That Curious Sword

That Curious Sword R.A. Salvatore

The Year of the Shield (1367DR)

"It is not so different from Calimport," Artemis Entreri insisted, somewhat stubbornly. Across the table from him, Jarlaxle merely chuckled. "And you call my people xenophobic," the dark elf replied. "At least we are not so racist toward others of our own species!" "You talk the part of the fool." "I talked my way into thecity, did I not?" Jarlaxle replied with that mischievous grin of his. It was true enough. He and Entreri had come north and east, to the region known as the Bloodstone Lands. There, word had it, adventurers could do a fine business in goblin ears and the like, taken from the wild lands of Vaasa to the north of the kingdom of Damara and this city, Damara's capital, Heliogabalus. Liberally invokingthe name of Gareth Dragonsbane, and reminding the city guards that the Paladin King of Damara was a man known for tolerance and understanding, a man known for judging all people by their actions and not their heritage, the dark elf had convinced the city's stern protectors to allow him entry. They had agreed mostly because Jarlaxle was like no other dark elf they had ever heard of-and none of themhad ever seen one. Outrageously dressed with a flamboyant wide-brimmed hat capped by a huge purple feather, a flowing cape-blue on the day he had entered the city, since turned red-an eye patch that daily changed from eye to eye, and with no apparent weapons, the drow seemed more a conversation piece than any threat to the security of the great city. They had let him and Entreri, with hismagnificent sword and jeweled dagger, enter the city but had promised to watch over them carefully. After a couple of hours, the assassin and the drow knew that promise was one the lazy guards didn't intend to keep. "You're taking far too long!" Entreri yelled across the somewhat crowded tavern, at the hapless waitress who had taken their order for drinks and food. They knew she was in no hurry to returnto them, for she had been trembling visibly at the sight of a drow elf all the time she was trying to concentrate on their words. The woman blanched and started toward the bar, then turned around, then turned around again, as if she didn't know what to do. At a nearby table, a pair of men looked from her to Entreri, their expressions sour. The assassin sat calmly, almost hoping that the pair wouldmake a move. He was in an especially foul

mood over the last couple of months, ever since he and Jarlaxle had destroyed the Crystal Shard. The road had been boring and uneventful, even with his flamboyant companion, and Jarlaxle's plan to come to the Bloodstone Lands to make a reputation and some coin by killing goblins and other monsters sounded more to Entreri like a job for his formerarch-nemesis Drizzt and his "gallant" friends. Still, Entreri had to admit that their options were a bit limited, since Calimport was shut off to them and they'd have a hard time truly establishing themselves in the bowery of any other city. "You've flustered her," Jarlaxle remarked. Entreri just shrugged. "You know, my friend, there is a saying among the drow nobles that if someone treats you well butis wicked to the peasants, then he is truly a wicked person. Now, in my society, that is a compliment, but here?" Entreri sat back and lifted the front of his round, thin-brimmed hat-Jarlaxle called it a "bolero"-high above his eyes, so that the drow could clearly see his stare, could see the skepticism in his dark eyes. "Do not pretend you don't care," Jarlaxle said against that smirk. "Now myconscience is a dark elf?" Entreri asked incredulously. "How low must I have sunk." "Artemis Entreri is a better man than to whip a serving girl," was all Jarlaxle said, pointedly turning away. With a frustrated growl, Entreri shoved back from the table and started across the room, his small form moving silently and gracefully, almost as if he was floating across the room, heading for the serving...