Chapter Text
19 Tarsakh, 1335 DR
Things had not gone according to plan.
Zaknafein pulled at the reins of his riding lizard, turning back to the blaze set on an entire district of Ust Natha. In the maelstrom, he couldn’t get a single glimpse of Jarlaxle, or Nalfein, or Dab’nay. Below him on the path, a squad of soldiers approached, blades drawn. Any other time, Zak would’ve drawn both swords and rushed the lot of them, but he needed to survive, for Drizzt’s sake, if not his own.
So, hoping against all hope his friends had escaped the blaze, Zaknafein dug his heels into his riding lizard and drove her into a run, aiming to lose the drow in the maze of caverns. He ran for hours, until he himself could not recognize how far into the caverns he had gone. Normally, he would never get lost in the wilds of the Underdark, but he was desperate at this point.
Zaknafein drew the sending stone from his pouch, sliding off his mount and scanning the area for a long moment.
“Nalfein can you get a visual on me?” he asked into the stone. He stood for a long moment before feeling a presence that wasn’t there, as if being watched. Then, softly, came a reply.
“I see you, I think you’re a mile short of an exit. Head east, should be visible.”
Zaknafein gave a relieved sigh. “Where are we meeting?”
“All things according to plan, along the river north of the Calim Desert.”
“I do not know where that is,” Zaknafein reminded the young wizard.
“Long snakey body of water, north of big sand pit.”
“Not helpful.”
“Fucking–Zak we are being chased I’ll mark your fucking map later.”
Zaknafein had an urge at that moment to remind Nalfein that he still couldn’t make heads or tails of the map he was given, no matter how magical, but given the response he just got, he didn’t think it was really the time. He mounted his lizard once more and made his way east.
He’d figure it out when he got to the surface. A big sand pit couldn’t be that hard to find.
15 Mirtul, 1335 DR
The mountains beside Mir were among the worst places to stop in the Calim Desert, and Raza knew it. The whole damn area was crawling with drow and they weren’t even far enough from Memnon to justify resting. The Caravan Master didn’t care what Raza thought, though, slave blades had as much weight in discussions as the children his master had bought out of those slums.
Raza had been one of those children just two years prior. Just before his fourteenth nameday, he’d sprouted up like a weed, and the Caravan Master no longer took an interest in the awkward teenager he’d become. He’d only gotten taller in the intervening years, and though his gangly limbs hadn’t quite evened out, his build had grown wiry from traveling the desert and unloading the master’s actual merchandise. His golden-brown skin had darkened to a coppery bronze from the sun, and his horns had begun to bleach at the tips.
Raza leaned on the cage-cart and rapped on the bars, drawing the attention of the Caravan Master’s newest purchase, a scrawny boy of only seven that Raza hadn’t caught the name of. The boy’s hair was short, his big eyes were a pale blue-green, and his skin was a light brown, spattered with freckles.
“Are you hungry?” Raza whispered as the child curled in. The boy gave him a look, and Raza smiled back. “Relax, I’m in the same boat, see?” Raza held up his hand, showing the boy the brand burned onto the back of it. “I’m Raza, Raza Nasaaji. Got a name?”
The boy curled his hands around the bars and he peered out at Raza. His eyes were red and puffy and tracks of tears ran down his face. Raza wondered when, exactly, the little boy had stopped crying, but it hadn’t been very long ago. He recalled it had taken him days to stop weeping, not helped by the merchant having a much worse temper then, and a much less satiable appetite.
“Artemis,” the boy managed, after a moment. “Artemis Entreri.”
“Well, Artemis,” Raza dug into the pouch at his hip and produced a small sweetroll, “Are you hungry?”
Artemis’ pale eyes lit up at the sight of the pastry, and he snatched it up and devoured it before Raza even finished speaking, licking the honey coating off of his fingers when the last of the sweetroll was gone. Sweetrolls were a rare treat in Memnon’s slums, in any Calishite slum really. Raza had been equally excited the first time one of the older boys had given him one.
As Artemis got the last of the honey off his hands, he glanced up at Raza, and his eyes narrowed. Raza got that a lot, a tall teenager with short black hair and dark eyes, his already imposing given a diabolic edge by–
“Do you have horns?” Artemis asked.
“RAZA!”
Artemis flinched away from the cage as one of the guards marched up. Raza braced himself, but it didn’t make the riding crop cracking across his cheek hurt any less.
“You were told to watch them,” the guard snapped. “Not chat. Am I clear, foulblood?”
Raza winced, but slowly nodded, gripping the hilt of his kilij tightly. The guard struck Raza again, then marched back to his compatriots. Artemis curled into a corner, not looking right at Raza but casting occasional glances at him.
Raza let out an annoyed huff and leaned on the cage-cart, watching the guards talk amongst themselves, then peered around them to watch the foothills beyond, uncomfortable with how the desert winds seemed to still as they reached the rocky expanse. Raza had more than his fair share of pride in his instincts, they’d kept him alive on the streets of Manshaka and in the swirling desert sands. Even if the guards were relaxed, Raza got the sense he shouldn’t
The air whistled, and Raza’s hair stood on end, waiting for the sickening sound of an arrow striking flesh. One of the guard snapped up, and became the first casualty, caught through the throat. The calls of drow came up as cloaked figures on massive lizards came swarming over the hills, turning the little caravan camp into a sea of confusion. Raza took the opportunity given and started picking the cage lock.
“RAZA, LEAVE THEM!” came a scream from one of the guards, locked in combat with a mounted drow and clearly losing. “RAZA, GET OUT OF HERE!”
Raza ignored the shouting and got the cage door open. Most of the children huddled into the corners, watching the mayhem, but Artemis, brave and possibly stupid, bolted out the cage door, almost getting caught up in the maelstrom and trampled by a lizard. Raza yanked him out of that deadly path and wrangled the squirming child under one arm. He turned to the rest of the cage.
“Run,” he urged, then bolted for the first opening he could find. He flipped Artemis up onto his hip and scrambled through the bloody sand. Artemis gripped his shirt tightly, face buried in Raza’s shoulder. They got to the edge of the line, and Raza’s heart dropped to find lizards circling the whole camp, snapping at anyone trying to run. They were surrounded, trapped.
Someone lifted Raza by the scruff of the neck and dropped him on a saddle in front of him before charging the line. Raza clenched his eyes shut and held Artemis close, expecting for them to crash into the line full-force. Instead, Raza felt the hot desert wind against his skin, and dared to open his eyes.
They were tearing across the desert, moving far, far from the chaos behind them and deeper into the swirling sands. The rider held them both with one hand and the reins of his mount with the other, making Raza realize they were sitting atop one of the drow’s massive lizards. Raza held Artemis tightly, wondering then the rider would turn around and bring them back to that accursed forest.
25 Tarsakh, 1335 DR
Drizzt was wailing. He’d been wailing since they’d gotten far enough from Ust Natha that Jarlaxle felt safe lifting the silencing spell on his two young charges. He’d known, because Nalfein and Zak had told him, that the eight-year-old was attached to his family, but Jarlaxle hadn’t really counted on him being so attached it was a genuine danger, or an assault on one’s eardrums.
A few miles from the city, Jarlaxle slid off his riding lizard to get his bearings and something clattered from his pocket. He looked down and spotted the magical figurine he’d snatched while fleeing. A wizard was carrying it with him, but had lost the chance to use it when he was unceremoniously cut down. Jarlaxle picked up the figurine, a piece of polished black onyx carved into the shape of a curled up panther. He’d caught the name, Guenhwyvar, but suspected it was better to wait before calling on the creature within.
Drizzt’s wailing picked up an octave, and Jarlaxle suspected it wouldn’t be long until the other child, Kimmuriel, began wailing too. The ten-year-old had already given a few half-hearted sobs as they rode. Jarlaxle turned and marched up to Drizzt, taking the little boy by the shoulder and presenting the figurine to him. Drizzt’s wails abated, but he still sobbed and sniffled intermittently. Truly, it was a wonder how anyone got a child to do anything when they were so easily distracted.
“This is Guen,” Jarlaxle explained. “I want you to take care of her. She’s very special, understand?”
Drizzt nodded, his lavender eyes wide as he gingerly took the onyx figurine.
“We’re going to go up into a place with lots of bright lights, and you won’t be used to it, but she’ll be scared too, so she needs someone to be brave for her. Do you think you can do that?”
Drizzt sniffled, clutching the statuette to his chest. He nodded. “I can–” he began, but hiccuped, “I can be brave.”
Jarlaxle brushed Drizzt’s tears away and looked to Kimmuriel. The ten-year-old hugged his younger friend tightly.
“I’m not scared,” he announced, a very bold claim for someone who still had tear-tracks on their face.
“If you’re certain,” Jarlaxle tucked Kimmuriel’s hair behind his ears. “I will choose to believe you. We have a long way to go, can I trust you to make sure Drizzt doesn’t drop dear Guen by accident?”
“I’m not gonna drop her!” Drizzt shouted, indignant.
“I can watch him,” Kimmuriel promised.
Jarlaxle gave a nod and mounted the riding lizard, spurring it on its course. He hugged both boys close and hoped his friends were all going to be okay, like he promised.
He didn’t really want to be the one that lied to Zaknafein’s boy.