Savage Curses 3

Chapter Three

Entreri expected a white flash, but all that happened was that he awakened in the last place he remembered being:  a low couch in the Maranelli Guild penthouse.  He sighed and pushed himself in to a sitting position, something that wasn't as easy as it used to be.  He was sixty years old now, and he'd packed on forty pounds, making him overweight but not obese.

Still, he could most certainly tell the difference forty pounds made; he lost his breath in fights sometimes.  However, he had no motivation to change his lot.  Life held no meaning for him. Besides, he was a lieutenant in the Maranelli Guild, so he was plenty rich enough to eat and drink what he liked when he liked.  

And that was exactly why he had a hangover.

Entreri groaned at the sharp pain in his head.  Fortunately, the curtains were drawn over the windows, so the light wasn't too bad.  He struggled to his feet, sighed, and headed toward the dining hall.  He had no idea what time it was, but it didn't matter.  The kitchen staff knew to feed him whenever he so desired it.  He might not be a great swordsman anymore, but that didn't mean he couldn't still kill people.  Being average now meant he was on par with the other fighters in the guild.  That kept him alive, even if it irked his soul to have slowed down and lost his edge.

The dining room proved to be empty.  Entreri hiked up his breeches - his belt had trouble keeping them up on his rounded belly - and then plopped into a chair.  A minute later, a young man showed up and took his order.  Entreri ordered toast and water.  He needed something plain to calm his stomach with, after all.

As he waited, Entreri held his pounding head in his hands.  He really knew better than to get into the dwarven whiskey, but it had been his birthday - or rather the day he'd picked out to be his birthday, given he had no idea when it was.  Since turning sixty was not something he wanted to celebrate, he'd done his best to erase the day with alcohol.  Pasha Maranelli had been more than happy to drink along with him.  A good drink was all the two really could share, given they didn’t see eye-to-eye, but Maranelli benefited too much from Entreri's reputation to do away with him.  And despite Entreri's age, he'd managed to keep his reputation intact.

However, that didn't mean that Entreri wasn't aware of the young guildsmen snickering behind his back, calling him fossilized and fat.  One of them would come for him soon, and he wondered if he cared enough to stop the assassin when he struck.  Probably not.  The whole reason he was in a guild in Memnon instead of Calimport was because he had never been able to overcome his failures in Calimport, but he'd never wanted to return to Memnon.  But here he was, old, fat, and miserable.

His senses weren't so far gone that he didn't hear the approach of booted feet, though.  He raised his head and, to his utter shock, found Jarlaxle standing by him, complete with purple hat, oversized white feather, high-cut vest, and multi-colored cape.

Jarlaxle grinned at him, and Entreri blurted the first thing that came to mind:  "You haven't aged a day!"  But that was silly, of course.  Jarlaxle was an elf.  Two decades were nothing to an elf.

"You have, my friend," Jarlaxle drawled.  He was carrying a ferret-headed cane, which he twirled with one hand.  "And not for the better, I might add."

Entreri snorted.  "I'm human.  I'm old.  These things happen."

Jarlaxle shook his head.  "Sixty does not spell automatic doom for a human - not if you remain active and in shape."  He looked Entreri up and down.  "Which you have not.  And that is why I am here:  to rescue you from your miserable life.  This is not you.  This is not what you wanted, and it's time for you to wake up."

"There are many things I didn't want in my life," Entreri groused.  "My life went haywire the moment I accepted Pasha Pook's job to track down Regis.  I just didn't know it."

Jarlaxle thunked the head of his cane on the table.  "There is no reason for you to not take your life back, even at this stage in the game.  It's only too late when you're dead.  You were meant for more than this, my friend.  You're a great warrior capable of great adventures!"

Entreri stared up at the drow.  "I was a great warrior."  The days of his greatness had passed through his fingers along with his youth.

"Are," Jarlaxle said.  He grinned again.  "What if I told you that you could alter your entire fate with a single decision?"

"And what would that decision be?"

Jarlaxle pointed his cane at the door into the kitchen.  "Walk through that door."

Pasha Maranelli walked through the door into the dining hall as though Jarlaxle's words had summoned him.  "I think not."

Entreri tensed.  Something about this situation wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.  However, he knew one thing for sure:  Maranelli's being here was bad news. Pasha Maranelli was almost half Entreri's age, slim and fit, and he was an accomplished battle mage.  Given that Entreri no longer had Charon's Claw and the gauntlet, he never wanted to fight the man.  He also didn't want Jarlaxle to have to fight him.  Maranelli had taken the guild through his strength, talents, and wit.  He was not one to mess with.

"Oh?" Jarlaxle drawled, clearly sizing up the man before him.

"Indeed," Maranelli said, smirking.  He tossed his head, making his long, black ponytail sway.  "Artemis Entreri belongs to me.  I let him remain here as my lieutenant because of what power his reputation brings me, but we both know that it is an indulgence on my part.  He is fat, lazy, and old.  I keep him supplied with food and liquor and a comfortable place to lay his head, and he keeps my upstart recruits in line.  I assure you, he is not for sale."

Jarlaxle's eyes narrowed dangerously.  "You're right.  He is not for sale - because he is not anyone's property."  He looked back at Entreri.  "Take back control.  Walk through that door.  You must trust me on that, my friend.  If you will only walk through that door, all this will end."

Entreri stood then, but it wasn't to move to the door.  It was because he knew Maranelli would attack.  "Watch yourself," he hissed.

But Maranelli had already begun weaving signs.  Three bolts of blue lightning crashed through the room, and Entreri hurled himself at Jarlaxle, knocking them both to the floor.  The spell blasted through the wall behind them.  

Entreri rolled off Jarlaxle and struggled to his feet.  Jarlaxle was faster, however, hopping back up and snapping out a wand.  He released a blast of ice at Maranelli, who defeated it with a flash of fire.  

"To the door!" Jarlaxle yelled, whipping out a second wand and unleashing a spray of acid at Maranelli.  The pasha dodged and wove new hand signs, summoning a massive bear that charged Jarlaxle.

Entreri began to feel as though what he witnessed wasn't real.  He didn't know why the door was so important, but the detail nagged at his mind.  He slipped around the table, heading for the kitchen.

Jarlaxle hailed the bear with daggers, but it charged him, crashing into him with heavy swipes of its huge paws.  The drow howled as the gashes on his chest erupted with blood.  Entreri somehow felt that the last of his hope was dying with Jarlaxle, and he couldn't bear to watch his former friend die.  If there was any way to end this by going through that door, then he would.

While Maranelli was still distracted, he ran for the door, yanking it open.

Then, suddenly, he was stumbling into a cold dungeon hallway.  A perfectly intact Jarlaxle was leaning against the opposite wall, looking much like Entreri felt:  blasted.

Jarlaxle caught him and steadied him.

"For all the Nine Hells," Entreri muttered.  He couldn't help patting himself down compulsively, making sure he wasn't fat or old.  Finding he was still fit and trim, he exhaled heavily.  Then he eyed Jarlaxle.  "Are you unharmed?"

Jarlaxle gave him a ghost of a smile. "Perfectly. Though I must admit my ego is bruised by the vision I was forced to endure by Fannagrin's spell."

"Not only yours," Entreri said, frowning.  "It would seem each room has a theme, considering we keep implying that our experiences are similar.  This room must have been the ego-busting one."

"Fannagrin wished intruders to turn back, no matter what the cost," Jarlaxle agreed. "Each room gets successively worse, targets a more vital weakness in the mind of the interloper. I would guess, based on my experience, that this room was intended to show such a dark future that the trapped individual would be driven insane."  He shook his head. "Truly, at his peak, Fannagrin was a powerful wizard."

Entreri nodded in agreement to both assessments.  "If each room gets worse, I admit I'm not looking forward to what happens next.  The vision of a dark future was disturbing, to say the least."

"We should rest," Jarlaxle said. "Get sleep if possible. Sleep replenishes the mind. We are going to need all of our mental defenses up to face the next room successfully."

Entreri saw the logic in that.  He'd heard that sleep was more for the mind than the body, and certainly he felt mentally battered.  He withdrew the tent from his belt pouch and tossed it to the floor, telling it to grow.  Once it filled the hall, he ordered it to stop and ducked inside.  He took off his weapon belt, boots, and cloak, setting them aside, and reclined on the blanket.  The tent was much warmer than the dungeon given it was a separate dimension.

Jarlaxle sighed in relief as he entered. He divested himself of his outer garments and took off his boots, then made himself comfortable on a blanket on the other side of the tent, as usual. He curled up on his side and used his arm as a pillow. "A few hours of sleep will make all the difference. I am in no hurry to rush into mental peril without proper precautions."  I hope to stay at your side.  I certainly would never sacrifice you, he thought but didn’t say.  

He definitely needed the sleep.

"Indeed."  Entreri closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  The last two illusions had both shown Jarlaxle being hurt horribly - raped or killed.  That the illusions would choose that theme bothered him for several reasons, not the least of which was the suggestion implicit there:  his feelings were changing.  Deepening.  He was not used to feeling empathy or horror on another's behalf.  He had lost that capacity as a child, he had thought.  But here it was, and it all pointed to an overwhelming conclusion:  friendship.

He hoped his feelings were not misplaced.

xXx

Jarlaxle woke several hours later, feeling refreshed and calmer. He sat up and pulled out jerky and crackers. Now that he'd rested, he was also hungry. Entreri was still lying down, but Jarlaxle didn't think the assassin was necessarily sleeping.

He washed his food down with water from his canteen and reflected on how far they'd come:  From associates to partners to friends. From the first illusion of monsters to the grueling experience of living a false life.

The Cleansing Stone had to be worth it. He had to make good on his belief that being cut free from Lloth would change his ability to keep his friends.

He didn’t want to lose Artemis Entreri.

Entreri stretched and sat up, pulling out his rations as well.  He was hungry, after all, and he had no doubt that he'd be using a lot of energy in the next few hours.  The jerky was too salty, and the crackers were a touch stale.  However, Entreri ultimately didn't care.  Food was food.  He washed it down with water and then looked to Jarlaxle.  "Shall we?"

Jarlaxle nodded, and they stood, redressing quickly.  The drow lifted up the flap of the tent and allowed Artemis to exit first, then exited himself. He watched the tent shrink under Entreri's command.

Soon, everything will be over, Jarlaxle told himself. We'll leave. I'll be free to make my life what I want it to be, and Artemis and I will continue our adventures.

Entreri stowed the tent, then gestured for Jarlaxle to lead the way.  After all, he was the one with the magical dust.

Jarlaxle walked to the door as if nothing horrifying lay beyond it and opened it. He grinned at Artemis to cover how he really felt and pulled out his pouch. "Away we go." He blew the dust into the room and watched light flare. A sense of calm and confidence washed over him. We're close. I can feel it.

Suddenly, he was outside, dry heat licking at his skin, bright sky overhead, and dunes stretched out before him until all detail melted into the horizon.

They had finally returned to Calimshan, he realized. Elation surged in his chest. I've done it. We've made our return. In his heart, he'd always wanted to return Artemis Entreri to Calimshan, for he suspected that Entreri truly felt Calimshan was home.

Entreri was standing with his back to Jarlaxle, staring out over the desert.  Then he turned to Jarlaxle with a frown.  He drew a wooden flute from his belt and snapped it in half, tossing it at Jarlaxle's feet.  Then he pulled the bolero from his head and tossed it at Jarlaxle as well.  "Farewell, Jarlaxle.  Or fare ill. I care not which."

Jarlaxle stared at his friend, all of his elation draining. He could hardly breathe. "Farewell?"  But you've faced the darkness in your past, just as I intended. You've come out on top. You know now that nothing can hold you back, that pain doesn't mean you can't do whatever you want to do. You know your potential. You know - "We're friends," Jarlaxle said. He grabbed Entreri's hat and took a step forward. "We are and have always been friends."

Entreri glared at him.  "Friends?  Friends do not manipulate each other.  Friends do not make mockeries of each other.  King Artemis the First?  Really?"  He gestured to the flute.  "Or a magical item that mentally rapes me?  Or forcing me into a battle with a dracolich and then leaving me to defeat it alone?  Just which act of friendship are you referring to, my 'friend?'"

Jarlaxle's jaw fell slack as he realized he remembered these incidents. But . . . it cannot be. His stomach turned. "I cannot have. I would never - " He stopped short, his smile strained. "This isn't real, is it? This is an illusion. This isn't happening. I am sure of it. We were in a dungeon. A dungeon of illusions. Somewhere there is a door. Artemis, you must help me find it."

Around them were nothing but dunes and sky. He took a few steps in one direction, then another, hardly knowing where to begin. He glanced at his companion. "Artemis, help. Quickly."

Entreri cocked his head. "I think that has to be the weakest ploy I've seen you use yet."  He pulled a figurine of a horse from his belt pouch - the summoning item Jarlaxle had given him.  "Once I had thought that perhaps I could count you as a friend.  If you'd not decided you were my superior in every way, daring to judge yourself a better person than I, maybe we could have been.  But you felt you had to teach me the error of my ways, only to reveal the error of yours.  You are not, nor have you ever been, my friend.  My manipulator, my game master, and my enslaver, yes.  But never my friend."  He set the figurine on the ground and summoned the magical horse.

Jarlaxle froze, stunned, the accusations filling him with pain. "You cannot believe . . . You don't believe what you're saying." He felt like he couldn’t breathe the hot air. "Better than you? When did I ever believe that? Our friendship isn't about which one of us is better than the other. It is our shared interests and our shared understanding."

He knew he risked death, and he still stepped between Artemis and the magical steed. "This is not what it seems! We faced false memories before. Please, khal abbil, question your feelings. Does any of this sound like me? Why would I abandon you to a dracolich when I faced Hephaestus with you? Why would I attempt to give you power when what you wish for most is friendship? Why would I seek to manipulate you into submission when what I admire about you is your independence?"

Even as he spoke, doubt and confusion fogged Jarlaxle’s senses. Was the dungeon not simply a dream he'd had last night? Was this not simply the result of the curse of his people? Did it not make perfect sense that Artemis Entreri wanted nothing to do with him?

"Only Jarlaxle knows why Jarlaxle does what he does."  Entreri sneered.  "What I know is my life shot off course when I met Do'Urden, and it was hijacked completely when I met you.  You dragged me to the Underdark to suit your own whims, then used me as a pawn to free Do'Urden.  Then you returned to use me as front for Bregan D'aerthe.  And then you tricked me into using that damn magical flute.  Now Artemis Entreri is dead.  He died in Proctor’s House."  He brushed past Jarlaxle and mounted the nightmare.

I've killed him. The crushing wave of horror and disbelief made Jarlaxle nauseated.  

Entreri snapped the reins, and the nightmare galloped away, heading out into the desert.  Such a creature could not be hurt by the excessive heat and blistering sun, after all.

Jarlaxle stared after him. He sank to his knees in the sand, which was scalding hot, but he found himself scraping his hands in it, clutching mindless handfuls until there were grains under his nails. Alone. I'm alone.  Coldness bloomed inside of his chest and spread.  There was perhaps nothing that he hated more than being alone.

Artemis stepped up from behind him, watching the nightmare as it receded into a black dot on the horizon.  The creature had the speed that only otherworldly beasts could have.  "Pull yourself together, Jarlaxle.  First of all, you aren’t given to fits of emotion.  Secondly, you have to find the door."

Jarlaxle sucked his breath at the familiar timbre of that calm voice. "What?" He realized he was digging in the sand like a fool and stopped. He watched handfuls of golden sand trickle through his fingers as he released them.

"Focus.  You need to focus.  The room of illusions is burrowing into your mind.”  Artemis knelt by him.  “Now think:  If you would never do such things to me, then how could anything I said be true?"  He grimaced.  "Well, to be fair, you are guilty of trapping me in Menzoberranzan and then using me to free Do’Urden.  But would you really rely on a flute to magically and unnaturally change me rather than trying to work with me person to person?  You're too smart to think shortcuts would work on someone as wounded as I am.  Also, after your failure in Calimport, would you really try to brazenly steal a Surface kingdom?  You’re too wise for that.  And would you really name me something as pompous as 'King Artemis the First?'  Even your taste is better than that."

Laughter bubbled up through the constriction in Jarlaxle's throat. He got to his feet. "I'm ready. Let us find the door."

And suddenly, there was a city at their backs.

Jarlaxle whirled around and stared. The immensity of what they needed to do almost overwhelmed him, but he started forward. "I want the curse to end. I want a real life. A life some insane goddess doesn't repeatedly destroy."

Artemis walked beside him, a calm, collected look gracing his features.  "Then by all means, seize what you want.  Nothing's going to stop you."  He glanced at the city.  "The door is not likely to be hidden. In fact, it might even stand out."  

Jarlaxle nodded. The gates stood open, no guards to man them. They crossed through, underneath the enormous archway. The city within was much like Calimport, but deserted. Adobe buildings and stairways were everywhere. But, Jarlaxle noted, not a single door.

"Where?" he whispered. "Where would the door be?"

The street they walked was silent.

"You are Jarlaxle," Artemis said.  "Logical, intelligent, calm, poised, confident, and in control.  Focus.  You will find it."

"You're not real, either," Jarlaxle quipped. "You would never be so complimentary."  Still, he took it as a good sign that he was being reminded of his better qualities.  He thought for a moment. "Though these memories are false, they might contain the key. After all, I have long suspected Artemis Entreri grew up in a poor neighborhood." He steered through the market and headed towards the slums. "This vision is all about you, so I think the key to leaving is where you started."

And because he was fairly certain he was speaking to an illusion, he added, "Once I learned a single fact about the you behind your mask, I wanted nothing more than to be your friend and to help you."

"Be careful how you define 'help,'" Artemis said, "lest you end up watching my back as I ride away. Friends may help even when they are not asked, but some help is good and some bad.  You can't override a person's will or lead him somewhere he wouldn't go himself.  That will lead only to pain and mental illness."

In this context, the words had to serve as a warning from Jarlaxle to himself.

Jarlaxle hesitated, then he nodded. In spite of himself, he reached out and squeezed this Artemis' shoulder. "I know." He took a deep breath and steadied himself, then continued on.

Finding the hovel that stood apart from the others proved almost anticlimactic, but Jarlaxle knew the test was already over. He walked up to the door and opened it, though it seemed as though any harsh movement could collapse the tent-like pile of sticks and cloth.

"I'll see you on the other side," Jarlaxle said softly, then he stepped through.

Once more, he was in the grey stone dungeon, chilled as though he had been standing in it all along. Of course, he had. The heat had been an illusion.

Looking back at the open door, Jarlaxle wondered what illusion Entreri would have to face.





A/N:  This story is unabashedly being ironic.  While it alludes to events in RotP and later, it is only SotS canon-accurate.  The illusions are not prophecies or based on precognition.