by Lisa Smedman
“Who is he?”
“Someone who might be able to help us,” Arvin said, keeping his answer deliberately vague.
Kayla shook her head. “I haven’t seen him.”
“How long have you been down here?”
“Since Sunset. We tried to enter the sewers earlier, but the militia were everywhere.”
Arvin nodded. She’d been in the sewers quite some time, then. “Did you see any other clerics besides the one with the basket?”
“No.”
“How did you know where to find him?”
“We didn’t,” Kayla said. “It was just Tymora’s luck. We were snooping around in the sewers—we’d seen one of Talona’s clerics come down here earlier. When we spotted the opening that led to the hidden corridor, we decided to follow it.”
“I see,” Arvin said, disappointed. Though Kayla had been forthcoming, she hadn’t told him anything about the cultists that he didn’t already know. Perhaps others in her organization would know more.
One thing was bothering Arvin. “That second fellow—the old sailor—why did Urus shoot him?”
The mention of her companion’s name started the woman’s lip trembling. “He attacked us.”
Arvin frowned. “Are you sure the old man wasn’t just trying to escape—to get by you?”
Kayla shook her head. “He was with the cleric. When Urus and I surprised them in the chamber, the cleric shouted at the old man to attack us and started casting a spell. I was able to stop him before his prayer was complete, but the old man managed to bite my arm before Urus could shoot him. He ran off while Urus was reloading ... and that thing showed up.”
Arvin frowned. “The old man bit you?” he said.
“You don’t believe me?” Kayla shoved up her sleeve. “Look.”
Arvin stared at the crescent-shaped bite mark on her wrist.
“His bite was venomous,” Kayla continued. “He must have been yuan-ti—one that could pass for human in lantern light. If it weren’t for this, I’d be dead.” She touched something that hung from a silver chain around her neck—a pendant made from a black gem. That it was ensorcelled to ward off poison, Arvin had no doubt. But had the old man’s bite truly been poisonous?
He gave the bite on her wrist a closer scrutiny. The wound lacked the distinctive puncture marks that hollow, venom-filled fangs would leave. “The old man was diseased, you mean,” he corrected.
Kayla shook her head. “It wasn’t disease—the effects were too quick. As soon as his teeth broke the skin, my entire arm felt as though it were on fire.”
Arvin nodded, losing interest. The real question was whether the old sailor had joined Talona’s cult or been magically compelled by the cleric to attack. Whichever it was, he must have been one of the two men Zelia had spied earlier on the stone island. She’d assumed that both were cultists even though only one was wearing robes. The old man obviously hadn’t been acting like a prisoner—and he certainly hadn’t been bound.
“We should get moving,” Kayla said.
Arvin nodded. “Is there an exit nearby?”
Kayla found the wall of the tunnel by touch and ran her palm up it to locate the edge of the corridor in which Arvin crouched. Then she pointed up the sewage tunnel, away from the chamber with the stone island. “That way. There’s a shaft that gives access to the street, about four hundred paces up the tunnel. It’s at the base of the next spillway.”
Arvin glanced down at the water, the surface of which was dotted with half-dissolved lumps that drifted gently with the current. The sewage was deeper than his ankle-high boots; he grimaced at the thought of climbing down into it. “I’m going to climb along the wall,” he told her. “You can hold onto my shirt and follow me. All right?”
Kayla nodded.
They set out, Arvin making his way slowly along the wall, Kayla holding on to his shirt. Several times she slipped and nearly pulled Arvin into the sewage with her, but his bracelet allowed him to stick tight to the wall.
As he led her up the sewage tunnel, he considered his options. He could wait near the stone island to see if any other cultists showed up, could slog around in the sewers in the hope of stumbling into some of them—or he could leave with Kayla. The charm he’d placed on her would be effective for some time, and she could probably be talked into taking him along with her when she reported to her leader. This Gonthril fellow must know more than Kayla did. If Arvin could charm him into sharing what he knew, perhaps two knots could be tied with a single twist. Arvin might learn the answers to Zelia’s questions and might gain some insight into where Naulg was ...
Without having to face the cultists.
CHAPTER 9
24 Kythorn, Darkmorning
Arvin lifted the grate a finger’s width and peered up and down the darkened street. They were inside the yuan-ti section of the city; mansion walls towered on either side. A slave was sweeping dust from an elaborate, column-fronted entry way to the right. A second slave with a handcart was picking up garbage from the street.
Arvin tipped the grate sideways and passed it down to Kayla, who had braced herself inside the narrow shaft with her back against one wall, her feet against the other. Arvin was just above her, in the same position, his backpack turned so that it hung against his chest. When both slaves had their backs to the opening, he clambered out of the shaft, took the grate from Kayla, and helped her up after him. A moment later the grate was back in place, and they were strolling in the opposite direction from the slaves, just two people out for a walk in the darkness that preceded dawn.
As they passed a light standard, Kayla glanced at Arvin. Seeing her eyes widen, he worried that she might have realized that he wasn’t a member of her group after all.
“Amazing,” she said. “You could be Gonthril’s brother.” She paused then added, “Are you?”
“No,” Arvin said, not wanting to get caught up in a lie that would quickly unravel on him. “The resemblance is coincidental. I’m always getting mistaken for—” He paused, suddenly realizing something. That was who the militia had thought Arvin was that morning: Gonthril. A “rebel,” the sergeant had called him ...
A rebel with a ten thousand gold piece bounty on his head. And Kayla was about to lead Arvin straight to the man. The next little while could prove interesting—and possibly lucrative.
He nudged Kayla into a walk again. “Let’s keep moving. If anyone sees you like that ...”
Kayla nodded. “There’s a fountain up ahead. I can wash up a little.”
They quickened their pace, taking a side street to the fountain. Arvin stood watch as Kayla rinsed the worst of the sewage off herself by ducking into the spray, and they set off again. Arvin expected a lengthy, downhill walk, but Kayla instead led him uphill, deeper into the yuan-ti section of town. Several times they saw militia out on patrol and had to turn up a side street to avoid them. Once, while doing this, they blundered into a group of slaves. Arvin stuck his chin in the air haughtily and hissed at them, giving the impression that he was a yuan-ti. They touched their foreheads and turned aside, discretely ignoring the squelching sound Kayla’s wet boots made and the odor that lingered in her wake.
“Not bad,” Kayla commented. “You’ve even got the sway in your walk.”
Did he? After she’d called his attention to it, Arvin realized she was right. He’d been swaying his shoulders and hips back and forth as he walked, without intending to. The realization that this must be the mind seed at work sent a chill through him. He rubbed his temple, feeling the ache that lurked just under the skin.
Kayla led him ever upward, into one of the oldest parts of the city, navigating by its most conspicuous landmark—the enormous, fountain-topped dome of the Cathedral of Emerald Scales. Eventually they passed under one end of an ancient, monumental arch that stretched from this street to the next—an arch that was undergoing restoration. Kayla stopped near the pillar that supported this end of the arch. It was surrounded by wooden scaffolding that in turn
was sheeted with cloth. She glanced around then lifted a flap of the cloth and tilted her head, indicating that Arvin should slip behind it. He did, and saw that the pillar’s decorative scalework was being rechiseled. The cloth must have been hung to prevent dust and stone chips from littering the street below.
Arvin ran a hand over the rough, half-finished carving. The arch was a snake in the process of shedding its skin. Then Kayla ducked behind the cloth with him. She winked at him, one hand on a bar of the scaffolding. They were obviously about to climb it. “Ironic, isn’t it?” she whispered. “That scaly bitch is looking all over for the man who’s treading on her tail, and he’s hiding under her belly all the while. It’s one of Gonthril’s favorite tricks—hiding in the places she’d least suspect.”
Arvin grinned back at her, pretending that he knew what Kayla was talking about. As he followed her up the scaffolding, however, he started to get an inkling. The higher they climbed, the more he could see of the surrounding area through gaps in the cloth draping. He found himself looking down on one of the private gardens of the Extaminos family, now closed for renovations. Its age-pitted walls dated back more than eight centuries, to the time of Lord Shevron, the man who had beaten back the kobold hordes that had besieged the city in 527. This act had ensured House Extaminos’s standing for centuries to come. Indeed, for the past three centuries, all of Hlondeth’s rulers had been members of House Extaminos, right up to Lady Dediana, the city’s current ruler ...
Who, like most of her predecessors, was yuan-ti.
Arvin understood who the “rebels” were. He’d heard rumors of a group of men and women who wanted to restore the city to human rule. They wanted to turn back the centuries to a time before Lord Shevron had made his pact with the scaly folk. They might as well try to turn the sun back on its course in the sky or cause lava to flow into Mount Ugruth. But they’d certainly stirred up the militia with their efforts.
Kayla reached the top of the scaffolding and clambered into one of the gaping serpent mouths that fronted the arch. She turned to help Arvin inside. When he climbed in after her, he was surprised to see that the arch was hollow—to help reduce the weight of so much stone, he supposed. He crawled along behind her through its corridorlike interior, hissing with pain each time he banged a knee against the uneven floor. More than once, his backpack caught on the rough stone ceiling and had to be yanked free. His darkvision was gone; the potion had worn off during the walk here. The only light came from the gaping serpent mouth behind them and a similar opening up ahead. He followed Kayla—who seemed quite familiar with the route—as she led the way through along the darkened passage.
When they reached the second serpent mouth, Kayla stopped. Arvin peered past her and saw they were directly over the private garden, which was illuminated only by moonlight. Its walls, like the monumental arch, were surrounded by scaffolding-part of the massive restoration project that had been undertaken by Dmetrio Extaminos, eldest prince of the royal family, in recent months. Rumor had it Dmetrio had already spent more than a million gold pieces on the project, which seemed destined to tear apart and remortar every building in the old section of the city, stone by stone.
Kayla leaned out of the mouth of the stone serpent head and whistled a tune. A moment later, an answering whistle came from below. The end of a rope rose into view outside the serpent’s mouth. Recognizing it, Arvin cracked a wry smile. He’d woven it from sylph hair, a little more than two years ago.
At least one of his customers, it seemed, hadn’t been Guild. Or if they were Guild, they were also working the other side of the coin.
Kayla motioned for Arvin to grab the rope. Instead, he took a cautious glance down. Only one person stood in the garden below—the man who held the other end of the rope. The fellow looked harmless enough, with a balding head and ale belly, but appearances could be deceiving. For all Arvin knew, the staff the man had propped against a bush next to him could be a magical weapon of some sort. Getting past him would be the first challenge on the way to meeting Gonthril. Arvin would need a backup, if he were unable to charm the fellow.
“Sorry,” Arvin told Kayla with an apologetic smile. “Heights make me nervous.” As he spoke, he slipped a hand behind his back and grasped the hilt of his dagger. At a whisper, the dagger disappeared into his glove.
“Go on,” Kayla urged. “It isn’t far.”
Arvin winced, still pretending to be nervous, then grasped the rope. He swung out onto it and clambered down. Kayla followed.
As soon as they were both on the ground, the balding man ordered the rope down. As it looped itself neatly over his outstretched arm, he frowned at Arvin and picked up his staff. “Who’s this, Kayla? And where’s Urus?”
Kayla’s lip began to tremble again. “Dead,” she said in a quavering voice. “I’d be dead, too, Chorl, if Arvin hadn’t come along when he did.”
“I’ve come to speak to Gonthril,” Arvin said. The familiar prickle at the base of his scalp began, and he smiled. “I’m not with the Secession, but I have similar interests—and some information I’m sure Gonthril will want to hear.” Seeing a skeptical narrowing of the balding man’s eyes, he quickly added, “Information about Talona’s clerics—and what they’re up to. Kayla managed to get her hands on a flask that one of them was carrying.”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “Did she?” He glanced at Kayla, who nodded eagerly. “Well done. Well, come on, then.”
Arvin let out a soft hiss of relief. His charm had worked. Or had it? As he followed Kayla through the garden, he noticed that Chorl fell into step behind him. The balding man was keeping a close watch on Arvin—closer than Arvin liked.
The garden was laid out in a formal pattern. A path, bordered by flowering shrubs, spiraled in from the main gate to the center of the garden. Bordering this path were slabs of volcanic stone, their many niches providing shelter for the tiny serpents that called the garden home. At the center of the garden was a gazebo, its glass-paned roof reminiscent of the Solarium. The gazebo’s wrought-iron supports, like the light standards in the street, took the form of rearing serpents, except that the globes in their mouths hadn’t glowed in centuries. Its floor was a mosaic, made from age-dulled tiles. It was covered with what Arvin at first took to be sticks. As he drew closer, though, he saw that they were tiny, finger-thin snakes, curled around one another in sleep. The snakes obscured part of the mosaic, but Arvin could still make out the crest of House Extaminos: a mason’s chisel and a ship, separated by a wavy red line.
Chorl stepped forward and used the end of his staff to flick away the tiny snakes. He was needlessly rough with them, injuring several with his harsh jabs, and Arvin found his anger rising. He balled his fists at his sides, forcing himself to hold his emotions in check as the tiny snakes were flung aside.
Chorl stepped up onto the spot the snakes had just been evicted from and pulled from his pocket a hollow metal tube. Squatting, he rapped it once against the tiled floor. The rod emitted a bright ting, and the air above the floor rippled. Then a portion of the floor—the section of the mosaic depicting the ship—sank down out of sight. Arvin peered into the hole and saw a ramp leading down into darkness.
Kayla stepped to the edge of the hole. “I always enjoy this part,” she told Arvin. She sat on the lip of the hole then pushed off, disappearing into it. The sound of her wet clothes sliding on stone faded quickly.
Chorl nudged Arvin forward with the end of his staff. “Down you go,” he ordered. Arvin hissed at the man and angrily knocked the staff aside. Who did this fellow think he was, to order him about?
Chorl was swifter than Arvin had thought. He whipped the staff around, smacking it into Arvin’s head. A burst of magical energy flared from the tip of the staff, exploding through Arvin’s mind like a thunderclap and leaving him reeling. Eyes rolled up in his head, unable to see, Arvin felt the staff smack against his legs, knocking them out from under him. He tumbled forward, landing in a heap on the tiled floor.
Arvi
n’s backpack was yanked from his shoulders. He felt the end of the staff force its way under his chest, levering him over onto his back. He tried to speak the command that would make the dagger appear in his glove, but his lips wouldn’t form the word. The staff thrust inside the collar of Arvin’s shirt and shoved, sending him sliding toward the hole. He found himself at an angle, head and shoulders lower than his hips and legs.
Chorl leaned over him. “You may have charmed Kayla, you scaly bastard, but it didn’t work on me.” Another shove and Arvin was sliding headlong down a ramp.
Up above, he heard Chorl’s shout—“Snake in the hole!”—and the sound of stone sliding on stone as the trapdoor slid shut.
He hurtled along headfirst through darkness, unable to stop his slide down what turned out to be a spiraling tunnel with walls and floor of smooth stone. At the bottom was a small, brick-walled room, illuminated by a lantern that hung from the ceiling; Arvin skidded to a halt on its floor. The room’s only exit, other than the tunnel he’d just slid out of, was blocked by a wrought-iron gate that had just clanged shut. Still lying on his back, Arvin craned his neck to peer through it and saw Kayla being hurried away down a corridor by two men. She glanced back at Arvin, her face twisted with confusion, as they hustled her around a corner.
Arvin sat up, gingerly feeling the back of his head. A lump was rising there. It burned with the fierce, hot tingle of residual magical energy.
“Stand up,” a man’s voice commanded.
Turning, Arvin saw a man standing behind the wrought-iron gate. He was Arvin’s height and build, had short brown hair, and was no more than a handful of years older than Arvin. His resemblance to Arvin, now that Arvin’s hair was also cut short, was uncanny—so much so that Arvin could understand why Kayla had taken them for brothers. The only difference was that this fellow’s eyes were a pale blue, instead of brown, and shone with such intensity that Arvin felt as if the man were peering into his very soul.
“Gonthril?” Arvin guessed.
