that Entreri doubted that one in twenty humans could even begin to manage it. And he was trying desperately to learn the drow spoken language as well. He knew a few words and had a basic under standing of drow sentence structure, so he could put simple ideas together.
And he knew the word iblith all too well.
The assassin leaned back against the wall of the small cave, this week's base of operations for Bregan D'aerthe. He felt smaller, more insignificant, than ever. When Jarlaxle had first revived him, in a cave in the ravine outside of Mithril Hall, he had thought the merce nary's offer (actually more of a command, Entreri now realized) to take him to Menzoberranzan a wonderful thing, a grand adventure.
This was no adventure; this was living hell. Entreri was colnbluth, non drow, living in the midst of twenty thousand of the less than tolerant race. They didn't particularly hate humans, no more than they hated everybody else, but because he was colnbluth, non drow, the once powerful assassin found himself beneath the lowest ranks of Bregan D'aerthe's drow force. No matter what he did, no matter who he killed, in Menzoberranzan, Artemis Entreri could never rank higher than twenty thousand and first.
And the spiders! Entreri hated spiders, and the crawly things were everywhere in the drow city. They were bred into larger, more poisonous varieties, and were kept as pets. And to kill a spider was a crime carrying the punishment of jivvin quui'elghinn, torture until death. In the great cavern's eastern end, the moss bed and mush room grove near the lake of Donigarten, where Entreri was often put to work herding goblin slaves, spiders crawled about by the thousands. They crawled around him, crawled on him, hung down in strands, dangling inches from the tormented man's face.
The assassin drew his green gleaming sword and held its wicked edge before his eyes. At least there was more light now in the city; for some reason that Entreri did not know, magical lights and flickering torches had become much more common in Menzo berranzan.
"It would not be wise to stain so marvelous a weapon with drow blood, " came a familiar voice from the doorway, easily speak ing the Common tongue. Entreri didn't take his gaze from the blade as Jarlaxle entered the small room.
"You presume that I would find the strength to harm one of the mighty drow, " the assassin replied. "How could I, the iblith, . . ." he started to ask, but Jarlaxle's laughter mocked his self pity. Entreri glanced over at the mercenary and saw the drow holding his wide brimmed hat in his hand, fiddling with the diatryma feather.
"I have never underestimated your prowess, assassin, " Jarlaxle said. "You have survived several fights against Drizzt Do'Urden, and few in Menzoberranzan will ever make that claim."
"I was his fighting equal, " Entreri said through gritted teeth. Simply uttering the words stung him. He had battled Drizzt several times, but only twice had they fought without a premature interrup tion. On both those occasions, Entreri had lost. Entreri wanted des perately to even the score, to prove himself the better fighter. Still, he had to admit, to himself, at least, that in his heart he did not desire another fight with Drizzt. After the first time he had lost to Drizzt, in the muddy sewers and streets of Calimport, Entreri had lived every day plotting revenge, had shaped his life around one event, his rematch with Drizzt. But after his second loss, the one in which he had wound up hanging, broken and miserable, from a jag of rock in a windswept ravine...
But what? Entreri wondered. Why did he no longer wish to battle that renegade drow? Had the point been proven, the decision rendered? Or was he simply too afraid? The emotions were unset tling to Artemis Entreri, as out of place within him as he was in the city of drow.
"I was his fighting equal, " he whispered again, with as much conviction as he could muster.
"I would not state that openly if I were you, " the mercenary replied. "Dantrag Baenre and Uthegental Armgo would fight one another simply to determine which of them got to kill you first."
Entreri did not blink; his sword flared, as if reflecting his sim mering pride and anger.
Jarlaxle laughed again. "To determine which would get to fight you first, "