The Last Threshold (Neverwinter #4)(105)

Kimmuriel nodded as Jarlaxle spoke, revealing that he was of like mind. “There have been other inquiries by the Netherese,” he explained.

“Of Drizzt?”

“No, none that I know of, but of others who have elevated themselves amongst the ranks of the mortals of Faer?n. Elminster, for one. It seems that our Netherese neighbors have taken a special interest in those who have distinguished themselves in the eyes of one god or another.”

“The Chosen,” Jarlaxle reasoned. “Or perhaps they hold an interest in the gods themselves.”

“And our duty in any such a conflict?” Kimmuriel asked.

“Profit.”

“And Menzoberranzan’s role?”

“That is more interesting,” Jarlaxle admitted, meaning that he couldn’t begin to figure it out.

“If you are correct in your assumptions regarding their interest in Drizzt, then likely Menzoberranzan will be able to pick sides as is most convenient, but if you are wrong.…”

“If Drizzt is their focus, then perhaps their plans are also focused on our people.”

“And in that regard, what then is our new agreement worth, to us and to the Netherese?”

“Let us be very cautious in the manner of goods we send to Shade Enclave,” Jarlaxle decided. “And regarding any information we disclose. I do not believe that Parise means to move against Menzoberranzan, or against Bregan D’aerthe—to what end, after all? But let us make sure that we do not help them in whatever they think to accomplish.”

“You will remain in Luskan for the time being?” Kimmuriel asked.

“You’re leaving?”

“I will go to the city of the illithids,” the psionicist announced. “Their hive mind will help us find the answers. If something grand is unfolding, then the sooner we understand it, the larger our profit.”

“How long?”

“Who can tell with mind flayers?” Kimmuriel responded with a shrug.

Jarlaxle nodded.

“Drizzt Do’Urden,” Kimmuriel stated.

Jarlaxle shrugged.

“He is here, as is Artemis Entreri,” Kimmuriel clarified. “I trust that any contact you might find will be in the interest of Bregan D’aerthe, and not in the interest of Jarlaxle.”

“They are one and the same.”

Kimmuriel stared at him hard.

“Go,” Jarlaxle said, waving him away. “I am no fool, and I recognize that the events unfolding could well be important. Where is Beniago?”

“He is around, surely in the city. He was quite useful in getting Drizzt far from Luskan for the last several months.”

“Tiago again?”

“He is stubborn,” Kimmuriel admitted. “But then, he is a Baenre, after all.”

Jarlaxle Baenre grinned and bowed at the clever remark. “Tiago may well be stepping into something larger than he understands, and to his—and to all of our—detriment.”

“As I said, he is a Baenre.”

Jarlaxle could only chuckle in response.





“Well met, again,” Jarlaxle said to Tiago Baenre when he found the young warrior holed up in an abandoned farmhouse just outside of Luskan. As Beniago had informed Jarlaxle, Tiago had several companions with him, including a brother and sister of House Xorlarrin.

Jarlaxle tipped his great hat, turning as he did in apparent deference to the drow wearing the robes of a priestess—Saribel Xorlarrin, no doubt—but in truth to let his gaze scrutinize the spellspinner standing beside her. Beniago had warned him specifically to beware the spellspinner known as Ravel Xorlarrin.

“You were not invited,” Tiago said sternly.

“Nor were you, yet here you are, far from Menzoberranzan, far even from Gauntlgrym,” Jarlaxle returned.

“I am Baenre. I go where I please.”

“You’re in Bregan D’aerthe territory, young weapons master. You would have done well to inform us of your intent.”

“Bregan D’aerthe,” Tiago spat with clear contempt.

“So you continue your hunt for Drizzt Do’Urden.”

“This is none of your affair.”

Jarlaxle grinned.

“Where is he?” Tiago demanded.

“I thought you just said it was none of my affair.”

“You play dangerous games,” said Tiago.

“I? Why, young weapons master, you are the one hunting a fellow drow, and without the imprimatur of Matron Mother Quenthel.” The mercenary leader made a point to glance the way of the Xorlarrins as he spoke, and judging from their reaction, his words had hit a mark.

But Tiago remained obstinate, predictably so, given his bloodlines.

“Where is he?” Tiago demanded.

“I know not.”

“He went forth on a boat—Minnow Skipper by name,” Tiago said. “Now that boat has returned, and Drizzt with her, but he seems to have disappeared.”

“You know more about it than I, apparently,” said Jarlaxle. “I have only very recently returned from unrelated business.”

“From where?”

Jarlaxle scoffed at the demand.

“You should consider my position,” Tiago said to him. “My family and my rank. Matron Mother Quenthel will not be pleased to learn that Jarlaxle of Bregan D’aerthe hindered my pursuit of the rogue.”