Epilogue

For days, Entreri and Jarlaxle wandered the region, at last happening upon a town where the folk had heard of Drizzt Do’Urden and seemed, at least, to accept the imposter Jar-laxle’s presence.

In the nondescript and ramshackle little common house that served as a tavern, Artemis Entreri discovered a posting that he found, in light of his present situation, somewhat promising.

“Bounty hunters?” Jarlaxle asked with surprise when

Entreri presented the posting to him. The drow was sitting in a corner, sipping wine and with his back to the corner.

“A call by the forces of justice for bounty hunters?” “A call by someone,” Entreri corrected, sliding into a chair across the table. “Whether it begets justice or not seems of little consequence.”

Jarlaxle looked at him with a wry grin. “Does it?” he said, seeming less than convinced. “And what gain did you derive, then, from carrying Danica from the tunnels?”

“The gain of keeping a powerful priest from becoming an enemy,” the pragmatic Entreri answered coldly.

“Or perhaps there was more,” said Jarlaxle. “Perhaps Artemis Entreri had not the heart to let the woman die alone in the darkness.”

Entreri shrugged as if it did not matter.

“How many of Artemis Entreri’s victims would be surprised?” Jarlaxle asked, pressing the point.

“How many of Artemis Entreri’s victims deserved better than they found?” the assassin retorted.

There it was, Jarlaxle knew, the justification for a life lived in the shadows. To a degree, the drow, who had survived among shadows darker than anything Entreri had ever known, couldn’t rightfully disagree. Perhaps, in that context, there was more to the measure of Artemis Entreri.  Still, the transformation of this killer to the side of justice seemed a curious and odd occurrence.

“Artemis the Compassionate?” he had to ask.

Entreri sat perfectly still for a moment, digesting the words. “Perhaps,” he said with a nod. “And perhaps if you keep saying foolish things, I will show you some compassion and kill you quickly. Then again, perhaps not.”

Jarlaxle enjoyed a great laugh at that, at the absurdity of it all, of the newfound life that loomed before him. He understood Entreri well enough to take the man’s threats seriously, but in truth, the dark elf trusted Entreri the way he would trust one of his own brothers.

However, Jarlaxle Baenre, the third son of Matron Baenre, once sacrificed to Lady Lolth by his mother and his siblings, knew better than to trust his own brother.