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.
"The trap was perfectly set and perfectly executed, " the assassin argued, and Jarlaxle couldn't really disagree, though several soldiers were wounded and four had died. Such losses had to be expected when dealing with one as fiery as Drizzt. "I was the one who brought Drizzt down and captured Catti-brie, " Entreri pointedly reminded him.
"Therein lies your error, " Jarlaxle said with an accusing snicker.
Entreri eyed him with sincere confusion.
"The human woman called Catti-brie followed Drizzt down here, using Guenhwyvar and this, " he said, holding up the magical, heart shaped locket. "She followed blindly, by all reasoning, through twisting caverns and terrible mazes. She could never hope to retrace her steps."
"She will not likely be leaving, " Entreri added dryly.
"Therein lies your error, " Jarlaxle repeated. His smile was wide, and now Entreri was beginning to catch on.
"Drizzt Do'Urden alone could have guided you from the depths of the Underdark, " Jarlaxle told him plainly. The mercenary tossed the locket to Entreri. "Feel its warmth, " he explained, "the warmth of the warrior's blood coursing through the veins of Drizzt Do'Urden. When it cools, then know that Drizzt is no more, and know that your sunlight world is lost to you forever.
"Except for an occasional glance, perhaps, when Mithril Hall is taken, " Jarlaxle added with a sly wink.
Entreri resisted the impulse to leap over the desk and murder the mercenary, mostly because he suspected that another lever under that desktop would open seven other trap doors and bring Jarlaxle's closest, closest advisors storming upon him. But truly, after that initial moment, the assassin was more intrigued than angered, both by Jarlaxle's sudden proclamation that he would never see the surface world, and by the thought that Drizzt Do'Urden could have led him out of the Underdark. Thinking, still holding the locket, the assassin started for the door.
"Did I mention that House Horlbar has begun its inquiry into the death of Jerlys?" Jarlaxle queried at his back, stopping the assassin in midstride. "They have even approached Bregan D'aerthe, willing to pay dearly for information. How ironic, wouldn't you agree?"
Entreri did not turn about. He simply walked to the door and pushed out of the room. It was more food for thought.
Jarlaxle, ioo, was thinking, thinking that this entire episode might become more delicious yet. He thought that Triel had pointed out some snares that Matron Baenre, blinded by her lust for power, would never notice. He thought most of all that the Spider Queen, in her love of chaos, had placed him in a position to turn the world of Menzoberranzan upon its head.
Matron Baenre had her own agenda, and Triel certainly had hers, and now Jarlaxle was solidifying one of his own, for no better reason than the onslaught of furious chaos, from which the cunning mercenary always seemed to emerge better off than before.
The semiconscious Drizzt did not know how long the punish ment had gone on. Vendes was brilliant at her cruel craft, finding every sensitive area on the hapless prisoner and beating it, gouging, it, raking it with wickedly tipped instruments. She kept Drizzt on the verge of unconsciousness, never allowing him to black out com pletely, kept him feeling the excruciating pain.
Then she left, and Drizzt slumped low on his shackles, unable to comprehend the damage the hard edged rings were doing to his wrists. All the ranger wanted at the terrible time was to fall away from the world, from his pained body. He could not think of the sur face, of his friends. He remembered that Guenhwyvar had been on the island, but could not concentrate enough to remember the sig nificance of that.
He was defeated; for the first time in his life, Drizzt wondered if death would be preferable to life.
He felt someone grab roughly at his hair and yank his head back. He tried to see through his blurry and swollen eyes, for he feared that wicked Vendes had returned. The voices he heard, though, were male.
A flask came up against his lips, and his head was yanked hard to the side, angled so that the liquid would pour down his throat. Instinctively,