information, " Jarlaxle replied. "I do not wish to make her work easier, not without a clear and agreed upon profit!"
Entreri smiled, then bit his lower lip, digesting the mercenary's words. There was always so much going on in this infernal city, the assassin mused. It was no wonder that Jarlaxle enjoyed the place so! Entreri almost wished that he was a drow, that he could carve out a place such as Jarlaxle had done, playing on the edge of disaster. Almost.
"When did Matron Baenre instruct you to return the mask?" the assassin asked. He and Jarlaxle had been out of Menzoberranzan for some time, had gone into the outer caverns to meet with a svirf neblin informant. They had returned only a short time before their trip to Sorcere, and Jarlaxle, as far as Entreri knew, hadn't gone any where near House Baenre.
"Some time ago, " Jarlaxle replied.
"To bring it to the Academy?" Entreri pressed. It seemed out of place to him. And why had Jarlaxle taken him along? He had never been invited to that high place before, had even been refused on one occasion, when he had asked to accompany Jarlaxle to Melee Magthere, the school of fighters. The mercenary had explained that taking a colnbluth, a non drow, there would be risky, but now, for some reason, Jarlaxle had thought it appropriate to take Entreri to Sorcere, by far the more dangerous school.
"She did not specify where the mask was to be returned, " Jar laxle admitted.
Entreri did not respond, though he realized the truth of that answer. The spider mask was a prized possession of the Baenre clan, a potential weak spot in its hardened defenses. It belonged in the secured quarters of House Baenre and nowhere else.
"Foolish Triel, " Jarlaxle remarked offhandedly. "The same word, asanque, would get her into that drawer. She should know that her brother was arrogant enough to believe that none would ever try to steal from him, and so he would not spend too much time with password tricks."
The mercenary laughed, and Entreri followed suit, though he was more intrigued than amused. Jarlaxle rarely did or said any thing without purpose, and the mercenary had told him all of this for a reason.
But why?
Chapter 16 MENZOBERRANZAN
The raft slid slowly across Donigarten, the small, dark lake on the eastern end of the great cavern that housed Menzoberranzan. Drizzt sat on the prow of the craft, looking west as the cavern opened wide before him, though, with his infravision, the image seemed strangely blurred. Drizzt initially attributed it to the lake's warm currents and gave it little thought. He was preoccupied, his mind looking as much in the past as in the present, reeling with stirring memories.
The rhythmic moaning of the orcan paddlers behind him allowed him to find a calmness, to flow his memories one at a time.
The drow ranger closed his eyes and willed the shift from heat sensing infravision into the normal spectrum of light. He remem bered the splendor of Menzoberranzan's stalagmite and stalactite structures, their intricate and crafted designs highlighted by glow ing faerie fire of purple, blue, and red.
He wasn't prepared for what he found when he opened his eyes. The city was filled with light! Not just with faerie fires, but with sparkling dots of yellow and white, the light of torches and bright magical enchantments. For a very brief moment, Drizzt allowed himself to believe that the presence of light might be some remote indication of a changing of the dark elves' dark ways. He had always connected the perpetual gloom of the Underdark to the dark demeanor of drow, or, at least, had thought the darkness a fit ting result of his kin's dark ways.
Why the lights? Drizzt was not arrogant enough to think that their presence might be somehow connected to the hunt for him. He did not think that he was that important to the drow, and had little more than the deep gnomes' supposition that things were awry (He had no idea that plans were being laid for an all out surface raid.) He wanted to question one of the other drow on the matter, the female, in particular, would likely have some information, but how could he broach the subject without giving away his identity as an outsider?
As if on cue, the female was at his side, sitting uncomfortably close.