The three mages put the finishing touches on their magic circle and stood back to examine it. It looked crude, lying on the rocky soil of the small clearing, the fire in the center the only light on this starless night. Mages did not, as a rule, like being outdoors and preferred their studies and meticulously prepared summoning chambers for this kind of work, but they were hundreds of miles away from their homes back in Calimshan, and this would have to do.
They were tired, but as they had been instructed, they had to give updates on the progress of their quest. Traveling through the rocky foothills of the Sharp Tooth Mountains, Amn's most extensive mountain range, a good 150 miles east of Baldur's Gate, the mages were very much out of their element.
Cailin was the group leader by seniority, and he had picked the spot to perform the summoning. The other two followed orders, but their grumbling became more audible each day. They traveled through a dangerous land filled with goblins, orcs, and less sentient though just as dangerous predators. Their spell repertoire was focussed on offensive battle spells, and after a long day of casting, performing this powerful summoning, which required a completely different mental aptitude, was draining.
The meditation required to prepare their spells was usually performed in the comfort of their studies, but out here on the rough road, riding horses and sleeping in tents, they were not at their best, and several of their spells had misfired in the past few days. They knew if they did not complete their quest soon, they would not survive much longer.
With this sense of urgency, Cailin finished his inspection of the circle and led his partners in the summoning spell. The other two mages tried to throw aside their fatigue and concentrate on the task at hand. Such was their fatigue that when they had stopped at this level clearing, they had neglected to scout the perimeter and set up the traps they usually put in place when they stopped.
Even if they had, it wouldn't have made a difference. They would have died anyway.
A cloaked figure skirted the rim of rocks that rose in elevation around the clearing, watching the three mages carefully. In the center of their circle, the fire they had set seemed to roar with heat, and the flames shot up high into the air. Whatever they were doing, it was not going to be pleasant.
This man had noticed these three about four days ago. He had watched his trail carefully, wondering if they were following him or just passing along the same path. Today, he had scouted them more carefully, noticing how they rode their horses and handled their camp when they stopped. They had worn leather armor and carried swords, but it didn't take an experienced adventurer to see that they were not very comfortable in them.
The clothes they wore marked them as Calimshites, a land far away. Even a novice rider should have settled into a rhythm with his mount after such a journey, but these men seemed to struggle with their horses every step of the way. And now, with the three decked out in their robes, chanting around a fiery summoning circle, it was apparent they were not just passing through this land. They had a purpose. Now, what was it?
The dark figure crept close enough to hear the chanting of the mages, hoping to get some clue as to what they were about. He did not understand the language they spoke, but his ears picked up at one phrase.
". . . eckrost chrum korle Raichik chorlk grad Artemis Entreri yolker crastif . . ."
Whatever they were saying, Entreri was pretty sure it was about him, and he knew now that he was being followed. He hesitated as he decided what he should do next. The mages had been sent after him for a reason, and it was most likely hostile in nature, for he had plenty of enemies back in Calimshan, but it might not be.
Entreri hadn't had much purpose in life over the past few years since his departure from Drizzt after their adventures in the Underdark. He had been able to quell his desire to go back after the dark elf, trying to put his pride aside for a while. The truth was that resolving his conflict with Drizzt was the only passion in his life, and by rejecting it, he had nothing left to do but wander from town to town, trying to find another purpose.
This might be such a purpose. If these mages were after him for some other reason than a bounty, it might give him the excitement he had been missing for the past few years. Entreri watched the spell with interest now, wondering where this adventure might take him. That curiosity didn't last long.
As what had been just a small campfire exploded into a monstrous cloud of flame, filling the 20-foot summoning circle and a feral growl came from the center, Entreri decided he'd rather not find out what these mages wanted.
Cailin was full into the spell now, and as it neared completion, he looked at the faces of his companions. The fire and energy that coursed through the circle before them lit up each face as the spell reached its climax. Cailin's smile vanished as one of the mages suddenly cried out, his face now a picture of pain and confusion. A dagger was sticking out of his neck.
The remaining two mages turned about suddenly, trying to locate the source of the attack, but after staring into the fire with their eyes wide, the night was inky blackness. Entreri recognized Cailin as the leader and cocked his arm for another throw, but as a shimmering field covered the mage, Entreri altered his throw at the last second. The dagger flew true and sunk into the chest of the other mage, who had not been quick enough to erect his protections. He clutched the dagger handle and then fell back into the fire.
Entreri ran from his previous position, knowing the throw could be tracked backward. Sure enough, Cailin sent a bolt of lighting through the vacated area. Entreri needed a way to break through the mage's protection and picked up some rocks to throw, but he heard the mage cast another spell before he did. Now Cailin's eyes glowed blue. A vision spell!
Entreri dropped his rocks and leaped away as another bolt exploded into the stones around him. This last bolt seemed a bit weaker, and Entreri could see the strain on the mage's face. "Had a rough day?" Entreri called and then quickly moved. The mage did not fall for the ruse, knowing his prey only called out to him to get him to waste his spells – spells of which he had precious few left.
"These mountains aren't very forgiving," Entreri called again, risking a longer phrase while remaining in one place. He was hidden behind rocks, and the assassin guessed this mage would only shoot at something he could see. Entreri obliged.
"Especially on one such as yourself." He jumped down right into the camp, not 15 feet from the mage. Cailin fired without thinking, but Entreri was already on the move. It was a fireball this time, and it exploded into what had been behind the assassin: all of the mages' supplies.
When Cailin saw this, he cursed and lost his concentration. Entreri took advantage of the situation and was beside him in a second, his dirk flashing out in the firelight. The tip hit hard against the stoneskin, but Cailin didn't have the concentration to maintain it, and the blade slipped through, cutting to the heart.
Entreri held him up for a moment, looking the man in the face. Cailin looked back, and recognition flashed in his eyes. "No," he gasped, "we were . . . not . . ." but he was dead.
Entreri dropped him to the ground and stared at him for a moment, wondering if he had acted in error. "You were not what?" he asked aloud.
"They were not sent to kill you," a booming voice answered from less than three feet away.
Entreri leaped back both blades up in a defensive posture. He looked into the fire, something he had purposefully avoided during the fight to save his vision. He did not like what he saw. A massive beast, engulfed in flame with a canine head, horns, and wings, stared back at him. If Entreri was right, and he hoped he was not, he was looking at a balor. It was time to run.
"Stop!"
Entreri froze before he even took a step. Was he under a spell? With the mages dead, was the demon free? Entreri relaxed a bit as he untensed his muscles. He could move. He was not under a spell. He was also alive, something that wouldn't be true if the balor wanted him dead. He turned to face him.
"I am not here to kill you either," the balor continued after he saw that he had Entreri's attention. The creature looked at the dead mages surrounding the circle and grunted, "though I probably should."
He looked back up at Entreri. "My name is Raichik. I sent these mages out to find you, and I see they were successful, though not in the fashion I had envisioned. I wish to sponsor you in a tournament."
Entreri's ears picked up at this, but he held his questions in check for now.
"It is a tournament for fighters. To the winner goes eternal life. Are you interested?"
"I do not serve anyone or anything," Entreri said evenly. "If you wish to make me your servant, it will not happen."
"I stand to gain from this as well, and when it is over, I promise to leave you on your way. We shall never meet again."
"What do you gain?"
"Entrance to the tournament is not possible without the assistance of a higher being. Mortals like yourself cannot attend without our help. The winner gets eternal life, and the being who sponsored him gets to walk the material plane."
Entreri understood now. This demon probably could escape the circle with the mages dead under normal circumstances, but he had been banished from this plane and was thus confined to the circle. Entreri started to think about this offer, but Raichik interrupted him. "I will have your answer now."
"I am not interested," he replied.
"You cannot refuse me!" Raichik screamed.
Entreri walked right up to the circle. Had he and the demon been the same height, their faces would have been no more than two feet apart. "I do not jump through hoops for someone's entertainment. I know how good I am; that is all that is important."
Raichik changed his mood suddenly. "You are right. The talk of the planes is that you wouldn't have won anyway and that I was wasting my time." Entreri laughed at the demon's pathetic attempt to goad him into fighting. "The drow is going to win anyway."
Entreri had started to walk away, but he stopped. His laughter ended also. "What drow?"
"How am I supposed to know which drow! All of Lloth's pets look the same to me. This one is supposedly the greatest fighter to have ever lived or something like that. You are probably wise not to go. Though, at your age, immortality must be temp-"
"Which drow?" Entreri asked again.
"I told you I don't remember the deserter's name."
"Deserter?"
"Yes," Raichik said. "Supposedly, he has forsaken the ways of his people and gone to seek his fame and fortune on the surface."
"Drizzt Do'Urden."
"Yes," Raichik replied, pretending to have his memory jogged. He knew precisely who Drizzt was, knew his relation to Entreri, and seriously doubted the drow would be at the tournament. "He must really be the greatest fighter if you have heard of him."
Entreri ignored the comment, looking at this tournament in a new light. "What is this you said about immortality?"
"Upon winning, the tournament's champion will not age another day. He will still be susceptible to death through violence, but he will never become ill or aged, and any wound he sustains will heal at an accelerated rate."
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
"How would I get to this tournament?"
"These mages were going to arrange for your transportation. Now we have to find another means." Raichik explained where Entreri could find another of the balor's servants and that the assassin should hurry, for the start of the tournament was only a few days away.
Entreri still hadn't said whether he was in or not, but his curiosity had been peeked by not only the chance to fight Drizzt again but by the potential reward. He was not yet 40, but neither was he still 30. One of the reasons he had been without purpose for the past few years was that he knew whatever he might be able to achieve, he would only have a few good years left to appreciate it.
"And one thing more," Raichik added when Entreri prepared to leave, apparently accepting the balor's offer, "close this damnable circle."
Entreri tried not to laugh as he realized how helpless this powerful creature really was on the material plane. He had no power of his own and could only go at the will of the one who had summoned him. With them gone, he was stuck. Entreri saw a pail of water that had survived Cailin's fireball attack and fetched it.
"No!!!" Raichik cried, but Entreri tossed the water onto the campfire that still burned at the feet of the balor. "Aaarrrrhhhhhgggg, Entreri, you will, ahhhh!!" but he disappeared in a puff of steam and smoke. With one of the components of the circle broken, the window into the abyssal plain from which Raichik was summoned was closed, and since his nature no longer allowed him to exist in the material plane, his banishment sent him back.
Entreri guessed he could have achieved the same result by simply scattering some of the rocks that made up the circle, but this way had been more fun. He did not feel threatened by Raichik. The demon needed him to gain his freedom, and if that happened, Entreri would have something to worry about. Though if Raichik gained his independence on this realm, ruled by goodly races, he would have too much to worry about to retain a grudge against the assassin.
Right now, Entreri didn't think about it. He had a tournament to prepare for. With a hop in his step from his newfound purpose, he made his way for the closest town were another mage awaited him.
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The boat’s gentle rocking always had a calming effect on Drizzt, but tonight the Sea Sprite's motion did nothing to remove the uneasiness he felt. As an elf, a creature of magic, he had always been able to tell when supernatural powers were at work in the vicinity, and it was of no great surprise when a ghostly apparition appeared at the foot of his bed.
Drizzt sat up slowly, not reaching for his weapons right away, more curious than anything. Robillard had the Sea Sprite protected against all means of transportation and summoning spells. That meant this creature was either so powerful that it paid no attention to such protections or that it meant no harm. In either case, Drizzt's weapons would not play a part in this confrontation.
Also, the creature did not appear threatening. She seemed to be an elf, though even her gender was not obvious. With her radiant aura and pearly, opalescent eyes, to say nothing for her magical appearance, Drizzt knew she was not just an elf. She smiled.
"Who are you?" Drizzt asked finally, after nearly a minute of silence between the two.
Her smile broadened, and her gender was no longer in question when she spoke. "A mighty warrior from an evil race, and yet your first reaction to my presence is one of curious innocence."
Drizzt wasn't sure if this visitor had meant to say that observation out loud. And from the perfect quality of her voice, Drizzt wasn't so sure she had said it aloud at all, and he might be dreaming. "Would you prefer I strike you down?" Drizzt asked, deciding if this was a dream; he might as well play along.
He received another broad smile. "And then the nervous humor."
Drizzt was quickly disliking this situation. It felt like this creature was examining him, his every response being judged. He also didn't like the notion that he was nervous, but as he sat up, he couldn't help but notice that his hands were shaking. Drizzt decided to remain quiet. He had asked two questions thus far without receiving an answer. The silence lasted two minutes.
"And he has patience. Mielikki has chosen well."
Drizzt sat up much straighter at this, and any nervous shaking disappeared. If this were a messenger from Mielikki, he would be wise to listen to what she said.
"Many of us have followed your progress with great interest. Your life has not gone unnoticed, Drizzt Do'Urden, and I feel almost as if I am the one who should be honored to be in your presence."
"Is it your wish to flatter me?" Drizzt asked, the sarcastic comment passing his lips before he could check it. Though once it was out there, he was glad he had said it because it summed up his frustration with this strange encounter quite well.
The visitor laughed. "Partly, yes. My name is Thelania. I am a ghaele, a servant of Mielikki. I am here to present you with a quest of sorts."
"A quest sanctioned by Mielikki?" Drizzt asked, seeing little room for him to refuse.
Thelania nodded. "It is a tournament for warriors like yourself."
Drizzt's face fell. "A tournament? You wish for me to prove my skill against other fighters? For what? For pride?" Drizzt paused briefly. "I refuse."
Thelania's smile turned into a smirk as she shook her head. "Kalindan was right. I shall owe him half a century of pulling weeds in his garden upon my return." She looked up to Drizzt. "Not so unpleasant a burden, actually. Kalindan's gardens stretch out for . . ." she paused as she realized Drizzt would not comprehend the unit of celestial measurement she was about to use, "ever," she settled with. "Mortals who know of it will try their whole lives to get a glimpse of its beauty."
Drizzt heard none of this. "Am I a pawn to you? Am I a bet? My life exists for your entertainment. This is not what Mooshie taught me. This is what my mother taught me."
Thelania grew suddenly serious. "You are not a pawn, Drizzt Do'Urden. You are a knight, nay, a rook. Your importance in the grand scheme of this world is not yet evident to you."
"I am just a drow."
"And what is anyone else in your world?" Thelania asked. "Is Bruenor just a dwarf? Was Wulfgar but a barbarian? These mortals are no different than others of their kind, but they rose above them to become important leaders and have great influence over their people. Your influence is not yet so obvious, and luckily it has nothing to do with your people, but it will be no less profound."
"What of this tournament?" Drizzt asked, not knowing what he should make of this visitor.
"It has been a festering wound on your world for far too long. Deltrophan is a mage who has achieved what no mortal before him ever dreamed possible. He has surpassed simple knowledge of his craft and has gained a unity with magic that is indefinable. Mages in your world crave knowledge like a peasant in the desert craves water. Deltrophan has surpassed thirst and become an ocean. He has unlocked the key to immortality and is without rival.
"He runs a school for mages to pass on what he has learned, though none of them have been able to achieve his level of proficiency, thank Mielikki. Once every 250 years, he holds a tournament for entertainment. I do not know if he has ever picked up a weapon in his life, and I imagine he might accidentally cut off his own hand if he did. He admires swordcraft like a blind man longs to see a sunset.
"Access to his plane of existence is not possible without magical aid, and to ensure he gets the best fighters for his tournament, he has circulated word of his tournament throughout the magical planes. To the winner goes eternal life, and to the higher being that sponsored him goes the ability to traverse the planes of existence without restriction.
"The history of this tournament is filled with accounts of terrible demons gaining access to the physical realm and bringing with them armies of horrid destruction. Page through a history book some time, and you will notice that about every 250 years, there is an account of a terrible battle in which thousands perished and cities burned before the demonic foe was defeated and banished back to the abyss. We have been waiting for a noble champion to end this cycle of destruction."
"You wish for me to kill this mage?"
Thelania laughed. "If it were that easy, do you not think we would have done that a long time ago. Celestial beings do not usually interfere with mortal lives, but we would have made an exception in this case if it were possible."
"You mean to tell me this mage is beyond the power of the gods?" Drizzt wouldn't believe that.
"Not beyond us," Thelania corrected, "merely out of our reach." She paused as she tried to think of an example. "Can the best dwarven smithy in all the realms melt and cast wood?"
Drizzt scoffed at the absurdity of the comment but then thought about it for a while.
Thelania elaborated on her example. "His furnace can melt the hardest mithril, and his hammer and anvil can pound the most stubborn metal into the finest edge, but he cannot work wood. I'm not talking about carving; I'm talking about working it into a shape with heat and pressure. Wood is weak. It rots and decays and is the food for insects, yet under no conditions can a smith get it to melt. It is not in its nature."
Drizzt nodded slowly, realizing there were many things about the magical planes he did not understand. "If you don't wish me to kill him, then what?"
Thelania laughed at him. "We wish for you to win the tournament."
Drizzt's face fell again. He would walk into the abyss to fight demons if his goddess demanded it. He would return to the Underdark to fight against his people. But to enter a tournament to fight for the sake of fighting . . . "And if I refuse to go?"
"Then I will be responsible for fertilizing Kalindan's garden as well as pulling the weeds. Not an enviable task." Thelania grew serious again. "And if you do not go, then someone else will win, and the resulting chaos in your world will result in thousands of deaths."
"I have long ago absolved myself of guilt regarding those I can not save." Drizzt had fought for many years with the death of Wulfgar. Was there something he could have done? Was there a choice he could have made differently? This mage was evil, and he would bring destruction to this world, but Drizzt could not be responsible for that.
"What are you doing now?" Thelania asked him. "What have you been doing for the past three years?" Drizzt didn't understand. "You have been hunting pirates. Have they done something to you? Have they kidnapped or hurt one of your friends? No. You hunt and often kill them to protect people they might harm. You are not responsible for the people they might kill, but your sense of honor prevents you from standing by and doing nothing.
Drizzt conceded the point. "And if I go to this tournament and lose?"
Thelania became suddenly somber. "Then we will have lost a great warrior, but that has not kept you from walking into confrontations before. You have battled demons and dragons in the past. You will not be faced with such at this tournament."
"In every situation before, I have had my friends by my side," Drizzt said.
"They cannot come with you," she replied. "And they will not even know that you have gone."
"Unless I do not return," Drizzt countered.
Again, Thelania's face became somber, but she said nothing.
"I will go," Drizzt said finally, "but only if you visit my friends if I do not return to explain to them what has happened to me."
"I would do nothing else," Thelania said.
Drizzt nodded and got out of bed. He strapped on his equipment and turned back to his sponsor. "How do we get there?"
"Like this," Thelania said, and they both disappeared in a flash of light.
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Garem nervously paced about inside one of his back rooms in the old McKeener castle. It had been three weeks to the day when Styne, the terrifying man in black, had visited his shop and demanded him to make a flesh golem. The golem stood in the corner of the room. Garem had asked for two weeks, and Styne had given him three. With the extra time, Garem had poured all of his considerable skill and talent into creating this golem, forgoing all his other pending projects.
Most flesh golems looked like ragged, sewn together corpses, but this one looked as if it had been molded out of flesh instead of sewn together. In fact, Garem had tried out several new spells to create this monstrosity. So smooth was its skin and so perfect were its joints that you could easily mistake it for a man. Granted, he would be a 7-foot tall, 300-pound, genderless man with no hair and expressionless features, but the mistake could be made.
Garem heard a noise outside his door and stopped his pacing. He had asked for five of the magic market's best guards to stand just outside the room in case things got out of hand, and that allowed him some measure of composure as Styne walked in. The man wore the same black clothes as before and had the same greatsword angled on his hip. He did not bother with a greeting but looked instead at the golem.
"Is it finished?" he asked.
"It is," Garem said. "It will respond to . . ." but he trailed off as the golem stood slowly.
Garem watched in awe as his creation moved about as if it had a will of its own. It raised its arms over its head, squatted down, stretched its legs, and rotated its torso back and forth. It walked about, taking several quick steps, and jumped into the air a few times, displaying more dexterity than Garem thought he possessed, much less any golem he had ever seen before.
Styne could not hide his smile. His magic efficiently controlled the creature, and he was delighted with the results. It was better than he had hoped.
"How are you doing that?" Garem finally asked.
"A golem is designed to be programmed and controlled. I cannot help that your skill in such arts is so limited. Mine is not." Styne grinned evilly at Garem. "Now, we shall test its fighting skills." Styne turned to the room’s back door and shouted in a perfect mimic of Garem's voice. "Guards! Guards, hurry!"
The five armed guards rushed into the room with their swords and didn't need instructions. The golem raced to them, engaging them in combat before they even got their bearings. The golem deftly knocked away their attacks, blocking the flats of the blades and then punching the men in the face. It wrenched one sword from a guard and spun it around his body with more skill than any of the guards had. With its magical strength, it was able to cut through their splint mail as if it were cheap leather. Within seconds all five guards lay dead on the floor.
"You . . . you . . . you can't," Garem sputtered. "You mustn't."
Styne pulled his serrated sword from its sheath and walked toward the magically minded smith. "I can, and I will. I will make you promise never to repeat what you have seen here. But I know of only one way to make sure you keep that promise."
Garem could do nothing but wave his arms frantically in front of him. He was a mage, but his memory of spells fled his mind in this moment of terror. Styne thrust forward with his blade. Garem had wondered how Styne would ever be able to withdraw his sword from a victim, but he was dead before he could find out.
Lightning arcs traveled the length of the blade, disintegrating the flesh along the edge of the sword, allowing Styne to retract it quite easily. The result was a gaping hole in the chest of Garem as he fell to the floor. The blade sparked with a small residual charge as Styne sheathed it and turned to his golem. The creature was standing motionless over the dead guards, having not received any instructions since Styne had turned his attention to Garem. He would have to work on directing his concentration in two places at once if he wanted to pass as normal at this tournament.
"And we are going to have to find you clothes and a more suitable weapon," Styne said to his golem. The creature just stared at him expressionlessly. It was perfect. Errtu will be pleased.