by Lisa Smedman
“Hang on, Tanglemane,” Arvin urged, one hand on the centaur’s shoulder. “It’s almost sunset. The fate link will end soon.” For the hundredth time, he wished he could dispel the power, but once manifested, a fate link endured for its full duration.
The centaur’s breathing was labored now. He sat with head bowed and eyes screwed shut, as if trying to block out the pain. Had he been human, Arvin and Karrell might have carried him, but the centaur must have weighed three times their combined weight.
Karrell beckoned Arvin to her and nodded at the darkening forest. “The satyrs are still following us.”
“It’s not the satyrs I’m worried about,” Arvin said. “I keep wondering where Naneth is—why she hasn’t teleported back to squeeze more information out of me.”
“She would have to find us first.”
Arvin jerked a thumb in the direction of the dark shapes flitting through the forest. “Easily done. She just has to ask them where we are.”
“Perhaps,” Karrell said in a low voice, “that is what she is doing. She must hope we will lead her to Glisena.”
Arvin nodded. It made sense for Naneth to allow them to think they had escaped. While the satyrs kept an eye on them, she could check up on the story Arvin had told her. But for all Naneth knew, Arvin might have teleportation magic—magic he’d used to spirit Glisena away. She was taking a big risk—for all she knew, Arvin might just vanish from the forest.
He paused to rub his forehead; his wound was itching again. The lapis lazuli was still in place; he’d used it just after they left the satyr camp to let Tanju know that Glisena had been found, that there was a demon inside her—and that Sibyl’s plans had been thwarted. Tanju had commended Arvin for a job well done. After speaking to his mentor, Arvin had left the lapis lazuli where it was; removing it would have meant tearing open the scab that had already formed over it. Now he wondered if that had been wise. On two other occasions during their flight through the forest he’d felt a peculiar sensation behind the stone, deep in his “third eye”—a soft fluttering, like an eyelid rapidly blinking. He felt it again now. It was almost as if his third eye were trying to focus on something it couldn’t quite see.
Along with it came an uncomfortable sensation of being watched. Arvin had assumed this was because the satyrs were following them, but now he began to wonder if there was something more to it. Was someone trying to manifest a sending?
No, that wasn’t quite right. A sending created, in the recipient’s mind, a mental image of the person dispatching the image. A failed sending produced no sensation at all. It simply … failed. This was somewhere between the two. It was almost as if someone had manifested the link that made a sending possible … without conveying any message.
Suddenly, Arvin realized the cause: Naneth was using her crystal ball to spy on them.
A chill ran through him as he wondered what he’d already given away. Had he said anything that would indicate the baron had teleported Glisena back to Ormpetarr while Naneth had been scrying on them? He hoped not.
Karrell was staring at Arvin, her brow creased. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“The satyrs,” Arvin told her in a low voice—one just loud enough for Naneth to also hear. “They’re listening. Say nothing, or Wianar will have our heads. And keep up the pretense in front of the centaur. Pretend that we’re headed for Ormpetarr; if the satyr lives, he’ll help throw Foesmasher off the scent.”
Karrell’s frown deepened, and for a moment Arvin worried that she was going to blurt out something that would give the game away. Then she nodded—though there was still a hint of confusion in her eyes.
A moment later, Arvin felt the fluttering in his forehead fade away. He waited, making certain it was gone, then whispered urgently to Karrell. “Naneth was just scrying on us. I can sense when she’s doing it. If it happens again, I’ll signal you. If I do this”—he formed a V with the first two fingers of his right hand and touched his shoulder: the sign, in silent speech, that someone was spying—“it means Naneth is listening. Be careful what you say.”
“I will.”
Behind them, Tanglemane gave a loud groan and tried to rise to his feet. Arvin and Karrell hurried to his side.
“What’s wrong?” Arvin asked.
Tanglemane’s nostrils flared. “Giant,” he gasped. “Coming this way.”
Arvin’s jaw clenched. That was all they needed—another hostile creature to contend with. No wonder humans avoided these woods. Already he could feel the ground trembling and hear the snap of branches.
He caught Karrell’s eye. “Shift form,” he urged her. “Hide.”
Her dark eyes bored into his. “And you?” she asked. She gestured at Tanglemane. “And him?”
Arvin drew his dagger. “Tanglemane doesn’t have that option—and I can’t just leave him. Fortunately, a little of my psionic energy remains.” He grinned. “Perhaps the giant will find me … charming.”
“Be careful,” Karrell urged. She shifted into snake form and slithered under a bush.
Arvin, meanwhile, laid a hand on Tanglemane’s shoulder, steadying him, and turned toward the direction the crashing sounds were coming from. A moment later he spotted the giant lumbering through the woods. The giant was more than twice the height of a man and had skin as gray and pitted as stone. His head was nearly level with the tops of the trees, which he parted with massive hands as he shouldered his way through the forest. He wore a tunic that had been crudely stitched together from the skins of a dozen different animals, and a wide belt into which was tucked an enormous stone club. His bare feet crushed bushes and snapped deadfall branches with each step.
Arvin watched nervously. That club looked heavy enough to crush him with a single blow.
The giant spotted Arvin and Tanglemane and came to an abrupt halt.
“Hello!” Arvin called, waving up at him. Swiftly, he manifested a charm. “It’s good to see you, friend.”
The giant cocked his head. “Baron Foesmasher told you I was coming?” he asked.
Arvin’s eyebrows rose. “The baron sent you?”
The giant shrugged. “One of his clerics sent word to find you. She said you might be having trouble with the satyrs, and by the smell of it, she was right.” He glanced down at Tanglemane then rested massive fists on his hips. “What can I do to help?”
Karrell reassumed human form and rose to her feet, clothing in hand. She gestured at Tanglemane. “Can you carry him?” she asked. “Gently?”
The giant grinned, revealing teeth that glinted like quartz. “I can, snake-lady.” He dropped to his knees, and the earth trembled. Slipping broad hands under Tanglemane, he lifted the centaur as easily—and gently—as a man lifting a kitten. “Where to?”
“Fort Arran,” Tanglemane gasped. “There are healers there.”
Arvin stared at the centaur and whispered a prayer that Tanglemane would be able to hold on that long.
The fate link wore off just after darkness fell, as they were leaving the woods. Tanglemane gasped as his chest suddenly started to bleed again, and the giant lowered him to the ground. Arvin stripped off what remained of his shirt and tore it into pieces, tying a fresh bandage against the wound to staunch the bleeding and Karrell cast a healing spell that partially closed the wound. Then the giant picked the centaur up once more.
Before following, Arvin summoned the pan pipes into his gloved hand. The satyrs had kept their side of the bargain by not attacking—though the giant’s presence probably had a lot to do with that decision—and now Arvin would keep his. He set the pipes down on a rock, where they would be easy to spot.
They walked toward the bridge that spanned the river, Arvin and Karrell leading, followed by the giant. Arvin kept looking nervously around, hoping the centaur herd wouldn’t return. He didn’t want to face the centaur-seed a second time. Even in proxy, Zelia was formidable.
Karrell took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Stop worrying,” she said. “We are nearly there.”
They walked on, holding hands. The air had turned colder as night fell; here and there puddles of water had developed a thin skin of ice that crunched underfoot. Moonlight glinted off the broken shards, making them sparkle like a scattering of diamonds. “I had heard about ice before I came north,” Karrell said. “But I never knew it could be so beautiful.”
Arvin nodded. He snuck a glance at Karrell, remembering the serpent form that lay beneath her human skin, then fixed his eyes on the far shore. In the distance he could see a wagon setting out from Fort Arran. It was moving across the bridge; the two horses drawing it were running at a good clip. The giant cradled Tanglemane in the crook of one arm and waved at it. Figures in the wagon waved back.
“What will you do, once we reach the fort?” Karrell asked.
Arvin touched his forehead. “Contact the baron, as soon as I’m able. Find out how Glisena is doing. Hopefully, the clerics have been able to … purge … what’s inside her.”
Karrell gave him a startled look. “They will kill her child?”
“It’s no child,” Arvin said. There hadn’t been time, until now, to tell Karrell everything he’d learned. When he did, her face paled.
“Helm’s clerics will deal with the demon,” Arvin reassured her. “Lord Foesmasher seemed confident that they could. And once they have, we won’t have to worry about Naneth looking over our shoulders anymore. In fact, we can turn her scrying to our advantage. If we let it ‘slip’ that Glisena’s womb is empty, Naneth will realize her scheme has failed. Glisena will be safe from her.”
And, Arvin added silently, he would be able to collect his reward. The baron would no doubt be pleased with his work; Arvin had done everything he’d promised, and more. Not only had he located Glisena, he’d provided vital information that would help the clerics save her. The baron’s emotions ran high when it came to his daughter. No doubt he would be as generous with those who had saved her as he was merciless against those who threatened her.
He realized that Karrell hadn’t answered. She walked in silence, one arm wrapped protectively across her stomach. Arvin supposed it only natural; what had been done to Glisena would hit a woman harder.
“I too have been thinking about what we might say the next time Naneth scries on us,” Karrell said at last. “I think it would be a mistake to reveal that Glisena is no longer pregnant. If we choose our words carefully—make her think that Glisena is in a location of our choosing—we can lure Naneth to us.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” he asked. Naneth was a powerful sorcerer—he wasn’t keen on facing her spells a second time.
“I must find Sibyl and recover the Circled Serpent,” Karrell said. “Naneth is the one thread that will lead me through the maze. I must follow it.” She leveled a challenging look at Arvin. “If, however, you no longer wish to help me….”
Arvin stared at the approaching wagon, wishing he could just board it, return to Ormpetarr, and collect his reward. Then he thought of what Sibyl’s minions had done to Naulg and to Glisena’s unborn child. He met Karrell’s eye. “You kept your end of the bargain,” he told her. “I’ll keep mine. Whatever I can do to thwart Sibyl, I will.”
Karrell gave him a long look. “If we find that Sibyl is in Hlondeth, will you return there with me?”
“Hlondeth isn’t a healthy place for me to be,” Arvin said. He clenched his left hand, remembering. By now, the Guild would be wondering where he’d gone … and asking questions—questions that might lead them to a realization that he’d been feeding Tanju information on their activities over the past six months. Arvin had been forced to trade his mentor something, in return for the lessons in psionics. If the Guild found that out, they’d cut out Arvin’s tongue. “I have enemies there.”
“You have enemies here,” Karrell said softly. “Zelia.”
“True,” Arvin agreed. Then he smiled. “And Zelia, according to the baron, is in Ormpetarr—which makes my decision easier.”
He expected Karrell to smile at his faint attempt at humor, or to ask what his decision was, but her face had a distant look, as if she were lost in thought.
“The centaur Windswift,” she said abruptly. “You addressed him as Zelia. Was he one of her seeds?”
Arvin’s jaw clenched. “He was. Zelia must have created him to spy on Chondath.”
“Zelia is an agent of Hlondeth?” Karrell asked.
Arvin nodded.
“She serves House Extaminos?”
“Yes,” Arvin answered. “Why?”
Karrell countered with a question of her own. “Why did she try to seed you?”
Arvin gave a bitter laugh. “You’ll appreciate the irony, I’m sure. Zelia hoped to use me to infiltrate The Pox—the clerics who were allied with Sibyl during her first attempt at Hlondeth’s throne. Zelia needed a human who had….” His voice faltered as he remembered the terrible transformation Naulg had undergone—and the final kindness Arvin had been forced to pay him. “Who’d had the misfortune of falling into their hands. They wouldn’t have accepted anyone else into their ranks.”
Arvin was thankful that Karrell didn’t ask him to elaborate.
“What other psionic powers does Zelia have?” she asked.
Arvin gave her a sharp look. “Don’t even think about it,” he snapped. “Zelia’s dangerous. And untrustworthy. She’s as slippery as a—” He realized what he was saying, and stopped himself just in time.
Karrell’s eyes narrowed. She yanked her hand out of his. “As what? A serpent?”
Arvin’s face flushed. That was exactly what he’d been about to say.
The giant, seeing that they had stopped walking, halted. “Is something wrong?” he rumbled. Tanglemane lifted his head slightly; his face looked pale.
“It’s nothing,” Arvin said. He pointed at the wagon, only a few hundred paces from them now. Behind the driver sat two soldiers and a third man, identifiable as a cleric of Helm by his eye-emblazoned breastplate and deep red cloak. “Get Tanglemane to the wagon. We’ll follow in a moment.”
The giant shrugged then continued with heavy footsteps toward the wagon. It pulled to a halt as he drew near it, and the cleric hopped out. The giant lowered Tanglemane to the ground. The cleric crouched beside him and started removing the centaur’s crude wound binding.
Arvin turned back to Karrell. “Zelia’s dangerous,” he repeated. “Perhaps as dangerous as Sibyl herself.”
“And she is Sibyl’s enemy. And she has mind magic beyond what you possess. Magic that may force Naneth to tell us where Sibyl is.”
“True,” Arvin agreed, bristling. “But she’s the last person I’d ever ask for help from. As soon as she found out I’m alive, she’d kill me. Quick as spit. It’s bad enough that Windswift knows what I look like. The next time he reports to Zelia….” He shook his head, amazed at the complicated net he’d managed to weave around himself, hoping he could keep it from drawing any tighter.
“I was not suggesting that you speak with Zelia,” Karrell said. She raised her right hand and nodded at the ring on her finger. “And she will not learn that you are alive. Not from me.”
Arvin shook a finger at her. “Don’t do it. Gods only know what Zelia will do to you. She’s dangerous,” he repeated again, grasping at straws. “She’s—”
“A yuan-ti,” Karrell said. “As am I.” She glared at him. “And do not presume to give me orders. I am not human, and you are not my….” She paused, searching for the word. “Not my husband. Even if you did quicken my eggs.” Tossing her hair angrily, she turned her back.
Arvin’s mouth gaped open. “Your what?”
She touched her stomach. “My eggs,” she repeated softly.
Arvin stared at Karrell. “You’re pregnant?” he asked in a strained whisper. “But it’s only been”—he did a quick tally in his head—“two days—no, three—since we first….” He shook his head. “How could you possibly know so soon?”
“My scales,” she said. “They are shedding out o
f season—it is one of the early signs.” She touched a hand to her belly. “And the way I … feel. I know.”
Arvin was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. What to think. If Karrell was right, he was a father. Or soon would be. The thought terrified him; he knew nothing about children. “How long until….” He swallowed hard, and rubbed his forehead. His wound was bothering him again.
Beside Arvin, someone cleared his throat hesitantly—the cleric. He had completed his healing; Tanglemane was back on his feet, his color restored. The cleric had walked over to where Arvin stood without Arvin even noticing.
“Are you Arvin?” he asked.
Arvin nodded. Eggs, Karrell had said. Plural. How many eggs?
“I’m to convey you to Ormpetarr at once,” the cleric continued. “The baron needs your mind magic. There’s someone at the palace who’s … not well. Will you come? You must be willing, in order for me to teleport you.”
“I don’t have any healing powers,” Arvin protested. Absently, he rubbed at his forehead. The itching was getting worse.
“The baron needs you to … listen to some thoughts,” the cleric said.
“Whose?” Arvin asked absently. He stared at Karrell, realizing he hardly knew her. Yet she bore his child. His children.
“A … demon’s,” the cleric whispered, shooting a worried glance at Karrell.
Arvin rubbed his itching forehead. No, not itching. Tickling. The flutter was back—had been back, for some time.
Naneth was listening.
“It is all right,” Karrell assured the cleric. “I know all about Glis—”
Arvin sprang forward and clapped a hand across her mouth. With his free hand he signaled frantically, jerking two V-splayed fingers over his shoulder.
Karrell’s eyes widened.
Pretending that he was worried about the cleric overhearing, Arvin whispered fiercely at Karrell in a voice he hoped was loud enough for Naneth to hear. “The cleric isn’t one of us. Don’t say anything that will give the game away. Don’t mention Lord Wianar. Or the fact that it’s not … not really Glisena that Foesmasher has, but a … an illusion. If they find out Glisena is really in … in Arrabar, they might find her.”
