a beauty to the Underdark," Jarlaxle told him. "Our tunnels are all around you, but you never quite know where, or when, we might come calling. Anytime, any place, Knellict. You cannot continually look below you, but we are always looking up."

"What do you want, Jarlaxle?"

"Less than you presume. You will find a benefit if you can but let go of your anger. Oh, yes, and for your sake, I hope the Lady Calihye is still alive."

Knellict shifted, but not uneasily, showing Jarlaxle that she was indeed.

"That is good. We may yet fashion a deal."

"Timoshenko speaks for the Citadel of Assassins, not I."

"We can change that, if you like."

The blood drained from Knellict's face as the enormity of it all finally descended upon him. He watched as one of the drow warriors approached the wizard who bore his exact likeness.

A crossbow clicked and the man who looked exactly like Knellict soon quieted in slumber.

Mercifully.

"All hail the king," Entreri said when the door of his cell opened and Gareth Dragonsbane unexpectedly walked in. The king turned to the guard and motioned for him to move away.

The man hesitated, looked hard at the dangerous assassin, but Gareth was the king and he could not question him.

"You will forgive me if I do not kneel," Entreri said.

"I did not ask you to do so."

"But your monk could make me, I suppose. A word from his mouth and my muscles betray me, yes?"

"Master Kane could have killed you, legally and without inquiry, and yet he did not. For that you should be grateful."

"Saved for the spectacle of the gallows, no doubt."

Gareth didn't answer.

"Why have you come here?" Entreri asked. "To taunt me?" He paused and studied Gareth's face for a moment, and a smile spread upon his own. "No," he said. "I know why you have come. You fear me."

Gareth didn't answer.

"You fear me because you see the truth in me, don't you, King of Damara?" Entreri laughed and paced his cell, a knowing grin splayed across his face, and Gareth followed his every step warily, with eyes that reflected a deep and pervading turmoil.

"Because you know I was right," Entreri continued. "In your audience chamber, when the others grew outraged, you did not. You could not, because my words echoed not just in your ears but in your heart. Your claim is no stronger than was my own."

"I did not say that, nor do I agree."

"Some things need not be spoken. You know the truth of it as well as I do—I wonder how many kings or pashas or lords know it. I wonder how many could admit it."

"You presume much, King Artemis."

"Don't call me that."

"I did not bestow the title."

"Nor did I. Nor does it suit me. Nor would I want it."

"Are you bargaining?"

Entreri scoffed at him. "I assure you, paladin king, that if I had a sword in hand, I would willingly cut out your heart, here and now. If you expect me to beg, then look elsewhere. The fool monk can bring me to my knees, but if I am not there of my own choosing, then calling it begging would ring as hollow as does your crown, yes?"

"As I said, you presume much. Too much."

"Do I? Then why are you here?"

Gareth's eyes flared with anger, but he said nothing.

"An accident of birth?" Entreri asked. "Had I been born to your mother, would I then be the rightful king? Would your mighty friends rally to my side as they do yours? Would the monk exercise his powers over an enemy of mine at my bidding?"

"It is far more complicated than that."

"Is it?"

"Blood is not enough. Deed—"

"I killed the dracolich, have you forgotten?"

"And all the deeds along your road led you to this point?" Gareth asked, a sharp edge creeping into his voice. "You have lived a life worthy of the throne?"

"I survived, and in a place you could not know," Entreri growled back at him. "How easy for the son of a lord to proclaim the goodness of his road! I am certain that your trials were grand, heir of Dragonsbane. Oh, but the bards could fill a month of merrymaking with the tales of thee."

"Enough," Gareth bade him. "You know nothing."

"I know that you are here. And I know why you are here."

"Indeed?" came the doubtful reply.

"To learn more of me. To study me. Because you must find the differences between us. You must convince yourself that we are not alike."

"Do you believe that we are?"

The incredulity did not impress Entreri. "In more ways than his majesty wishes to admit," he said. "So you come here to learn more in the hope that you will discern where our paths and characters diverge. Because if you cannot find that place, Gareth, then your worst fears are realized."

"And those would be?"

"Rightful. The rightful king. An odd phrase, that, don't you agree? What does it mean to be the rightful king, Gareth Dragonsbane? Does it mean that you are the strongest? The most holy? Does your god Ilmater anoint you?"

"I am the descendant of the former king, long before Damara was split by war."

"And if I had been born to your parents?"

Gareth shook his head. "It could not have been so. I am the product of their loins, of their breeding and of my heritage."

"So it is not just circumstance? There is meaning in bloodlines, you say?"

"Yes."

"You have to believe that, don't you? For the sake of your own sanity. You are king because your father was king?"