the fight,” he said. “Not yet. But I warn you, do not give me reason to do so. I know what you did, brother . Never forget that.”
Gromph paused and sighed, then said, “I go!” And he did, instantly disappearing from the room.
“A strange encounter,” Jarlaxle remarked.
“Both of the archmage’s encounters this day, I agree,” said Kimmuriel.
“There is a sadness to Gromph,” said Jarlaxle.
“Lolth lost her quest for the domain of magic.”
“Worse, had she won, Gromph now understands that the benefit would have been reserved for the matron mothers and their female protégés. He stands at the pillar of his power, and knows that is not so high a tower in the City of Spiders.”
Kimmuriel shrugged as if it did not matter, and Jarlaxle smiled knowingly. Kimmuriel, after all, didn’t seem to measure his worth by such metrics. His reward was knowledge alone, as far as Jarlaxle could decipher.
“The archmage will find his way,” was all Kimmuriel said, and he started for the exit from the cavern Bregan D’aerthe had taken as a base in the Silver Marches.
“It wasn’t him,” Jarlaxle said, stopping Kimmuriel cold just a couple of strides from the corridor. The psionicist slowly turned to regard the grinning mercenary.
“Standing before the dragon,” Jarlaxle explained. “Do you think so little of me as to believe that I would be fooled by a magical illusion, a projected image?”
Kimmuriel started to respond, but bit it back, and Jarlaxle smiled knowingly, quite pleased that his psionicist friend was clearly realizing the context of his remarks. After all, Kimmuriel had only made the demeaning quip concerning Jarlaxle telepathically to Gromph.
And Kimmuriel had no reason at all to believe the Jarlaxle could so eavesdrop on a psionic communication.
Which of course, Jarlaxle could not. He had merely guessed regarding Kimmuriel’s silent interactions with the archmage. But now, of course, given Kimmuriel’s reaction, Jarlaxle knew that his guess had hit the mark.
“How many of our scouts will you need to find Tiago?” a shaken Kimmuriel asked, trying to change the subject.
“Just you,” Jarlaxle replied, and the psionicist cocked an eyebrow suspiciously.
“If Tiago is alive, then he’s after Drizzt, and so will not be far afield of Bruenor’s march,” Jarlaxle explained. “I have Athrogate and Amber already in place among Bruenor’s entourage. Use your psionic energies to see through the eyes of those the dwarves march past and we will find Tiago, and so you can deliver to Gromph that which he desires.”
Kimmuriel nodded and left, and Jarlaxle leaned back against the wall, considering the whole of that encounter. Something was going on that was beyond his understanding. Something with Kimmuriel, probably perpetrated by Kimmuriel, and likely involving Gromph. He wasn’t afraid that Kimmuriel was trying to be rid of him to claim sole leadership of Bregan D’aerthe. Quite the contrary—Kimmuriel wanted Jarlaxle around so he did not have to assume the mundane burdens of such a role.
No, it was something else, Jarlaxle figured, something extraneous to him, something beyond the scope of, and purview of, Bregan D’aerthe even.
Seven dwarves led the vast procession of the Silver Marches army from the Surbrin Bridge, marching in ranks of two, three, and two. King Bruenor Battlehammer centered the leading formation in the second rank, flanked by Bungalow Thump and Connerad Brawnanvil, with Amber Gristle O’Maul and Athrogate close behind as his personal bodyguards.
Two other bodyguards had joined Bruenor’s personal entourage at the beginning of the march, gifts given to him by King Emerus Warcrown in his last declaration as leader of Citadel Felbarr. And to be sure, the dwarf lasses Fist and Fury—Mallabritches and Tannabritches Fellhammer— could not have been more thrilled at their permanent assignment, especially when their old friend Bruenor positioned them right in front
Gromph paused and sighed, then said, “I go!” And he did, instantly disappearing from the room.
“A strange encounter,” Jarlaxle remarked.
“Both of the archmage’s encounters this day, I agree,” said Kimmuriel.
“There is a sadness to Gromph,” said Jarlaxle.
“Lolth lost her quest for the domain of magic.”
“Worse, had she won, Gromph now understands that the benefit would have been reserved for the matron mothers and their female protégés. He stands at the pillar of his power, and knows that is not so high a tower in the City of Spiders.”
Kimmuriel shrugged as if it did not matter, and Jarlaxle smiled knowingly. Kimmuriel, after all, didn’t seem to measure his worth by such metrics. His reward was knowledge alone, as far as Jarlaxle could decipher.
“The archmage will find his way,” was all Kimmuriel said, and he started for the exit from the cavern Bregan D’aerthe had taken as a base in the Silver Marches.
“It wasn’t him,” Jarlaxle said, stopping Kimmuriel cold just a couple of strides from the corridor. The psionicist slowly turned to regard the grinning mercenary.
“Standing before the dragon,” Jarlaxle explained. “Do you think so little of me as to believe that I would be fooled by a magical illusion, a projected image?”
Kimmuriel started to respond, but bit it back, and Jarlaxle smiled knowingly, quite pleased that his psionicist friend was clearly realizing the context of his remarks. After all, Kimmuriel had only made the demeaning quip concerning Jarlaxle telepathically to Gromph.
And Kimmuriel had no reason at all to believe the Jarlaxle could so eavesdrop on a psionic communication.
Which of course, Jarlaxle could not. He had merely guessed regarding Kimmuriel’s silent interactions with the archmage. But now, of course, given Kimmuriel’s reaction, Jarlaxle knew that his guess had hit the mark.
“How many of our scouts will you need to find Tiago?” a shaken Kimmuriel asked, trying to change the subject.
“Just you,” Jarlaxle replied, and the psionicist cocked an eyebrow suspiciously.
“If Tiago is alive, then he’s after Drizzt, and so will not be far afield of Bruenor’s march,” Jarlaxle explained. “I have Athrogate and Amber already in place among Bruenor’s entourage. Use your psionic energies to see through the eyes of those the dwarves march past and we will find Tiago, and so you can deliver to Gromph that which he desires.”
Kimmuriel nodded and left, and Jarlaxle leaned back against the wall, considering the whole of that encounter. Something was going on that was beyond his understanding. Something with Kimmuriel, probably perpetrated by Kimmuriel, and likely involving Gromph. He wasn’t afraid that Kimmuriel was trying to be rid of him to claim sole leadership of Bregan D’aerthe. Quite the contrary—Kimmuriel wanted Jarlaxle around so he did not have to assume the mundane burdens of such a role.
No, it was something else, Jarlaxle figured, something extraneous to him, something beyond the scope of, and purview of, Bregan D’aerthe even.
Seven dwarves led the vast procession of the Silver Marches army from the Surbrin Bridge, marching in ranks of two, three, and two. King Bruenor Battlehammer centered the leading formation in the second rank, flanked by Bungalow Thump and Connerad Brawnanvil, with Amber Gristle O’Maul and Athrogate close behind as his personal bodyguards.
Two other bodyguards had joined Bruenor’s personal entourage at the beginning of the march, gifts given to him by King Emerus Warcrown in his last declaration as leader of Citadel Felbarr. And to be sure, the dwarf lasses Fist and Fury—Mallabritches and Tannabritches Fellhammer— could not have been more thrilled at their permanent assignment, especially when their old friend Bruenor positioned them right in front
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