He is sulking," Kimmuriel remarked, joining Jaraxle sometime later in the main chamber of the lower floor. "But at least he has stopped swearing to cut off your head."

Jarlaxle, who had just witnessed one of the most enjoyable days of his long life, laughed yet again. "He will come to his senses and will at last be free of the shadow of Drizzt Do'Urden. For that Artemis Entreri will thank me openly." He paused and considered his own words. "Or at least," the mercenary corrected, "he will... silently thank me."

"He tried to die," Kimmuriel stated flatly. "When he went at Drizzt's back with the dagger he led the way with a shout that alerted the outcast. He tried to die and we, and I, at your bidding, stopped that."

"Artemis Entreri will no doubt find other opportunities for stupidity if he holds that course," the mercenary leader replied with a shrug. "And we will not need him forever."

Drizzt Do'Urden came down the stairs then in tattered clothing, stretching his sore arm, but otherwise seeming not too badly injured.

"Rai'gy will have to pray to Lady Lolth for a hundred years to regain her favor after using one of her bestowed healing spells upon your dying form," Jarlaxle remarked with a laugh. He nodded to Kimmuriel, who bowed and left the room.

"May she take him to her side for those prayers," Drizzt replied dryly. His witty demeanor did not hold, though, could not hold, in the face of all that he had just come through. He eyed Jarlaxle with all seriousness. "Why did you save me?"

"Future favors?" Jarlaxle asked more than stated.

"Forget it."

Yet again Jarlaxle found himself laughing. "I envy you, Drizzt Do'Urden," he replied honestly. "Pride played no part in your fight, did it?"

Drizzt shrugged, not quite understanding.

"No, you were free of that self-defeating emotion," Jarlaxle remarked. "You did not need to prove yourself Artemis Entreri's better. Indeed, I do envy you, to have found such inner peace and confidence."

"You still have not answered my question."

"A measure of respect, I suppose," Jarlaxle answered with a shrug. "Perhaps I did not believe that you deserved death after your worthy performance."

"Would I have deserved death if my performance did not measure up to your standards, then?" Drizzt asked. "Why does Jarlaxle decide?"

Jarlaxle wanted to laugh again but held it to a smile in deference to Drizzt. "Or perhaps I allowed my cleric to save you as a favor to your dead father," he said, and that put Drizzt on his heels, catching him completely by surprise.

"Of course I knew Zaknafein," Jarlaxle explained. "He and I were friends, if I can be said to have any friends. We were not so different, he and I."

Drizzt screwed up his face with obvious doubts.

"We both survived," Jarlaxle explained. "We both found a way to thrive in a hostile land, in a place we despised but could not find the courage to leave."

"But you have left now," Drizzt said.

"Have I?" came the reply. "No, by building my empire in Menzoberranzan I have inextricably tied myself to the place. I will die there, I am sure, and probably by the hands of one of my own soldiers-perhaps even Artemis Entreri."

Somehow Drizzt doubted the claim, suspecting that Jarlaxle would die of old age centuries hence.

"I respected him greatly," the mercenary went on, his tone steady and serious. "Your father, I mean, and I believe it was mutual."

Drizzt considered the words carefully and found that he couldn't disagree with Jarlaxle's claims. For all Jarlaxle's capacity for cruelty, there was indeed a code of honor about the mercenary leader. Jarlaxle had proven that when he had held Catti-brie captive and had not taken advantage of her, though he had even professed to her that he wanted to. He had proven it by allowing Drizzt, Catti-brie, and Entreri to walk out of the Under-dark after their escape from House Baenre, though surely he could have captured or killed them and such an act would have brought him great favor of the ruling house.

And now, by not letting Drizzt die in such a manner, he had proven it again.

"He'll not bother you ever again," Jarlaxle remarked, drawing Drizzt from his contemplation.

"So I dared to hope once before."

"But now it is settled," the mercenary leader explained. "Artemis Entreri has his answer, and though it is not what he had hoped it will suffice."

Drizzt considered it for a moment then nodded, hoping Jarlaxle, who seemed to understand so very much about everyone, was right yet again.

"Your friends await you in the village," Jarlaxle explained. "And it was no easy task getting them to go there and wait. I feared that I would taste the axe of Bruenor Battlehammer, and given the fate of Matron Baenre, that I did not wish at all."

"But you persuaded them without injuring any of them," Drizzt said.

"I gave you my word, and that word I honor . . . sometimes."

Now Drizzt, despite himself, couldn't hold back a grin. "Perhaps, then, I owe you yet again."

"Future favors?"

"Forget it."

"Surrender the panther then," Jarlaxle teased. "How I would love to have Guenhwyvar at my side!"

Drizzt understood that the mercenary was just teasing, that his promise concerning the panther, too, would hold. "Already you will have to look over your shoulder as I come for the crystal shard," the ranger replied. "If you take the cat, I will not only have to retrieve her but will have to kill you, as well."

Those words surely raised the eyebrows of Rai'gy as he came onto the top of the stairs, but the two were merely bantering. Drizzt would not come for Crenshinibon, and Jarlaxle would not take the panther.

Their business was completed.

Drizzt left the crystalline tower then to rejoin his friends, all together and waiting for him in the village, unharmed as Jarlaxle had promised.

After many tears and many hugs they left the village. But they did not go straight to the waiting Bottom Feeder but rather, back up the ridge.

The crystalline tower was gone. Jarlaxle and the other drow were gone. Entreri was gone.

"Good enough for them, if they bring the foul artifact back to yer old home and it brings all the ceiling down atop 'em!" Bruenor snorted. "Good enough for them!"

"And now we need not go to Cadderly," Catti-brie said. "Where then?"

"Wulfgar?" Regis reminded.

Drizzt paused a moment to consider Jarlaxle's words trustworthy words-about their missing friend. He shook his head. It wasn't time for that road just yet. "We have the whole world open before us," he said. "And any direction will prove as good as another."

"And now we don't have the damned crystal shard bringing monsters in on us at every turn," Catti-brie noted.

"Won't be as much fun then," said Bruenor.

And off they went to catch the sunset ... or the sunrise.

Back in Calimport Artemis Entreri, possibly the most powerful man on the streets, mulled over the titanic events of the last days, the amazing twists and turns his life's road had shown him.

Drizzt Do'Urden was dead, he believed, and by his hand, though he had not proven the stronger.

Or hadn't he? For wasn't it Entreri, and not Drizzt, who had befriended the more powerful allies?

Or did it even matter?

For the first time in many months a sincere smile found its way onto Artemis Entreri's face as he walked easily down Avenue Paradise, assured that none would dare move against him. He found the halfling door guards at the Copper Ante more than happy to see and admit him, and he found his way into Dondon's room without the slightest hindrance, without even questioning stares.

He emerged a short while later to find an angry Dwahvel waiting for him.

"You did it, didn't you?" she accused.

"It had to be done," was all Entreri bothered to reply, wiping his bloodstained dagger on the cloak of one of the guards flanking Dwahvel, as if daring them to make a move against him. They did not, of course, and Entreri moved unhindered to the outside door.

"Our arrangement is still in force?" he heard a plaintive Dwahvel call from behind. With a grin that nearly took in his ears, the ruler of House Basadoni left the inn.

Wulfgar left Delly Curtie that night, as he did every night, bottle in hand. He went down to the wharves where his newest drinking buddy, a man of some repute, waited for him.

"Wulfgar, my friend," Morik the Rogue said happily, taking the bottle and a deep, deep swallow of the burning liquid. "Is there anything that we two cannot accomplish together?"

Wulfgar considered the words with a dull smile. Indeed, they were the kings of Half Moon Street, the two men who rated deferential nods from everyone they passed, the two men in all of Luskan's belly who could part a crowd merely by walking through it.

Wulfgar took the bottle from Morik and, though it was more than half full, drained it in one swallow.

He just had to.

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