as well.
Jarlaxle played the staring game better than any. He sat comfortably behind his great desk, even relaxed in his chair. He leaned back and dropped his booted feet atop the desk.
Triel swept across the room in a rush and slapped his feet away. She leaned over the desk to put her scowl close to the cocky mercenary. The priestess heard a slight shuffle to one side, then another from the floor, and suspected that Jarlaxle had many allies here, concealed behind secret doors, ready to spring out and protect the leader of Bregan D'aerthe.
'Not that female,' she breathed, trying to keep things somewhat calm. Triel was the leader of the highest school in the drow Academy, the eldest daughter of the first house of Menzoberranzan, and a mighty high priestess in full favor (as far as she knew) of the Spider Queen. She did not fear Jarlaxle or his allies, but she did fear her mother's wrath if she was forced to kill the often helpful mercenary, if she precipitated a covert war, or even an atmosphere of uncooperation, between valuable Bregan D'aerthe and House Baenre.
And she knew that Jarlaxle understood her paralysis against him, knew that Jarlaxle grasped it better than anyone and would exploit it every step of the way.
Pointedly throwing off his smile, pretending to be serious, the mercenary lifted his gaudy hat and ran a hand slowly over the side of his bald head. 'Dear Triel,' he replied calmly. 'I tell you in all honesty that there was no other drow female on the Isle of Rothe, or near the isle, unless she was a soldier of House Baenre.'
Triel backed off from the desk, gnawed at her lips, and wondered where to turn next. As far as she could tell, the mercenary was not lying, and either Jarlaxle had found some way to counter her magic, or he was speaking the truth.
'If there was, I certainly would have reported it to you,' Jarlaxle added, and the obvious lie twanged discordantly in Triel's mind.
Jarlaxle hid his smile well. He had thrown out that last lie just to let Triel know that her spell was in place. By her incredulous expression, Jarlaxle knew that he had won that round.
'I heard of a great panther,' Triel prompted.
'Magnificent cat,' Jarlaxle agreed, 'the property of one Drizzt Do'Urden, if I have read the history of the renegade correctly. Guenhwyvar, by name, taken from the corpse of Masoj Hun'ett after Drizzt slew Masoj in battle.'
'I heard that the panther, this Guenhwyvar, was on the Isle of Rothe,' Triel clarified impatiently.
'Indeed,' replied the mercenary. He slid a metallic whistle out from under his cloak and held it before his eyes. 'On the isle, then dissolved into an insubstantial mist.'
'And the summoning device?'
'You have Drizzt, my dear Triel,' Jarlaxle replied calmly. 'Neither I nor any of my band got anywhere near the renegade except in battle. And, in case you've never witnessed Drizzt Do'Urden in battle, let me assure you that my soldiers had more on their minds than picking that one's pockets!'
Triel's expression grew suspicious.
'Oh, one lesser soldier did go to the fallen renegade,' Jarlaxle clarified, as though he had forgotten that one minor detail. 'But he took no figurine, no summoning device at all, from Drizzt, I assure you.'
'And neither you nor any of your soldiers happened to find the onyx figurine?'
'No.'
Again, the crafty mercenary had spoken nothing but the truth, for Artemis Entreri was not, technically, a soldier of Bregan D'aerthe.
Triel's spell told her that Jarlaxle's words had been correct, but all reports claimed that the panther had been about on the isle and House Baenre's soldiers had not been able to locate the valuable figurine. Some thought it might have flown from Drizzt when he had gone over the ledge, landing somewhere in the murky water. Magical detection spells hadn't located it, but that could be readily explained by the nature of Donigarten. Calm on the surface, the dark lake was well known for strong undercurrents, and for darker things lurking in the deep.
Still, the Baenre daughter was not convinced about either the female or the panther. Jarlaxle had beaten her this time, she knew, but she trusted in her reports as much as she didn't trust in the mercenary.
Her ensuing expression, a pout so uncommon to the proud Baenre daughter, actually caught Jarlaxle off guard.
'The plans proceed,' Triel said suddenly. 'Matron Baenre has brought together a high ritual, a ceremony that will be heightened now that she has secured a most worthy sacrifice.'
Jarlaxle considered the words carefully, and the weight with which Triel had spoken them. Drizzt, the initial link to Mithril Hall, had been delivered, but Matron Baenre still planned to proceed, with all speed, to the conquest of Mithril Hall. What would Lloth think of all this? the mercenary had to wonder.
'Surely your matron will take the time to consider all options,' Jarlaxle replied calmly.
'She nears her death,' Triel snapped in reply. 'She is hungry for the conquest and will not allow herself to die until it has been achieved.'
Jarlaxle nearly laughed at that phrase, 'will not allow herself to die,' then he considered the withered matron mother. Baenre should have died centuries ago, and yet she somehow lived on. Perhaps Triel was right, the mercenary mused. Perhaps Matron Baenre understood that the decades were finally catching up with her, so she would push on to the conquest without regard for consequences. Jarlaxle loved chaos, loved war, but this was a matter that required careful thinking. The mercenary truly enjoyed his life in Menzober-ranzan. Might Matron Baenre be jeopardizing that existence?
'She thinks Drizzt's capture a good thing,' Triel went on, 'and it is—indeed it is! That renegade is a sacrifice long overdue the Spider Queen.'
'But…' Jarlaxle prompted.
'But how will the alliance hold together when the other matron mothers learn that Drizzt is already taken?' Triel pointed out. 'It is a tentative thing, at best, and more tentative still if some come to believe that Lloth's sanction of the raid is no more, that the main goal in going to the surface has already been achieved.'
Jarlaxle folded his fingers in front of him and paused for a long while. She was wise, this Baenre daughter, wise and as experienced in the ways of the drow as any in the city— except for her mother and, perhaps, Jarlaxle. But now she, with so much more to lose, had shown the mercenary something he had not thought of on his own, a potentially serious problem.
Trying vainly to hide her frustrahon, Triel spun away from the desk and marched across the small room, hardly slowing as she plunged straight into the unconventional portal, almost an interplanar goo that made her walk along a watery corridor for many steps (though the door seemed to be only several inches thick) before exiting between two smirking Bregan D'aerthe guardsmen in a corridor.
A moment later, Jarlaxle saw the heated outline of a drow hand against his almost translucent door, the signal that Triel was gone from the complex. A lever under the top of the mercenary's desk opened seven different secret doors—from the floor and the walls—and out stepped or climbed several dark elves and one human, Artemis Entreri.
'Triel heard reports of the female on the isle,' Jarlaxle said to the drow soldiers, his most trusted advisors. 'Go among the ranks and learn who, if any, betrayed us to the Baenre daughter.'
'And kill him?' asked one eager drow, a vicious specimen whose skills Jarlaxle valued when conducting interrogations.
The mercenary leader put a condescending look over the impetuous drow, and the other Bregan D'aerthe soldiers followed suit. Tradition in the underground band did not call for the execution of spies, but rather the subtle manipulation. Jarlaxle had proven many times that he could get as much done, plant as much disinformation, with an enemy informant as with his own spies and, to disciplined Bregan D'aerthe, any plant that Triel had in place among the ranks would be a benefit.
Without needing to speak another word to his well-trained and well-practiced advisors, Jarlaxle waved them away.
'This adventure grows more fun by the hour,' the mercenary remarked to Entreri when they were gone. He looked the assassin right in the eye. 'Despite the disappointments.'
The remark caught Entreri off guard. He tried to decipher what Jarlaxle might be talking about.
'You knew that Drizzt was in the Underdark, knew even that he was close to Menzoberranzan and soon to arrive,' the mercenary began, though that statement told Entreri nothing enlightening.
