Vanity's Brood

by Lisa Smedman

  The yuan-ti turned back toward the remaining worshipers and began swaying toward them, driving them like cattle with its magical fear. Behind him, lightning bolts arced out of the darkness that surrounded the dead tree where the stormlord hung, entangled. None came close to the yuan-ti. One struck a worshiper, blowing the man into the air.

  Arvin searched the crowd, looking for Pakal. It took him a moment, even with his psionically clarified vision, to spot the dwarf under the illusionary human body he’d created for himself. Pakal tried to lift his blowpipe to his lips but kept getting jostled by the worshipers who ran toward the lava, lashed on by the yuan-ti’s magical fear. The dwarf also suffered the compulsion’s effects. The blowpipe trembled in his hand as he fought against the desperate desire to flee. He took one step back, then another—then someone ran into him, knocking the blowpipe from his hands.

  Arvin needed to do something. Fast. He tried tossing a psionic distraction at the yuan-ti—only to hear Pakal scream his name from somewhere behind him. Arvin whirled then realized his distraction had bounced back at him. Whatever shield the yuan-ti had thrown up against the stormlord’s magic also worked against psionics.

  That must have been why Pakal had been trying to shoot the yuan-ti with a poisoned dart instead of using his spells. The dart lay beside the blowgun, useless, while Pakal was driven back toward the bubbling lava by the other worshipers. The man just behind him stumbled, weeping, into the lava. Pakal looked wildly around. His eyes locked on Arvin’s. They were desperate, pleading …

  Suddenly, Arvin realized he could use his psionics. He drew energy into the third eye in his forehead and sent it whipping forward in a thin, silver thread. He wrapped it around the dart then yanked. The dart flew from the ground and buried itself in the yuan-ti’s neck.

  The yuan-ti staggered backward then turned. Unblinking, wrath-filled eyes stared at Arvin and magical fear punched into his gut, making him want to vomit. Then it was gone. The yuan-ti crumpled slowly to the ground, dead.

  The worshipers, freed from the effects of the yuan-ti’s fear aura, let out a collective sob of relief. Several started to pray. Others turned to the tree, calling to their stormlord as the darkness seeped away from it into the ground. Arvin ran forward, toward Pakal.

  The dwarf clasped his arms and said something in his own language. It sounded like a thank you, and possibly an apology. Hearing it, Arvin felt guilty at the wave of relief he’d felt upon seeing the cloth sack Pakal carried—a sack that had something square inside it.

  “Do you still have the Circled Serpent?” Arvin asked.

  Pakal frowned, said something in his own language, then intoned what sounded like a prayer. “What do you ask?” he repeated.

  Arvin repeated his question.

  “I have it.” Pakal glanced at the stormlord. Talos’s worshipers were breaking off tree branches, freeing him. Other worshipers tore the clerical robes off the yuan-ti and pummeled his lifeless body with feet and fists. “We should go,” Pakal added, “before my illusion wears off. I would not want them to think that I, too, am an enemy.”

  They moved quickly through the crowd, Pakal leading the way. They headed uphill, following the path. Soon the Talassan were well below them.

  “Where are we going?” Arvin asked.

  Pakal gestured at the peak. “Up there. To a portal that leads home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “A jungle, far to the south. It is where Ts’ikil dwells.”

  “On the Chultan Peninsula?”

  Pakal nodded. He glanced back at Arvin as they climbed. “Is Karrell truly alive? When we met in Sibyl’s lair, you told me she was dead.”

  “I know,” Arvin admitted, “but since then, I’ve been able to contact her. This time, for whatever reason, my sending worked. That’s how I got Ts’ikil’s name. From Karrell.”

  “Gods be praised,” Pakal whispered. There was a catch to his voice; he must have cared deeply about Karrell, as well.

  “Indeed,” Arvin agreed, touching the crystal at his neck in silent thanks, “but Karrell’s in deep trouble. She’s still in the Abyss. In Smaragd.”

  “Sseth’s domain,” Pakal said.

  “Yes.” Arvin shuddered, imagining Karrell alone there. Giving birth. Vulnerable. “This Ts’ikil person will know how to get her out, right?”

  The dwarf shook his head. “There is no escape from Smaragd.”

  “That’s not true,” Arvin countered. “I’ve learned there’s a door that leads directly to Smaragd from this plane, a door that can be opened with the Circled Serpent. We can use it to reach Karrell, to rescue her, and we won’t have to worry about the serpent god getting free. He’s apparently been bound by his own jungle.”

  Pakal stopped. He turned to face Arvin, a wary look in his eye. “Who told you this?”

  Arvin decided to tell only part of the truth. Pakal didn’t need to know the details of what Zelia had forced upon him. “The woman in the rooftop garden—the one who attacked us after we escaped from Sibyl’s lair. Her name is Zelia; she’s a yuan-ti. Her agent—the human woman you killed with the dart—had also snuck into Sibyl’s lair to look for the Circled Serpent. Zelia hopes to use it to open the second door, the one that leads to Smaragd. Like Sibyl, she hopes to free the serpent god.”

  Pakal’s eyes narrowed. “Why would she tell you all this?”

  “She didn’t tell me,” Arvin said. “I used mind magic to pull the information directly from her thoughts, after I defeated her.”

  “Where is this ‘second door?’”

  Arvin shook his head. “She didn’t know.”

  “This Zelia recognized you,” Pakal continued. “Why is that?”

  Arvin smiled. That one he could answer with the truth. “Our paths have crossed before. She’s an old enemy. She tried to kill Karrell and me when we were in Ormpetarr.”

  Pakal considered that.

  “When I contacted Karrell, she told me to find Ts’ikil,” Arvin continued. “She said that Ts’ikil would know what to do. I assumed that meant that Ts’ikil would help us use the Circled Serpent to open the door to Smaragd and free her.”

  Pakal folded his arms across his chest. “The Circled Serpent must not be used. Dendar must not be set free.”

  “We won’t be opening that door,” Arvin protested.

  “If there is a second door, the Circled Serpent may cause both it and the one that would free Dendar to open at once.”

  “What if that isn’t the case? What if the Circled Serpent only opens one door at a time?”

  Pakal gave a firm shake of his head. “Ts’ikil will not allow it to be used. We cannot run the risk of Sseth emerging as an avatar. That would be as perilous as allowing Dendar to escape. The Circled Serpent must be destroyed. That is why we have been searching for it. Why Karrell was searching for it. Karrell herself would insist that this be done.”

  Arvin didn’t like the sound of the word “destroyed.” Maybe getting Pakal to take him to Ts’ikil wasn’t such a good idea. He threw up his hands, exasperated.

  “I thought you cared about Karrell, that you’d want to help rescue her.”

  “I do care about her,” Pakal said, an intense look in his dark eyes, “and I would like to rescue her, but the life of one woman—even one to whom you owe your own life—does not negate the risk opening that door poses.” He sighed and spread his hands. “This is an empty argument. We only have half of the Circled Serpent, and half cannot be used to open any door.” He gave Arvin a level stare, as if warning him not to try anything.

  “I know who’s got the other half,” Arvin said. “Dmetrio Extaminos.”

  Pakal’s eyebrows shot up. “The yuan-ti prince from Hlondeth?”

  It was Arvin’s turn to be surprised. “You know him?”

  “He claims to be on our side—to want to destroy the Circled Serpent. Why would he not tell us that he has—”

  “Dmetrio is in Chult?” Arvin guessed.

  Pakal gave him a look that
made Arvin wonder if he’d spoken a little too enthusiastically.

  “It’s just that he disappeared from Hlondeth nearly six months ago,” Arvin continued. “No one’s heard from him since. I’m truly surprised to hear he’s still alive. Everyone in Hlondeth thought he was dead.”

  “He’s not dead,” Pakal answered. He paused. “When we reach Ts’ikil, you must tell her what you have just told me.”

  “I will,” Arvin agreed, uncertain whether he’d be able to keep that promise.

  If Pakal was right about Ts’ikil not wanting the Circled Serpent to be used, maybe Arvin should grab Pakal’s half and try to get to Dmetrio before the dwarf and Ts’ikil did. He was suddenly very glad of Karrell’s ring. If the dwarf did turn out to have the ability to read thoughts, he wouldn’t like what was going through Arvin’s mind.

  Arvin glanced up the path. “The portal is somewhere up above us, right?”

  Pakal nodded. “Only a short distance ahead, but there is no hurry. The Talos worshipers are not following us.”

  “They’re not what I’m worried about,” Arvin said. He rubbed the scar on his forehead. It tingled again. “When I left Hlondeth, one of Sibyl’s constructs was following me: a cobra, made of iron. I killed it, but my mind magic is warning me that Sibyl may have more than one of these constructs. If we don’t get to the portal right away, it may lead Sibyl straight to us.”

  Pakal just stared at him.

  “What?” Arvin asked.

  “There is a problem,” Pakal answered. “The portal can only be used at sunrise.”

  “Ah.” Arvin thought for a moment. “We’ll stay awake in turns until then and keep an eye out for the cobra. Maybe you can turn us to gas once we reach the portal. It may not be able to find us then.”

  “That I cannot do.”

  “Why not?”

  Pakal sighed and spread his hands. “Thard Harr grants me only so many blessings each day. I can gain no more until I have prayed.”

  “Can’t you pray now?”

  “If I did, Thard Harr would not hear me,” Pakal said. “The prayers must be said in daylight. The traditional time is when dawn first breaks.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Arvin said.

  He knew how Pakal felt. Arvin too was close to the limit of his own powers, already. His muladhara felt flat, a hair’s breadth away from being utterly depleted. He needed to meditate.

  He turned and stared down the mountainside. The stormlord and his worshipers were walking back to their temple, carrying the injured. Beyond the temple, the road vanished into darkness. Somewhere below, he was certain, another iron cobra slithered toward them.

  CHAPTER 6

  Arvin bolted awake, his heart pounding.

  “Karrell!” he shouted. “No!”

  It took him several moments to realize that it had been a dream. A nightmare. Not real.

  He could remember every detail. Sibyl, sending out waves of magical fear that turned into lava and burned the flesh from his bones, leaving him a walking skeleton that reeked of seared meat. Zelia, cracking open enormous eggs and slurping out the screaming infants they contained, her neck bulging grotesquely as she swallowed them down. The marilith demon, hacking open Karrell’s pregnant belly with its swords—inside was a nest of dead snakes tied in an intricate knot.

  Sweat trickled down Arvin’s temples, and he wiped it away with a shaking hand. The nightmare had been so vivid, so clear. Usually, in dreams, some of the senses were blurred, but in this dream every detail of smell, sound, touch, and taste had been present. Even though Arvin was wide awake, the dream wasn’t fading. It hung in his mind’s eye like a gruesome painting.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on Karrell’s face, trying to contact her, but nothing happened. As before, his sending was blocked. The nightmare had left him more worried than ever—had the marilith found Karrell? Killed her? He remembered the prophetic dreams that had woken his mother, screaming, in the middle of the night. Was this what they had been like?

  A hand touched his shoulder—Pakal’s. The dwarf had been standing watch while Arvin slept.

  Pakal muttered something, then spoke. Halfway through, his spell took hold and his words became intelligible. “—you dream?” he asked.

  Arvin shivered. It was still dark, though the sky to the east was growing lighter. Almost dawn. “A nightmare,” he answered.

  Pakal grunted. “I, too. Earlier, when I slept.” His face was difficult to see in the gloom, but the shudder that ran through his body made his feelings clear. “I dreamed of the jungle reduced to ash, like this place.” He waved a hand, indicating a blackened tree that stood like gaunt shadow a few paces away.

  They were almost at the peak of Mount Ugruth. The mountainside was bare black rock, freshly spewed from the volcano. Gray ash and chunks of porous rock covered the ground where they sat. Hot, sulfurous gases vented from a deep crack in the ground a few paces away. The landscape was desolate, like something out of the Abyss.

  Nearby, at the bottom of a crater in the loose volcanic rubble, was a stone dais, much like the one in Sibyl’s lair. It too was of glossy obsidian—red obsidian. Glyphs, carved in Draconic script, encircled its rim. When the sun rose, they would activate.

  According to Pakal, the portal was ancient. It dated to the height of the Serpentes Empire. Despite its incredible antiquity and the recent eruptions that must have pelted it with hot ash and chunks of falling stone, the dais looked almost new. Its edges were sword-sharp. Not a single chip had been knocked from them in all the centuries since its creation.

  Arvin turned to Pakal. “Do you ever dream the future?”

  The dwarf tossed back his braids. “No.”

  “My mother did. She dreamed of her own death—she couldn’t prevent it.” Arvin took a deep, steadying breath. “I dreamed about Karrell, and about our children. It was … terrible.”

  “Something has happened,” Pakal said. “Dendar is not doing her job.”

  For a moment, Arvin wondered if the spell was translating Pakal’s words incorrectly. “Her job?” he echoed. “I thought the Night Serpent was a monster who fed on mortal souls.”

  “Should she ever be released, that is what she would feed upon,” Pakal said. “For now, she sustains herself on our nightmares. The dream fragments we remember upon waking are the crumbs she has left behind. Last night, for some reason, she did not feed.”

  Arvin sat up a little straighter. “Does that mean Dendar is dead?” he asked. If she was, he wouldn’t need to worry about the door to her lair opening.

  Pakal held up a hand. “I know what you are thinking,” he said. “The answer is still no. The Circled Serpent must be destroyed.”

  Arvin nodded, feigning acceptance. He noted Pakal’s wary look and the way the dwarf shifted his sack to his far hand. Arvin had been about to charm him but decided against it. He needed Pakal to show him how to use the portal. If the charm failed, Pakal would have even less reason to trust Arvin. As soon as they had stepped through the portal into the jungle, however, a charm would do the trick. If it failed, Arvin would take the Circled Serpent by force and amend Pakal’s memory to erase any knowledge of the event.

  Arvin glanced at the eastern sky. There was still some time before the sun rose. “Do I have time to meditate?” he asked the dwarf. “I need to restore my magic.”

  At Pakal’s nod, Arvin adopted the bhujan asana and began his meditations. It felt good to slow his mind; it helped push the terrible images of his nightmare away. When he was done, the sun was peeping out from behind Mount Aclor. Slowly, it climbed higher in the sky.

  Pakal climbed down into the crater, sending small avalanches of loose rock and dust toward the dais. Arvin forced himself to wait a moment before rising—casually—to his feet and following. The dais was knee-high on the dwarf but came only midway up Arvin’s calves. One quick step would put him on top of it.

  Together, they watched as sunlight crept across the dais, illuminating it like a waxing moon. As it d
id, the ash that had settled on that half of the dais vanished.

  “What do we do?” Arvin asked. “Step onto it once it’s fully in sunlight?”

  Pakal nodded.

  “Will Ts’ikil be waiting for us on the other side?”

  “She will come once I call her.”

  Good. That would give Arvin some time. As the sunlight crept toward the western edge of the dais, the symbols that were already illuminated began to glow with a ruddy light. It looked, Arvin thought, as though their grooves had suddenly filled with lava. He passed a hand above one of the symbols but felt no heat.

  “Does the dais work like the amber ring?” he asked. “Do we need to be touching to go through together?”

  The dwarf eased himself to the side, slightly increasing the distance between them. “No. Once activated, it will transport anyone who steps onto it, but only for a brief time. Be ready.”

  “I will.”

  Arvin was glad the portal was almost ready. The tingling in his forehead had grown strong. If it was an iron cobra, it was getting closer by the moment. He risked a glance up at the lip of the crater but saw no sign of a snake, iron or otherwise.

  As he started to turn back to the portal, something in the sky caught his attention. A creature flew toward Mount Ugruth from the direction of Hlondeth. It was big, with a serpent’s body and four arms. With a sinking heart, Arvin realized who it must be.

  “Sibyl’s coming!” he warned. “She’s headed straight for us!”

  Pakal glanced in the direction Arvin had pointed then back at the dais. “She is still far enough away,” he said. “We will be in the jungle, with the portal closed behind us, before she can reach us. The portal will not reactivate until tomorrow’s sunrise.”

  Arvin nodded, only partially reassured. Sibyl a day behind them was all well and good if the Circled Serpent was destroyed by then, but destroying it wasn’t Arvin’s goal. A day wouldn’t give him much time to trick Zelia into telling him where Dmetrio was, steal the second half of the Circled Serpent, and rescue Karrell.

  “There,” Pakal continued. “You see? It is ready.”