by Lisa Smedman
He could still hear Naulg's final choked gasp as the cleric's prayer took effect. and the silence that followed.
Together with Nicco and the others in the Secession, Arvin had thwarted Sibyl's plan to turn the humans of Hlondeth into mindless semblances of yuan-ti. But the abomination herself was still at large. Though the Secession had been searching for her, these past six months, they'd turned up no trace of her. Arvin had bided his time, hiding from Zelia and slowly learning new psionic powers from Tanju. He'd told himself that, when Sibyl did rear up out of her hole again, he'd be ready to avenge himself on her. That was something he'd sworn to do-sworn in the presence of a cleric of Hoar, god of retribution.
The god must have been listening. Why else would he have placed another of Sibyl's followers in Arvin's path?
As if in answer, thunder grumbled somewhere outside, rattling the shutters of the windows.
Arvin swallowed and nervously touched the crystal that hung at his throat.
The vision his manifestation had conjured up was still unfolding. In it, Naneth raised a hand to her mouth and pointed her forefinger at the crystal ball. "Mistress," she said in a tight, urgent voice, one hand stroking the crystal. "Mistress, heed me."
A figure took shape within the sphere-a black serpent with the face of a woman, four humanlike arms, and enormous wings that fluttered above her shoulders. The abomination twisted to look at Naneth with eyes the color of dark red flame, her forked tongue flickering.
"Sibyl," Arvin said in an anguished whisper, speaking the name at the same time the ghostly figure of Naneth did.
"Speak," the abomination hissed.
Arvin watched, horrified.
"I have just received word, mistress," Naneth said, addressing the figure that stared at her from inside the sphere. "The baron has learned of our plan."
Sibyl's eyes narrowed. "Who told you this?"
"A man I've never met before. A spellcaster-he used magic to deliver his message."
"Describe him."
Arvin's breath caught.
"He was human. With collar-length brown hair, and…" Naneth paused, frowning. "And an oval of blue stone attached to his forehead."
"Do you have any idea who he might be?"
"None."
Arvin laughed with nervous relief. The description Naneth had just given was vague enough that it might have been anyone-aside from the lapis lazuli, which he'd be careful to keep out of sight from now on.
"What, precisely, did the spellcaster say?"
Naneth frowned. "Only this: 'He knows what you did.'" She paused. "It's a ruse, isn't it? One designed to get us to tip our hand."
"You humans are not always as stupid as you seem," Sibyl answered, her tongue flickering in and out through her smile.
From behind the closed door came the sounds of a man shouting. Then footsteps pounded up the stairs. For a moment, Arvin thought the baron had returned, but then he realized that this was part of the vision. To his eyes, the door was still closed and locked-and shuddering as the baron pounded on it and shouted at Naneth to open it.
The midwife gave a quick glance over her shoulder then turned back to the sphere. "The baron is here," she whispered in a tight voice. "Should I-"
Sibyl's wings flared. "Do nothing rash," she hissed. "Do not go to the girl; if this is a ruse, they will have a means of following you. Avoid the baron, for now. Continue your preparations."
Naneth bowed her head. "I am your servant, oh Sibilant Death."
As the baron shouted what sounded like a final warning, the image of Sibyl vanished from the sphere. Scooping up the crystal ball, Naneth spoke several words in a foreign language. Then she vanished, leaving only swirling dust motes behind.
A heartbeat later the door crashed open, propelled by the baron's boot. He stormed into the room and glared around it, nose crinkling as he caught the odor of snake. Then he whirled and stomped out of sight.
Devoid of emotion to feed it, the manifestation ended.
Arvin knocked a fist against his own forehead, chastising himself in the silent speech. Stupid. If only he hadn't sent that warning to Naneth, they might have learned where Glisena was-but now Naneth was gone.
It was no consolation to Arvin that, until a few moments ago, Naneth had seemed nothing more than a helpful midwife. Marasa had been right all along. Glisena had been kidnapped, albeit without her realizing it. The baron's daughter had unwittingly placed herself-and her unborn child-in the hands of servants of an utterly ruthless and evil abomination. What terrible scheme was Sibyl up to this time?
Whatever it was, it had to involve the child.
Six months ago, Sibyl had attempted to install Osran Extaminos, youngest brother of Lady Dediana, on Hlondeth's throne. She would have succeeded, had Arvin not thwarted her plan to turn Hlondeth's humans into Osran's private slave army. This time around, Sibyl must have been planning to use Lady Dediana's grandchild.
That this was a scheme of opportunity, Arvin had no doubt. There was no way for Sibyl to have known that Glisena was pregnant by Dmetrio, or that the baron would summon a midwife to the palace to end that pregnancy. That it had been Naneth the baron had chosen had been mere ill fortune.
Unless-and here was a chilling thought-Dmetrio was somehow involved. Had he gotten the baron's daughter pregnant on purpose?
Another talk with Ambassador Extaminos was in order. It would have to be a very private talk, one in which Arvin would listen both to what was said-and what wasn't being said.
In the meantime, he needed to send a warning. He stepped out into the hallway, pulled the lapis lazuli from his pocket, held it to his forehead, and spoke the command word. He concentrated, and the face of his mentor became clear in his mind-a deeply lined face framed by short gray hair, the eyes with a curious fold to the eyelid that marked Tanju as coming from the East.
Tanju blinked in surprise as the sending connected them then turned to listen to what Arvin had to say.
"Glisena is pregnant with Dmetrio's child," Arvin told him. "A midwife named Naneth helped Glisena hide. Naneth serves Sibyl. Sibyl hopes to use the child."
Tanju nodded thoughtfully. He ran a hand through his hair as he composed his reply. "Learn what Sibyl intends. I will warn Lady Dediana."
The connection faded. "Atmiya," Arvin said, letting the lapis lazuli fall into his palm. He tucked it carefully back into his pocket and turned toward the stairs. Just as he was about to descend, he heard a creaking noise from below: the front door opening. Then a male voice called out. "Naneth?" The voice sounded hesitant, uncertain. Something moved in the hallway downstairs. It sounded like the clomping of a horse, though softer, like the footsteps of a foal.
Remaining motionless, Arvin peered down the stairs. A short, slender man wearing a forest-green hooded cloak stood in the hallway, staring nervously into the kitchen. At first Arvin took him to be an elf, but then he realized that those weren't goat's-fleece trousers but the fellow's own thickly furred legs. Each ended in a black cloven hoof. As the man turned, Arvin saw his face. It was narrow and had pointed ears, like those of an elf, but a black horn curled from each temple. The chin was sharp and covered in a tuft of black hair.
A satyr.
What was a satyr doing in a city, far from any forest?
"Naneth?" the fellow called again. "Come now, woman, are you here?" He spoke with a high, soft voice, with a lilt that made it sound as if he were reciting poetry.
Was the satyr also one of Sibyl's servants? There was one way to find out-by probing his thoughts. Slowly, Arvin drew back from the staircase, intending to manifest the power from hiding, but the satyr's senses were keen. His eyes darted to the spot where Arvin stood. He bleated in surprise then bolted.
He was out the door before Arvin could react. Cursing, Arvin pounded down the stairs and out the front door himself. He glanced right, left… and saw the satyr disappearing around a corner. Arvin charged after him, elbowing his way through the people on the street and summoning his dagger from his glove as he
ran. If need be, he would use it, but only as a threat-he had less lethal ways of bringing the satyr down.
The satyr sprinted up the street, darting nervous glances behind himself as he ran. His hood had fallen away from his head, revealing his ram-like horns and dark, flowing hair. He skidded around a corner, slipping a little on the snow, and Arvin narrowed the gap between them. Arvin pelted around the corner.
A hoof lashed out, narrowly missing his groin. Pain shot through Arvin's thigh as the hoof gouged into it-and the satyr was off and running again, this time down an alley.
Biting his lip against the throbbing of his thigh, Arvin stumbled after him. He shoved his ungloved hand into his pocket and pulled from it a fist-sized knot. He skidded to a stop and threw the monkey's fist at the satyr, shouting the command word that activated its magic.
The ensorcelled knot unraveled in flight, splitting into four trailing strands. The main part of the monkey's fist struck the satyr in the side as he rounded another corner, and immediately two of the strands of twine wrapped around his waist. The others encircled his legs. The twine yanked his legs together, immobilizing them, and he tumbled to the ground.
Arvin approached cautiously, dagger in hand. He halted just outside the flailing arc of the satyr's bound legs. He glared down at the fellow, manifesting the power that would allow him to listen in on the satyr's thoughts. "Who… are you?" he panted, a spray of silver sparkles erupting from his forehead as the power manifested. He turned his dagger so that its blade caught the light. "Do you serve Sibyl?"
The satyr's ears twitched. He tossed his head. "Leave me be, thief. I carry no gems-not a single sparkle." Behind the words was a faint, panicky echo: his thoughts. They were in his own language, but Arvin heard them as if they'd been spoken in the common tongue. What has he done to Naneth? If he has caused her harm…
"Sibyl," Arvin repeated sternly. "The abomination. Do you serve Sibyl?"
Who? The satyr struggled against the twine and tried to rise to his feet, but tripped and fell backward. His thoughts tumbled over one another. What game does he play? What does he want of me?
Arvin sighed and vanished the dagger back into his glove. "I made a mistake, it seems," he told the satyr. "I thought you were the thief."
The satyr paused in his struggles. "You were not the mischief-maker who trampled Naneth's home?" Who is he, then?
Arvin shook his head. "I came to consult Naneth," he said, answering the unspoken question. "I found her door open, her home disrupted."
"Ah." The satyr relaxed. That is why he was there. His woman is with child.
Arvin knelt beside the satyr and grasped the monkey's fist firmly. He repeated the command and the twine instantly unwound from the satyr's limbs and re-knotted itself back into a monkey's fist.
A sorcerer, the satyr thought. They are thick as brambles here.
"Was that why you came to Naneth's house?" Arvin asked, extending a hand to help the satyr up. "Is your woman also pregnant?"
A troubled look crept into the satyr's eyes. The female, he thought. She is unwell. If Naneth does not attend her, she may lose her child. "Yes," he answered aloud.
Arvin barely masked his startle. The satyr was thinking in his own language, but the power Arvin was manifesting allowed him to understand the subtle nuances of each word. "Female," he'd said, not "woman." He wasn't referring to one of his own kind-he was talking about a woman of some other race.
Glisena?
"Is the birth not going well?" Arvin probed. "Is that why you came to fetch Naneth?"
The satyr nodded.
"Perhaps I could help. When my first child was born, I assisted the midwife. I know some healing spells-I used them to help my wife." He paused, pretending to think of something. "Of course, my wife is human…"
Might he help? the satyr wondered. He may have a spell that will banish fewer from human folk.
Arvin felt his heart quicken. The satyr was talking about Glisena. He was certain of it.
The satyr considered, for the briefest of moments, accepting Arvin's offer-then decided against it. "The midwife would be more suited," he said. "Do you know where she might be?"
"I wish I did," Arvin answered truthfully. He paused. "If I do see Naneth, where should I send her? Where is the woman who needs help?"
A brief thought flickered through the satyr's mind- a mental picture of a but made from a mud-plastered lattice of woven branches, its bark-slab roof draped with brambles. It stood at the base of a tree in a snow- dappled forest.
"Is your forest far from here?" Arvin prompted.
"Why ask you this?" the satyr asked suspiciously.
"That is, I'm assuming you live in a forest," Arvin added hurriedly, realizing he'd almost given himself away. "For all I know you have a house here in Ormpetarr. If your woman was ill with a fever, you would naturally seek out the closest midwife who could-"
The satyr's eyes narrowed. I never told him the female had a fewer.
Arvin had only the briefest flicker of a warning before the satyr leaped forward and up just enough to let Arvin twist aside as horns slammed into his forehead. Hot sparks of pain exploded across Arvin's vision as he was knocked backward. Stunned, barely conscious, he dimly heard the satyr running away. He rolled over onto his stomach and pressed his face into the snow. The cold revived him a little, took away some of the sting. But when he sat up, the alley spun dizzily around him. By the time he was able to stagger to his feet, the satyr was long gone. Arvin stood, one hand against a wall, the other holding his pounding head. For the second time in a single evening, he'd seriously misjudged someone.
The monkey's fist lay in the snow near his feet. He picked it up, brushed it clean, and shoved it back into his pocket. His finger brushed against a small, hard object: the lapis lazuli, tucked safely inside a hidden seam. He considered using it to ask Tanju for advice, but he knew what the psion would say. He'd tell Arvin to use the dorje to track the satyr-and Arvin would be forced to admit that the magical item had broken. Hearing this, Tanju might insist on coming to Sespech and conducting the search for the baron's daughter himself. And Arvin would be out of a job.
There was, however, still a chance that the situation could be salvaged. If the satyr could be found and questioned, Arvin might yet learn where Glisena was.
Touching the stone to his forehead, he formed a mental image of Baron Foesmasher. It took only a moment for the baron to become solid in his mind's eye; he was leaning over a table, barking orders and gesturing at something that was spread out on the table before him. He started as Arvin interrupted whatever it was he'd just been saying.
The sending allowed Arvin only a few words. He chose them carefully. "A satyr knows where Glisena is. He just fled from Naneth's house. He's wearing a green hooded cloak. We need to find him."
The baron regained his composure instantly. "Return to the palace," he ordered. "At once."
Arvin nodded his acknowledgement then tucked the lapis lazuli back in his pocket. Now that he knew that Sibyl's minions were involved, he felt a newfound resolution. He would find Glisena. He wouldn't allow Sibyl to claim another victim.
Rubbing his aching forehead-a lump was already starting to rise over his right eye-he turned and trudged back to the palace.
CHAPTER 8
Arvin lay on the floor of the practice hall with his arms extended and upper torso bent back like that of a rearing snake. His palms, hips, and feet pressed against the floor as he craned his neck back to stare with unfocused eyes at the ceiling. He wore only his breeches, despite the chill in the hall. Snow fell outside the narrow leaded-glass windows that reached from floor to ceiling, muffling the sounds from the city.
His breathing was slow and deep, his mind focused entirely on his meditations. With each breath in through his nose, he drew in strength, courage, and confidence. With each breath out through his mouth, he blew away weakness, uncertainty, and doubt.
Picturing his mind as a net, he sent his consciousness down the strand t
hat twined around his spine and located the muladhara that lay at the base of it. When he was ready, he activated his power points one by one, following this line. The "third eye" in his forehead emitted a flash of silver sparkles; a vibration deep in his throat filled the hall with a low droning noise; the base of his scalp prickled, causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise; his chest filled with crackling energy, which he exhaled in a breath scented with ginger and saffron; and a spiral of energy uncoiled from his navel, dewing the floor around him with a fine sheen of ectoplasm.
The energies coiled around his muladhara. The spiral grew tighter and stronger as Arvin wove strand after mental strand into it, replenishing it.
Arvin let out one last slow exhalation, ending his meditation. But he wasn't finished yet. Rising gracefully to his feet, he completed his morning routine, flowing through the motions that Tanju had taught him. The five combat and five defensive modes each had a pose associated with them, designed to focus the mind of the novice. Arvin had learned how to manifest just seven of them, but he ran through all ten poses, flowing from one to the next in what looked like one long, continuous motion.
When he was done, he yawned. He'd had very little sleep this past night; upon his return to the palace, Foesmasher had demanded a full report of what had transpired with the satyr. Arvin had been forced to admit that he could lift private thoughts from the minds of those around him, but the baron hadn't seemed alarmed by this revelation. Instead he'd been overjoyed to at last have some indication as to where his daughter had gone.
"So that's where she is," he said, "the Chondalwood.' One heavy hand clapped Arvin's shoulder. "Well done. Now we just need to find that satyr and learn where his camp is." He paused. "You said the satyr was worried about Glisena's health. What was it, exactly, that he said?"
Arvin met the baron's eye. "That she was ill. He was worried she would lose her child."
"There is no child,' the baron said with a catch in his voice. "Naneth saw to that, may Helm forgive me. You said that the satyr didn't actually use Glisena's name?"
