Please note: This is merely a revised version. The mess of grammer in that first paragraph was way too painful. I've added two sentences and removed another.

Apart from that, the title is still taken from Al Stewart's "Running Man" and it still makes me think of Entreri.

Still the Fox

He came from the darkness. A lone traveller with dust paling the dark of his clothing, clinging to his boots and even then, in that first moment, it was strange to think one such as him travelling by foot alone. He came silently, walking forward to pass by the campfires of the merchant's servants to stand in front of the master himself. In the strange, flickering light, he didn't seem to illuminate quite as much as he should. He appeared much taller than he was, so regal was his bearing. He was older than is grace would make you believe and by a large margin so. His eyes, especially in this place and in this deepest of nights, were purest black. An abyss perhaps, though it was hard to tell whether these eyes would make you fall or whether they reflected the way he fell himself.

Krallos, the merchant, with his wives and daughters hovering behind where they have stopped in their fawning over him to watch the stranger approach as if a thrall had been put on the, Krallos the merchant scrunched up his face disdainfully.

"How did you bypass the guards?" he asked. It did not seem to bother him, to find his security so lacking. Who would, after all dare attack him? Apart from a few orcs or goblin or whatever unimpressive monster otherwise roamed this forsaken patch of land between Waterdeep and Neverwinter. But the stranger somehow negated the idea of monsters, relegating their importance to the very back of the mind.

"Without effort," the stranger replied slowly. His abyss eyes were digging into Krallos' but the merchant, rather than taking up the challenge simply blinked distractedly as if nothing but some annoying sand had flown in.

"Well then, we do not take strangers in. Find yourself another camp." Krallos announced. For him, the dismissal was obvious and it had never occurred to him, even for a moment, that anywhere in the world there was someone who would not heed it.

The stranger, though, simply held his ground. He said, "The road is dangerous alone, at night."

Krallos chuckled. "You seem the kind who makes it that. I'm an honest trader, I do not deal with the likes of you."

A small smirk flittered across the stranger's face, only briefly, and the expression was not pleasant. "There is no such thing as an honest trader."

Krallos chuckled. It was the sound of true amusement and the host of women behind him fell in with their melodious, studied tittering.

The stranger still said nothing, he waited, watching Krallos without blinking.

Eventually, Krallos said, "You come here, obviously seeking our shelter in the night, and still you offer arrogance and insults as payment."

"I have gold," the stranger said. The long travelling cloak he still wore shielded him so. He might easily carry a heavy purse.

Krallos lifted his eyebrows high, seemingly until they touched his hair line. "Ah, see, that is how you talk to a trader!" Krallos declared grinning.

The stranger shrugged the side of his cloak away, revealing the jewelled hilt of a dagger and indeed, a purse that hung heavy on his belt. He loosened it and tossed it in Krallos direction without sparing it a glance. One of his guards stepped in front of Krallos to make the catch and to hand it over, with a slight bow, to his master.

Krallos weighted to purse in his hand. "That is too much," he announced. "I would hate it if you called us thieves."

"It doesn't matter," the stranger said.

Krallos wouldn't be told twice to keep the gold. Within moments it had vanished somewhere in the folds of wide, layered robe.

"But tell me, stranger," Krallos continued. "What is hunting you? What will charge our camp before the night is done?"

For the first time, the stranger seemed at a loss of words, masking his surprise with a habitual scowl. "Nothing will," he said. "I spoke the truth. It is dangerous alone at night. Many unsavoury characters are about. But they will never come to your great camp."

If Krallos suspected the lie, he said nothing of it, just left it there, hanging the air between them.

The transaction done, the stranger made to turn and go, finding himself a quiet spot somewhere in the thick of the camp, where he was undisturbed.

"But tell us, stranger, what is your name? So I know whom to curse when I find you lied to me?"

The stranger stopped and glanced back over his shoulder, keeping very still for a moment. He shook his head, ever so slightly and a tiny small crossed his face.

"Artemis Entreri," he said and walked away, letting them make of it what they may.

The perimeters of the camp were well lit, though there were patches were darkness fell safely. Entreri found a place by a group of young trees. Putting his back against their soft bark, the centre of the camp was open to his scrutiny. the great fire in an open place where the food for the merchant's servants and guards was prepared. Watching them like this, it was as if the hierarchical structure of the caravan spread itself out in front of him.

No one had yet approached him, but that would come eventually. They were close enough to his former hunting grounds and if this trader, like Entreri had remarked, was less than the savoury sort - and to be as successful as he seemed, he probably had to be - he would likely know the name. There had been a time when some of Entreri's masters had relied solely on the threat his name carried to keep potentially troublesome partners in check. If it bothered Krallos, he should have said so. Entreri would hardly have gone and slaughtered the entire caravan, even if, perhaps, others would see such as a distinctive possibility. He had never meant to create any legend, at least not the kind that spread beyond the tight circle of confidants, of people who needed to know who he was if they meant to stay alive. He had never meant to carry a name so readily recognisable to any.

It was too late now to take it back, so it made little sense to dwell on it. He shrugged off his cloak bunched it together against the tree. Leaving it behind, he got back to his feet and strode to the great fire. By one of the cooking pots that dotted the sides of the fire like pearls on a string he recognised one of the women who had stood with Krallos.

She lifted her head when he appeared suddenly by her side, perhaps wondering how he had crossed that open, brightly lit expanse without anyone noticing. After all, everybody in camp had heard of the stranger who had so unexpectedly appeared in their midst. Some at least had known the name he had given and had been busy retelling its stories to their more ignorant companions.

She seemed to collect her thoughts quickly. "Are you hungry?" she asked. She didn't wait for his answer but picked up a plate from a pile on a low table by her side. "It's lamb stew," she said, dipping the ladle into the pot. "And a piece of bread. If you want roast, I could get that, too, just tell me."

He shook his head and took the plate from her hand, remembering to muster something akin to an encouraging smile. The woman, for all her youth, showed surprising poise. It was almost a pity she was a slave, really. He took the plate and turned to go.

"Do tell me," she had to raise her voice a little, over the crackle of the fire and the dull noise of the camp. He stopped, but did not turn around.

"Do tell me," she said again. "What is it you are running away from, Artemis Entreri?"

If it had been the question of a frightened woman, seriously out of her depth, who knew nothing of the world but what she had seen in her secluded, enslaved existence, he would have walked away and left her to deal with her fear on her own. But there was no fear, at least not the irrational kind. She had seen something in his eyes or his face or his bearing which had betrayed him. She did not seem the type to let go of her understanding once she had gained it.

So he turned back to face her, narrowed his gaze at her. "I am not," he said. The lie, the last of countless lies told throughout his already too long life, sounded unconvincing to his own ears.

"Krallos was right," she continued, keeping her voice gentle. She did not mean to drive him away by putting pressure in her tone. "You are afraid of something and you sought us out for whatever shelter we could provide. But then, Krallos was also right when he said the likes of you are what cause fear. Whatever it is that makes you hide will be far too dangerous for our guards to deal with."

"Nothing will happen to you," Entreri said. He spoke with finality, making it clear beyond any doubt that he did not wish for this conversation to continue, trying to impress the truth of his words on her.

He turned to go, and this time, dropping the ladle back into the pot, she moved to follow him. She reached a hand out to him, intending, clearly, to touch his shoulder and hold him back. Entreri took one quick step to the side, a tiny manoeuvre really, but it changed his position enough to make her hand falter away. She stood pensively, watching him.

He said, "I do not need and do not want somebody meddling in my affairs," Entreri's voice had dropped to a whisper, but she understood him as well as if he had shouted. "If you believe I'm endangering you, or the people of this caravan, have Krallos kick me back out into the night. But do keep your prying to yourself. Curiosity is such dangerous past-time."

Still she said nothing. The barely veiled threat did not seem to strike her that much, but she was also not stupid and she knew, then, that she had no choice but to abandon her chosen course. The stranger had intrigued her and so she had decided to seek him in the camp to try and talk to him. It had not been a wise course, she now realised, but it wasn't too late to change the outcome of it.

"Please forgive me," she said. It sounded like an empty phrase to both their ears. She felt sorry only for having to let him go.

"I thank you for your hospitality," Entreri said, his tone had returned to normal. A small bone he was offering her, hardly enough to console her, but she had enough sense to turn away from him and return to her work.

"So, is there strength in numbers?" a familiar voice inquired lightly from behind Entreri. From between the trees, where there was no light.

Entreri was not startled and not bothered, at least not unduly so. He put the plate aside and shifted his seat, seemingly to sit more comfortably, while in truth from it would be easy for him to rise from this position and draw his dagger quicker than even a drow would be able to see.

"Could you kill me, then?" asked the voice, still with a somewhat playful edge, somewhere.

Entreri snorted. There was no way he could keep Kimmuriel from reading his mind, of course, but he didn't have to make it easier on the drow psionist. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let all the hatred gather in his head, all the anger accumulated during his stay in Menzoberranzan and in all the time that followed. The quiet laughter told him how it wasn't actually working the way he had intended.

"I don't know," Entreri replied honestly. In anything approaching a proper fight, he knew he could take Kimmuriel apart, but their weapons of choice were not very well-matched and he had very little with which to compete against Kimmuriel's special talents. Entreri added, "But I doubt you'd want me to try and find out."

Again the quiet amusement, brushing against his mind. Entreri sensed the drow slip closer and he did not like to have him at his back.

"I want nothing to do with you," Entreri announced.

"And neither do we," Kimmuriel conceded. "However, as humans go, you are something of a special case."

Entreri tensed and it was clear to the leader of Bregan D'aerthe that every moment he stayed longer he was pushing Entreri closer to the edge. Closer and closer to make a fatal and foolhardy attempt at his life. All Kimmuriel's defences were in place, after all, and the assassin never stood a chance. Entreri knew it, too, but then, Entreri had lived most of his life unbeaten - it might be a habit too deeply ingrained and he might get lucky. Besides, for the time being, the human was far more useful alive.

"I only came to ask you a question," Kimmuriel said.

"A question," Entreri echoed tonelessly. "The answer to which you couldn't take out of my mind from several miles away? A question that required some of your less than graceful associates to herd me out of Gandira and into the open?" He sensed Kimmuriel's surprise than and was almost satisfied that the drow's special powers could work either way and certainly not as the psionist had intended.

"Yes, I noticed them," Entreri said, unnecessarily, but it felt entirely too good to push that small stab home, at least.

There was a short silence and when Kimmuriel spoke again his tone betrayed just the slightest hint of anger, which was so unusual for this particular drow that Entreri found himself wondering what was truly going on. He also noticed that Kimmuriel was close to striking out at him and despite his earlier words, he did not quite feel like he wanted that. Diffusing the tension a little, Entreri said, "Ask your question and leave."

If he had expected Kimmuriel to betray his eagerness, he was mistaken. The drow shifted his position again. He was coming forward as far as he dared to sit almost at Entreri's side. The relaxed pose indicating that the worst of the danger had passed, at least for the time.

"Has Jarlaxle been in contact with you?" Kimmuriel asked finally.

The question surprised Entreri so much, he felt it slip through the cloud of anger and hatred he tried to keep in place to offer what protection it could against Kimmuriel's intrusion. Strangely, though, it seemed that astonishment that drove the drow off better than before. But then, maybe it made all sense, after all, being drow, Kimmuriel was used to meeting and dealing with precisely those two emotions.

"Don't you know?" Entreri asked.

"I don't see anything in your mind," Kimmuriel pointed out. Which meant he wasn't sure that Jarlaxle hadn't played some trick to block Kimmuriel off. It begged the question why Jarlaxle would feel the need to do that. Entreri knew that Jarlaxle had kept in contact with Kimmuriel and Bregan D'aerthe even while he roamed the surface and there was no reason why he should have changed it.

"Don't you know?" Entreri repeated again, putting the stress on the implication that, if Kimmuriel didn't know what made him think Entreri did?

"Jarlaxle has failed to show up to the last two of our scheduled meetings," Kimmuriel said. The truth, obviously. An opening which Entreri wasn't quite sure Kimmuriel would offer if he knew any other way.

Entreri settled back against the tree as the realisations slowly fell into place in his mind. The contradiction and the way Kimmuriel didn't seem to make any sense, the way his odd frustration kept bleeding through the mental link between them.

"You set a trap for him, didn't you?" Entreri said, finding he was grinning despite himself. "You thought it was time to make sure Bregan D'aerthe had one leader and one leader alone."

Kimmuriel's very silence told the assassin everything he needed to know.

"Jarlaxle hasn't approached me," Entreri said in helpful mockery. The situation seemed to unnerve the psionist and probably quite rightly so. The prospect of having to face all the quirks of Jarlaxle's brilliant mind and limitless array of deadly tricks would make the staunchest nervous.

"And if he has any sense left, he won't do it, either," Entreri added after a moment's consideration. "I have seen enough damn drow to last me several lifetimes and you aren't actually that pleasant to look at."

"You will not be involved?" Kimmuriel asked.

Entreri narrowed his eyes. He felt his fingers tingling to reach for his dagger. Kimmuriel's unseen lingering just behind his right shoulder was making his nerves stand on edge. And never mind that he felt a certain interest as to how a duel of wits between Kimmuriel and Jarlaxle played out, Entreri was well aware he should—and would, if given half a choice—heed the advise he had given the woman by the fire earlier: Curiosity was a dangerous past-time.

"I don't answer to you," Entreri stated calmly. "And I don't answer to Jarlaxle either. But among the two of you, only one is here to steal my time."

"I could kill you," Kimmuriel pointed out.

"It would cost you," Entreri replied undaunted. The drow spoke the truth, but even if they both were perfectly aware of it, Entreri did not need to concede the point. Besides, if Kimmuriel meant to kill him, he would never have bothered with any foreplay.

Kimmuriel withdrew to the shadows, slowly, fading into the darkness and whatever magic was taking him away from this place. "I have learned all I wished to know," the drow announced.

Entreri made a non-committal grunt. The entire episode had been superfluous, then and the slight, passing feeling of pride for being taken as dangerous enough to be calculated with by the drow, hardly served to console him with the intrusion. Especially as he was still gnawing a little at his instinctive decision to leave Gandira once he had felt the unwanted and subtle attention of the drow on him. Entreri wasn't sure whether his senses simply had attuned themselves to the presence of these creatures or whether they were being unusually clumsy in their underestimation of a mere human.

Regardless, he had left in an uncharacteristic hurry which looked - even to himself - more like fear than appropriate caution.

He had happened upon Krallos' caravan, although he had known about it, as it had passed through Gandira only a day before. He had meant to join them, yes, and go on to whatever their destination was and he had done so in the admittedly thin hope that the drow would keep their distance from such a large group of humans.

Kimmuriel had revealed much more than he possibly could have intended and the lure was there to make some kind of use of that knowledge, if only to prevent another such encounter.

Entreri's line of thought was broken by an odd commotion in the buzz of the camp. Almost simultaneously with Kimmuriel's disappearance, the rhythm around Entreri had shifted slightly. There was more tension, suddenly, agitation that made all the people move a little quicker and a little jerkier as they went about their tasks. Also, like a stream of water whose course had been altered, most people, at some point or other, began to drift in the direction of where Krallos had set up his own tent.

The woman who had spoken to Entreri by the fire suddenly appeared in the open space between him and the flames. Her body language suggested she wasn't going to approach him uninvited, keeping a respectful distance as she waited for his attention to fall on her.

He fixed his gaze on her, not wishing to call her over just yet. The expression on her face was a jumbled mixture of bewilderment and confusion and—just a little—amusement. Feeling his gaze, she winked at him and gestured with both hands, begging him to follow.

Entreri considered for a moment, but he doubted the woman would came here just for chattering, not after he had warned her off, so he got to his feet and sauntered towards her, his hand resting lightly, easily, on the hilts of his weapons.

She greeted him with a shaky grin and then turned around to lead him back to Krallos' personal area, where, by this time, most members of the caravan had already conglomerated. A wide space was open in front of Krallos, though, and the caravan's guards had made a skittering circle around the lone figure, aiming their long lances at the centre.

Entreri stopped at the save distance, dead on his tracks, as if a spell had been cast that turned him to stone, working from his feet up.

He was too far away to hear what Jarlaxle was saying and if he was honest, Entreri did not care. He had seen too many of those encounters not to know the almost inevitable outcome. Hardly one to let the initial rejection his race caused on outsiders to hamper him, Jarlaxle was already halfway through talking himself into the hearts of the less intelligent members of the caravan and the somewhat appreciative tittering from the host of women behind Krallos spoke of the rest.

Entreri could tell Krallos was out of his depth and had been so since Entreri's appearance not so much earlier. The merchant would have to be all kinds of fool if he couldn't link the two unusual visitors together, the way the woman had done when she had gone to fetch Entreri.

Jarlaxle turned his head and the great feather wagged with the movement. He danced around in a circle and the guards surrounding him visibly flinched, though Jarlaxle was grinning amiably.

Entreri walked forward, then, propelled from his place and found the circle of people to part in front of him as if they were mist. Even the guards, sensing his approach rather than seeing or hearing him, opened their lockup to let him pass so Entreri came to stand right in front of Jarlaxle. As usual, the difference in height failed completely to come through.

"I tell you what I told Kimmuriel," Entreri said sharply and with finality. "I will not stand against you. And I will not stand with you."

In the tiny space it took for the sparks to flicker in the drow's one open eye—his left, this night—Entreri turned on his heels and walked back out through the circle and to where he had left his cloak by the trees. He could be quite a distance away from this place before dawn broke.

Of course he never got there, he never had expected to. Compelled, somehow, despite himself, he looked back, just once, to catch the drow's eye.

Jarlaxle smirked.

END