by Lisa Smedman
"Could you summon another animal for them to eat?" Karrell asked. "An elk, or…"
"Not without knowing how it 'talks,'" Arvin said. "A wolfs howl is the only animal sound I could imitate reliably. Other than a snake's hiss, of course."
Tanglemane's nostrils flared. His eyes were wide, with white showing around the edges as they darted back and forth, following the shapes that flitted through the darkness. "They're coming closer," he whinnied.
Arvin manifested his dagger into his glove. "Then we'll fight them," he said.
"Wait," Karrell said, laying a hand on Arvin's arm. "Let me try something else."
Abruptly, she transformed into her serpent form-a sleek reddish-brown snake with a band of gold scales around the tip of its tail. One moment she was standing in the firelight; the next, she was slithering along the ground, circling around the fire. Tanglemane startled, rearing up, and for several moments Arvin frantically tried to calm him, terrified that the centaur would crush Karrell under his hooves. By the time Arvin turned around, Karrell was between them and the wolves, swaying back and forth. She hissed softly, slit eyes turning to stare first at one patch of darkened forest, then another. Arvin found himself swaying slightly as he watched her and felt Tanglemane doing the same.
The first wolf-the one with the white muzzle- padded closer. It stopped several paces from Karrell and stared at her as if mesmerized. Then another wolf walked out of the woods, then two more. Within moments, six shaggy gray beasts were sitting in a circle, surrounding Karrell. All were thinner than they should have been: hungry.
Something flashed out of the darkness-a seventh wolf that hadn't succumbed to her trance. Releasing the near-panicked Tanglemane, Arvin raised his dagger, but before he could throw it, Karrell turned and confronted that wolf with a spitting hiss. The wolf immediately flattened on the ground, ears back and tail tucked between its legs. Whimpering, it crawled back to the woods. As soon as it reached the safety of the forest, it fled, crashing away through the undergrowth.
Karrell, meanwhile, had resumed her dance. The six remaining wolves continued to sit and stare at her, swaying in time with her motions. She drank in their scent with her flickering tongue then opened her mouth. What emerged wasn't a hiss, but a series of yips, followed by a long howl.
One by one, the wolves threw back their heads and howled with her.
Arvin felt a shiver run through him. It suddenly came home to him that Karrell was something utterly nonhuman. It hadn't fully struck him when he'd first seen her scales. But seeing her in serpent form-watching as she reduced one wolf to a quivering bundle of fear and ensnared the remaining wolves in her trance-was a different matter. He'd been thinking of her as a human with a hint of serpent about her. He'd refused to fully acknowledge that she was yuan-ti-and everything that came with it. Those charms she'd cast on him were only a small fraction of her powers.
The sight of her in serpent form terrified him. Yet he cared for her-even admired her. She could be kind, selfless, and brave. Just look at how she'd risked her own life to save the woman who had been bitten by the naga. These were qualities that simply didn't occur in a yuan-ti.
And yet she was yuan-ti.
Karrell twisted, still swaying, to face Arvin and Tanglemane. "They have agreed," she announced in her human voice-a strange thing, indeed, to hear coming out of a serpent's mouth. "They will lead us to the satyr camp before we give them the meat."
"What meat?" Tanglemane asked, his eyes rolling.
Karrell turned to Arvin. "You said that Foesmasher would teleport to us, once we have located-" She paused as Tanglemane gave her a sharp look. "Once we have found what we are searching for. He can bring meat with him."
Arvin nodded. It was a sound plan-as long as the wolves' hunger didn't make them impatient.
Tanglemane glanced back and forth between Arvin and Karrell. "Lord Foesmasher will teleport into the Chondalwood?" he asked, incredulous. "This… 'thing' that he holds dear. It must be very precious."
"It is," Arvin assured him.
"As precious as my son is to me?" Tanglemane guessed.
"Yes," Arvin said, meeting his eye.
The centaur nodded then slowly smiled. "I will pray to Skerrit, lord of the herds, that we find her, then."
Arvin glanced at the hungry wolves then spoke in a low voice to Karrell. "If Glisena isn't at the camp, we're in trouble."
"She will be there," Karrell said. "The wolves said so."
Unless, Arvin silently added, Glisena gave birth before they reached the satyr camp. If she had, all they would find would be her corpse-a report that wouldn't please the baron.
And the wolves would feed.
They walked all night, following the white-muzzled wolf through the forest. Arvin and Karrell walked on either side of Tanglemane, soothing him with reassuring words. Yet when dawn brightened the sky to the east, illuminating the trees with wintry light, Arvin could see that fully two dozen wolves surrounded them. They padded through the forest, tongues lolling, casting hungry glances at Tanglemane. Occasionally one would veer closer, and White Muzzle would growl and bare her teeth, warning it away. As the sun rose, these challenges became more frequent. And now that Arvin could see the wolves clearly, he realized they weren't eyeing just the centaur. They were looking hungrily at him and Karrell, too.
For the last little while, they had been climbing a low hill. The top of it was crowned with a tangle of brambles that extended for several hundred paces to the left and right. The pack halted before reaching it and White Muzzle turned and gave a series of bark-yips. Karrell recast her spell and spoke to the wolf.
The satyr camp lies upwind, at the heart of these brambles," Karrell said.
"Is the human female still in the camp?" Arvin asked.
Karrell translated. White Muzzle sniffed the air and yipped once.
"Yes," Karrell said.
Arvin started to move toward the brambles, but White Muzzle planted herself in front of him, blocking his path, and growled. Glancing around, Arvin saw wolves in every direction, hunkered down as if ready to charge. He looked to Karrell for the translation, even though he really didn't need one.
"She has done as she promised," Karrell said. "She led us to the satyr camp. Now she wants her meat."
"Tell her she'll have to wait just a little longer," Arvin said. "Tell her the meat is at the satyr camp; that we'll return in a little while with it."
Karrell did then listened to White Muzzle's reply. "They want their meat now," she translated. "They want Tanglemane."
Arvin flexed his gloved hand. He'd disappeared his dagger into it earlier; at a whisper it was back in his hand.
Karrell tensed and laid a hand on her club. "We will fight?" she whispered.
"No," Arvin answered. "I have something else in mind."
One of the wolves moved in closer. Tanglemane whinnied nervously. Arvin laid a hand on his back. "Don't run," he urged. "It's what they want you to do."
Tanglemane nodded but remained tense. Arvin could feel him trembling. "Tanglemane," he said. "I'm going to cast a spell on you. Don't resist it."
That said, Arvin awakened the psionic energies that lay deep inside his chest. The wolves sniffed as the scent of ginger and saffron filled the air, and White Muzzle's hackles rose. But a moment later, it was done: the fates of Tanglemane and the pack leader were linked.
Arvin manifested his dagger into his gloved hand and passed it to Tanglemane. "When I tell you to," he instructed, "use this to prick the palm of your hand."
Tanglemane hesitated for only a heartbeat then took the dagger. Arvin, meanwhile, spoke to White Muzzle while Karrell translated.
"I have just cast a spell," he told the pack leader. "Whatever happens to the centaur will also happen to you. If the centaur is wounded, you will suffer the same injury." He nodded at Tanglemane, cueing him, and the centaur poked the dagger into his palm.
White Muzzle yelped and started to lift a paw. The other wolves tensed, and she immediat
ely lowered it again. She growled at them, her legs firmly braced to meet any challenge.
"If the centaur dies, then you will die," Arvin continued, taking his dagger back from Tanglemane. "Tell your pack to stand aside and let us enter the satyr camp. After we've finished our business there, you'll get your meat. As promised."
White Muzzle's eyes narrowed as she heard this, but she quickly turned and spoke to her pack in a series of threatening growls. One or two growled back at her, but when she bared her teeth, they parted, letting Arvin, Karrell, and Tanglemane through. For several paces, Arvin walked with tense shoulders, expecting an attack to come at any moment-but none did. By the time the three of them had reached the edge of the brambles, the wolves had melted away into the forest.
"Well done," Karrell said.
Arvin nodded his acknowledgement. His eyes were on the brambles; they formed a near-impenetrable mass. Clumps of mushy berries, blackened by the earlier frost, hung from a tangle of vines studded with finger-long thorns.
"What now?" Arvin asked.
"There will be a path through them, somewhere," Tanglemane answered. "Let's circle around."
Before long, Arvin spotted hoofprints in the snow. Squatting down, he saw a tunnel leading into the heart of the tangled vines.
"This must be the way in," he said. He glanced up at Tanglemane then down again at the hole. He and Karrell could follow the path on their hands and knees, but Tanglemane would never be able to fit.
Tanglemane nodded, as if hearing his thoughts. "I will have to wait here."
"What about the wolves?" Karrell asked. Tanglemane held up his bloody palm. "I'll have to trust in Arvin's magic to hold them back."
"The fate link will last at least until sunset," Arvin said. "Tymora willing, we'll be back before then-with some meat for the wolves. And the baron can teleport us all away."
He turned to Karrell. "The next part is up to you," he told her. "We need to make sure Glisena is here-and that Naneth isn't. In your serpent form, you could slip in and out without being seen. Will you do it?"
Karrell nodded and started removing her shirt.
"Be careful," Arvin added. "I don't want to lose you."
Karrell dropped her shirt to the ground, gave Arvin a kiss that sent a rush of warmth through him, and shifted. She slithered away into the brambles.
Arvin waited. While Tanglemane kept a wary eye on the forest, watching for wolves, Arvin stared at the brambles. After what seemed like an eternity, Karrell returned. Still in her serpent form, she coiled her body at his feet and lifted her head. "Glisena is there," she said. Her tongue flickered in and out of her mouth, which was curved into a smile. "She is in one of the huts. There is no sign of Naneth."
Relief washed through Arvin. He touched the brooch that was still pinned to the inside of his shirt. "I need to get close to Glisena," he announced. "Close enough that Foesmasher can teleport in. I'm going to go openly into the camp; I'll charm the first satyr I meet and tell him that Naneth sent me. If that doesn't work, I might need a distraction." He stared down at Karrell. "Follow me, but stay out of sight. If I run into trouble, I'll use my stone to call you. Use your own judgment about whether to intervene."
He turned to the centaur. "Stand fast, Tanglemane. Don't let the wolves spook you."
Then he dropped to his hands and knees. As he crawled into the brambles, keeping low to avoid snagging his pack, he saw Karrell slither off to the right.
The tunnel through the brambles twisted this way and that, branching several times and coming back together again. Wary of getting lost in what was obviously a maze, Arvin consistently chose the left fork, hoping this would eventually lead him to the center of the tangle. Every now and then he saw what was probably a satyr's hoofprint in the slush, but the wet ground was too soft to hold a firm outline. There was no way to tell which direction the satyr had been traveling in. A thorn plucked at his cloak, snagging it and preventing him from going forward until he yanked it free. Other thorns jabbed at him through the fabric of his clothes. Soon his arms and legs were covered in tiny scratches. He crawled on, ignoring these pinpricks of pain.
At last the brambles thinned up ahead, and he was able to see a clearing. From it came the murmur of voices and the sounds of satyrs going about their daily chores. Unfortunately, the tunnel through the brambles at this point bent sharply to the right. Arvin followed it, but after going a short distance, it led back to another path. He'd just looped back the way he'd come. Frustrated at being so close yet so far from his goal, he tried another route, turning right, this time. He crawled quickly, angry at the waste of time. The next fork, if he remembered correctly, was just ahead.
Glancing up, he saw a satyr squatting in the tunnel, pan pipes raised to his lips. Startled, Arvin manifested a charm, but even as he did, the satyr blew into his pipes. Music swirled around Arvin like falling leaves, lulling him to sleep.
CHAPTER 11
Arvin's eyes fluttered open. He lay on his back in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by at least a dozen satyrs. All were standing with their bows at full draw, arrows pointed at him. The satyr with the pan pipes-a fellow with eyebrows that formed a V over his nose, and a pointed tuft of beard on his chin-stood next to Arvin's pack, peering at something he held cupped in one hand. Arvin frowned, and pain lanced through his forehead. Something warm and sticky-blood-trickled down his temple, and his hair felt matted. Moving his hand slowly, so the satyrs wouldn't shoot him, he touched his forehead and felt an open wound the size of a thumbprint. Realization dawned: they had cut the lapis lazuli from his flesh. The charm he'd manifested when the satyr had first startled him obviously hadn't worked.
"Is this how you treat a friend?" Arvin asked.
The satyr with the pan pipes tipped the lapis lazuli into a leather pouch that hung from his belt and wiped his hand on his furry leg. "Friend?"
"Naneth sent me," Arvin said, watching for a reaction. A couple of satyrs holding bows glanced at each other; one said something in the satyr tongue. The other shrugged and slackened the draw of his bow, just a little.
Arvin eased himself into a sitting position, keeping a wary eye on them. Blood from his forehead trickled into his eye; he wiped it away with his hand. As he did this, he took stock. The satyrs had taken his pack-it lay on the ground a short distance away-but they'd overlooked the brooch Foesmasher had given him; Arvin could feel its cold metal against his chest. They'd also overlooked his magical bracelet and glove. He'd vanished his dagger into the latter, but it would do him little good at the moment, with a dozen arrows pointed at him.
He debated whether to attempt one of his psionic powers. He longed to know what the satyr with the pan pipes was thinking, but was hesitant to use the power that would allow him to read thoughts. As soon as the first sparkle of light erupted from his third eye, the satyrs would feather him with arrows.
"I'm one of Naneth's assistants," Arvin continued. "When your friend arrived with the news that the human woman was feverish and ill, Naneth asked me to take a look. She had urgent business elsewhere, and wasn't able to come herself."
As he spoke, Arvin wondered just where Naneth had gone. Three nights had passed since the baron had stormed into her home, causing her to flee.
As the satyrs talked in their own language Arvin- glanced around. There were three tunnels through the brambles leading away from the clearing; drag marks through the slush showed the one from which they had hauled out Arvin. Around the, edges of the clearing stood a dozen huts like the one he had glimpsed while reading the thoughts of the satyr in Ormpetarr; it was impossible to tell which one Glisena was inside.
"Where is the human?" he asked. "I have healing magic that can help her."
The satyr with the pan pipes motioned with his hand; the others lowered their weapons. Then he tipped his horned head toward one of the huts-the only one that had smoke rising through the vent hole in its roof. "Follow me."
Arvin scrambled to his feet, wondering where Karrell had gone. There
was no sign of her. Out of habit, he reached to touch the crystal that hung at his throat, to steady himself.
The crystal was gone; the satyrs must have taken it.
Arvin glared at the satyr who was leading him to the hut. Arvin's mother had given him the crystal just before she died; he'd worn it faithfully for two decades. Through the long years at the orphanage, it had been the one reminder that he'd once had a parent who loved him. Arvin was damned if he was going to let the satyrs keep it.
The satyr opened the door of the hut-an untanned hide hung from crude wooden pegs-and motioned for Arvin to enter. Arvin stepped inside and felt excitement course through him as he spotted the object of his search.
Glisena lay on a sheepskin near a fire pit. Her long hair damp with sweat, given over the smell of wood smoke, Arvin caught the odor of sickness; a fly circled lazily in the air above her head. Glisena still wore the dress she'd had on when she used Naneth's ring to teleport away from the palace; her winter cloak and boots lay in a heap against the far wall. Through the fabric of the dress, Arvin saw Glisena's stomach bulge momentarily: the baby kicking. Glisena gave a faint groan.
At least mother and baby were both alive.
Arvin should have felt elation. Instead he felt sadness and a grim sense of foreboding.
The satyr gave Arvin a shove from behind. "Heal her."
Arvin stumbled forward. Kneeling beside Glisena, he saw that the object circling above her was not a fly, after all, but a small black-and-white stone, ellipsoid in shape. That it was magical, he had no doubt. It was probably what had kept the spellcasters from finding Glisena. He left it alone; grabbing it would only alarm the satyr.
Gently, Arvin turned her face toward him. Her skin felt hot under his fingers. "Glisena?" he said. "Can you hear me?"
She blinked and tried to focus. "Dmetrio?"
Arvin's jaw clenched. Dmetrio Extaminos had cast this woman aside like spoiled fruit, long ago. Arvin longed to tell Glisena the truth-that Dmetrio was the last person she should expect. That he would soon be departing for Hlondeth without giving her a second thought. But that would hardly be a kindness.
