"Why, but I am hurt, Artemis," Jarlaxle said, and he feigned a wound, throwing his forearm dramatically across his brow. "Never would I abandon an ally."

Entreri offered a doubting smirk.

"Indeed, when I had heard that Calihye had been grabbed from her room at the Vaasan Gate by Knellict and the Citadel…" Jarlaxle began, but he stopped short and let the weight of the proclamation hang there for a few moments, let Entreri's eyes go wide with alarm.

"Traveling to Knellict's lair was no minor expedition, of course," Jarlaxle went on.

"Where is she?" the assassin asked.

"Safe and roomed at the tavern down the road, of course," Jarlaxle replied. "Never would I abandon an ally."

"Knellict took her?"

"Yup yup," said Athrogate. "And yer bald hunk o' coal friend took Knellict's head and put it on Gareth's dais, he did. Bwahaha! Bet I'd've liked to see Lady Christine's nose go all crinkly at that!"

Entreri stared hard at Jarlaxle, who swept a low bow. "Your lady awaits," he said. "The three of us are bound to be gone from the Bloodstone Lands within the tenday, on pain of death, but we can spare a day, I expect. Perhaps you can persuade Lady Calihye that her road runs with ours."

Entreri continued to stare. He had no answers. When he had forced Jarlaxle through Kimmuriel's magical gate in the bowels of the castle, he had expected that he would never see the drow again, and all of what followed, his release, the dwarf, the news about Calihye, rushed over him like a breaking ocean wave. And as it receded, pulling back, it dragged him inexorably along with it.

"Go to her," Jarlaxle said quietly, seriously. "She will be pleased to see you."

"And while ye're stayin' and gots to be playin', meself is thinkin' I got to be drinkin'!" Athrogate roared with another great burst of foolish laughter.

Entreri's eyes shot daggers at Jarlaxle. The drow just motioned toward the tavern.

Jarlaxle and Athrogate watched Entreri disappear up the stairs of the Last Respite, the most prominent inn of Bloodstone Village, which boasted of clean rooms, fine elven wine and an unobstructed view of the White Tree from every balcony.

Both the dwarf and the drow were known in the village, of course, for Athrogate's morningstars had made quite an impression on the folk at the Vaasan Gate, just to the north, and Jarlaxle was, after all, a drow!

The glances that came their way that day, however, were ones full of suspicion, something that didn't escape the notice of either of the companions.

"Word of Gareth's pardon has not yet reached them, it seems," Jarlaxle remarked, sliding into a chair against the far wall of the common room.

" 'Tweren't no pardon," Athrogate said. "Though I'm not for thinking that a banishing from the Bloodstone Lands is a bad thing. Not with the Citadel lookin' to pay ye back for Knellict and all."

"Yes, there is that," said the drow. He hid his smile in a motion to the barmaid.

The two had barely ordered their first round—wine for the drow and honey mead for the dwarf—when a couple of Jarlaxle's acquaintances unexpectedly walked in through the Last Respite's front door.

"Ain't many times I seen ye lookin' surprised," Athrogate remarked.

"It is not a common occurrence, I assure you," Jarlaxle replied, his eyes never leaving the new arrivals, a pair of sisters who, he knew, were much more than they seemed.

"Ye got a fancy, do ye?" Athrogate said, following that gaze, and he gave a great laugh that only intensified as the two women moved to join them.

"Lady Ilnezhara and dear Tazmikella," Jarlaxle said, rising politely. "I meant to speak with you in Heliogabalus on my road south out of the realm."

There were only three chairs around the small table, and Tazmikella took the empty one, motioning for Jarlaxle to sit down. Ilnezhara looked at Athrogate.

"We must speak with Jarlaxle," she told the dwarf.

"Bwahaha!" Athrogate bellowed back. "Well, I'm for listening! Ain't like he can make the both of ye grin, now can—?"

He almost finished the question before Ilnezhara grabbed him by the front of the tunic, and with just one hand, hoisted him easily into the air and held him there.

Athrogate sputtered and wriggled about. "Here now, drow!" he said. "She's got an arm on her! Bwahaha!"

Ilnezhara glared at him, and the fact that almost everyone in the tavern stared at the spectacle of a lithe woman holding a heavily armored, two-hundred-pound dwarf up in the air at the end of one slender arm seemed not to disturb her in the least.

"Now, pretty girl, I'm guessin' ye got yerself a potion or a spell, mighten even a girdle like me own," Athrogate said. "But I'm also thinking that ye'd be a smart wench to know yer place and put me down."

Jarlaxle winced.

"As you wish," Ilnezhara replied. She glanced around, seeking a clear path, and with a flick of her wrist, launched the dwarf across the common room where he crashed through an empty table and took it and a couple of chairs hard into the wall with him.

He leaped up, enraged, but his eyes rolled and he tumbled down in a heap.

Ilnezhara took his seat without a second look at him.

"Please don't break him," said Jarlaxle. "He cost me greatly."

"You are leaving our employ," Tazmikella said.

"There is no choice in the matter," replied the drow. "At least not for me. Your King Gareth made it quite clear that his hospitality has reached its limit."

"Through no fault of your own, no doubt."

"Your sarcasm is well placed," Jarlaxle admitted.

"You have something we want," Ilnezhara said.

Jarlaxle put on his wounded expression. "My lady, I have given it to you many times." He was glad when that brought a smile to Ilnezhara's face, for Jarlaxle knew that he was treading on dangerous ground, and with extremely dangerous characters.

"We know what you have," Tazmikella cut in before her sister and the drow could get sidetracked. "Both items—one from Herminicle's tower, and one from the castle."

"The more valuable one from the castle," Ilnezhara agreed.

"Urshula would agree," Jarlaxle admitted. "This Witch-King who once ruled here was a clever sort, indeed."

"Then you admit possession?"

"Skull gems," said Jarlaxle. "A human one from the tower, that of a dragon from the castle, of course. But then, you knew as much when you dispatched me to Vaasa."

"And you acquired them?" reasoned Ilnezhara.

"Both, yes."

"Then give them over."

"There is no room for bargaining in this," Tazmikella warned.

"I don't have them."

The dragon sisters exchanged concerned glances, and turned their doubtful stares at Jarlaxle.

Across the room, Athrogate pulled himself up to his knees and shook his hairy head. Still wobbly, he gained his feet, and staggered a step back toward the table.

"To escape King Gareth, I had to call upon old friends," said Jarlaxle. He paused and looked at Ilnezhara. "You are well versed in divine magic, are you not?" he asked. "Cast upon me an enchantment to discern whether I am speaking the truth, for I would have you believe my every word."

"The Jarlaxle I know would not readily part with such powerful artifacts," Ilnezhara replied. Still, she did launch into spellcasting, as he had requested.

"That is only because you do not know of Bregan D'aerthe."

"D'aerthe? Is that not what you named your castle?" Tazmikella asked as soon as her sister finished and indicated that her dweomer was complete.

"It is, and it was named after a band of independent… entrepreneurs from my homeland of Menzoberranzan. I called upon them, of course, to escape King Gareth's army, and to facilitate the release of Lady Calihye from the Citadel of Assassins."

"We heard that you delivered Knellict's head to Gareth," said Tazmikella.