by Lisa Smedman
He was right. The entire inscription glowed. Pakal placed a foot onto the dais. Arvin did the same. The tingling in his forehead turned into a steady burn …
A loud hiss and clatter of loose rock startled Pakal. One foot on the dais, one foot on the ground, the dwarf stared up at the source of the noise and cursed. Arvin, realizing it must be the cobra, grabbed the dwarf by the arm and boosted him onto the dais, leaping up after him. As the world beyond the inscription began to shimmer, Arvin saw the iron cobra he thought he’d defeated come skittering down the slope. Its hood was bent flat against its head and several of the iron bands that made up its body were jammed together, but it was moving again. Fast. With a screech of metal it heaved itself up onto the dais with them and bared bent fangs.
“Watch out!” Arvin yelled, yanking Pakal back. “It’s going to—”
The mountainside vanished. For a heartbeat there was nothing under Arvin’s feet as he fell sideways through the dimensions, still holding tight to Pakal’s arm. Then his feet landed on something solid. A roaring filled the air: water. It slammed into Arvin’s calves, knocking him prone. He had just enough time to register the fact that the portal had transported them to the bottom of a narrow, cliff-walled canyon filled with a rushing river before the force of the water dragged him off the submerged portal they’d materialized on. Then the river swept them away.
Karrell heard something moving through the jungle off to her left. She froze. Rain pattered on the slab of bark she held over her head like a shield, making it difficult to hear. Already the bark felt spongy; the acidic downpour was eating through it.
Whatever was moving through the jungle, it was big, larger than the dretches the marilith had sent to search for her.
Karrell touched her belly, soothing the children inside her. They could sense her fear and were kicking. She began to whisper the prayer that would disguise her as a tree but realized the sounds of branches breaking and sodden vegetation squelching were moving away. She sighed in relief.
The sounds stopped. A voice she recognized grated out guttural words—the marilith, casting a spell.
Karrell croaked out a prayer. “Ubtao, hide me in my time of need. Protect me from my enemies; obscure me from their sight and do not let them find me.”
The jungle reacted to her, just as it did each time she cast a spell. Thorny branches slashed at her bare arms and the ground underfoot became soggier, causing her to lose her footing. Gnats erupted from a nearby pool in a belch of foul-smelling air and swarmed her face. She squinted and waved them away.
Somewhere in the jungle to Karrell’s left, the marilith continued to chant. Something that flashed silver rose into the sky. After a moment, she realized the flashes were coming from the marilith’s swords, which circled above the treetops. Just as it had done in Baron Foesmasher’s palace, the demon had summoned a barrier of blades.
Perhaps the demon was under attack, but if so, why had it flung the blades into the sky?
Karrell’s heart beat faster. Perhaps, she thought, the blades had been driven there by some unseen adversary. Had Arvin done as he’d promised and found a way into Smaragd?
Tossing her makeshift rain shield aside—she could move more quickly without it, and the rain was slowing anyway—she pushed her way through the jungle toward the spot the swords circled above. She caught only glimpses of them through the thick vegetation—brief glimpses, for though the acidic rain had no effect on her skin, it stung her eyes.
As she got closer, she spotted the marilith. Its tail was coiled beneath it as it stared up at the circle of blades. All six arms were raised above its head, directing the whirling blades. Squatting next to it were two dozen dretches, drooling and idly scratching their bulging, hairless heads. The marilith guided the swords down through the trees, tilting the circle so that it was perpendicular to the ground.
In the middle of the circle, Karrell could see a flat gray plain with a walled city in the distance. The wall that surrounded the city had a greenish glow. Hlondeth? No, the landscape was wrong. The walled city wasn’t a port; the gray plain continued behind it as far as the eye could see. Her heart beat faster as she realized the demon had opened a gate to another plane. Which one, Karrell had no idea, but it looked habitable. Somewhere on the prime material plane? Wherever it was, it had to be safer than Smaragd.
Moving as close as she dared, Karrell readied herself. Leaping through the gate with a bulging belly would be difficult, but it might be her only chance at escape.
The view through the gate shifted as the link between planes adjusted itself. With a rush that dizzied her to look at it, the view zoomed in toward the city. When it stopped, it was focused on a field of rubble. Huge blocks of masonry lay jumbled together with rusted bits of twisted metal and splintered wood. It looked as though a giant had trampled on whatever buildings had once stood there. A crowd of people milled around the rubble—humans in torn clothing. Several had scratches on their cheeks. All looked terrified, and all cried out. Karrell could not hear what they were saying, but she could guess—their actions made it clear that they were praying to their gods.
Behind them was a river of bubbling black water; beyond that, a stalagmite-encrused cave.
The marilith pointed at the gate. The dretches grunted then leaped through it, all but one of them making it through the circle of whirling steel. That one was instantly sliced to pieces. Blood sprayed outward in a circle and chunks of flesh were hurled into the jungle. A hand landed next to Karrell.
The other dretches seemed to rapidly shrink, and Karrell had to strain her eyes to see where they’d gone. She spotted them next to the milling crowd. The dretches drove the crowd forward like cattle, toward the cave.
The marilith, meanwhile, concentrated on keeping the gate open. Karrell edged closer, making sure she kept behind the demon. The prayer she’d uttered earlier had only hidden her from scrying and other divination spells. If the marilith looked in her direction, it would see her. She would have to time her escape just right. Slowly, glancing between the gate above her and the demon, she crept forward.
In the place beyond the gate, the dretches used magical fear and clouds of nauseating smoke to drive the crowd toward the cave. The humans screamed and wept as they stumbled into the water then into the cave. Karrell’s heart ached for them, for they were clearly in torment. She eased closer still …
Her foot slipped on a wet branch and splashed into a pool of stagnant water. She halted, ready to chant a prayer. The marilith, however, didn’t seem to have heard. It was intent on the gate. It watched, chuckling, as the first few ranks of the crowd disappeared into the cave.
Screaming erupted from inside it—the anguished cries of those within. Karrell pressed her lips together in a grim line, wishing she could do something for them, but realized she could do nothing until she was through the gate. She moved cautiously forward, taking a careful step, then pausing, then easing forward through the branches, then pausing again, all the while with one eye on the demon. Just a few steps more …
The last of the humans had been driven into the cave, and the field of rubble was empty again, save for the dretches. They loped back toward the hole, knuckles scuffing on the ground. Karrell, realizing the marilith would close the gate once they’d returned, quickened her pace, no longer caring if the movement of a branch betrayed her.
Behind the dretches, a head emerged from the cave. The head of an enormous serpent with midnight-black scales, its neck was as thick as the cave it emerged from. The serpent stared past the departing dretches at the gate, its tongue flickering in and out of its mouth.
“More,” it hissed.
Karrell felt an icy cold settle in her stomach as she recognized the serpent and realized where the gate led.
To the City of Judgement and the lair of Dendar—grown large enough that she barely fit inside her cave. To the Fugue Plain.
A plane that could only be entered by demons, and the souls of the dead.
Karrell,
still living, would be unable to pass through the gate the marilith had opened, even if she wanted to.
The dretches had driven the souls of the freshly dead—those whose gods had not yet claimed them from the Fugue Plane—into Dendar’s gullet. Why?
The shock of this realization was Karrell’s undoing. One of the dretches pointed and gabbled out a cry of glee. The marilith spun, spotting her. The gate slammed shut, slicing three dretches to bloody pieces.
The marilith lunged at Karrell, seizing her.
Arvin fought for breath as the river tumbled him away from the portal. He was above water, submerged, broke the surface, then was under water again. Choking, sputtering, he tried to fight his way back to the surface, but it was impossible to swim while clutching Pakal’s arm and with a pack that had filled with water weighing him down. The dwarf thrashed about, kicking Arvin in the stomach, either trying to swim or just trying to get away from him. Arvin’s head broke through the foaming water just as he and Pakal were slammed against the side of the canyon. Arvin lost his grip on the dwarf’s arm. Pakal lost hold of the sack. As it swirled away in the current, the dwarf shouted and flailed toward it. Arvin was quicker. He kicked off the wall and lunged forward.
His hands closed around the sack.
Pakal grabbed him by the shoulders an instant later. The dwarf shouted something at Arvin, but his words were lost in the thunder of water. They struggled, Pakal clambering over Arvin—and nearly drowning him in the process—and at last grabbing the sack. The river swept them into a whirlpool, which spun them crazily around then out again. Arvin caught a glimpse of a tree that had fallen from the cliff above. It lay in the river at an angle, partially submerged, just ahead. The river was going to carry them right into the tree—and Pakal’s back was to it. Arvin shouted and gestured frantically with his free hand then submerged, still clutching the sack. Pakal fought back, kicking up toward the surface.
Then, suddenly, Arvin was the only one holding the sack.
He burst from the water just in time to see the dwarf caught on the tree, his limp body draped across its trunk. Then the river turned a bend in the canyon, sweeping Arvin away. Cursing, he tried to fight his way back upriver, but it was no use. Even if he’d had both hands free and wasn’t wearing a backpack, he would never be able to make headway against the current. It took all of his efforts just to keep his head above water. Kicking furiously, he quickly felt the sack to make sure the box that held the Circled Serpent was still inside. It was.
He began searching for a way out. It was some time, however, before he found one. By the time he battled his way over to a ledge that he could climb onto without being smashed against the wall of the canyon, Pakal was far behind.
Dripping wet, exhausted, Arvin opened the sack and took out the box. He opened it and saw a crescent-shaped object wrapped in crumpled lead foil resting on a bed of soggy black velvet. Carefully, he peeled back one edge of the foil, revealing the object it had been wrapped around. Gems glinted in a silver serpent face. The upper half of the Circled Serpent was in his hands.
He smoothed over foil and closed the box then touched the crystal at his neck. “Nine lives,” he whispered. Then he tucked the box securely inside his pack.
Using his magical bracelet made the climb out of the canyon an easy one, but above the cliff, the jungle was thick and deeply shadowed. Something orange flashed through the trees. Instinctively, Arvin ducked and reached for his dagger, but it was only a tiny flying snake, its wings no larger than Arvin’s hands. Its coloration made it stand out vividly against the jungle foliage, most of which was a green so dark it bordered on black. He wondered whose pet it was, but a moment later, when a second flying snake flitted past, he realized the creatures must be wild.
The jungle was filled with life, despite the fact that a thick canopy of trees blocked most of the light, throwing what lay below into shadow. Birds with bright turquoise, yellow, and red feathers cawed at him from the branches above; a centipede the length of his arm scurried out of his path; and tiny monkeys with bright orange fur leaped from tree to tree, chattering to each other. He saw at least a dozen more of the tiny flying snakes. Each would be worth a hundred gold pieces or more in Hlondeth, a fortune on the wing.
Despite the river that frothed through the canyon below, the air was oppressively hot. His clothes quickly went from being soggy and wet to just damp with sweat. Arvin combed his hair back with a hand. It was as hot in the jungle as the inside of Hlondeth’s Solarium, but with the added discomfort of oppressive humidity that left him feeling slightly lightheaded. He was used to a dry heat and air that smelled of hot stone and snake musk.
He stood, debating what to do. He had the upper half of the Circled Serpent, and so he needed to find out where Dmetrio was and trick him into giving up his half.
Easier said than done, however. Arvin had no idea where Dmetrio was—no idea where he was, either. Pakal had seemed confident that the portal would convey them to his homeland but had seemed surprised to be deposited in a river. Had the portal malfunctioned and sent them somewhere else?
Pakal would know the answer to that question—but Pakal was draped, unconscious, over a log in the middle of a raging river, maybe even dead by now, if the river had swept his body away.
There was an easy way to find out.
Arvin started to summon energy into his lapis lazuli then hesitated. If Pakal was alive, a sending would allow him to see Arvin as well, and Arvin didn’t want to give too much away. He took off his backpack and hid it behind a nearby tree. Then he resumed the sending.
Closing his eyes, he pictured the dwarf’s face in his mind. A moment later, it came into focus. Pakal was bedraggled, his wet braids plastered against a bloody scalp, but alive. Both hands were gripping tightly to something and one foot was braced while the other was searching for a foothold. He’d not only survived but was trying to climb out of the canyon.
Pakal! Arvin said. You’re alive! I tried to swim back to you, but … He paused, realizing that was eleven words, wasted. Where are we? Did we reach your homeland?
Yes, but we did not arrive where I expected. The portal must be—
He stopped, looked closely at each of Arvin’s empty hands, then leaned to the side as if trying to see Arvin’s back. Arvin turned slightly—a casual looking gesture designed to let Pakal see that his pack was gone.
Pakal’s expression turned grim. Arvin could guess what he was thinking: that the box had been swept away by the river. The lead foil around the Circled Serpent would make it impossible to find.
Return to the fallen tree, the dwarf replied. I will tell Ts’ikil to meet us—
Having reached its limit, the sending ended.
Arvin grinned. Tymora must have been smiling on him; everything had worked out perfectly. All he had left to do was trick Pakal—or Ts’ikil—into telling him where Dmetrio was. First, however, he needed to hide the Circled Serpent.
Where?
He needed to get a good look around. The best way to do that would be by morphing into a flying snake again, much as Arvin hated the idea. The musky smell that clung to him even after he’d morphed back again was as bad as a dunking in Hlondeth’s sewers. Sighing, he picked up his pack and put it on.
A scream made him jump—a bad thing to do so close to a cliff. One of his feet slipped off the edge, sending a stone clattering down toward the river. Arvin recovered quickly and reached for his dagger. The scream had come from somewhere close—no more than a few paces away—and it had sounded like a woman.
She screamed again, but her cry choked off suddenly. Arvin hesitated. Did he really want to get involved? Then he thought of Karrell. She, too, was alone and in trouble.
He plunged into the jungle toward the spot where the scream had come from. The vegetation was thick, and he was forced to push his way through a tangle of vines and bushes that blocked his way. When he was certain he was at the spot the screams had come from, he stopped. He searched the ground for tracks but saw no
ne. The air smelled of dark soil and growing things, of sweet-scented flowers—and an acidic smell, like yuan-ti sweat.
Belatedly, he realized the jungle around him was silent. The monkeys, birds, and flying snakes were gone. A sharp smell hung in the air, one that stung his nostrils. He glanced down and saw tendrils of yellowish fog whisping out from under a waxy-leafed bush to his right. Then, with a loud hissing, the fog billowed out full force, enveloping him.
It became difficult to breathe or to see. The acidic fog tore at his lungs and throat with each breath. He doubled over, coughing. He could see no more than a pace or two in any direction. He tried to run but tripped over a vine.
It wrapped itself around his ankle. Then it tugged, sending him sprawling, and began dragging him along the ground.
He slashed at the vine, but three more came snaking out of the jungle after it. Coughing so hard he began to retch, he tried to crawl away, but his limbs moved at only a fraction of their normal speed. It was as if the air around him had turned to thick mud. The vines had wound around both legs and pulled him steadily along. He threw his body in the direction they dragged him, causing them to go slack, and slashed through another of the vines. But more came snaking through the air toward him—a dozen at least. Four more wrapped around him.
The vines belonged to an enormous plant. Yellow mist spewed out of the base of its trunk, and waxy green leaves fluttered like feathers around four flower buds that were each the size of a horse. One of these buds gaped open, revealing a mouth lined with row upon row of thornlike teeth. Another was clenched firmly upon the body of a monkey; the animal’s limp leg and tail dangled from it. Arvin cursed as he realized it must have been the monkey that had screamed. The open bud swayed in Arvin’s direction as the vines pulled him toward it.
Arvin cast his awareness toward the thing, trying to connect with its mind, but its thoughts were slow and ponderous, as impossible to grasp as the eye-stinging yellow fog that surrounded him. The plant would not respond to a distraction or to an illusion. An astral construct might be able to tear apart one of the buds, but not before the other three—all gaping open and turning hungrily in Arvin’s direction—gobbled him up.
