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Hierathe watched dispassionately as Drizzt collapsed, idly tossing the statuette up and down with her free hand. "Nice manifestation," she told Entreri conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather. "The carp."
Entreri shrugged. If she wanted to act this way, he could too. "Thank you. Your fish were an inspiration." In front of him, his once-archenemy began to die, convulsing, choking on his own blood, red seeping past the black lips. Entreri found that it was difficult to muster any emotion other than curiosity at the method of death a void that he had long ceased to find disturbing. On his left arm, the gauntlet growled continuously, threads stabbing at the air around it with impotent rage. For a moment he expected Hierathe to spring at him with the burning blade, after which an extremely short fight would probably commence that would end with Hierathe possessing the entirety of L'Sarol. After all, her bit of L'Sarol seemed to work on other Players... no Drizzt had dropped the figurine, his part of L'Sarol, hence opening himself to attack.
So tactical. Hierathe slipped her free hand at her cloak for a moment, and apparently secreted the figurine somewhere the hand came away free and holding a throwing dagger. Instinctively, Entreri leaped to the side, and heard the dagger clatter away a few steps beneath him. He managed to deflect the next dagger with his gauntlet, and ducked the next just in time, hearing the whistle of its passage before the discordant sound it made on the rock behind.
Hierathe's expression was incongruously serene as she aimed dagger after dagger at him he counted, seven daggers before finally shrugging and picking up Drizzt's scimitars. Apparently the rings of her weapon didn't hamper her dexterity, as she twirled the blades gracefully around her wrists a totally useless display, as she would have known that he wouldn't be intimidated by such performances. A warning, perhaps?
Entreri tensed warily, bracing himself for an attack, but Hierathe simply inspected the blades, edged in uneven stains of blood. His blood. She seemed to ignore him as she carefully put down the scimitars, and then relieved the now-still Drizzt of his scabbards. Meticulously wiping the scimitars on Drizzt's cloak, she sheathed them at her hips. At his raised eyebrow, she grinned impishly; something that, annoyingly enough, made his heart beat faster, though it couldn't have been fear.
"They're pretty." She paused. "Though I think I'd rename these." She patted the hilt of Twinkle.
"And his armor?" Entreri asked dryly.
"Too heavy," Hierathe said with mock regret. "Not to mention I can't remember how to remove chain mail the last time I attempted to, I broke a nail." Light from the gauntlet caught a gleam in her eyes as she smirked at the apparent joke, and she walked towards him, arms folded under her breasts, the fire of the rings fading away. He froze, stunned at this, or perhaps he was too weary the reminder of how tired he should be came crashing down, numbing his arm, making him lower his sword involuntarily. Damn dark elves and their attack tactics it was now obvious that Drizzt had been attempting to tire out his arm and then kill him when he was weakened.
He forced himself to concentrate this close; he could smell the perfume. Hierathe was at arm's reach, looking him up and down again, though this time her gaze was clinical as she checked out the wounds. It would have been so easy to swing up the sword, let the bloodied side cleave through her side and into the kidneys, or maybe higher, angle it up into the heart. Entreri realized wryly that he knew at least twenty-eight ways to kill her with a sword at this reach, and more than a hundred ways to wound her such that she would, after a long while, die but he didn't do it. The gauntlet snarled.
"Should I kill you now?" she asked idly.
Entreri held her gaze steadily. "It would be the most appropriate time for it I am wounded and tired, leather armor wouldn't deflect a sword if you thrust, you're close enough. Just a blade through the ribs would do, or the throat."
Hierathe chuckled at that, even though he hadn't actually meant it as a joke. "I like you." She took a few steps closer far too close, actually and ground against him, running the hand with the five rings over his chest. Too shocked again to move, Entreri just gaped at her.
"What... what are you doing?"
With the hand, she dragged his head down and kissed him, her tongue invading his mouth and running behind his teeth. She tasted of something sweet, some sort of food, perhaps, and after the initial jolt wore off, he kissed her back hesitantly. Women hadn't actually been a very large part of what existed of his social life, and he had not, until now, actually bothered to learn the ways of social interaction.
The presence of death or apparent death - in the area was a large put-off, though, and he was slightly relieved when she pulled back. The gauntlet's spiral, peculiarly enough, had reverted back to neutral gold, and it was unnervingly silent.
"Name me later when you've healed," Hierathe suggested playfully. Was she suicidal or was there some trap? "I'd be waiting." She stepped back and clenched the fist with the five rings and disappeared, a slow vanishing that looked as though she was being erased from the head down to the feet.
Shivering, Entreri managed to clean and sheathe his sword without once falling over. What was wrong with him? Why hadn't he attacked her? It would have been so easy... just a sweep of the sword so why did he find the idea so repugnant?
It was unlikely that he had forged such a strong liking for Hierathe on such short notice, so it must have been something else. He wondered, not for the first time, how much Hierathe had concealed from him about L'Sarol, and also realized he hadn't actually thought of interrogating her on the information he had offered. He had been altogether far too trusting of people since he'd met her.
It didn't take a genius to come up with a possible reason Hierathe had quite likely done something to him with L'Sarol d'l'Faern, possibly even in their first meeting at Qaynstone, before he'd gotten the gauntlet that would have protected him from any magic. Jarlaxle had described each weapon's properties in detail as bizarre as it would seem, Entreri reluctantly decided that he could only rely on information that the mercenary leader had given him from now on. All of Hierathe's words were now, irrevocably, painfully suspect.
Though he still liked her...
The area was suddenly extremely distasteful. Ignoring the two prone figures on the ground, Entreri decided to try and find a place to hide in and recuperate for a while if he could.
He was lost, tired and wounded in the Underdark. Not a pretty prospect at all.
***
"An intermission," Rys'Itae said, clapping her hence three times to summon her servants for more refreshments. Rys'Zaer stretched as discreetly as possible and tried not to yawn as far as she could tell, Rys'Jaer felt the same way. They usually only played for a few hues of Narbondel each day, but then this was the last segment of the Game, and they had to wait it out.
Rys'Jaer took losing with surprising good-nature, saying something about how the Rogue was probably bound to this fate in any case, since he had offended the Spider Queen. She had actually seemed to relish, like the other two Priestesses, the way Drizzt had collapsed. The way the blood painted an uneven shape underneath his head and chest, flowing out viscously to describe veined patterns down to the next step.
"I am surprised your Player did not take advantage of the situation, Drada Dalninil," Rys'Itae told Rys'Zaer. "It would have been easy just to kill the rivvil and take the last part of L'Sarol to win the Game. At this point, the rivvil is free to use L'Sarol d'l'Sargtlin to heal his wounds and rest, after which he could just Name your Player, seek her, and fight while his mind and body are fresh. He is a better fighter than she is when they are on an equal footing."
Rys'Zaer smiled slightly. "You speak words of truth, Ust Dalninil but as we all know, the enjoyment to be had from the Game stems partly from its unpredictability. After all, we are Game Masters and not Players."
"True... though I would wonder at the strategy of some of us, Drada Dalninil," Rys'Jaer said, stressing on Rys'Zaer's title. Rys'Zaer hid her surprise, wondering if Rys'Jaer had guessed at her strategy.
"Oh... the working of the mind of Ust Dalninil would be impossible for us to even begin to comprehend, Llarnbuss Dalninil," Rys'Zaer said with a skillful interpretation of Rys'Jaer's words. Backed into a corner, all Rys'Jaer could do was smile knowingly and nod her assent.
Behind Rys'Zaer, Artifice was now certain that Rys'Jaer had been alluding to Rys'Zaer, but as far as he could see, she didn't seem to have any sort of strategy other than that of surprise, which had worn off and, only recently, been undercut by the strange decisions of Hierathe. He felt uncomfortable standing for so long his feet felt sore and his legs were numbing, not to mention that the armor seemed twice as heavy now and growing worse by the minute, but quietly bore the discomfort, hoping for praise later from his Mistress. Even the hint of praise would have been reward enough.
"It seems the rivvil has found shelter," Rys'Itae said, watching her bowl. They saw the human wearily drag himself into one of the many caves in the Underdark, and point the gauntlet at the entrance. Threads of metal emerged and weaved themselves over it, turning into a barrier that seemed to glow in the light of the gauntlet. The human checked the small cave carefully for possible inhabitants, and finding none, removed his leather armor and used the gauntlet to heal his wounds, after which he used his cloak as a mattress and rested his head on his armor, and promptly fell asleep.
The view of the bowl changed to show Hierathe, who was back in the strange watery residence she occupied. She was walking purposefully through the rooms, straightening unrelated items, and abruptly the room vanished. The bowl turned murky for a while, then cleared to show the room in the open of the fabled Surface World, soft sunlight beating down onto Hierathe's room, which was sunk into the ground of a sloping meadow as if it had always been there the walls had even adjusted themselves so as to more or less fit seamlessly into the ground. A stream spilled down one of the walls to cascade into the water and it re-emerged on the opposite wall through a grille to continue its journey down the meadow into a shining blue ribbon of a river far away.
As they watched, startled, save for Rys'Zaer, at this development, the open chamber was suddenly covered in a transparent sheet of what looked like glass with just an opening to allow the stream in, and a trapdoor above the stone staircase. Hierathe shielded her eyes at the sun, looking around, then smiled, satisfied. She walked up to the staircase and let herself out via the trapdoor, and walked off down the meadow. The rings on her hand flashed into flame once, and then she stopped protecting her eyes, apparently reconciled to Surface-world vision.
"Peculiar," Rys'Itae summed up the general opinion succinctly. Rys'Zaer gave no indication that she would have expected it to be otherwise.
***
Waking up was difficult. The cave was uncomfortably stuffy, and promised to get worse if he moved his back and hip ached from the prolonged contact with stone, and his limbs were stiff and cramped. Cursing under his breath, he forced himself to stretch and get to his feet, where the performance of several routines of training eventually loosened up his muscles. He dressed slowly and wandered off to look for food, the gauntlet opening the entrance for him.
Capture of some wild rothe and finding water was surprisingly easy Entreri suspected the gauntlet of leading him around, especially when he 'accidentally' found an old cave that still had some usable utensils, pots and fuel for cooking. Still, if it wanted to be helpful he wasn't about to complain.
After he had eaten, listening to the silence of the Underdark, he considered his next move. An obvious one would be to Name Hierathe and attack, but he doubted that her invitation was to be taken that way it was quite likely that there was a trap involved somewhere. But why hadn't she just killed him then, when she had the upper hand?
Unless she really wanted to...
Somehow, that seemed at this point of time to be a likely possibility. But why? What had Hierathe understood of the Game or what had she been instructed to do that he had not?
Entreri stared at the wall of the current cave he was in, and tried to think.
***
"And it begins again," Rys'Itae commented unnecessarily as they watched the human stand up and stretch, having rested in meditation long enough such that the food would not influence his movement. He was definitely somewhat of an old hand at this. "Well, Drada Dalninil, may the better Player win."
"No doubt, Ust Dalninil," Rys'Zaer said, with a slight emphasis on the word 'doubt'. She looked perfectly composed, hands in her lap, as if she knew of the outcome already. Rys'Jaer folded her arms and permitted a quick smile to cross her face. Perhaps the third sister had guessed after all. Artifice frowned, glad that the face guard hid most of his expression, and wondered if that would be a threat. It took his mind off the weariness of his body, at any rate.
As if reminded of that fact, his right leg promptly felt numb.
***
The sunlight was glaring, and he was momentarily stunned as bright spots burst across his vision. Knowing better than to stay still, he blindly jumped away, and hissed when his shoulder scraped a tree roughly. Something whistled past his ear, and he moved quickly, groping his way past trees and crashing with painful loudness through bushes as his vision slowly recovered, yanking the infravision ring off his finger.
"I can see you!" Hierathe said cheerfully, somewhere behind him, and there was a loud noise as if something were stampeding through the undergrowth. Entreri drew his sword and turned around, squinting at the light, and saw a shape approaching with alarming speed. Quickly, he slashed it aside, and from the sound of rustling leaves and dry cracking knew it to be some uprooted plant dangled at the end of some sort of rope pulley, which meant...
Something sharp pressed into the space between his shoulder blades, and Hierathe's voice could be heard over the sudden stillness. "Boo."
Entreri sighed. "Clever." Residual spots continued to blink out over his vision.
"Why, thank you." Hierathe chuckled. "Right, you move to the left, and I'd run forward. Then you can stab me through the back where I'd die quickly, preferably."
"What?"
"Do you need me to repeat it for you? I said, you... "
"You want to die?" Entreri asked skeptically. "What for? Don't you want to win this Game?"
Hierathe laughed quietly. "Each Player represents a Game Master, yes?"
"Yes..." The spot between his shoulder blades was beginning to feel uncomfortably sensitive.
"Each Game Master bets items of value with the others for winning the game... "
"So why would yours want to lose?"
"She's the second sister. Your Game Master is the Eldest." Hierathe realized by the prolonged silence that Entreri didn't understand, and continued dryly, "You really don't understand anything about the dark elves, do you? If I were to win, it is possible that the Eldest would resent it and... oh vith, it's so difficult to talk to you humans... "
"And you're willing to die to..." Entreri, if anything, felt even more confused. "You're not even a full dark elf."
"I entered the Game decades ago on the understanding that I would lose," Hierathe explained seriously. "And during all those decades, I've had about enough of a good life as I could have in a drow city with her sponsorship. I guess I'm ready to die."
"Now, unless you want to be difficult kill me, and take all of L'Sarol. You deserve it. They can't hear us very well, only see us, so it'd seem legitimate this way."
"No." Entreri turned around, lowering his sword.
"Why not?" Hierathe shrugged when he opened his mouth to answer. "It doesn't matter." At this, she removed the rings on her hand.
The gauntlet reacted immediately, threads hissing out and stabbing with greedy fury, even as he tried to force them back...
***
"An ending," Rys'Itae said with satisfaction.
"An obvious winner," Rys'Zaer got up from her seat, and bowed. Rys'Jaer hastily followed suit. "The prizes are yours, and well won, Ust Dalninil."
"If not for the indecision of the half-breeds, they might well have been yours, Drada Dalninil," Rys'Itae said graciously. "We should retire now, for the hour grows late, and we have other entertainments that the Game has caused us to neglect, yes?" She looked pointedly at Artifice and winked suggestively at Rys'Zaer.
"Your wisdom exceeds description, Ust Dalninil," Rys'Zaer said solemnly. "The items will be delivered as quickly as possible."
"As would mine be," Rys'Jaer smiled.
"We leave now, then."
More pleasantries, then Artifice felt intensely relieved when the priestesses finally turned to go, straightening perceptively and then following meekly behind Rys'Zaer, wishing the armor would stop clanking. His wings felt cramped, but he didn't dare to try and stretch them.
When they were out of Rys'Itae's 'territory' and had taken their leave of Rys'Jaer, Rys'Zaer said mildly, "So, how did you find the Game, Artifice?" The snakes at her hip seemed to have fallen asleep.
"Your skill is beyond the best of players, Mistress," Artifice said fervently.
"A simple enough concept," Rys'Zaer said dismissively. She nodded to the handsome dark elven guards at her 'territory', who stood quickly to attention. Occasionally she stopped to stroke one idly on the face, hair and body, as though they were all pets to her. No females that Artifice could see, here he knew that there were none in Rys'Zaer's apartments. The nature of his Mistress' sexuality was blatantly obvious.
"And... there are better amusements." Rys'Zaer smiled as some guards in front of her gracefully opened the doors to her private rooms. "You are not too tired, Artifice?"
"Never, Mistress."
***
Postscript
"I thought you'd search for me sooner or later," Hierathe said calmly. She placed her hands on her lap and leant back against her wheelchair. "Was it too difficult?"
"Rather." Drizzt rested his shoulder against a tree near her, and looked at her carefully. "I wouldn't have thought of the wilderness on the Surface World as an area for you to retire to." He paused, glanced involuntarily and self-consciously at the wheelchair, then added solicitously, despite himself, "What happened to you?"
"I lost." Hierathe said simply. "The threads of Entreri's gauntlet played havoc with my spine now I'm paralyzed more or less from the waist down." She stated this matter-of-factly, with no hint of resentment. "It wasn't possible to fix completely, even with divine magic. It's a bit complicated, and learning how to live with the chair took a while."
"Oh," Drizzt said, with pity. Hierathe's eyes flashed for a moment at this, but it passed quickly.
"Do you live here now?" Drizzt waved a hand at the forest, feeling awkward he had tracked Hierathe and Entreri down with a lot of effort, to try and avenge Guenhwyvar and now that he had found them or Hierathe, at least he felt the righteous anger draining slowly out of him. Maybe it was the totally unconcerned expression on Hierathe's face, or the quiet beauty of their current surroundings.
"Somewhere in here," Hierathe agreed. "L'Sarol is whole now with the gauntlet, my rings, and your figurine."
"Where is it?" Drizzt demanded.
"On Entreri," Hierathe shrugged. "He's off somewhere getting food, I'd guess. He complains regularly about the remoteness of this location."
"You chose it?"
"I was going to die here."
"And then?"
Hierathe stared off into the distance. "He didn't let me." She turned back and smiled wearily. "But he was surprisingly right, later, about how there always is more of life to live when there's someone to show you the way." She looked away for a moment again, upwards, where the sunlight filtered through the leaves to draw mottled patterns on the ground.
"Sometimes he can be such a bother. Now about your figurine there is no point trying to get it back. Your panther doesn't exist any more, and it's back as a part of L'Sarol now as it was in the beginning. It's best that you save yourself any further heartbreak and leave. Sometimes he gets unreasonably protective."
"Does he take care of you now, then?" Drizzt frowned. "I'd have thought... "
"So did I." Hierathe smiled a lopsided smile. "People always do unpredictable things and he is surprisingly patient." She paused, then added, as if as an afterthought, "That's also a warning, in case you... "
"I noticed," Drizzt smiled thinly. "I guess there's no point in threatening you."
"Just let it go, Drizzt."
Drizzt shook his head. "I can't."
Hierathe sighed as she watched the ranger leave. Not that he'd be able to find Entreri, since the assassin had (after much argument) made her a promise... she just hoped L'Sarol wouldn't dump him somewhere else remote like in Kara-Tur.
She began to wheel herself back to their home, singing a song to the springtime, softly, under her breath.
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