by Lisa Smedman
“You said you have both halves?” she breathed, her breath heavy with the scent of the potion.
Arvin smiled. “Yes.” He nodded down at Gonthril. “Your plan worked beautifully.”
“Where are they?”
“In a safe place.” He raised his glass to his lips and started to drink—
The arm around his neck tightened, preventing him from swallowing. Zelia’s green eyes blazed. “You weren’t thinking about trying to keep it for yourself,” she hissed. “Were you?”
The grip eased enough for Arvin to swallow the wine that was in his mouth. “The thought never even entered my mind,” he answered.
“Liar,” she spat. She gave him a steely look. “You know what happens to seeds who defy me. You’ll deliver them, as promised, and we’ll reap our reward.” Then she smiled “Before we deal with that, let’s have a little fun.”
That surprised Arvin. He’d expected her to demand that he hand over the Circled Serpent immediately. That was, in part, why he’d tricked her into drinking the hassaael—so that he could persuade her to wait. His deception was going even better than he’d hoped, and that worried him. There was something he was missing—but what?
The second Zelia had dropped to her knees. Feeling her fingers on the laces of his breeches, Arvin stiffened, then forced his body to relax. He looked down and faked a lustful smile as he choked down his revulsion. There was a time he might have found Zelia alluring—but that was long passed.
Time to plant the suggestion and let the potion do its work. He pulled the first Zelia close, pretending to kiss her. “I don’t want to share you,” he whispered, deliberately making his words just loud enough for the second Zelia to hear. “Get rid of her.”
As he spoke, he manifested a fate link between the two. The scent of saffron and ginger rose in the air, and he scratched his chest. He’d never manifested a power in her presence that caused that particular secondary display, and he counted on them to mistake the smell for his “perfume.”
If either woman recognized it as a secondary display, they made no comment. They were too busy matching each other, glare for glare.
“What are you waiting for?” Arvin cried at the standing Zelia. “Strike!”
Each of the Zelias hesitated for a heartbeat. Then the air filled with a loud hissing. Under the influence of hassaael—and goaded by their own suspicious natures—they attacked each other. Each reeled back as the other’s power struck. The kneeling Zelia’s eyes rolled back in her head, and the standing Zelia blinked, then shook her head. Eyes flashed silver, hissing lashed through the air and ectoplasm sheened first one then the other woman as powers were hurled back and forth.
Arvin tossed in an attack of his own. He lashed the mind of one Zelia with a whip of psionic energy, then sent tendrils of thought into the mind of the other, constricting and crushing her mind. His concentration held for the first attack, but in the middle of the second, the sound he’d been shaping into a hiss reverted back to a low drone.
One of the Zelias whirled. “Arvin!” she shouted, pointing at the lump that was Gonthril. “He’s using his psionics. He’s used a suggestion to turn us against each other!”
In the heartbeat of silence that followed, Arvin heard a faint crunch. He knew at once what it was: Gonthril biting down on the thin-walled ceramic vial he’d been holding in his mouth—the potion Arvin had purchased from Drin earlier that evening. Arvin silently cursed.
Not now! Arvin sent. They’re both looking right at you!
Too late.
The magic-dispelling potion inside the vial did its work. Gonthril’s arms and legs sprang apart. A quick twist of his hands—just as Arvin had taught him—freed the bonds around his wrists, and a sharp kick freed his ankles. He tore off the blindfold and spat out the remains of the vial, then leaped to his feet.
Arvin lunged for Gonthril, dragging him to the side. “I’ll deal with him!” he shouted at one of the Zelias. “She’s the one who manifested a suggestion on you.”
Instead of resuming their attack as he’d hoped, the Zelias turned toward him.
“Do you want to become an avatar or not?” Arvin screamed at the duplicate. “Kill her!”
The Zelias exchanged a knowing look, and Arvin suddenly worried that he’d mistaken the original for the duplicate. Before he could correct the error, both women’s eyes flashed silver. Their mouths parted slightly in surprise, one a heartbeat after the other, as they glanced between Arvin and Gontrhil.
“He’s split himself,” they hissed as one.
Arvin felt the blood drain from his face. They’d just seen through his metamorphosis. Releasing Gonthril and shouting, “Attack them!” he threw up a mental shield. Next to him, Gonthril leaped forward, shouting the word that would turn the rope that had bound him to stone. He whipped this improvised weapon around like a staff, aiming at the closest Zelia’s head.
She ducked, but the other Zelia had time to manifest a power. A wall of psionic energy slammed into Arvin, knocking him to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gonthril crumple too, his nose and mouth leaking blood like he’d just been smashed in the face with a brick. Despite the roaring in his ears, Arvin heard what sounded like the tinkle of tiny bells—a hallucinatory noise that was another of Zelia’s secondary displays. Dazed, he tried to mount a psionic defense—only to feel his muladhara open and spill all of its stored energy in a swirling rush.
The Zelias must have seen the distress in his eyes. They smiled.
“You … haven’t won,” Arvin gasped. “I destroyed … the Circled Serpent. You’ll never become …”
The eyes of the Zelia on the left flashed. Arvin felt her awareness enter his mind. Powerless to stop her, he felt her rifle through his thoughts. The memories she was looking for floated to the surface of Arvin’s mind—memories of the Circled Serpent being destroyed. She probed further, and earlier memories floated to the surface of Arvin’s mind: the dog-headed man confronting him in the cavern, then a skip ahead to Arvin learning that the Dmetrio-seed had killed him and fled with the Circled Serpent.
“So he did betray me,” hissed the Zelia whose eyes had flashed. “The fool. He could have ruled Hlondeth.”
The other Zelia cocked her head, still staring mockingly at Arvin. “What made you think I wanted to become an avatar?” she asked.
Frowning took too much effort. Arvin’s entire body felt like one big bruise. Something felt loose inside his chest. Intense agony shot through him with each breath. He couldn’t muster the strength to lever himself off the floor; he could barely raise his head. Beside him, Gonthril lay still. Dead or unconscious, Arvin couldn’t tell.
“Why … wouldn’t you?” Arvin asked.
He was surprised that the Zelias hadn’t killed him yet. They wanted to gloat over their victory, it seemed. If he could keep them talking, maybe he could still make the hassaael work for him.
The Zelia on the left—Arvin had lost track of which one was the original but suspected that she was the one—answered. “Because Set’s followers will reward me so well for destroying the key.”
“Set’s … followers?” Arvin repeated dazedly. Then he understood. The dog-man who had followed him up Mount Ugruth—Zelia was working with him. Working for him. Arvin had been wrong. She hadn’t wanted to become an avatar at all.
“Exactly,” she hissed, obviously still listening in on his thoughts. “The Dmetrio-seed was merely supposed to rule Hlondeth, once Dediana was out of the way.” She tsk-tsked. “A pity that he grew greedy.” She sighed melodramatically. “They all do in the end.”
The Zelia to the right had been silent for some time; Arvin noticed her frown, as if concentrating on something intensely. Then her eyes slid sideways in a furtive glance that was directed at the first Zelia.
Odd that he couldn’t feel both Zelias inside his head. It was almost as if …
He spoke quickly, even as the thought formed in his mind. “She’s drained you,” he gasped. “She’s going
to kill you. She said ‘me,’ not ‘us.’ If you kill her first, she—”
Zelia, too, must have known how to control sound. Arvin heard a hissing and no more words emerged, even though he was still talking.
He smiled. Zelia had just played right into his hand.
Swifter than a cobra, the duplicate twisted and bit the other in the throat. The original Zelia recoiled, one hand pressed to her wound. She removed it, then blinked in surprise at the twin beads of blood on her fingers.
Both women began breathing with tight, shallow gasps; their faces a bright red. Blood trickled from the nose of the original Zelia.
“You fool!” she hissed at the duplicate. “Can’t you see what he’s done? He fate linked us! You’re going to die now, too.” She shook her head. “Why did you … I would never …”
“Yes, you would,” the duplicate panted back. A blue forked tongue flicked away the blood that flowed from her own nose. Her lips twisted in a wry grimace. “In fact … you just … did.”
The first turned to Arvin, her eyes wild. “Set … curse you,” the original panted, “and drag … your soul … to the … Abyss!” Then she collapsed.
A heartbeat later, the duplicate fell on top of her. For a moment, both bodies were still. Then, like dough melting in the rain, they flowed into one another until only one Zelia remained.
Dead.
A brittle laugh erupted from Arvin’s lips. He no longer cared about the agony in his chest. Victory sang in his ears. He’d done it! Defeated Zelia! Karrell and his children were safe.
“I’ve already been to the Abyss,” he whispered, “and back again. Now it’s your turn.”
Still lying on his back, he reached out with one hand. He was able—barely—to reach Gonthril’s neck. Under his fingers he felt a faint lifebeat. Gonthril was alive.
Arvin let his fingers linger on the crystal at the rebel leader’s throat. “Nine lives,” he said.
He chuckled weakly. It had taken him at least that many to claim his revenge, but he was alive and Zelia, dead.
Arvin used the stone in his forehead to manifest a sending. When it was done, he closed his eyes. In a moment or two, once he’d rallied his strength again, he would manifest another sending, calling upon the Secession to rescue him and Gonthril. But for the time being, he would rest. His part was, at last, over.
Out over the Vilhon Reach, thunder grumbled once then stilled.
In a hut deep in the Black Jungles, an infant finished suckling at his mother’s breast then fell asleep beside his sister.
Their mother smiled.
About the
Author
Lisa Smedman is the author of five SHADOWRUN® novels: The Lucifer Deck, Blood Sport, Psychotrope, The Forever Drug, and Tails You Lose. She also wrote the novel The Playback War, set in FASA’s VOR: THE MAELSTROM® universe.
Lisa has had a number of short science fiction and fantasy stories published in various magazines and anthologies, and has had two of her plays produced. In 1993 she was a finalist in the Writers of the Future contest.
Formerly a magazine editor, she now splits her week between working as a reporter/editor at a weekly newspaper and writing fiction. When not working or gaming, she enjoys hiking and camping with a women’s outdoor club and collects stamps that illustrate the space race. She lives in Vancouver with her partner, and spends much of her time catering to the needs of their “blended family” of cats.
VANITY’S BROOD
House of Serpents, Book III
©2006 Wizards of the Coast LLC
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.
Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. FORGOTTEN REALMS, WIZARDS OF THE COAST, and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC, in the U.S.A. and other countries.
Map by Rob Lazzaretti
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2005928119
eISBN: 978-0-7869-5703-3
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