Chapter 5: Mistaken Identities

A man leapt among the tallest treetops, his dark hair flying out behind him.  For long hours now he had run, chased by a band of warriors few knew anything of.  They had tailed him for three days now, resting little, running on.  On the second day the man had nearly lost them.  On the second day of this pursuit, he might have been free, had he only doubled back behind them and tore off into the forest. 

But his mission was far too important.  The man needed to keep moving, to reach his destination as quickly as possible.  His master had bid him take a message to an old friend, a message of extreme importance.  The man knew not where he was going, but the direction didn’t matter.  He allowed the presence of the one he sought to guide him.  He needed little else, for he knew the being well.  Thought still, he questioned being sent at all.  The man was young in comparison to his master, and had not the gifts of the elder.  It would have been a much simpler journey if he had.

From the ground he could be seen as little more than a shadow, twas true, and he made not a sound in his passage.  But his pursuers had other ways of tracking him.  Still he could hear them, trundling along far behind.  Such was the reason he still moved on at top speed, for while his hunters needed to rest, he did not.  Perhaps he might make some gain on them in the night.  In any case, he could not allow himself to be captured.  He was getting quite close to the one he sought, though, and that heartened him.  Only little closer and his dear friend would be able to snatch him out of any danger.

 

 

Jarlaxle sighed once again, perhaps for the hundredth time during the course of the morning.  The drow sat comfortably sprawled across his favorite couch.  As usual, he looked completely at ease, and for once, he truly was.  Rarely did he ever get to relax in earnest.  Here, at the side of one very old friend, he had such a chance. 

The lady Dusk sat at his side, finally making repairs to the drow’s poor hat.  She too was more at ease than she had been, what with Jeaden and his mother gone home three days before.  Dusk had to hide nothing from Jarlaxle, for he knew most of what there was to know about her already.  And Entreri, the house’s only other occupant… he really didn’t seem to care anyway.  If he didn’t need to act like he was trying to court the lady, he was pleased. But the man simply refused to relax. 

At the mere thought of him, Jarlaxle sighed yet again.  Artemis Entreri was the source of the dark elf’s slight annoyance upon this morning.  His human companion had been pacing about the place for hours by then.  It seemed that Entreri was looking for anything possible to do. 

He had tried making himself useful, inquiring of Dusk to see if she might need anything done, and she had turned him down.  The assassin had been outside numerous times, toying with Charon’s Claw (for the lady had returned his gauntlet to him a few days back) and repeatedly throwing his dagger at a tree designated for that specific purpose.  Still, Entreri could find nothing to suitably occupy his time.  Indeed, he had just come back into the house, grumbling quietly past the den.

Jarlaxle didn’t think he could take the assassin’s restlessness any longer.  He turned to Dusk, who lifted her face from her work once she realized that he was watching her.

“It seems that our friend will die of boredom sooner than expected.  Is there nothing you might give him to do?”  The drow asked with a half-cocked grin.

The lady set Jarlaxle’s hat carefully at her side and peered at the ceiling, tapping her fingers upon her chin.

“Well,” she began, pursing her lips.  “There are a few things that he could do, but I am fairly certain that he would refuse them.”  Dusk sighed theatrically in reply.

“Perhaps you should ask these tasks of me.  In all honesty, nearly anything would suffice.”  Came an unexpected response from the den’s southern doorway.  Entreri himself stood there, his steely gray gaze leveled upon the lady.

Dusk gave no immediate reply, but she did raise a curious eyebrow at the man upon taking in his appearance.  Entreri perspired slightly, and looked as though he had been doing so for quite some time.   His breathing was different as well, quickened just enough for the lady to take notice.  It was enough at least to make the lady wonder at what he had been up to.

Such a curious look was upon the woman’s fair face nearly brought a laugh to Entreri’s lips, and he knew what it was for.  It was quite unusual for the assassin to appear less than perfect, and at the moment, he thought he might seem just that.  After taking a moment to enjoy the confused and intrigued visage of the lady, he felt inclined to explain.

“I have been climbing, madam.”  He said and, before Dusk’s next question formed, answered that as well.  “The house, since the grass offered little challenge to practice upon.  Your rooftop seemed fine enough… surely you do not mind?”  He finished, clearly intoning that he honestly did not care whether or not the lady minded.

Apparently, she did not.  Dusk did little more than chuckle at the man, and took a moment to marvel at his skill.  He climbed the house… with no equipment and not much in the way of handholds.  She thought, privately wondering if there was more to the man than even she had been able to discern.  Jarlaxle had assured her that Entreri was merely human, with but a small enhancement as a result of a battle with a shade.  The lady had believed her friend, of course.  But in the week or so that the two males had guested with her, she had found the human to be the more surprising of the pair.  She knew humans, all too well, but this assassin seemed somehow a cut above the rest.

Removing herself from her moment of amazement, Dusk shrugged her shoulders.

“I will never come to understand the things men do to alleviate their boredom.”  She answered with a shake of her head and a small grin.  She turned to Jarlaxle.  “Perhaps he misses my little nephew quite a bit more than he would let on.”

The drow snickered at the absurdity of the comment.  Entreri merely rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest.  He had become rather accustomed to the sarcastic little cracks that Dusk directed at him from time to time.  This one he did not grace with his usual and equally sarcastic retort, for the lady still had not answered his request.

“My boredom, as you put it, is still not alleviated.  You mentioned something that I might do…?”

At that, Jarlaxle shook his head, nearly disgusted with the assassin’s inability to simply relax.

“Truly, my friend, I have nothing that you would wish to do.”  The lady replied quickly, cutting off anything Jarlaxle might have said.  At Entreri’s frown, she smirked anew.  “Come and sit with me, and perhaps I can explain why.”

Dusk patted the cushion beside her with one hand while the other deposited Jarlaxle’s repaired hat onto his head.  The drow tugged her closest arm just a bit closer, laying a kiss upon that hand in thanks.  The lady smiled to him in return, but did not take her gaze from Entreri.  The assassin shrugged, quite used to the pair by then, and resignedly moved to sit beside the lady.  He folded his legs beneath him, doing the best he was able to try and relax a bit.  Holding the lady’s gaze he wondered, as always, just what she wanted of him.

“I am expecting someone this day,” Dusk began in her ever-straightforward manner.  “And I would like you both close by when he arrives.  My visitor will have a message for me that I wish you both to hear, and I know that he shall need to rest as soon as it can be afforded.  Unfortunately for you, Artemis, this means that you must stay bored for a while longer.  This messenger has not the time to spare that it would require for you to be doing much more than you already have.”

She paused, and Entreri shot her and incredulous look, unsure of how much he would want to meet this person.  But he said nothing, nodding for her to continue on.

“As for myself, I cannot stray too far from the door until the fellow arrives.  He cannot let himself in, for he has never been here before.  Only may he enter at my invitation, and mine alone… it is troublesome at times, but that is simply his way.”  The lady gave Entreri an apologetic smile.  “Hopefully my friend won’t be too much longer.  I regret that I have had to keep you here against your wish for so long, and without giving a reason until now.  Truly for that you have my apologies.”

The assassin was rather taken aback for a time.  Normally he never received such apologies, for much of anything.  (Unless of course they came from the quivering lips of some fool who did not wish to meet the sharp end of his dagger.)  Entreri said nothing still, honestly unsure of what exactly to say, and nodded once more.

 

  

“I tell ye, we lost the little bugger again!”  Sighed an exasperated Erik.

“Indeed, and we’d probably have found him by now if you would learn to keep your mouth shut.  A half deaf man could hear you coming a mile off.”  Snapped his partner, Jorrin.  “And we haven’t lost him, we just can’t see him anymore.  Why do you think the boss gave us these brooches?”

This pair had been walking for days, part of a larger company of twenty-eight others.  All were irritable and tired, for their Captain would not allow the company to rest for more than an hour.  Even that would be a rarity until they caught up with their prey and brought him down.  This should have been easy, their Captain chided them, had they more than dung for brains.  He had split them all up into pairs the day before, thinking it would be easier to spot their catch if the eyes were spread further out. 

For a time, luck seemed to be with the company.  The one they hunted was finally growing weary.  He had slowed considerably in his run across the treetops, and thus the company had time to catch up.  Those few who had been bestowed the power chanced levitating up to their prey.  The unfortunate man tried to bring this person down from the trees so that the rest of the company might have at, but the other knocked him aside, throwing him earthbound once again with seemingly no effort at all.  The fellow was not killed when he hit the ground, but he did break a few ribs.  None of that mattered, thought, for he came down with his sword bloodied.  The warrior scored a few solid hits, and this would slow their quarry down once more.

But there was a problem.  Not a quarter mile from where they walked, scouts had reported seeing a house.  From a distance they had checked it over.  There were people inside, three of them, and if their quarry reached the place before they did…

These people, most likely ordinary tradesmen of a sort, would fall easy pickings to the one they hunted.  If he were allowed to feed, if the company could not catch up with him before he reached those people, there would be no stopping him.  It would take days to tire him once again, and with that, their boss would not be pleased.

“Pick it up, ladies, and keep it quiet!  We’re not far now.”  Shouted their Captain from the center pair in the line.

It seemed as though the company had found their prey’s trail once more.  Indeed, it made a beeline directly for the house that lie less than a quarter mile away.  Had they only known why, had they only known what kind of a fight they were getting themselves into, the company might have turned right back around to face the wrath of the boss instead.  But they did not know, and so they were spurred by their Captain’s words.  On they ran, quicker and quieter than they had in days.

 

  

Dusk picked her head up at a tiny, nearly indiscernible sound.  She closed her eyes, listening more intently, sending out her every sense.  The sound she did not hear again, but she did find a presence close by.  The lady knew the presence quite well… though she had not expected it.  Then there came a silent call, sounding weary and weak within her mind.  Brow furrowed in confusion, she rose.

Behind her and still seated, Jarlaxle and Entreri watched with interest.  Neither knew for sure what was wrong, but both had keenly felt a sudden shift in the lady’s mood.  Where she had been calm and composed only a moment ago, she was now tense and quite angry. 

“What is it?”  Whispered the assassin, who began to stand himself. 

Jarlaxle put a hand to his arm, shaking his head.  Entreri looked at him oddly, and the drow flicked his eyes to Dusk, shaking his head once more.  Look at her, he was being told.  And so he did, carefully, taking in every detail of her posture.  The man sat back down as quietly as possible.  Apparently, the lady was quite upset, enough to keep even Jarlaxle away.  Her hands were clenched at her sides, and though she hid it well, a tiny lick of flame curled out from the spaces between her fingers.  The muscles in her shoulders twitched just a bit, as though she would have liked to hit something… or someone.

The lady stood this way for a moment, addressing her two companions once she trusted herself to speak.

“I told you that I was expecting someone… he has arrived.”  She paused, breathing deeply.  “But something is very wrong… I think I just might have to kill him as soon as I get him in here.” 

Without another word or any sort of explanation, Dusk moved silently down the hall, leaving the two males to stare at her back in worry.

 

 

A man leaned wearily against the front door of his friend’s home.  He did not think that he possessed the strength to stand aright again.  For days on end he had been running, only to reach his destination with trouble at his heels.  The man was able to lift his head just enough to bang it into the door.  Deep was his regret that he had brought a small army of Hunters right to his dear friend’s doorstep. 

His auburn hair had long since fallen loose from its ties, and it now stuck to his face with his sweat.  Painstakingly the man sent out a call, and with what little concentration he could muster, he was able to reach his friend.  Luckily, she was home, waiting for him.

Well… he thought, One of my brothers, not I.

His friend, more like an older sister than anything else, would probably be very angry with him for risking this journey.  Though it had not been his idea, and perhaps someone else might have been better suited, he hadn’t really minded coming at all.  He managed a smile.  She would be angry, he knew, but it would be good to see her again.

With a suddenness that surprised even him, the door he leaned on was flung open.  Somehow he was able to stand straight again, without the help of the door, and he grinned at the face he met.

“Hello, sister.”  He greeted with a whisper.

“Anton Serril…” Shouted the lady Dusk, her emerald eyes aflame, and the man merely smiled all the wider. “Get in here.”  She breathed, clipping off every word with a growl.

“As you wish, my dear.”  Anton replied.

With that, the last of his strength left him, and he fell forward into the lady’s arms.

 

 

Thud, CRACK!

Jarlaxle and Artemis Entreri both started at the sound, leaping from their seats, the assassin with Charon’s Claw and jeweled dagger at the ready.  Carefully, the drow crept toward the source of the noise, peering down the hallway. 

Hunched against the wall was Dusk, trying to heft a strange man to his feet.  With one arm she held the man to her while rubbing the back of her head with her free hand.  Immediately Jarlaxle went to the lady, tentatively reaching under her hair to check for an injury.  She swatted him away.

“I am fine, tis naught more than a bump.  Help me get him to a chair.”  She bade her friend.

The drow eyed the man warily, but noting his physical state he did move to help.  One of the man’s arms was slung over Jarlaxle’s shoulder; the other over Dusk’s, and the both of them swiftly deposited him into the nearest chair.   The lady kneeled down before the man and wrapped him in a tight embrace, shoving her hair aside so that she might cradle his face in her neck.  Shouldn’t she be worrying about the fellow’s obvious wounds first?

Jarlaxle might have asked about it if not for a motion from Entreri.  The assassin was peering out a window, listening intently and furtively beckoning the drow to him. 

“What is she doing?”  Entreri cast a curious eye toward Dusk and the strange man. 

“I might have found out if not for your impatience, now what is it?”  Asked the mercenary, irritated and wary at the whole situation.

 “Listen…” Came the whispered reply.

So Jarlaxle did.  All for nothing, he thought, for that was all he heard.  Nothing.  He furrowed his brow at the assassin, wondering, yet knowing that his long time companion would not fret over nothing.

“Do you hear anything?”  Asked Entreri, and Jarlaxle shook his head.  “Neither do I, that’s the point.  Not a moment ago the air was full of birdsong, and now… silence.  Something is very wrong, indeed.”

The drow wore a half grin at the possibility of some excitement.  He turned to alert Dusk, but Entreri beat him to it.  The man whirled around, ignoring the newcomer entirely.

“I believe we have a problem-“ 

The lady turned and cut him off with a wave.  “I know.”  She said with a sigh, and then gestured to the man in the chair.  “This is… my brother, Anton.  The ‘problem’ followed him here, and he is sought for even now.”

While Jarlaxle had been keeping an eye on the man for quite some time, Entreri had hardly noticed him.  (Later on he would wonder how he had missed such a creature from the start.)  The front of his shirt was slashed and bloodied, and he looked haggard, indeed.  The assassin stood for a moment, looking from Dusk to this man.  The resemblance was quite remarkable, though this Anton was slightly darker of hair and (somehow) paler of skin than the lady.  Despite the stranger’s obvious weariness, his eyes shone sharper than even Dusk’s, and they were silver. 

Anton’s eyes troubled Entreri profoundly, but he could not pinpoint exactly why.  Perhaps it was their strangeness, or the fact that they were fixed directly on the assassin.  Whatever the reason, he too watched the lady’s brother with a wary gaze while Dusk explained what was happening.

“There are thirty men moving right at us.  Hunters, we call them, specially equipped to capture and destroy…” She paused, seeming at a lack for words.  “…Men such as Anton.  They are quite dangerous, but stupid, for the most part.  The company of them has just crossed the road, and they shall soon be upon us.  I have to stop them.”

The lady’s face had taken on such a black look that it caused even Entreri to grin.  He pitied these Hunters, whoever they were, for it was quite obvious that Dusk had more in mind than merely holding them at bay.  Jarlaxle was smiling from ear to ear at the prospect of making a mess.

“Up for a little fun, my sweet?”  Asked the drow, spinning a small throwing dagger upon one finger.

Dusk stared at him.  After a moment she chuckled.  Jarlaxle had encountered far worse than a few Hunters in his lifetime.  He would not allow her to leave him behind, even though this was not in any way his fight.  The lady smiled at him, happy for a companion such as Jarlaxle.

“Wait outside for me.”  She replied, and the drow did so with a bow and a tip of his hat.

Entreri stood staring after the mercenary, unsure of his own place here.  He knew little of what transpired now, of that much he was certain.  Was he expected to follow Jarlaxle?  Did he wish to do so?  And why does a company of thirty trained trackers pursue a single man?  He wondered.

 Obviously this fellow was hurt, but seemed to need no tending.  All Dusk had done for him was sit him down, and though he looked a mess, he was fine.  She disappeared into the next room right after Jarlaxle had gone, leaving Anton in his chair.  The assassin thought he had seen her merely holding her brother from the corner of his careful eye.  Was that all the man had needed?  Apparently the resemblance between brother and sister went deeper than looks, for Anton, like Dusk, was more than he seemed.

“Forgive me…” Called a soft male voice that seemed to pierce the very core of the assassin’s being.

Entreri snapped his head up to meet the gaze of the only possible source of the voice.  Anton was, as before, staring directly at him.  He stared back, wondering if the comment was even meant for him.  Raising an eyebrow in question, he continued to watch the man.

Anton laughed quietly.  “I have caused you so much strife, and I know not even your name.”

The cautious assassin gave no name.  “What is so special about you that thirty would be sent for you alone?”

A thin auburn brow rose.  “They fear me, I suppose.  Many do, and I cannot blame them.”

“Your sister has not been bothered.”  Entreri retorted matter of factly, for Dusk had told him as much.

“My sister,” Another laugh and a closed smile.  “Is quite adept at keeping herself hidden.”

And what is it that you hide?  Something about this man definitely did not sit right with Entreri.  Dusk’s brother was keeping a great secret but then again, so was the lady.  Anton, however calm and benign he might seem, put the assassin more on his guard than Dusk ever had.  For once, he actually wished that the strange woman would return.  At least that might take the newcomer’s silver gaze from him!

Perhaps she had been listening, Entreri never bothered to ask, but the lady chose that moment to reenter from the den hall.  In her arms she cradled a large leather-bound tome.  Anton tried to rise, but the lady went straight to him.  She said not a word but shoved him back into his chair and held her hand to his chest, whispering while keeping her eyes on the huge tome.  Her brother watched in bewilderment, the assassin in mild curiosity.

“What-” Anton began. 

“Apparently they were tracking you by magic.”  Dusk interjected, setting the tome down and pulling the man to a tedious standing position before throwing one arm over her shoulder.  “Now they cannot do so.”  She explained quickly.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she made for the stair.  This might have been fine, had Anton’s legs been able to support his weight.  He stumbled, apparently still too weak to go very far on his own.  Dusk cursed, looking quite worried, but she had a solution for this as well.  She shifted an arm behind her brother’s knees, scooping the man up as though his weight were nothing.

Entreri gawked, for Anton was not a small man, and he had doubted that the lady possessed the strength to lift his own smaller frame.

“What, Artemis?”  Asked the lady, urgent tones now clear in her voice.  “Do you want to carry him?”

The assassin gave her a look that, with not a hint of uncertainty, told her that he refused to come anywhere near Anton.  (Who began grumbling his disdain for being carried like a child.) 

“Then follow me.”  At that, Dusk turned on her heel and started up the stairs.

Entreri watched after her for only a moment, then followed, intrigue joining his wariness.

The door to Dusk’s room flew open before the three ever reached it, and it closed just as quickly behind them.  The lady set her brother down in the room’s single chair.  She closed her eyes, one hand drumming upon her chest for a mere second.

“They have seen you, obviously.”  She said, addressing Anton.

He nodded, looking suddenly mournful.  “I am terribly sorry.”  He covered his face with one hand.  “Father thought I might be strong enough to lose them in the forests, but of course, I failed him.  Because of my weakness, the Hunters may find you, too.”

“That will do, Little Brother.”  Gently spoke the lady.  Anton might have said more, but he looked close to tears by that time.  Dusk apparently wanted him to keep quiet.

“Now,” She pressed.  “Would any of the Hunters recognize you, were they to glimpse you again?”

“Of course.”  Replied the man, his eyes alight.  Finally he stood steadily, drawing himself to his full height.  “I shall draw them all to me.”

The lady smiled, shaking her head.  “I have a better idea.  Take off your clothes, sweetheart.”

At that quip, the silent Entreri thought it prudent inspect the view from Dusk’s balcony.  Of course he wondered just what the woman could be thinking.  He would simply ask- as long as her brother had at least mostly dressed.  The glass doors he shut behind him, and so he could not hear all of what was going on inside.  A few snatches and little more.

Anton had apparently lifted his voice beyond that maddeningly mellow whisper.  “I cannot allow it!”  The man might have been shouting, so clearly did Entreri hear that phrase.  Things grew quieter after that small outburst.  The assassin allowed himself a moment’s introspection during the relative peace.  What was he to do?  Dusk, he knew, was going out to meet these Hunters.  She apparently refused to let Anton follow, from what Entreri had caught.  Certainly he did not wish to stay here with the strange man.  He sighed, his decision made, bringing himself back to the moment. 

Dusk was giggling, but then all was quiet.  Entreri listened… nothing from inside.  Why do I dislike this silence?  Cautiously he backed toward the doors, reaching to open one of them.  Someone on the other side got to it before he did.  He felt rather than heard the door, no more than a small exchange of air against his fingertips.

“Come quickly,” He heard Dusk call.  “I need your opinion.” 

And so Entreri turned to ask just what she needed an opinion for, when he received quite a shock.  He didn’t see Dusk anywhere in the room, though he had just heard her voice directly behind him.  When he looked, there was only Anton.

Or, at least the assassin had first thought.  He found that some things were quite… different... about Dusk’s brother.  Anton had looked far taller not a moment ago, for one.  And the eyes, those sharp silver eyes of his were…

Entreri very nearly laughed aloud.  The eyes, now twinkling with both anger and amusement, were not silver at all.  They were green, startlingly and impossibly green.  The assassin relaxed slightly, for it was Dusk, and not her brother, who stood grinning at him. 

“You cannot be serious.”  He said, shaking his head.  The lady only grinned.  “I suppose you plan to draw these Hunters away like this?”

“Indeed.  The likeness does not need to be exact for, by the time they realize their error they will be dead.”  No trace of amusement strayed upon Dusk’s face for very long.  Her tone had gone cold and quiet, her eyes twinkling naught but the promise of death.  “And thus, the reason that I need your opinion.  Will the guise be good enough to mistake from afar?”

Entreri raised an eyebrow.  He had thought such to be obvious.

“You had me fooled for a moment, and I stand no more than a yard away.”

The lady’s vicious smile returned.  “Many thanks.”  She whispered.

Then she disappeared, leaving nothing behind but a whiff of smoke… and, of course, a startled assassin.

The disappearing act was nothing new to the man.  Many wizards, and a skilled cleric on occasion could pull it off with ease.  What bothered Entreri was the fact that the lady had left without him.  Dusk wanted him to stay put, apparently.  He might not have cared, save for one thing… he had no idea where Anton might be.  The assassin instinctively knew that he was not alone in the room; of that much he was certain.  But where was the strange fellow?  Entreri thought he would rather not be the one to find him unexpectedly. 

So he followed after Dusk via the bedroom window, knowing that the lady went to meet Jarlaxle.  After all, he had so terribly wanted something to do…

These “Hunters”, whoever they were, would stand no chance.

 

 

 

"Our guests are close...” Jarlaxle whispered, and his voice was the first Dusk heard upon reaching the other end of her teleport.

The drow couldn't help but grin as she stood at his side.

"It might be worth the show to have a little surprise to greet them."  He whispered in turning to face his friend, twirling the feather from his hat between his slender fingers, and then stopping suddenly.  The grin grew wider, and he put the feather away.  "But I believe your surprise shall be far more amusing."

Dusk could just barely bring herself to smile.  The Hunters she had met before-she had never been fond of what they did.  Flocking to the whim of their would-be "god", their tyrannical leader... She mused angrily, and not for the first time.  Should this fiend of a man have his way, no race inhuman would ever roam Torril in relative safety.  The lady shook her head, realizing that Jarlaxle was awaiting her word.

She sighed.  I must save the anguished musing for later.  Anton would be pleased to join me in it, if I still know my...

"Assassin, is there a problem?"  The lady had felt rather than heard Entreri's approach. 

Her thoughts were left to trail, as she had certainly not expected the man, and had rather hoped that he might stay out of sight.  What with how pale his skin and sharp his features, he could be mistaken for one of Anton's weal at a glance.  His fate, were he captured, would be far worse than death.  She turned about, for Entreri had not answered her.

The man smiled darkly.  "Apparently so.  Apparently there are men whom you would like killed, and so as per my bestowed title, I offer my services."  His services and a theatrical, sarcastic bow.

Now Dusk really truly had a dilemma.  Should she turn Entreri away in fear for his safety, he might be lost to her ever afterward.  She needed him.  In time if not for the particular moment, she knew that the skilled arm of Artemis Entreri at her side was not something she could afford to lose.

"You have my gratitude, for this is certainly not your fight."  Dusk sighed.  "If you would help me, then I bid you stay with Jarlaxle, and as far away from me as possible."

"A pity for us, then.  I do so enjoy watching you fight."  Quipped the drow with a smile.

Dusk only returned her own grim smile-a mere turning of the lips that extended nowhere near her eyes- and off into the trees she disappeared with a bound.

As they were bid, Jarlaxle and Entreri gave the lady a bit of time to move far ahead of them.  Entreri started out then, his footfalls as silent as those of the drow beside him.

 

 

"Oye, Jorrin...” Spoke Erik suddenly, receiving a slap on the back of his head in return.

Jorrin glared at his partner.  "Keep it quiet if you insist on speaking!  Now what is it?"

Erik rubbed his head reproachfully, then put a hand to the brooch on his chest and frowned.  "Is it supposed to be doin' that, do you think?"

"Doing what?  Don't tell me you broke the bloody thing."  Sighed the man in exasperation.

Erik's frown deepened.  "Look, it was hot a minute ago, like we was close.  It's stone cold now, that's all."

Jorrin rolled his eyes.  The fool did break it... well, it's his hide, not mine.  He thought, and touched his own brooch to check their bearing.  It would be burning by then, they should be so close to their prey...

But Jorrin stopped suddenly, a fearful look in his eye.  The magical brooch upon his own chest was suddenly cold.  Unnaturally cold... colder than it had been when each of the company had been given the things.  What could that mean?  He reached out and touched Erik's brooch as well, finding it just as frigid.

He gestured to his partner to keep quiet and still.  For once, Erik listened. 

From his pocket Jorrin pulled a small yellow stone.  Each of his company held one identical to it, and they were not just for show.  The stones were magicked to pulsate when another was near, thrumming quicker and slower in relation to proximity of one another.  Slowly Jorrin revolved in a circle, holding out the stone in his palm, trying to locate the other pairs of the company.

Finally he felt a slight response from the stone, pointed back the way that he and his partner had come.  Apparently they had gotten a bit ahead of the rest of the company.  Again he reached for his brooch, cursing at still finding it so oddly cold.

"I can't understand this."  He whispered to Erik.  "The one we're after is hardly more than a child, he wouldn't be able to escape so fast that he'd fool the brooches.  And none of them have the magic to disguise the nature of their own blood, so how's this happening?  I mean the bloody thing's as cold as..."

"As ice, perhaps?"

Jorrin nearly jumped out of his skin and Erik let out a surprised yelp.  Trying to recover and compose himself, the former sneered triumphantly.  Or, he hoped that it looked so.  Now that the moment, the very reason for this journey, was upon them, he felt like a blundering child.   He quickly drew his sword, motioning for his partner to do the same.

"So, friend, you managed to throw us for a loop.  How clever of you."  Jorrin dared to speak in his most threatening tones.  "Tragic we've got to kill you."

A rustle of leaves responded, and then; "Is it cold as the foulest winter winds, mayhap?"

"Quit fooling around and show yourself, unless yer a coward!"  Bellowed Erik, who swallowed fearfully afterward.  Something just wasn't right...

A mirthless, sinister sounding chuckle came from behind the two.

"No, no ice or winter winds shall do.  Perhaps the only word cold enough for you..."

Jorrin and Erik spun, both well-aimed attacks hitting a target that simply was not there.

"Is death."  Came again the voice of their illusive prey.

Perhaps one of the two made contact with their next attacks, perhaps not.  They did not live long enough to find out.  Jorrin, and then Erik, felt a cold sting across his throat.  The last of what their senses received would haunt them for what seemed an eternity, before death did take them into its cold embrace. 

They saw the face of a woman, beautiful and terrifying all at once, her lips twisted in what might have been a grin.  Her laugh that held no mirth whatsoever resounded in their ears until they could hear no more.

 

 

The red stitched gauntlet on Entreri's hand hummed ever so slightly.  The assassin grinned-- the Hunters were now the hunted, and they were close to being found.  He and Jarlaxle had come upon a small clearing, indeed a perfect place for their "friends" to spring an ambush. 

Entreri, ever the pragmatist, stayed silent and watchful.  He allowed his keen ears to guide his catlike step, every now and again calling on his gauntlet to be sure of his bearing.  Apparently these Hunters were riddled with magical devices, for the gauntlet had no trouble at all in tracking each one within a hundred paces.  There were three, and it would pose no problem for the two to find them.

Though with Jarlaxle shadowing closely to his right, Entreri thought that the Hunters might find them first.  The drow was chattering steadily, as he had been for quite some time.  He quieted only for a moment, standing in the middle of the clearing while tapping one slender ebon finger against his chin.

"Where are they, I wonder?"  Asked the drow of no one in particular.  "I hear them tiptoeing about through these very trees even now, but they haven't attacked us."

Entreri snorted.  "They aren't looking for us, as we are not whatever it may be that Anton and Dusk are.  I suppose we do not make their cut."

"Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle aren't even good enough to dirty their blades over?  Preposterous."  Indignantly quipped the drow, who had begun to pick at his fingernails with a small dagger.  (One that Entreri knew could be elongated into a slender rapier.)

The assassin gave no reply, listening intently.  A tiny, quick thwunk had caught his attention.  Suddenly in a blur of motion, he twisted his body to one side, making a catching motion close to where his chest would have been.  On the tail of the same movement he drew his dagger and threw it hard into the branches of a tree.  Mere yards in front of him fell a man, one dressed in very unfamiliar armor.  (And a very dead man at that, what with the jeweled hilt of Entreri's dagger still quivering in this throat.)  Entreri retrieved his weapon, wiped the blood from it, and inspected what he had caught.

Between the assassin's fingers was a tiny feather-ended dart.  Some pale powder, most likely a kind of poison, covered it's razor sharp tip.

"What is it?"  Asked Jarlaxle, who strode calmly closer to join Entreri's inspection of the dart.

"I'm not sure.  But it is curious... most powder based poison isn’t very effective until mixed with a liquid."  Mused Entreri.  He sniffed at the substance, wrinkled his nose in mixed disgust and recognition.

"It does sting a bit, although that may just be the dart itself."  The drow replied, plucking a similar dart from his bicep without so much as a flinch.  He regarded the dart, not recognizing the powder himself.  Gently he twitched the muscles in his arm.  "No, I do believe that it is the powder that stings.  So, you obviously know what it is... will it kill me?"

Entreri chuckled, wondering if any poison really could claim Jarlaxle.

"Doubtful."  He replied.  He wiped a bit of the powder from the first dart with a fingernail and touched it to his tongue.  A puzzled look crossed his face.  "It's just powdered garlic, nothing more."

"Garlic?  The foul smelling cooking spice?"  Jarlaxle asked, a hunch solidifying in his mind.  Entreri nodded.  "Well, that certainly explains a few things."

The assassin narrowed his eyes, indicating that Jarlaxle should tell him what exactly could be gleaned from such a discovery.  Chuckling, the drow thought it best to change the subject.  They did have other matters to attend to, after all, and those matters were now creeping quietly toward them.

"So, how shall we draw out this one's two companions?"  He asked, indicating the dead man in the grass.

Entreri glared at him.  "Perhaps you should perform another striptease, as you did when we were hunting the Rellian priestess a few months back."  His brow twitched at the memory.  "That may make the other two wish to kill you.  Of course, you would have to wait for me to make myself absent.  I'll not be present for such a spectacle a second time."

Jarlaxle laughed loud and hard at that.  "Now that was an interesting hunt, and a fine tactic on my part, if I do say so myself."

"Oh, interesting indeed.  Amazing, even, in that I managed to hold onto my weapons, seeing as I nearly lost my supper."

"Come now, I thought I did rather well...” The drow replied, sounding wounded indeed.

As the two threw back and forth their banter, the two they were seeking, the Hunters, stood agape.  Just at the edge of the clearing they watched Entreri and Jarlaxle, who seemed so distracted and ill prepared.  The Hunters wondered how the pair had so easily taken down one of their company.  In such, they allowed themselves to become as distracted as those they watched seemed.

Just as Jarlaxle turned indignantly from Entreri, he looked squarely at the two Hunters.

"Well hello!"  Cried the drow in a manner that he might greet an old friend.

The warriors stiffened, cautiously drawing various and fine looking weapons.  They did not move to attack.  Standing at the ready, the two of them were quick to realize that something was terribly out of place.

Entreri sighed, leveling his deadly glare at the men.

"If you are able to use those,” He said, indicating their weapons, a sword and an axe, respectively.  "Then it would be wise to do so, and quickly."

The two merely stared at him, as if they were trying to figure something about the assassin out.

Jarlaxle clicked his tongue.  "Honestly, we haven't an entire day to waste."  He paused momentarily, tapping his foot on the ground.  He rolled his eyes.  "Fine!  Have it your way.  Just never let it be told that we didn't at least give you a chance at a fair fight."

The Hunters bristled, knowing that they were being set up, but unable to back down from such insult. 

"We do have to speak to a lady of this battle once your bodies lie cooling.  At least try to make this difficult for us, would you?  Pigs to a slaughter truly does not sound very impressive."

Entreri's addition of insult to injury finally tipped the scale of pride and prudence, as he knew it would.  He grinned.

In came the larger axe wielding Hunter, slashing at Entreri's neck with surprising skill.  Entreri merely rolled his eyes.  Ducking behind and beneath the move, the assassin brought himself nose to nose with his own would-be assassin.  He thwacked the man hard across the knuckles before the follow-through was even completed.  Though he was hardly cut, the hunter shrieked in pain and fell back behind his partner.  The wicked beauty that was Entreri’s dagger needed only a nick to elicit such a response, after all. 

The second Hunter looked from Jarlaxle (who was leaning against a tree, laughing) to Entreri.  The drow, though he was likely just as dangerous, was not his problem.  Let the others deal with him after they had caught the redheaded one they’d chased for the past few days.  This pale grayish skinned one, however… he regarded the soldier with an expression of boredom, now… his capture would bring far better reward.  This one was perhaps even more powerful than their original quarry.

The sword wielding Hunter tapped the small yellow stone tucked behind his belt.  To take down this new quarry, he might need one of their wizards.

Entreri had time to clean his nails before the Hunters attacked again.  Which was fine enough for him, since he heard new movement in the trees at his back… where Jarlaxle leaned against a thick bough.

Up came Charon’s Claw in an instant, neatly blocking the axe slash aimed at his left arm.  He had to work a little quicker to catch the sword at his right.  The Hunters were trying to herd him backward, against the bigger trees. 

Either these fools expect me to run, or I have missed something of importance.  Entreri mused with a grin while he threw the next axe slice and sword thrust wide.  Perhaps he would do some of the Hunter’s work for them.

Axe and sword both swung in again at the assassin’s head and legs.  The assassin, quite simply, was no longer there.  He turned a half circle and did exactly what his opponents expected him.  Entreri ran… straight at thick tree, ten paces or so to his back.  Nor did he bother to stop.  Instead the man ran right up the tree, pulled a back flip that would have done any acrobat proud and landed behind the Hunters.  The axe wielder received the end of his landing, which is to say that Entreri cut out the backs of the unfortunate man’s knees. 

Since it was Charon’s Claw that did the cutting, this Hunter’s legs melted spectacularly just in time for his astonished partner to bear witness.    

Oddly enough, the remaining Hunter didn’t look as astonished as he should have.  This was very strange in Entreri’s opinion.  The work of Charon’s Claw usually disturbed people quite a bit… but though this fellow looked a little green in the face, he wore a smile that seemed triumphant to the assassin. 

Entreri tried to look worried.  He really, honestly tried.  But in truth, he had heard the third Hunter coming ever so slowly into the fray some minutes ago.  Now this third was tiptoeing up behind him.  He heard no clink of armor, but rather the swish of robes.  The assassin chuckled.  So one of these fools had called a wizard, and the sword wielding Hunter thought himself extremely clever.    

An explosive flurry of sword and dagger set the soldier back on his heels in retreat.  This gave Entreri plenty of room to take care of the wizard, and hopefully without leaving himself open to any spell his gauntlet couldn’t catch.  He leaned back and spun full circle.   

Charon’s Claw tore away a piece of robe before the assassin even stood straight.  His jeweled dagger shied off of the wizard’s chest.  Obviously, this wizard had come with some manner of caution, for it seemed that he had shielded his more vital body parts.  Entreri came out of his wild looking spin and faced the wizard, who was about to blow a handful of arcane something at the man.  Up and out he held his gloved hand, just in time to catch the wizard’s first spell (and only spell, if Entreri had things his way). 

But the assassin also caught a faceful of yet another powder.  Although whatever magic was supposed to hit him had been averted, this powder did certainly sting the eyes.  Entreri thrust his dagger forward and down.  Apparently the wizard hadn’t thought to shield his lower extremities.  Although he couldn’t see it, the man knew that his dagger had connected nicely with the wizard’s toes.  A pained shriek rang out long and loud, telling Entreri all he needed to know.  He thrust his open and gauntlet clad hand forward.  It hit the wizard solidly in the chest, and with that, the assassin commanded the gauntlet to throw back the spell it had caught.

By then Entreri’s eyes were burning quite painfully, and so he didn’t stick around to discern exactly what had happened to the wizard. 

Fighting blind was no problem whatsoever.  But whatever the man had in his eyes could potentially blind him permanently.  That, he knew, could very easily become a problem.  Since he had no idea what this powder could be, Entreri thought it best to get it out… immediately.  He ducked and rolled behind the nearest tree.

“You know,” Jarlaxle’s voice floated down from over Entreri’s head.  “The last of our foolish friends has decided to follow you.  I don’t think he has seen you yet, but he is pointed in our direction.”

Entreri answered by using his dagger hilt in a club-like manner.   He swiped it in the general direction of his drow companion’s voice.

“Now that was rude!”  Came the half amused reply to his attack.  “I was only trying to help.”

The assassin merely ignored him.  Had he decided to play into Jarlaxle’s banter, he might have had quite a few things to say to the drow.  But his eyes needed to be taken care of first.  Closing them only made the pain worse, but he gritted his teeth and bore it without a sound.  He leaned against the tree behind him, trying to relax and force his eyes to flush the powder out themselves.

Jarlaxle was gone, which was good, since that left Entreri without the distraction of the drow hanging over his head.  He had no idea where his strange companion had gone.  Though at the time, he truly didn’t care… anywhere away was fine enough.  But he did hear footsteps, and not the overly noisy clack of heeled boots, either.

The remaining Hunter was quite near, Entreri knew, and pretending that he hadn’t yet noticed the assassin.  Heavens, when Dusk had mentioned that these people were stupid she really hadn’t been joking!   This man was looking fixedly where his powerful foe was not.  It seemed as though he were trying to get a good appraisal of Entreri without alerting him… as though he were trying to figure something out about him.  What that might be, the assassin knew not, but he made a note to ask before killing the fool. 

Entreri heard the Hunter painstakingly trying to be quiet.  He heard a slight creak of leather, a small snap and a rustle of leaves.  A clasp being undone, perhaps, to release something from leather strapping?  Indeed, the keen ears of the assassin told him what his eyes could not.  Attempts to very quietly take in several deep breaths reached his ears next.

An image flashed passed Entreri’s considerable memory… the dart in Jarlaxle’s arm, and the quiet thwunk just beforehand.  The Hunter, he deduced, was leveling a blowgun at him.   The soldier was many yards away, and his quick, deep breaths were his preparing to make his shot (for he might only get one) count as much as possible.

The assassin waited.

 

 

 

Falin was in a great deal of trouble.  That he understood easily, since not a single muscle on his body would answer to the commands of his brain.  What he didn’t understand was… why?  He was first wizard of the second hunting troupe, behind only one man in arcane skill! That fiend, as he thought of that dark haired and gray-toned skinned creature… why hadn’t his spell worked on that one?  The powder did touch his skin, Falin had seen it himself.  Why was he frozen still, then, instead of the fiendish one?

The wizard sighed, which was difficult, since he could just barely breathe anyhow.  He would simply have to wait until the spell wore off.

Not a moment later did Falin revise his decision.  He had heard some… disconcerting sounds coming toward him.  Likely his mind was fooling with him, but at the time he knew without a doubt that someone’s boots were clicking in his direction.  Clicking quite noisily… on the grass.

He heard a light chuckle and tried vainly to turn his head toward the sound.

“I believe that, in your situation,” Whispered a voice by his ear. “The only fitting thing to say would be ‘Oops’.”  The owner of the voice chuckled as Falin vainly tried to shy away.  The being continued.  “If you could say anything at all, of course.       

“He isn’t what you thought.  But you know that now, don’t you?”

Falin managed to incline his head ever so slightly, as close to a nod as he could get.  Though he did not recognize the speaker he knew exactly whom the man (for the voice certainly belonged to a male) spoke of.

“A pity…” Said the person, now crouching just on the edge of Falin’s vision.  “For you, I must clarify.  You understand that I cannot allow you to live, don’t you?”

Falin tried to cry out, he tried with all his physical and magical might to get away.  He managed a rather stiff fall on his frozen face and an agonized whimper before Jarlaxle put a dagger between his ribs. 

 

 

The Hunter smiled.  His powerful-so very powerful!-opponent was prone and unmoving… and right in his line of fire.  He took a deep breath, prepared to fire…

And stopped.  What if… he wondered.  What if it really isn’t hurt?  But that was a silly thought.  His wizard companion hit the dark haired creature disguised as a man right in the face with blessed ash, and while that might not stop some as powerful of this one, it would certainly be incapacitated for some time.  The dart loaded into his blowgun now would most definitely send the creature into a state of torpor.  The Hunter could then bring it back to his master, and thus reap great reward.

He grinned at the thought.  The hunter breathed slowly, carefully.  He took aim, set his elbow against his knee, breathed, set his lips to the blowgun… and finally, he fired.

Echoing doubts resounded… Yeah, but what if???  The Hunter watched the seconds it would take for the dart to reach his target.  It seemed time had decided to slow down, if just to be cruel to the poor man and give his doubtful hindbrain more time to catch up.

 

 

 

His hindbrain was right. 

Pained eyes or not, Entreri had been expecting the low fwunk sound of the blowgun for some time by then, and he could indeed see a little bit.  He relaxed every muscle.  Every tendon in his body he allowed to go slack so that he might, quite effectively, feign being hit by the dart.  Entreri leaned as hard against the tree as possible so that he would get as much crumple out of his controlled fall as possible.

He heard the Hunter let fly the dart.  The assassin counted one heartbeat and a half, and then…

And then something… odd… happened.  Instead of falling to his side, Entreri shivered uncontrollably and then simply… faded.  He was still there, essentially of course.  But the really strange thing he noticed while in mid-fall was this; he could see straight through his fingers… and his arm, and his torso and legs below.  (Quite a disturbing image, for one not prepared to see it.)  It was as though his body had been formed in shadow instead of flesh and bone.  Even the Hunter seemed to have lost tract of the man, since he had started whirling about, frantically seeking his opponent.  Entreri shook his head and peered to his side. 

Where he saw the tiny, feather-ended dart sticking into the bark of the tree… where his now insubstantial shoulder still rested.

Entreri blinked, coming back to himself.  There would be time aplenty later on to figure this out.  He slithered through the grass toward the unsuspecting (and by then very, very frightened) Hunter.

Prodding the grass with his slender sword (but in all the wrong places), the Hunter didn’t even notice when Entreri rose up to stand behind him, silent and very nearly invisible.

The Hunter was dead before the blood from his slit throat ever hit the ground.

 

 

 

Rayleth dropped the squirming Marcus to his feet.  The latter brushed himself off indignantly—he did not enjoy being carried by his wizard companion, and he wondered why he had not been given the gift of levitation himself.  But the boss did favor his wizards, and Rayleth was undoubtedly one of the best.  Marcus shook his head.  Perhaps here he could prove himself worthy in the boss’s eyes here, as it was his idea to try and beat their quarry to this tradesman’s house.

But, Marcus wondered as he looked around the empty bedroom, where were the tradesmen?  Each of the three wizards in their company had checked the place over (and hoped to find the other’s count faulted), and by use of different scrying spells had found the place inhabited.  There should be three men in the building, beside themselves, that was.  As both Hunters surveyed the room beyond the window they had come in, they started to notice other things wrong with the picture... beside the place being entirely deserted. 

This bedroom, for one, obviously didn’t belong to a man at all.  The drapes were velvet (and purple… no color for a decent man to have in his bedroom) and the bed sheets satin.  And Rayleth, with his magically heightened senses could indeed smell a slight hint of male, found himself verily assaulted by the smell of a female.  That nearly distracted him entirely from what his other magical senses were telling him.  Within this room were immense traces of expended arcane energy… not only that, but the pull of the same sense came to him even stronger in the next room. 

While he headed for the bedroom door, wondering whether or not ordinary tradesmen usually banded with a wizard so powerful, that distracting female smell hit him in the face like a brick.  Rayleth shook his head hard, his fingers hovering over the doorknob.  He stared at his hand for a moment… why had he wanted to leave again?

The tradesmen, yes…  His strangely foggy mind reminded him.  And I was going to scout the next room… but why?  He didn’t exactly remember why, but he knew that before he did anything else, he had to get Marcus and himself out of this room.  Something was wrong in this room, very wrong, something Rayleth’s magic had failed to see. 

But it is nice in here… Whispered his mutinous mind.  Why should we not stay?

“Marcus?”  Mumbled Rayleth weakly, for it seemed that his body had become as mutinous as his mind.

“Ray, c’mere!  I found… some stuff.  S’womans’ stuff, but it smells neat!” 

And Marcus turned from where he had been rummaging in a chest of drawers to face his companion.  He presented Rayleth with a handful of undergarments and a rogue stocking.  The wizard smacked his hand repeatedly into his forehead.  He felt drunk, and Marcus looked just as inebriated.  He thought that it might help if he were to release the spell heightening his senses… that smell, that wonderful smell invading upon his nostrils… that smell was the key to this drunken feeling, he was sure of it!

But Rayleth could hardly speak.  He dropped heavily to his knees, and knew that releasing or performing any spell at all would be impossible.

“Marcus!”  He managed to cry out.  “Marcus help me up… need to leave…”

His companion stared blankly at him for a moment. 

“But… we can’t.”  Marcus began.  “She said to wait, didn’ you hear?  She’ll be home soon, she said.  So I’m going to wait righ’ here, I am, and you’re a dolt if you don’t do the same!”

For a moment Rayleth struggled toward the door, and with the certainty that his companion was absolutely mad.  He knew that if he didn’t get out of that room, he would be just as insane. 

But then the last of his magical shields fell.  Rayleth was an intelligent man, and never went on a hunt without many in place… but in comparison to this last, all of the other protections he could come up with meant nothing.  This last was a shield against intrusion upon his mind.  At last he heard the whisper.  And for him, the whisper changed.

The small, seductive whisper in his head told him not that ‘she’ was on her way home, but that ‘she’ was already here.  She was hiding here, in this room… waiting… but not for Marcus.  It was Marcus she hid from, so the whisper told him, for she wanted to be found only by Rayleth.  

The wizard’s battered mind was tugged with his gaze toward the large wardrobe sitting against one wall.

There, yes!  Cried his mind, for indeed, that was the spot the whisper told him ‘she’ could be found.  The wizard grinned all too happily, and then his face quite literally fell.  Marcus was too close to the wardrobe… she didn’t want to be seen my Marcus.

Knock him out… thought the Hunter giddily.  But don’t kill him.  She said that to make such a waste would be a crime, indeed.

Slowly and carefully, Rayleth picked up his staff.  He took aim and hurled it at his companion’s downward bent head.  Marcus went down in a heap, but he started to snore not a moment later.  The whisper thanked him and told him that he was a good boy.  The Hunter’s best wizard giggled, wild and gleeful before striding with purpose toward the wardrobe.

Oh yes… he thought, just before he opened the wardrobe doors.  Yes, we are a good boy, aren’t we?

Half buried under a pile of his sister’s clothes, Anton Serril laughed quietly.

 

 

 

Twenty-two Hunters converged at the crest of a hill, far above the place where Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxe had dispatched four other of their company.  The remaining troupe had no way of knowing that they were now the whole group… so of course, they thought themselves very clever indeed for finding their quarry with only one wizard.  (And he who was placed last amongst the three who had gone on this hunt.)

The man they had searched for three days running was in their grasp at last.  Even though all of the company’s magical brooches had inexplicably stopped working, even though their wizard’s detection spell produced sketchy results, they had found him.  But he was just… standing there... and singing, in a rather off sounding tenor.  Surely there had to be something wrong with that! 

All of the company knew, though, that they would get no better opportunity to capture their quarry without destroying him.  The captain waved forward the wizard and a man with a blowgun.  The others he motioned to surround the creature in a horseshoe at the edge of the forest.  Three men crept as close as they dared to their quarry, just beyond (they hoped) hearing range.  Twice did the captain’s hand slice the air in signal, the second time only a heartbeat after the first.

Darts flew through the air as fast as the man with the blowgun could fire them.  At the same time, the wizard cast two separate spells of holding.  The captain watched, sword at the ready.  He prayed with all his heart that the oddest day of his career would not turn to disaster.

His prayers, it seemed, had been duly heard.

The Hunter’s quarry twitched and cried out in pain as each dart hit him, until finally the wizard’s spells took hold.  He fell into a stiff seated position, long auburn ponytail whipping him across the face, and he moved no more.

The captain gaped, sword halfway out of its sheath.  He hardly dared believe what his eyes saw!  Had they truly caught their elusive prey off guard?! 

Of course… this one hasn’t even seen a century pass.  He’s just a whelp, like the boss told us.  He’s quick and lucky, sure… but real power comes with age for them, so they say, and so they’re right.  Thought the captain, grinning.

“Come on, men.  Let’s get him secured!”  Called the captain to the surrounding Hunters.  “And would somebody find Rayleth’s worthless arse?  I want him teleported on ahead of us.  I don’t trust this wily little prince as far as I can throw him.”  

He mumbled the last as he approached their quarry.  When he reached the man, the captain tugged him roughly onto his back by the hair, his frozen legs pointing at the sky.  The men all laughed at that.  Their captain joined them, looking good-naturedly into their tired faces.  He heard a light clink then, and choked upon turning to the sound.

Cupped in the hand of their captive were five tiny feather-ended darts… and he was shifting them easily around, producing the soft sound.  The captain looked down, into the upturned face of the fiend.  He choked again, trying to warn his men.  But no sound would come.  For their captive smiled, and the simmering green eyes foretold death. 

“Many religions consider it a crime to waste holy water.”  Spoke their quarry, flicking those terrible eyes to the darts in her hand.  (For certainly no man’s voice came from those lips.) 

The company of Hunters stood back, horrified.  This monster had caught every single dart fired… and hadn’t they been chasing a male?

Twins… The captain thought, for he could do little else.  The female’s hand that wasn’t holding darts was clamped tightly around his throat.  What kind of soulless creature would make the effort to turn a set of twins?

“I care nothing for that crime…” Continued the not so captive, now crouched and looking at the company.  The Hunter captain refocused his eyes on her face.  “But I shall carry out your sentences just the same, and hope that whatever gods you call upon damn your wretched souls for all eternity.”

By this point, only the Hunter’s captain still hadn’t moved.  The rest of the company had all pulled various weapons.  All were pointed close to their original quarry’s sister.  The troupe was shaken, but not helpless.  They had been fooled, certainly… that would only make finding the brother all the easier. 

But then again, only the captain understood just how badly they had been fooled.  Only he understood what was about to happen to he and his company.  And why not?  They had been foolish, every one of them.  Captain and company had missed something… something too big to be so ignored, had any of them expected to survive.

And so the captain of one troupe of thirty Hunters closed his eyes when the pained, terrified cries of his men rose up around him.  It seemed an eternity before his world finally went dark.

 

 

 

Half a mile away, Artemis Entreri picked a few blades of grass out of his hair.  Gingerly he prodded himself in the shoulder.  Solid, as usual… but what in the hell had just happened?  He sighed, wiped his dagger blade clean on the dead Hunter’s cloak and went off to find Jarlaxle.  There were still more Hunters to kill, after all.

Entreri found the drow in the clearing picking through the fallen mage’s various pockets.

“Not much in the way of gold, my friend.  But,” Quipped the mercenary on Entreri’s arrival.  “A small treasure trove of gems and extremely intriguing artifacts.”

His human companion didn’t even bother to respond.  He could hardly be surprised by Jarlaxle’s behavior anymore.  But, were there not more Hunters about?  A great deal more, the assassin thought, as the two had only killed a handful of this troupe.  Jarlaxle wouldn’t really leave the rest of the company to Dusk… would he? 

Perhaps Entreri would have questioned the elf further, but it was about that time when the pair heard the thunderclap…

…And the screaming.  Most of the screams stopped rather abruptly.  For a moment or two, only one voice rolled down the hill.  And even though the words were impossible to distinguish through the screen of trees, someone was obviously very, very angry.

After a moment, the yelling ceased as well, and the assassin stood blinking in the general direction of all the noise. 

“Well, that was pleasant---” He started to say.

One last long, gut-wrenching shriek of pain floated down to the ears of Entreri and Jarlaxle.  This one ended in a sickening gurgle.

“Shouldn’t we…” Entreri started, cleared his throat and continued.  “I think it’s time we went and found the lady now.”

Jarlaxle stared at the man for a moment, and then he grinned.

“We just did, my friend.  Now, we have corpses to search.  Sit down and help me.”

He gestured to the second dead Hunter a few feet away.  Entreri turned around and gaped at him.  Oddly enough and not two heartbeats later, Jarlaxle gaped back.

“Or rather, don’t sit down.  In fact, I think it would be much better for all if you climbed up that tree right now!”  Whispered the drow.  He promptly hopped up and levitated to the nearest tree branch.

The assassin stared at him for a second. 

“Up, man!”  Jarlaxle cried from the tree.  “You truly do not want to touch that!”

Wisely, Entreri followed his companion’s gesturing hand.  He positively flew up the nearest tree and climbed as high as there were branches to support his weight.

A small wave came barreling down the hill at speed.  It was tinted red.  Once it had passed, the assassin heard Jarlaxle hop smoothly to the ground, where he started to yell.  The man shimmied down the tree to see what the ruckus was about.

“Oh my dear gods, what have I stepped in?!”  The drow hollered in disgust as Entreri reached the ground.

“If you would stop shaking your foot, perhaps I could tell you.” 

“A spleen?”  Jarlaxle moaned.  “For mercy’s sake, woman, I can see that you’re upset but… really, was that entirely necessary?!”

Artemis Entreri’s shoulders shook in and effort not to laugh while the drow went on ranting.  Certainly that was really, truly disgusting, and it surely made him not want to look and see what he might be standing in.  He really wasn’t sure what had just happened, or why he found this so funny.

Or, even, whose arms were resting across his shoulders.

“I don’t know what he’s fussing about.  It isn’t as if those boots cannot be washed off.”  Dusk said into his ear with a sigh.

He stiffened and grasped the lady by the chin.  “Must you do that?  Really?” 

“Yes, I would like to know the same.”  Jarlaxle quipped while madly wiping his boots on the grass.

Suddenly, the lady stood nose to nose with her elven friend.  “Shut up, love.”  She whispered.  “Stop worrying over your boots and hold on to me.  The last two Hunters are in the damned house.  In the house, do you hear me?”  Jarlaxle raised and eyebrow, nodding. 

And suddenly, Entreri felt a great upsurge of affection for the lady.

“Assassin?” Dusk called, turning to the man.  “Are you smiling, my friend?”

“Perhaps.”  He peered at her curiously.  “Did you really say the last two are in your house?  Jarlaxle and I took four between us and only two are left of thirty men?”

She grinned at him.  “Yes, assassin, you heard me correctly.”

With that, she offered her hand.  Entreri took it without hesitation and she teleported them away.

 

 

 

They popped back into existence behind Dusk’s house.  The lady stood rigid and still for a moment, her eyes closed.

“Anton…” She growled, eyes flying open and flaring dangerously. 

With that, the lady sprinted and leapt up into a levitation spell.  Jarlaxle did the same and Entreri followed, grabbing the drow’s belt on the way up.  He stepped into the lady’s room behind the other two.

Artemis Entreri backed out onto the balcony just as quickly as he had gone in, dropping his hands to his weapons.

In the middle of Dusk’s room stood Anton… in his underwear.  That in itself was just fine, if a little uncomfortable, for the assassin.  Dusk’s “brother”, or whoever he was, held aloft a Hunter swordsman in one hand.  The soldier made increasingly low choking sounds, and it was the cause of that which raffled Entreri so.

Anton’s mouth was clamped tightly onto the Hunter’s neck, sucking the very lifeblood from the hapless fellow. 

The young man was not a man at all… but a vampire.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry!  I didn’t think that any would come in here.”  Said Dusk, touching her brother’s free arm.

He dropped the dead Hunter at his feet.  “Do not be, sister.”  He came forward and kissed the lady’s forehead.

“Are you all right?”  She asked, and he chuckled.

“Much better, actually.”

And he certainly looked it.  The deep gash he had worn upon his arrival was now gone without a trace; the dark circles under his eyes and terrible gauntness of his skin were likewise absent.  At the moment, Anton looked quite nearly human, albeit one who had never seen the sun.  Except for his eyes.  His eyes were still their alarmingly sharp silver, and he no longer bothered to hide the long, wicked looking fangs in his mouth.

“Oh,” Added the vampire, who gestured to the other side of the room.  “I left the other one alive… perhaps he might be of some use.”

Crumpled up in the corner opposite Dusk’s bed sat the final Hunter wizard.  The cut of his robe and sheer number of jewels, likely all magical, sewn into his robe suggested that he was someone of great importance.  Or had been someone important, at least.  Now he merely gibbered quietly to himself when the collective attentions of the room focused upon him.

“How lovely.”  Growled the lady.  The wizard tried to crawl under a nearby table.  “Thank you, my dear.  I think I will have a word with him.  Now, if you would do me one favor more and go find a towel in the next room to cover your bum.  I do believe that you are upsetting my raven haired friend, though I’ll not remove these pants in front of this filth.”  She said, jerking her head toward the Hunter.

If only that were why the assassin glares at my dear brother so… Dusk thought with a small sigh.  I shall be needing the man… let us just hope that he understands that well enough to accept all of this.

With a solemn nod, Anton did as his sister asked, for he too had felt the deadly stare of Artemis Entreri boring into his back.

Through all the last few moments, the lady’s own simmering gaze never left the broken wizard upon the floor.  She laughed mirthlessly.  The wizard had wedged himself fully under the bedside table by then, and was apparently carrying on an unintelligible conversation with the dust bunnies.  At her back, the balcony doors closed.

With a flick of her wrist she tugged the man none too gently out and slammed him into the wall.

 

 

Artemis Entreri stared hard through the closed balcony doors.  He had half a moment to wonder at what the lady was doing.  Then Jarlaxle’s voice cut in, answering his question before he even asked it.

“That, my friend, is what happens when you make Dusk angry.”  The drow paused, his flippant tone becoming more serious.  “That could very well be you in there should you, say, decide to bring harm to her brother now that you see what he is.”

Entreri snorted.  “And what she is as well?  She hides it a great deal better than he does, that much is certain.”

“No, assassin.”  Sighed the mercenary.  “You do not understand at all, I see.  Anton is Dusk’s adopted brother.  I doubt she told you, but all of her real brothers have long passed from this world.  The lady herself is not a vampire, though I gather that even Anton’s maker claims her as his own daughter.”

The assassin let his vision slide out of focus, digesting all of this.  He shuddered.

“That justifies her failing to tell anyone, does it?  Had I known that I went to fight for the safety of a bloodsucking fiend, I might not have gone at all!”  Growled the man angrily.

“You fought because you had nothing better to do, even after Dusk had told you to stay behind.  She was worried for your safety as well!”  Jarlaxle shot back, eyeballing his companion.  “She likes you, though I cannot see why half the time. Trust me, she is quite a bit more indulgent with you than she would be with any other human… she calls you ‘friend’ just as easily as you call her adopted brother ‘fiend’.”

Entreri rocked back on his heels at that.  More than once now had Jarlaxle informed him that their enigmatic host actually liked him, even though she seemed to understand him quite well.  He found himself oddly touched once more… the man just wish he knew why!  Why would Dusk bother to give a damn about him?

“Still… the lady could have mentioned something.  That her brother is a vampire is a lot to keep hidden…” The assassin mumbled, at a loss for anything else to say.

To that, Jarlaxle laughed.

“She said nothing because there wasn’t time.”  The drow paused, tapping his chin.  “Think of it this way, my friend.  Are you more upset that Anton is what he is, or that Dusk didn’t tell you?”

And to that, Entreri didn’t even need to answer.

 

 

 

Rayleth lie on the bedroom floor where he had landed.  Every inch of his body ached, and he was certain that his legs had broken when he’d been telekinetically slammed against the wall.  This confused him.  Hadn’t the whisper in his head told him that he was a good boy?  That he had done well in downing his companion, and he should be allowed to rest until ‘she’ had finished with Marcus?  But then again, there was a great deal to confuse the poor wizard.  ‘She’ had turned out to be a ‘he’… and then there were two of the same person, but one was mostly naked.  And the one with clothes had just thrown him across the room.  It took him a moment, but Rayleth added up the incongruities.  Finally, he was able to differentiate between the two pale red heads standing before him.

Although because the man had been driven quite insane, his mind came up with a solution far flung from the truth.  The whispering in his head earlier had not, in fact, come from the nude fellow who had leapt out of the wardrobe at him.  It was the other one, the one whose smell had practically climbed up his nose earlier, who had been speaking in his mind.  She stood beside the vampire now, though he no longer mattered.  Rayleth really didn’t care about the vampire anymore, only that he had apparently displeased the female somehow.  To the wizard, that was unbearable.

“I did what you asked!”  He shrieked.  “What have I done to anger you, my pretty mistress?”

For that, Rayleth received the mental equivalent to a kick in the face.  He whimpered.

“Wretch!  Heartless excuse for a man!  You hunt my brother without mercy or thought, and you dare address me so?!”   Hissed the female’s voice in his head.

‘She’ was very displeased, indeed.

 

 

Without taking her eyes from the cowering wizard on the floor, Dusk sighed to her brother.  She had quickly scoured the thoughts of the Hunter… and had found them very, very strange.

“Dear heart, what in the hell did you do to him?”

“Well,” Anton began.  “I had to disable one and lure the other close to where I hid.  As I was still physically weak, I went for their minds.”

“I see.  And this one,” She replied, gesturing to Rayleth.  “Had a ward or two on him.  You broke those down, but judged too late on when to quit, am I right?”

The vampire shrugged.  “I imagine so.”

Dusk nodded.  Anton was, after all, still quite young for a vampire.  And the wizard’s madness wouldn’t matter for much longer, anyhow.  She turned from her brother and approached the last of those who had hunted him.

“I am sure that there are a pair of father’s pants in the downstairs closet.  Go and find them, please.”  Whispered the lady.

With a last wicked, mirthless grin at the Hunter, Anton did as his sister asked.   Dusk waited until she heard him vault over the stair railing before crouching down before the wizard.  She grabbed him roughly by the chin and stopped his squirming with a look.

“Your name is Rayleth.”  She stated, slowly and evenly.  The wizard nodded and grinned stupidly.  “I have no wish to look any further into your twisted little mind, Rayleth.  If you answer my questions, perhaps I might find the will to tell you who I am.”

“Yes ma’am, anything!”  Rayleth eagerly blurted out.

Dusk raised an eyebrow.  Indeed, Anton had done quite a number on this one.

“Why did your company seek my brother, my little servant?”  She asked, trying very hard not to kill the man then and there.

Rayleth’s face drooped for a moment.  “The fiend?  The one who looks like you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”  He replied with a laugh.  “He is the sire of the Old One.  Our master needs the king, but he cannot get to him yet.  So we were to take the favored prince and bing!  The Old One comes to our master, and…”

The frightening glimmer in the lady’s eyes clued Rayleth that he shouldn’t finish his sentence.  Dusk leaned in closer to him.

“Why does your master need Lord Marcellus?”  She asked in a whisper.

“With the Old One’s blood, our master will make us immortal… a thousand times more powerful.”  Grinned the wizard.  “But first, he will make the fiend get something for him that he cannot reach himself.”

Dusk’s face went rigid.  That last bit was the answer she had been dreading most. 

“What is it that your master will have Marcellus retrieve?”  She asked, though she could surmise the answer well enough.

“He doesn’t say much of it.”  He replied with a frown.  “It is… a talisman that used to belong to an old dead king.  He says that it can give him power over Torril.”

Dusk stared hard at the man.  Rayleth started to shy away but she grabbed his head and held him still, smiling all too sweetly.

“Good boy.”  She whispered.  “Do you want me to tell you who I am now?”

The Hunter babbled some unintelligible ‘yes’ and ‘thanks’ at the same time.

“Then I shall show you.”  Growled the lady, gripping Rayleth just a little bit harder.

With a thought she dispelled the magic hiding the tattoo on her face.  The wizard choked.  His body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to squirm away or freeze up on him, and Dusk laughed, low and sinister.

“You recognize the symbol, oh follower would-be gods?”  She suddenly roared into his face.  “Tell me what it means, Rayleth the Fool!”

The wizard was shaking in fear by then, and it took him a long time indeed to stop his teeth from chattering long enough to answer.  For a moment, though, he managed to regain some of his sense.

“Y-you can’t be here!”  He stammered. “You were all killed centuries ago!”

The lady laid her forehead against Rayleth’s.  “Very nearly.”  She growled.  “But not quite.  Tell your master for me, once he reaches the layer of hell that I now release you to.”

 

 

 

Many miles away, a great and terrible creature stirred upon his throne.  A cursory inspection of the thing would reveal a man in his early thirties.  He might be considered stunningly handsome by many, with his silky chocolate colored hair spilling far down his back and a statuesque form.  In fact, most women would love him on sight… until one took notice of his eyes.  They were straight black, from one side to the other, and the color seemed to swirl with life of its own. 

It would be fair to say that this creature was old, though even he couldn’t remember exactly when he came into existence.  For simplicity’s sake let us merely say that the creature ages around seven hundred years.  That was the age of the body he inhabited, anyhow. 

The creature stood, and half a dozen servants flocked to his side.

“What is it, my Lord?”  One dared to ask.  The little man nearly fell over when his master actually answered him.

“They are dead.”  He paused, staring at nothing for a moment.  “All of them.  But how, I wonder?”

The servant’s eyes widened.  “Who is dead, my Lord?”

The creature laughed, and the servant skittered back.  “Who they were is of no consequence.  How, and by whom… that is what matters!”

And with that, he strode off toward his private chambers.  He left a wake of confused and rather frightened servants in his wake to wonder at the words of their master.