'A map?' the drow asked. 'It is a series of dots, a circle, a single line and a drop of blood. How is that a map?'
'The dots are buildings… locations. All the buildings that have played a part in this riddle we have entered,' Entreri explained. He leaned forward, indicating each as he named them. 'The tavern, our apartment…'
He paused there and glanced around, not pleased to learn that whomever was behind it all knew where they lived.
'And the Wall Around,' said Jarlaxle, catching on and pointing to the circle. 'Bag of Silver and Gold Coins. Indeed, the proportions of the distances seem fairly accurate.' He measured each with his fingers as he spoke, confirming his guess. 'But all of this was known to us already.'
'Except for that,' said Entreri, pointing to the one mark on the far edge of the long parchment, a drop of blood very far removed from the other indicators.
'Blood?' asked the drow.
'A destination.'
The pair found the spot of blood-a rather unremarkable cabin on the side of a rocky hill far outside the wall of Heliogabalus-in the light drizzle of the following morning. The city was not visible from the cabin, for it was on the far side of the hill, nor was it near any roads.
Entreri eyed the abode suspiciously, scanning the surroundings for signs of ambush, but no threat presented itself. The roof was not high-the back side of the house, abutting the hill, rose no more than five feet above the stony ground-and there were no trees close enough to afford any archers an easy shot.
So caught up was the wary assassin in scouting the surrounding area that he was caught somewhat by surprise when a woman's voice addressed the pair right from the small porch of the house.
'Clever and quick,' she said. 'Better than I expected, really.'
The companions took a step away from each other, each sizing up the woman from a different angle. She was not unattractive, though certainly not beautiful. Her face was rather plain, and unadorned with the many powders and colors that had become all the rage in Damara among the women of the court. That face seemed a bit short, too, or perhaps that was because her shoulders seemed too wide for the rest of her frame. She appeared a little older than Entreri, probably nearing, if not already past, her fiftieth birthday. Her thin, shoulder length hair was a soft blend of gray and strawberry blond, though certainly not as lustrous as it once might have appeared.
She wore a modest dress, powder blue and simply tailored. Her shoes were low cut, quite impractical for the muddy, harsh terrain between the cabin and the city. They were shoes more common within the city gates, Entreri noted, and certainly nothing a hearty hermit so far out of town would wear.
Entreri felt Jarlaxle's gaze upon him, so he turned to take in his friend's smirk.
'Greetings, Lady Tazmikella,' the drow said with a great flourish and a deep bow, sweeping his wide brimmed hat off as he bent low.
Entreri, surprised by the remark, looked to the woman, noting her sudden scowl.
'Do you always take such presumptive chances?' she asked, and Entreri couldn't tell if she was annoyed because Jarlaxle had guessed correctly, or insulted because he had so labeled her.
'Deductive reasoning,' explained the drow.
The woman didn't seem very impressed, or convinced, when she said, 'I have your interest, it would seem, so come inside.'
She turned and walked into the cabin, and with another shared look and a pair of concerned shrugs, they moved up side by side, Jarlaxle's enchanted boots clicking loudly even on the soft ground, and Entreri's skilled steps making not a whisper of sound, even on the hard wood of the porch stairs.
Inside, they found the facade of the cabin wholly misleading, for the room was spacious-too much so, it seemed-and well-adorned with fabulous tapestries and rugs. Most were stitched with designs depicting the gentler pleasures of life in Damara: a shepherd with his flock on a sunny hillside, a woman singing while cleaning laundry at a stream, a group of children playing at the joust with long poles and the pennants of well-known heroes….Candelabrum and fine, sturdy plates covered the table. Dry sinks lined every wall, full of plants and flowers neatly and tastefully arranged. A chandelier hung over the center table, a simple but beautiful many-limbed piece that would have been more fitting in one of the mansions of the great city, though not in its more formal rooms.
Looking around at the decor, at the distinctive silver flavor, Entreri realized that Jarlaxle's guess had been correct.
'Please, sit,' the woman said.
She motioned to the simple but elegant carved wooden chairs around the central table. It was hardly inexpensive furniture, Entreri noted, as he felt the weight of the chair and let his finger play in the deep grooves of superior craftsmanship.
'You have moved quickly and so you are deserving of similar effort on my part,' the woman said.
'You have heard of us and wish to hire us,' said Jarlaxle.
'Of course.'
'You do not look like one who would wish another killed.'
The woman blanched at the drow's suggestion, Entreri noted. For that was Entreri's role whenever they met a new prospective employer and Jarlaxle posed that very same question. Jarlaxle always liked to start such interviews in a blunt manner.
'I was told that you two were skilled in. . procurement.'
'You seem to do well in that area yourself, Lady Taz…' Jarlaxle stopped short, looking for cues.
'Tazmikelldl she confirmed. 'And yes, I do, and thank you for noticing. But you may have also noticed that I am not alone in my endeavors in the fine city of Heliogabalus.'
'Ilnezhara's Gold Coins,' said Entreri.
'It is a name I cannot speak without an accompanying curse,' the woman admitted. 'My rival, once my friend. And alas, she has done it again.'
'It?' the two asked together.
'Procured a piece for which she is not worthy,' said Tazmikella, and when doubting expressions came at her, she sat back in her chair and held up her hands to stop any forthcoming inquiries. 'Allow me to explain.'
The woman closed her eyes and remained silent for a long while.
'Not so long ago,' she began tentatively, as if she wasn't sure if they would get her point, 'I happened across a woman sitting on a rock in a field. She did not see me, for she was wrapped in memories. At least, it seemed that way. She was singing, her eyes closed, her mind looking far away-to one she had lost, from what I could tell from the few words I could decipher. Never have I heard such passion and pain in a voice, as if every note carried her heart and soul. She touched me deeply with the beauty of her art and song.
'For me, there was simple appreciation, but my counterpart-'
'Ilnezhara,' Jarlaxle reasoned, and Tazmikella nodded.
'Ilnezhara would never have understood the beauty of that woman's song. She would have cited how the words strained to rhyme, or the lack of proper technique and the occasional warbling in that untrained voice. It was just those imperfect warbles that pulled at my heart.'
'Because they were honest,' said Jarlaxle.
'And thus practical,' added Entreri, bringing it back to the verse that had brought them there.
'Not pretty enough for Ilnezhara, perhaps,' Jarlaxle said, building upon the thought. 'But the prettiness of perfection would have tethered the honesty of emotion.'
'Exactly!' said Tazmikella. 'Oh, this is a battle we have long waged. Over everything and anything, it seems. Over painting and sculpture, tapestries, song, and story. I have listened to bards, have watched them sweep away entire common rooms in tales of bold adventure, enrapturing all who would listen. And only to hear Ilnezhara, once my partner, tell me that the structure of the tale was all wrong because it did not follow some formula decided by scholars far removed from those folk in the tavern.
'We battled at auction recently, or we thought to, except that I held no interest in the painting presented. It was no more than a scribbling of lines that evoked nothing more than simple curiosity in me-the curiosity of how it could be proclaimed as art, you see.'
'Your counterpart saw it differently?' asked the drow.
'Not at first, perhaps, but when the artist explained the inner meaning, Ilnezhara's eyes glowed. Never mind
