by Lisa Smedman
“Please,” Glisena gasped, clutching at Dmetrio and trying to draw him back down to her. “I’d do anything for you. Please.”
“That’s a good start,” Dmetrio said, a look of triumph in his slit eyes. His feet were visible now, protruding out of the bedding. They were rounded and scaly and looked like snake tails; each foot ended in a single large, blunt toe. Dmetrio wrenched himself free of Glisena and sat up in a kneeling position, then twined his fingers in Glisena’s hair and yanked her forward. Dmetrio, like many yuan-ti males, had a slit at the groin, inside which his reproductive organs rested. Arvin, staring, was horrified to see emerging out of it not one, but two….
With a shudder, Arvin yanked his fingers away from the pillow. He felt sullied by what he’d seen. If he did manage to find the baron’s daughter, it would be hard to look her in the eye.
“Well?” the baron asked. “What did you see?”
Arvin hesitated. The baron had closed the gate long after the horse had bolted from the stable—or rather, into the stable, in this case. The wardings on the palace had been in vain, but how to tell the baron that diplomatically?
“Your daughter was quite … passionate about Dmetrio, wasn’t she?” Arvin began.
The baron’s face purpled as he realized what Arvin was implying. “Here? In this room?”
Marasa glanced sharply at the baron.
“I saw Glisena and Dmetrio kissing,” Arvin said. “The vision must have been more than a month old—from before the wards were set. It wasn’t the one I was hoping for. I’ll try again.”
Before the baron could reply, Arvin retreated into a second manifestation. As the droning of his secondary display filled the air once more, he looked around the room, this time trying to pick up general impressions. As he glanced at the baron, he once again saw a double image—a ghostly baron standing just behind the first, his face also twisted with rage. He was shouting something. Curious, Arvin extended his hand in that direction, willing the vision to come into focus.
It did, with a volume that startled him.
“You will never see him again!” the ghostly image roared.
Arvin heard the sound of weeping behind him. He turned and saw Glisena—fully clothed, this time, and sitting on a neatly made bed—wringing a lace-trimmed handkerchief in her hands. Tears were sliding down her cheeks and a strand of her dark hair had fallen out of the pearl-studded net that held her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck. “But we’re in love,” she sobbed.
The baron snorted. “You’re in love. That … snake is as cold-hearted as any of his race. He cares nothing for you, girl. Nothing.”
Glisena shook her head fiercely. “That’s not true. You’ll see. When I tell him about—”
“You’ll tell him nothing.” The baron strode forward and loomed over Glisena. “Nor will you tell anyone else what’s happened. We’re going to take care of this … quietly.”
Anger blazed in Glisena’s eyes and flushed her cheeks. “You only care about your stupid alliances. If Dmetrio marries me—”
“He won’t.”
“Yes, he will,” Glisena shrilled. “And when he does, your hopes of an alliance with Turmish are over. You can’t force me to marry Lord Herengar’s son. He’s as stupid as he is ugly.”
“At least he’s human,” the baron spat back.
“What do you think I am?” Glisena wailed. “A child? I’m a grown woman. You can’t do this to me.”
The baron’s voice dropped dangerously low. “You did this to yourself,” he growled. “And now you’ll face the consequences.” Turning on his heel, he wrenched open the door, startling the guard who stood in the hallway outside. “Make sure she doesn’t leave,” he snapped at the guard then slammed the door behind himself.
The vision—and Glisena’s faint sobbing—faded.
“What did you see this time?” the baron asked. His voice startled Arvin; it took a moment for Arvin to realize that he was back in the here and now. A fine sheen of ectoplasm shimmered in the baron’s hair. He didn’t seem to notice it.
Arvin swallowed nervously. The last thing he wanted to report was that he’d listened in on a family argument—a very private family argument.
“I didn’t see much this time,” he said, “just Glisena sitting on her bed, crying. But I think I’m getting closer to the night of her disappearance. I’ll try again.”
The baron gave a brief nod. His hands, Arvin noticed, were white-knuckled. What was it he was so afraid of?
Arvin manifested his power a third time, scanning the room, and out of the corner of his eye saw a movement near the hearth. There were two ghostly women there, one standing, the other kneeling in front of her. Concentrating on these, he brought them into focus.
The standing woman was Glisena. She held her night robe slightly open, revealing her stomach. The look on her face was one of acute apprehension.
The woman who knelt in front of her touched Glisena’s stomach with a forefinger and chanted in a language Arvin couldn’t understand. Her finger moved back and forth across the bare flesh as if sketching, but left no visible marks. She was casting a spell of some description, but Arvin had no idea what its purpose might be.
This second woman had her back to Arvin; all he could tell was that she was large and was wearing a dark green cloak. He moved across the room—closer to the hearth, which began to sweat a sheen of ectoplasm—and got a view of her face.
The spellcaster had heavy jowls, a double chin, and brown hair with a streak of gray at one temple. Her small eyes were screwed shut as she concentrated on her magic. Arvin looked for a brooch or pendant that might be a cleric’s holy symbol, but saw none. The only item of jewelry the woman wore was a ring, a band of brownish-red stone around her pudgy little finger. A band carved from amber, Arvin thought, identifying the stone from the lingering bits of gem lore Zelia’s mind seed had left him with.
When the spell was done, the woman stood. Glisena closed her robe and stood with her palms lightly pressing against her belly. “When will it take effect?” she asked.
The spellcaster gave her a motherly smile. “Some time tomorrow.” She tugged at the ring on her little finger. “This,” she said, working it back and forth to pull it free. “Will convey you to me.” She held the ring out to Glisena. “Use it as soon as you feel the magic of the spell begin.”
Glisena took the ring with what looked like reluctance. A tear blossomed at the corner of one eye and trickled down her cheek. “Did he really tell you to end it?” she asked.
“He did.” The spellcaster said in a grim voice. Then she patted Glisena’s cheek. “But all’s well now. We’ll fool him.” Glisena nodded and clenched her hand around the ring. “Yes.”
“Now listen closely, and I’ll tell you how the ring works,” Naneth said.
The vision shifted then. The spellcaster disappeared, and Arvin had a palpable sense of leaping forward in time to a moment when Glisena stood in just the same spot in front of the hearth. As before, the moment was emotionally charged. Tears were streaming down her face. She wore clothes instead of a night robe, as well as a heavy cloak pinned at the shoulder and high leather boots. And her stomach was no longer flat. It bulged, visibly pregnant. Very pregnant.
Arvin whistled under his breath. No wonder Glisena and her father had argued. Glisena was carrying Dmetrio’s child. A child that was only partly human. He watched as the ghostly Glisena toyed with something she held in her hands—the spellcaster’s amber ring. A knock at the door caused her to startle, nearly dropping it.
“Glisena?” a muffled male voice called. “I’m sorry we argued. Can we talk?”
Glisena’s eyes flew open wide. She glanced down at her belly then back at the door, and she drew her cloak around herself, as if to hide her pregnancy. Then her lips pressed together in a determined line. Tossing the ring on the floor, she spoke a word: “Ossalur!” As the ring hit the floor, it grew, expanding into a hoop fully two paces in diameter within the space of an eyebli
nk. Glisena jumped into the center of it—an awkward hop while holding her belly—and vanished. The ring contracted to its normal size then disappeared.
The door to her chamber opened. Baron Foesmasher poked his head tentatively into the room. “Glisena?” he called softly. He glanced at the empty bed—then looked wildly around the chamber. “Glisena!” he shouted. “Glisena!”
The vision faded.
Arvin let out a long, slow sigh and stood for several moments with his eyes closed. Then he turned to the baron. “I have news,” he reported. “I’ve seen how Glisena esca—ah, that is, how she fled from the palace.”
The baron ignored Arvin’s slip of the tongue. “Tell me,” he said.
“Your daughter was given a ring,” Arvin said. “One that gave her the ability to teleport.”
“Who gave it to her?” Marasa asked, her voice low and tense.
“A spellcaster,” Arvin said. He started to describe the woman, but Marasa interrupted him after he’d barely begun.
“The midwife?” she asked. Then, to the baron, “What was she doing here, in the palace?”
Arvin was wondering the same thing. What had the spellcaster been doing to Glisena?
The baron stood rigid, his shoulders tense. The words jerked out of him. “Glisena was pregnant. By that … serpent. By Ambassador Extaminos.”
Marasa’s mouth dropped open. “Pregnant?” she whispered. Then she nodded to herself. “Was that why she’d been feeling unwell?”
The baron stared at the far wall, not answering.
“And Naneth?” Marasa prodded.
“She came to cast a spell,” the baron began. “A spell that….” His voice trembled. He sank onto the bed, head in his hands, unable or unwilling to say more.
Marasa’s face paled. “Naneth came to end the pregnancy, didn’t she?”
The baron refused to look up.
Marasa flushed with anger. “Killing an innocent is a grievous sin! And nothing is more innocent than an unborn child.” She pointed a trembling finger at the baron. “Helm will never countenance this. Never! He will demand retribution. He—”
The baron looked up, his face twisted with remorse. “Helm has punished me already. Glisena is gone. Gone.”
Marasa lowered her accusing hand. “Oh, Thuragar,” she said, her voice anguished. “What were you thinking?” She turned her back on him and paced across the room to stare at the hearth, shaking her head.
Arvin shifted uncomfortably, wishing he were someplace else. He stood in silence, debating whether to tell the baron what he’d seen in that last vision. The spell Naneth had cast on Glisena hadn’t ended her pregnancy. Instead, it had hastened it to term. In that first vision, Glisena had not been visibly pregnant—she was at most two to three months along. And in the second vision, the one in which she’d used the ring, she’d been full-bellied, close to giving birth. Yet only a day had passed.
The spell must have taken effect on the evening that Glisena disappeared. That was why she’d dismissed her servants that night—she could feel the spell starting to work its magic. That was why she’d hidden her belly from view when her father knocked at her door.
The baron didn’t know that Glisena was still pregnant.
But he would, once Arvin found her.
Sickened, Arvin stared at the carpet, unwilling to look at the baron. The last thing he wanted to do now was return Glisena to him.
Foesmasher balled his fist. “She’s with Naneth,” he said in a low voice. He sprang to his feet and crossed the room, wrenching the door open. “Stand aside,” he shouted at someone as he stomped down the hall.
Marasa had whirled at the sudden motion. As the baron’s heavy footsteps faded down the hall, she ran after him. “Thuragar! Wait!”
After a moment’s hesitation, Arvin hurried after her. He caught up with Marasa as she was passing a guard who had a puzzled expression on his face. The baron was nowhere to be seen. Somewhere down the corridor, a door slammed.
Marasa grabbed Arvin’s arm and dragged him down the hall with her. “He’ll go to Naneth’s house,” she said in a low voice. “I’m worried. If he finds Glisena there….”
Arvin nodded grimly. “Indeed. And when he learns she’s still pregnant—”
Marasa jerked to a halt. “She’s what?”
“Still pregnant. Naneth didn’t end the pregnancy—she cast a spell that hurried it along instead. In that last vision, Glisena looked ready to give birth at any moment. She may even have had the child by now.”
Marasa looked grim. “We must find her, then. Quickly, before Thuragar compounds his sin.”
Arvin’s eyes widened. “He wouldn’t harm the child … would he?”
“No,” Marasa said. “He wouldn’t. Not Thuragar,” she said, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself. “But I do fear for Naneth’s safety.”
“What can we do?”
“Does your mind magic allow you to teleport? Could you reach Naneth’s house ahead of Thuragar?”
Arvin shook his head. “No. But I can send a warning to her”—shoving a hand into his pocket, he pulled out the lapis lazuli—“with this.” He touched the fingernail-sized chip of stone to his forehead. It adhered at once as he spoke its command word. Drawing power from the magical stone, he manifested a sending. He imagined that he was looking at Naneth and felt a prickling at the base of his scalp. A heartbeat later her image solidified, and he was staring at the midwife. She was leaning over, placing a saucer filled with water inside something that Arvin couldn’t see. As the connection between her and Arvin grew stronger, she jerked upright, spilling the water. Her mouth moved in a sharp question, but Arvin couldn’t hear what she was saying.
“Naneth,” he said, speaking the words aloud. “I know you have Glisena. If she’s at your home, move her. Hide her. The baron is on his way there now. He knows what you did.”
The sorcerer repeated her question; this time Arvin could hear it. “Who are you?” she said, staring intently at his face. Her eyes were narrow with suspicion. “I don’t recognize you.”
She paused, waiting for an answer, but Arvin couldn’t give one. That was how the lapis lazuli worked—he could send a brief message, and receive one in return. A few heartbeats later, the sending reached the limits of its duration. Naneth faded from view.
“It’s done,” Arvin said. “What now?”
“Are you quick on your feet?” Marasa asked.
Arvin nodded.
“Then let’s get moving. I know where Naneth lives.”
CHAPTER 7
They arrived at Naneth’s residence just as the baron stormed out the front door, sword in hand. “Glisena’s not here,” he gritted. “Neither is Naneth. But the Eyes will round her up, soon enough.”
Two of Foesmasher’s soldiers emerged from the building, one of them holding the arm of a frightened-looking woman whose long black hair was starting to gray at the temples. She looked vaguely familiar, but Arvin couldn’t place her.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she protested.
“We just want to question you,” the soldier holding her arm said.
“I simply came to pay Naneth for her services,” the woman continued, drawing her cloak protectively around herself with her free hand as the soldiers led her away. “I don’t know where she is.” She turned to the baron, a pleading look in her eyes. “Lord Foesmasher, please. Whatever quarrel you have with the midwife, I have no part in it.”
Foesmasher ignored her. “Have one of the Eyes question her,” he said. “Find out if she does know where Naneth is. And send a detail of soldiers to secure this house.”
The soldiers nodded and led the woman away.
“Baron Foesmasher,” she pleaded. “Please don’t imprison me. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Foesmasher stood, hands on his hips, scowling as she was led away.
Marasa, still panting from the run through the streets—the residence was more than two dozen blocks from the palace—exchanged a
look with Arvin then hurried after the baron. “Thuragar,” she said in an ominous voice. “You face Helm’s wrath for what you ordered Naneth to do. You must atone before he—”
“I have other matters to attend to, first,” Foesmasher snapped. Turning on his heel, he strode away.
Marasa hurried after him. “Thuragar, wait! Hear me out.”
Arvin, only half listening, stared at the residence. It was a narrow building, two stories tall and sharing a wall with the building on either side. All of the windows were shuttered against the cold. His eyes ranged from one window to the next as he calculated the distance between them. If there was a wall that was a little thicker than it should be—enough to conceal a person—he’d find it when he counted off the paces inside.
The front door was open. Arvin walked up the short flight of steps that led to it and knocked—loudly.
“Naneth?” he called out, hoping that, if she was still here, she might recognize his voice.
No one answered.
A long hallway ran the length of the first floor. On the left was a kitchen; on the right, a sitting room. A flight of stairs at the rear of the hall led to the second floor. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
The kitchen was warm and steamy; water boiled in a large pot on the stove. Bundles of drying herbs hung from the kitchen’s ceiling beams, filling the air with their aromatic scents. Arvin moved the pot to the table, setting it beside a stack of neatly folded squares of white cloth, and the bubbling noise slowly calmed. He listened, but heard only the hiss of dried grain spilling from a sack that had slumped over inside a pantry cupboard. The doors of the pantry stood ajar, as if they’d been yanked open.
The sitting room also showed signs of the baron’s intrusion. A tapestry lay on the floor beneath a broken curtain rod; a chair was on its side; and a shelf had been yanked away from one wall, spilling books onto the floor. One of them was on the hearth, its pages starting to curl from the heat of the fire. Arvin picked it up. Flipping idly through it, he saw that the book contained a number of illustrations: male and female pairs of various humanoid creatures—orcs, two-headed ettins, cloven-hoofed satyrs, lizardfolk, and several other races. Next to each figure was an enlarged drawing of that creature’s genitals; the female illustrations were accompanied by a drawing showing a baby growing within the womb.
