by Lisa Smedman
“That’s good,” Arvin said. “In the confusion, you can escape.”
Porvar gave him a level stare. “Not without my son.”
“He’s in the pit, isn’t he?”
Porvar nodded.
Arvin struggled with his conscience. He’d retrieved the second half of the Circled Serpent—the only sane thing to do was shift into the form of a flying snake and get out. Now Karrell was counting on him. Arvin’s own children would die if he failed to save them. Porvar was a stranger, trying to hold Arvin to a promise he couldn’t afford to keep.
“Please,” Porvar begged.
His whisper was all but lost in the crashing that surrounded them. Dozens of the giant lizards were thundering through the jungle toward the center of Ss’yin’tia’saminass.
Arvin sighed. “Which way is the pit?”
Porvar grinned, revealing a jagged set of teeth. “This way.”
They hurried through the jungle, moving at right angles to the attack. More than once they had to stop and hide from other Se’sehen, also mounted on lizards. Eventually, the jungle opened up, and Arvin could see the cistern just ahead. He heard cries coming from inside it: the halflings. One of them was dead, impaled on the needle-like spikes. His face, level with the rim of the cistern, had turned a faint blue and was so swollen it was impossible to see his eyes.
Porvar stared, transfixed, at the corpse. “Poison,” he croaked.
“Is your son good at climbing?” Arvin asked.
The half-lizard startled, then nodded.
“Tell the halflings to be ready to catch a rope.”
Without wasting any more words, Arvin uncoiled the braided leather cord he’d fastened around his waist and began to climb a nearby tree. When he was high enough to look down into the pit, he tied one end of the cord to a tree branch and tossed the other down into the cistern, shouting its command word as he did so. The trollgut rope expanded, more than doubling in length. One of the halflings caught the other end.
“Is there something you can tie it to?” Arvin shouted.
The halflings looked around then shook their heads. The floor of the cistern was rough with broken stone, but none of the chunks was large enough to serve as an anchor for the rope. Arvin was just about to break the unpleasant news that one of them would have to hold it while the others climbed out when another of the enormous lizards hurtled toward them through the jungle. It smashed through the trees mere paces away from Arvin, sending the tree he was in whipping back and forth, and skirted the cistern, the yuan-ti on its back clinging grimly to its saddle. Arvin clung equally grimly to a branch with his one good hand.
As the giant lizard thundered away, Arvin heard a cheer go up from the halflings below. Glancing down, he saw that the lizard had knocked over a tree, which had fallen into the pit. Its trunk formed a ramp up to the rim. Already the halflings were scrambling up, Porvar’s son in the lead. The half-lizard moved forward to embrace him, but the boy shrank back, frightened. Then, visibly screwing up his courage, he hugged his father. Porvar looked up at Arvin, waved his thanks, then hurried away with the others into the jungle.
“Nine lives,” Arvin whispered.
He added a silent prayer that Tymora keep sending the halflings luck. To escape in the middle of a full-scale assault, they would need it.
Arvin, fortunately, would be out of there as soon as he could morph into a flying snake.
He cut the new growth from his trollgut rope and looped what remained over his shoulder. Then he started to draw energy up through his navel and into his chest. Only then did he think to touch his chest and make certain the lower half of the Circled Serpent was still there.
It wasn’t. It must have fallen when the lizard brushed the tree.
A chill ran through him. His heart stopped racing a moment later, however, when he spotted it on the ground near the base of the tree. Aborting his manifestation, he scrambled down to grab it. He secured the Circled Serpent back inside his shirt and resumed his manifestation.
He tried to draw energy up through his navel, but all that came was a trickle. Only the tiniest amount of energy remained in his muladhara. He’d been spending it wantonly, neglecting to check how much remained. There wasn’t enough to morph himself into a flying snake.
He’d have to walk out of Ss’yin’tia’saminass on foot.
He turned, trying to figure out which way the river was. It was somewhere to the east, but under the trees, in moonlight, it was impossible to figure out which way that might be. He decided to find a place to hole up, sleep, and replenish his muladhara.
He walked for some time through the ruins of Ss’yin, leaving the sounds of battle farther and farther behind. Enormous stone snake heads and low mounds that had once been buildings loomed out of the darkness on either side. He paused under a tree, looking for a sheltered place to perform his meditations. After a moment, he found a good spot: a circle of darkness in the side of a ruined building that was overgrown with vines—a doorway.
Dagger in hand, he pulled aside the vines and crawled into a corridor. He was taking a risk. Something else might have already claimed it as its lair. The corridor, however, ended in a pile of collapsed rubble only two or three paces into the building. It smelled of mold, and its floor was littered with dead leaves and other debris but it was otherwise empty.
Arvin collapsed, exhausted. He would sleep only a short time, he told himself, just long enough to refresh his mind so that he could perform his meditations.
He lay down, pillowing his head on his arms. No more than a quick nap, and …
A rustling noise snapped Arvin awake. He sat up, dagger already in hand. He’d slept for longer than he’d intended. Outside his hiding place, twilight was already filtering through the jungle. The air was steamy and hot.
The swelling in his left hand had gone down; he was able to move it again. The twin punctures on the back of it were still an angry red, but the agony had ebbed. The hand just felt stiff and sore.
He paused, listening carefully, and heard monkeys chatter to each other over the rasping caw-caw-caw of a jungle bird. The rustling noise had probably been the monkeys, swinging through the trees. Other than that, the jungle was quiet. Whatever the outcome of the Se’sehen attack on Ss’yin, the battle was over.
He considered performing his meditations inside his refuge but decided to take advantage of the animals outside. A quick dagger throw, and he’d have fresh meat. Then he’d restore his muladhara.
He crawled outside and stood, stretching out the kinks that came from sleeping on a stone floor.
A slight rustle of the leaves above his head was all the warning he got. A heartbeat later, a snake-tailed yuan-ti with green scales the exact color of the leaves around him swung down from the branch above him and yanked Arvin off his feet.
CHAPTER 9
Arvin gasped as he was yanked sideways by the yuan-ti. Its serpent tail coiled around the branch above, it swung like a pendulum, slamming Arvin against the trunk of the tree. An explosion of stars filled Arvin’s vision; as he blinked them away he heard the yuan-ti land on the ground next to him. Something heavy coiled around his chest and squeezed: the yuan-ti’s serpent tail. The lower half of the Circled Serpent dug into Arvin’s ribs. The yuan-ti, a male with leaf-shaped scales whose raised tips feathered out from his face, squeezed tighter, driving the air from Arvin’s lungs, then eased up just a little. He bared his fangs and hissed something in Draconic.
Arvin stared back into unblinking eyes. “I don’t understand you,” he gasped.
As he spoke, he reached deep inside himself and connected with the small amount of energy that remained in his muladhara. He manifested a charm and saw the yuan-ti blink. Sunlight slanted down through a gap in the forest canopy. The sun was rising, and the jungle was getting even hotter.
The yuan-ti hissed again in Draconic. Sweat blossomed on his body, stinging Arvin’s skin. Unable to move his arms—the yuan-ti’s tail held them fast—Arvin gestured with his chin
instead.
“Se’sehen?” he asked.
The yuan-ti’s head swayed from side to side. In a human, it would have been denial, but the gesture was accompanied by a gloating smile and bared his fangs. His tongue flickered against Arvin’s face, savoring his fear.
Arvin decided to take a gamble. “Sibyl?” he asked. His good hand was pressed against his chest but still visible. Arvin tapped a finger against his chest. “Sibyl,” he repeated. “I’m one of her followers, too.”
The yuan-ti relaxed his coils. His face was triangular with slit-pupiled eyes, not the slightest bit human. He had human arms, however, though they too were covered in green scales. His forked tongue flickered against Arvin’s chest. “Sybil?” he repeated.
Arvin nodded. “Yes. Yes. We’re on the same side.”
The yuan-ti smiled and released Arvin. “Sibyl,” he hissed again.
A shadow flickered across the yuan-ti. Something big had momentarily blocked the sunlight. The yuan-ti looked up.
Arvin followed his glance and saw an enormous winged serpent silhouetted against the sky. He felt the blood drain from his face as he realized who it must be. With the arrival of dawn, the portal had once again activated. Sibyl had slipped through.
The yuan-ti said something to Arvin in a tense, urgent voice. He glanced up again at the winged serpent that circled above them. Then his tail uncoiled, releasing Arvin. He said something more, gesturing urgently at the jungle, then slithered rapidly away.
Arvin stared, surprised. It was almost as if the yuan-ti had been frightened off by Sibyl. Maybe he’d been Jennestaa, after all.
Time for Arvin to get out of here as well.
As he turned to go, he heard a sharp fluttering noise: air passing swiftly over massive wings. Glancing up, he saw the winged serpent hurtling down toward him. He ran, hoping to lose himself beneath the trees, and cursed. He had nothing to fight Sibyl with; he’d left the musk creeper net in the cave. He tripped over a vine, stumbled, then recovered and ran on. He—
Couldn’t move.
Couldn’t even blink as he crashed, still frozen in a running pose, to the ground. As he lay on the jungle floor, the only thing that was moving—swiftly enough to make him dizzy—was the blood rushing through his veins. Over the thudding of his heart, loud in his ears, he heard the rustle of wings and the prolonged thud of a serpent body settling on the ground.
A tic of despair tugged at the corner of Arvin’s eye. He waited for Sibyl’s fangs to strike.
“Arvin?” a familiar voice said. It sounded surprised.
Arvin could move again. He scrambled to his feet. When he turned around, he saw Pakal. The dwarf had an odd expression on his face. It looked as though he was trying to decide whether he was glad—or angry—to see Arvin again.
Coiled on the ground beside Pakal was the winged serpent Arvin had mistaken for Sibyl. Arvin saw that it was no abomination—or at least, unlike any abomination he’d ever seen before. From its wedge-shaped head to the tip of its tail, the serpent was covered in feathers that glowed at the touch of sunlight. Midnight blue shaded into indigo, then into red, orange, yellow, and green. It had wings white and lacy as fresh frost, each feather tipped with vivid turquoise. Its face, though that of a serpent, was set in a kindly expression. Its smile was neither sly nor gloating but serene.
A rosy glow emanated from Pakal’s body, turning his skin a ruddy brown. He had one hand raised, two fingers extended in a forked position; claws were visible at their tips. He’d lost his blowgun, probably to the river, but his dart pouch was still attached to his belt. Pakal had obviously homed in on the Circled Serpent just as he had in Sibyl’s lair. Smashing the statue had been a big mistake.
The winged serpent next to him stared at Arvin with eyes like twin moons. Without opening its mouth, it spoke to Arvin, mind to mind. Its voice was a soft female trill. Which half of the Circled Serpent do you carry?
Denial would have been pointless. The winged serpent radiated power. Even with a chance to perform his meditations, Arvin doubted he could counter it.
“The lower half,” he said. “The one Dmetrio had.”
Show me.
Compelled, Arvin’s hand slipped inside his shirt. It pulled out the lower half of the Circled Serpent. The serpent nodded.
Arvin stared up at the feathered head. “What … are you?”
A couatl, the voice trilled. One of those Ubtao called home again. To the people of the jungles, I am known as Ts’ikil.
Karrell’s friend. Supposedly. “Are you an avatar?” Arvin asked.
Laugher rippled into his mind. No. A servant of the god, nothing more. The couatl nodded at the artifact in Arvin’s hand. Where is the other half?
“It was lost in the river.”
Was it? The voice sounded bemused. Let us see.
Arvin felt the couatl sifting through his thoughts, like a finger idly stirring sand. He clenched his hand around Karrell’s ring. Without any energy to fuel his psionics, it was his only defence. The familiar rush of magical energy up his arm didn’t come.
It does not block me because I made it, the couatl said.
The couatl rummaged a little longer in Arvin’s mind then withdrew.
Arvin felt sick. He knew the couatl must have found what she was looking for: a memory of the cave where he’d hidden his backpack.
Pakal nodded in response to an unheard command and stepped forward. He held out a claw-tipped hand.
“Don’t make her force you,” he warned.
Reluctantly, Arvin handed the Circled Serpent to him. The dwarf tucked it into his belt pouch.
“Please,” Arvin said, his eyes locked on Ts’ikil’s. “I need to rescue Karrell. She’s in Smaragd, pregnant, and about to give birth. I have to get her out of there. Just open the door that leads to Smaragd long enough for me to slip inside; I’ll find my own way out.”
For a moment, Pakal looked sorrowful. Then he snorted. “You really expect us to trust you?” The ruddy glow that surrounded his body intensified. The claws on the hand that held the lower half of the Circled Serpent lengthened.
Arvin tensed, ready to counter the attack he knew was coming.
The dwarf, however, turned toward Ts’ikil. “No,” he said. “He might tell the Se’sehen where—”
The couatl must have given him a silent rebuke; Pakal backed down.
Ts’ikil turned to Arvin. Karrell’s plight fills me with great sorrow, she said. If I could shift to the layer of the Abyss she occupies, I would have attempted a rescue myself, but it’s just not possible to reach her.
Arvin’s heart beat a little faster. His eyes were locked on Pakal’s pouch. “It is possible. Now that we have both halves, we could—”
The risk is too great.
Pakal gave Arvin one last glare then climbed obediently onto the couatl’s back. Ts’ikil coiled her body beneath her, unfurled her wings, and sprang into the air.
“Wait!” Arvin called. “Take me with you!”
Too late. Ts’ikil burst through the trees into the open sky and flew away.
Arvin didn’t waste his breath cursing. Instead he threw himself into the bhujang asana. It took all the willpower he possessed to still his mind and enter a meditative state. Frantic thoughts of Karrell filled his head.
He had to hurry—
Stay calm! he growled at himself.
To fill his muladhara and morph into a flying snake—
Breathe in through the left nostril, out through the right.
To beat the couatl back to the cave where he’d hidden his backpack—
Breathe! Draw in energy. Force it down. Coil it into the muladhara.
Before Ts’ikil got there. Before she found the other half and destroyed—
Stop it! Still your mind! Control!
He completed his meditation then whirled through the five defence poses and five attack poses like a manic dancer. Sweat flew from his body as he thrust with his hands, twirled and kicked. At last he was done.
Despite having learned how to extend his metamorphosis well beyond its normal duration, Arvin had to land several times and remanifest the power. Each time he rose from the treetops, Ts’ikil was farther away. An ache clutched at his throat as he saw Ts’ikil dive down toward the sinuous break in the jungle that was the river. The couatl would recover the other half of the Circled Serpent long before Arvin would reach the bluff himself.
Even though he knew it was hopeless, Arvin flew on. It seemed to take forever before he could see the river, let alone the bluff. Eventually, however, he saw the dark spots in it that were the caves and could pick out the one where he’d hidden the backpack. He spotted Ts’ikil coiled at the base of the bluff on a ledge beside the river. She was too big to enter the cave herself—she would have sent Pakal in to recover the other half of the Circled Serpent. There was no sign of the dwarf, however. Hope fluttered in Arvin’s chest. Maybe he hadn’t arrived too late, after all. Perhaps something had delayed Pakal and the Circled Serpent had not yet been destroyed.
Arvin was just about to descend toward the cave when something in his peripheral vision caused him to turn his head. Something big raced downriver. Another winged serpent, flying almost at treetop level, its dark coloration blending with the jungle below. There was no mistaking its black body and batlike wings.
Sibyl.
She was almost at the bluff.
Arvin activated his lapis lazuli. He didn’t need to picture Ts’ikil in his mind, not when he could see her just ahead of him. Ts’ikil!he cried. Sibyl is flying toward you from the north. She’s almost at the bluffs.
