Vanity's Brood

by Lisa Smedman

  The couatl reacted at once. Her white wings unfurled like sails and she sprang into the air. As she rose, a turquoise glow began at her wingtips and spread swiftly to cover her entire body—some sort of protective spell, Arvin guessed.

  As Ts’ikil rose above the bluff, Sibyl wheeled sharply. Her tail flicked forward, hurling a lightning bolt. It ripped through the air, striking the couatl in the chest. The turquoise glow surrounding her exploded into a haze of bright blue sparks as it absorbed the bolt’s energy. A heartbeat later, the thunderclap reached Arvin, rattling his wing feathers. He dived toward the bluff, praying that neither of the combatants would notice him.

  Ts’ikil retaliated with a flicker of her tongue that sent twin rays of golden fire crackling toward Sibyl. So intensely bright were they that they left streaks of white across Arvin’s vision. When he blinked them away, Sibyl was surrounded by a roiling cloud of black that lingered at treetop level. Arvin at first thought it was the aftermath of the couatl’s attack, then remembered the yuan-ti’s ability to shroud herself in darkness. Sibyl’s attempt to make herself a more difficult target, however, did nothing to forestall Ts’ikil’s second attack. The couatl swooped down toward the patch of darkness with an eagle’s cry. The trees around and below the darkness shuddered, as if caught in an earthquake. Arvin’s ears rang from the sound of Ts’ikil’s scream.

  The darkness surrounding Sibyl started to dissipate, Sibyl’s form slowly becoming visible. It looked as though she was struggling to stay aloft. Her wing beats were ragged and her head drooped. Ts’ikil swooped lower, closing in for the kill. Her wingtips brushed the uppermost branches of the trees.

  One of them came to life. Whipping its branches upward, it hurled a tangle of vines into the air that wrapped around Ts’ikil’s tail, snagging it and jerking the couatl to a halt. She tore free an instant later, leaving a scattering of brightly colored feathers behind, but the momentary reprieve gave Sibyl the time she needed to mount another attack. She sent a tide of darkness toward the couatl—a boiling cloud that had a greasy, greenish tinge. Some of it touched the jungle below, and leaves fell away from the treetops like scraps of rotted cloth. Then it engulfed Ts’ikil. For the space of several heartbeats, all Arvin could see of the couatl were a handful of dull feathers falling out of the cloud. Then Ts’ikil emerged. Ugly brown patches marred her rainbow body.

  Sibyl had been using two of her hands to direct her spells; the other two held a glowing length of spiked chain, which burst into flame. She whirled it above her head and dived on Ts’ikil. One spiked end caught the couatl in the chest, knocking her sideways through the air, but not before the couatl twisted, lashing Sibyl’s side with her tail.

  Sibyl recovered swiftly and swung her chain in a second attack. It passed through empty space as the couatl vanished, her body disappearing from tail to nose. Sibyl hissed and flailed with her chain, but her effort was futile. Just as Pakal had in Sibyl’s lair, Ts’ikil had turned her body to air.

  She rematerialized a moment later behind Sibyl. Her tail lashed forward, knocking the chain from Sibyl’s hands. It fell, still flaming, to the jungle below. Ts’ikil’s tail flicked out again, coiling around Sibyl’s waist. With a mighty backward thrust of her wings Ts’ikil jerked the abomination toward her and bit Sibyl’s neck. Sibyl, however, twisted in her grip and bit back, her teeth ripping feathers from Ts’ikil’s shoulder. Locked together, wings beating and tails thrashing, the pair of winged serpents crashed down into the jungle below.

  By then, Arvin was approaching the cave where his pack was hidden. He felt a familiar tickle in his forehead. The iron cobra, it seemed, was still searching for him. It didn’t matter; he could always outfly it. The battered minion was the least of his worries, at the moment.

  As he entered the cave, his wings tingled. A moment later, his serpent body sprang apart into legs and his wings shrank in upon themselves, becoming arms once more. He landed awkwardly, his body expanding and resuming human form. He was glad the transformation hadn’t occurred in mid air.

  He spotted his backpack immediately at the side of the cave. It had been hauled out of its hiding place and opened, though the musk creeper net was still inside it. Arvin plunged his hand into the pack and felt around, searching each of its side pockets twice, then a third time. The box that held the upper half of the Circled Serpent was gone.

  Kneeling, Arvin balled his fists. Pakal had found the second half of the Circled Serpent and made off with it. The dwarf could have been anywhere.

  Outside, Arvin could hear the two winged serpents thrashing in the jungle. A moment later, he heard wing beats and the sharp whistles and dull explosions of spells being cast. A breeze wafted in through the cave mouth, carrying with it the moist smell of the jungle—and of burned feathers. Ts’ikil was in trouble.

  Maybe Arvin could even the odds. He still had the musk creeper net. He rubbed the scar on his forehead that hid the lapis lazuli. He wouldn’t be able to contact Ts’ikil a second time that day, but if he could lure Sibyl close to the cave mouth with a carefully worded sending, he might be able to hurl the net on her.

  Two shapes streaked across the sky, just above the treetops on the opposite side of the canyon: Sibyl, with Ts’ikil in close pursuit. The abomination had a number of deep gouges down the length of her body, but Ts’ikil didn’t look much better. She flew raggedly, favoring one of her wings. Arvin rushed to the mouth of the cave with his pack and leaned out, trying to see where they went, but the two winged serpents were already behind the bluff. He heard Ts’ikil’s eagle cry and clapped his hands over his ears as her sonic attack struck the bluff, sending a shower of broken stone into the river below.

  As he turned, his eye fell on something that must have fallen out of his pack: a thin strip of fabric that had been tied into a series of intricate knots. He recognized it at once as something he must have made, but when he tried to remember when, he felt a curious, hollow sensation.

  He scooped it up and examined the knots. They were a code—one he’d invented himself, years ago—that was based on the silent speech used by rogues. Each knot, like a hand signal, represented a different letter of the alphabet. Quickly running them through his fingers, he deciphered the message:

  R.E.A.R.C.A.V.E.T.U.N.N.E.L.H.I.D.D.E.N.I.N.M.O.U.T.H.S.H.A.D.

  O.W.A.S.P.S

  “Hidden in mouth?” he whispered aloud. What did that mean?

  The first part of the message was clear enough: there must be a tunnel, somewhere in the back of the cave. He had obviously hidden something inside it, then erased all memory of having done so. There was only one thing valuable enough to merit such a drastic step.

  The Circled Serpent.

  Arvin grinned. That explained why Pakal wasn’t there. The dwarf had must have gone through the pack, reported to Ts’ikil that the other half of the Circled Serpent had been taken by someone, and been sent on a futile errand to track down the supposed thief.

  Pocketing the cord, Arvin hurried to the back of the cave. He had to clamber up a slope to find the tunnel; it was hidden behind a column of rock and was bricked shut except for a small opening where two bricks had fallen out. Touching it dislodged still more bricks; the entire wall seemed loose. He’d expected to see the box containing the Circled Serpent just inside the tunnel’s mouth, but it wasn’t there. It was probably deeper inside the tunnel, but it was difficult to make anything out in the shadows. He’d have to wait for his eyes to adjust. A breeze passed over his shoulder; air flowing into the hole in the bricks. The tunnel must have a second exit.

  The knotted cord had mentioned shadow asps. Heeding his own warning, Arvin sent his awareness down the tunnel in a sparkle of silver. If there were asps lurking in those shadows, he’d be able to detect their thoughts. The tunnel, however, seemed clear. He yanked at the bricks, clearing a large enough hole for him to enter. Then, dagger in hand, he crawled into the tunnel. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light.

  A second cavern lay a short distance ahead. As he
started to move toward it, his manifestation at last picked up the three serpent minds. Their thoughts were focused on moving forward, on the sensation of their insubstantial bodies slithering through stone. They were intent upon something that had entered the second cavern—that had just appeared there without warning a few moments before. They were dimly aware of a second intruder behind them—Arvin—but it was the one in the cavern they wanted.

  Arvin had halted the instant he detected the asps, but he hurried forward. Belatedly, he realized the source of the breeze he’d felt when he first peered into the tunnel: Pakal’s body in gaseous form. The dwarf must have been lingering in the cavern, watching Arvin the whole time. Protected by the armband that was the equivalent of Karrell’s ring, his thoughts had gone undetected.

  Arvin didn’t bother moving quietly. Pakal would have heard the tumbling bricks and be expecting him to show up. He did, however, send his awareness on ahead of himself to observe what the dwarf was up to. A low droning filled the air as Arvin concentrated on the second cavern.

  It was deeply shadowed, but Arvin was still able to make out a few details. At the center of the second cavern was an enormous serpent, its body coiled in a tight ball. Surprisingly, it had not stirred, despite the fact that Pakal stood with one foot on the serpent’s jaw while forcing the mouth open with his hands. The mouth slowly creaked open, revealing a square object that rested against the serpent’s tongue. Pakal kicked it, knocking it out of the serpent’s mouth, then let the head drop. As he bent to pick up the box, three shadowy heads reared up out of the floor behind him.

  Arvin couldn’t bring himself to just stand by and watch Pakal die. Besides, if the dwarf was busy fighting snakes, Arvin could make a grab for the box.

  “Pakal!” he shouted. “Behind you. Three snakes!”

  Even as he spoke, he reached the end of the tunnel and could see what was happening with his own eyes. He manifested another power, and a thread of silver shot out from his forehead. One end of it wrapped around the box.

  Pakal ignored Arvin’s warning. He shouted in a deep, throaty voice that sounded like an animal’s growl and gestured. Five glowing red claws detached themselves from the tips of his fingers and thumb and streaked through the air toward Arvin.

  Arvin ducked, but the claws found his shoulder and raked through flesh. He gasped in pain and the power he’d been manifesting faltered. The thread of silver flickered and the box thudded to the floor.

  The claws pulled back for another swipe—then disappeared.

  Pakal was having problems of his own now. While his back was turned, the shadow asps had attacked. Pakal stood with one hand pressed against his leg, his teeth bared in a grimace. He ground out a prayer and swept his hand across the seemingly empty space in front of him. A heartbeat later the three asps were outlined in glittering gold dust. Pakal growled a second time and raked the air with one hand. Glowing red claws streaked toward the nearest of the asps. As they tore into it, black shadowstuff oozed out through the glitter that coated its body. With a flick of his hand, Pakal’s claws tossed the body to the side.

  Two more asps remained, however. They flanked him, slithered in close, and struck.

  Pakal howled as their fangs sank into his bare legs. He managed to kill another with his glowing claws, but the third asp reared back and struck him again. The dwarf fell to his knees.

  Arvin, meanwhile, steeled himself against the pain of his wounded shoulder. As blood dribbled down his right arm, he concentrated on the task at hand. He remanifested his power and used it to pluck the box from the floor. It sailed back into his hand. He caught it, then sent the thread of psionic energy back into the room and used it to yank open the pouch that hung from Pakal’s belt. A crescent-shaped object fell out. It was wrapped in crumpled lead foil.

  The other half of the Circled Serpent.

  Pakal lunged for it, grabbed it with both hands, and fell heavily on top of it.

  Arvin cursed. His psionic hand wasn’t strong enough to lift a body.

  The last of the shadow asps was still outlined in glittering dust, making it an easy target. Arvin leaned into the cavern just enough to give his arm some play, raised his dagger, then hurled it. He was almost surprised when the blade pierced the asp’s head. Even though the dagger was magical, he’d half-expected it to pass right through the creature. The asp thrashed for a moment then stilled.

  Arvin called his dagger back to his hand and waited. No more shadow asps appeared. He picked up the box that held the upper half of the Circled Serpent and stepped down into the cavern. Just to make sure there weren’t any more guardians lurking within the stone, he sent his awareness sweeping in a circle around him. Nothing.

  Still holding his dagger, Arvin hurried to where Pakal lay. He glanced warily at the enormous serpent that loomed over them. No wonder it hadn’t moved; it looked as though it had been dead for many years. Its body was studded with gems, one of the largest of which—a stone that had been cut in a star shape—had fallen out. Arvin picked it up and smiled, realizing that the gem-studded body of the abomination was a fortune, ripe for the plucking with the shadow asps gone. That could wait, however. There were more important things to attend to.

  He tucked the gem into a pocket, then bent and turned Pakal over. The dwarf’s face was as gray as the stone floor on which he lay. His lips were an even darker shade and his eyes were closed.

  “I’m sorry,” Arvin told the corpse. “I tried to warn you, but …”

  Arvin pushed any thoughts of remorse firmly aside. Pakal could have helped him rescue Karrell. Instead he’d chosen to oppose Arvin. The bloody wounds in Arvin’s shoulder were testimony to that. Even so, Arvin felt a twinge of guilt. He told himself that Karrell was what mattered, that the dwarf was the one who had started the fight, but it didn’t help.

  As he picked up the lower half of the Circled Serpent, tears of relief welled in his eyes. At last he had both halves of the key that would open the door to Smaragd. He could rescue Karrell.

  If only he knew where the door was.

  Or how to use the Circled Serpent, for that matter.

  He’d worry about that later. For now, he had to focus on getting out of the cave and away from there, before whichever of the flying serpents won the fight—Ts’ikil or Sibyl—returned. He smoothed the foil back into place and picked up the box. It looked large enough to hold both halves. As he nested them together inside it, he heard a faint whisper.

  Pakal’s eyes were open. He was casting a spell. Arvin startled, nearly dropping the box.

  “… together,” the dwarf whispered.

  Arvin started to summon energy in preparation for a manifestation, but stopped when he realized Pakal had merely cast the spell that allowed what he said to be understood.

  “Put … together,” the dwarf repeated. Sweat blossomed on his forehead as he fought the effects of the shadow serpents’ poison, straining to rise. His words were faint. “Push tail … into head. That’s how … destroy …”

  His eyelids fluttered, then closed. His body went slack.

  Arvin touched a finger to the dwarf’s throat. A pulse still flickered there. Faintly.

  Relief washed through Arvin. Despite the wound in his shoulder, he hadn’t wanted the dwarf to die. “I will destroy it,” he promised. Then, under his breath, he added, “Once I’ve rescued Karrell.” That said, he stood. He looked down at Pakal, hesitated, then decided. If he left the dwarf there, Pakal would die.

  He tucked the box inside his shirt, then bent and hooked his hands under Pakal’s shoulders. Grunting, he hauled the dwarf into the tunnel. It was a struggle, crawling backward down the tunnel while hauling the limp body. His left hand was still sore where Juz’la’s viper had bitten it. Eventually, however, he reached the first cavern. He paused for a moment before entering it, listening, but heard only the rush of the river below and the cries of monkeys in the jungle on the far side of the canyon. He realized his forehead had stopped tingling—a good thing, since it meant t
he iron cobra wouldn’t be showing up. Maybe the dunking in the river had finally caused it to seize up.

  He lifted Pakal out of the tunnel and took a moment to find his footing on the steep slope. He would set the dwarf down near the mouth of the cave, where Ts’ikil could spot him, then stuff the box into his pack, morph into a flying snake, and get out of there. He edged his way around the column that hid the entrance of the tunnel.

  Standing on the other side of it was the dog-headed man. Arvin barely had time to blink in surprise before large golden eyes bored into his. Arvin turned his head to the side and tried to manifest a psionic shield, but he was too late. His eyes rolled back in his head, his body went slack, and his mouth opened wide in an involuntary yawn. He felt Pakal slip from his arms, then his own body crumpled into a heap on top of the dwarf’s.

  Arvin awoke with a jerk, his heart pounding. The dog-man—

  Arvin leaped to his feet and drew his dagger. He shook his head violently, trying to throw off the cobwebs of sleep that clung to it. He looked around the cavern. The first thing he saw was Pakal, lying on the floor at his feet. The next was the dog-man, lying on his back. Bright red blood stained the golden fur of his face; it looked as though something had slammed into his forehead, hard enough to cave in his skull. More blood was splattered on the top of the stalagmite he lay next to.

  Arvin slapped a hand against his chest. The box he’d tucked into his shirt was gone. His backpack still lay in a corner. Whoever had killed the dog-man had taken only the Circled Serpent. Arvin was close to weeping. He’d actually had the key to Smaragd in his hands, only to have it stolen from him again.

  By whom? How had the dog-man known where to find him?

  Arvin touched a finger to Pakal’s throat and felt a faint pulse. The dwarf was still alive, though just barely. If it had been Sibyl who had returned, surely she would have finished both Arvin and Pakal off. What had happened?