by Lisa Smedman
He activated the lapis lazuli and pictured Dmetrio in his mind. The yuan-ti noble’s features were easy enough to remember: high forehead, dark, swept-back hair, narrow nose, slit-pupil eyes, and flickering forked tongue. The connection wouldn’t come, no matter how vehemently Arvin mentally whispered Dmetrio’s name.
Dmetrio had either shielded himself—or he was dead.
Then Arvin realized there was a third possibility: that Dmetrio was dead in a manner of speaking, dead at Zelia’s hands.
Zelia claimed to serve House Extaminos, but the mind seed she’d planted in Arvin had given him an intimate knowledge of where her loyalties truly lay. She thought of herself not as a subject of Lady Dediana but as working for herself, and she craved power. If the opportunity presented itself for her to become Sseth’s avatar, she would have seized it.
The Naneth-seed had been Zelia’s ticket into Sibyl’s lair. With Naneth in place, there was a good possibility of both halves of the Circled Serpent falling into Zelia’s hands if she could also control Dmetrio. Seeding the son of Hlondeth’s ruler would have been a dangerous move for Zelia to make, but the fact that Dmetrio was headed south, where few knew him, made it slightly less risky. A seeded Dmetrio would explain why none of Arvin’s sendings to the prince those past few months had been successful.
Still holding the image of Dmetrio’s face in his mind, Arvin shifted his thoughts slightly. He imagined an identical body that housed a mind that went by a different name.
Zelia.
Immediately, his mental image of Dmetrio animated. The mind seed was lounging, his predominantly human body bent backward in an approximation of a coiled serpent. He was holding a languid conversation with someone Arvin couldn’t see, but he broke that off immediately as the sending manifested. Slit-pupil eyes stared at Arvin for a long, appraising moment. Then the Dmetrio-seed’s tongue flickered out of an anticipatory smile. Its mouth hissed a silent word: “Arvin.”
Arvin took a deep breath. Dmetrio, he began, Zelia sent me. I have the upper half of the serpent. Tell me where you are, and I’ll bring it to you.
The Dmetrio-seed smiled. A heartbeat later, Arvin felt a familiar tingling in his forehead. Stay where you are, the seed answered. The jungle is dangerous. I’ll come to you.
“I’ll bet you will,” Arvin muttered as the sending ended. It had been just the response he’d hoped for. He had no doubt that the Dmetrio-seed had just scryed him. The stone head would be a familiar landmark, and the seed would be there soon.
He glanced again at the water the strange creature had drunk from then decided not to chance it. Quenching his thirst would wait. He needed to get ready.
It was early evening, and still the Dmetrio-seed hadn’t shown up. Arvin wondered if he’d guessed wrong. Maybe he wasn’t in Chult, but some other, even more distant place. He’d finished his meditations long ago and sat, hidden in the foliage a few paces distant from the stone head, but still there was no sign of the seed.
Finally, low in the sky to the west, Arvin spotted something. At first he took it to be a soaring bird, but the movement and proportions were all wrong. It was, instead, a person seated on a carpet.
He was reminded of the magical carpets of Calimshan. He’d once been hired to repair one—though it had turned out to have a more deadly purpose than flying. As the person on the carpet drew closer, Arvin rendered himself invisible and created an illusionary image of himself sitting cross-legged on the stone head. Ectoplasm shimmered on the stone then swiftly evaporated in the heat. He toyed with the ring on his finger—he was counting on it to hide his thoughts from any probe the seed might do of the general area around the stone head—and watched as the flying carpet approached. As soon as it was close enough for its passenger to manifest a power against him, Arvin threw up a psionic shield.
On the carpet sat a yuan-ti, not Dmetrio, but a female. She was dressed as the Se’sehen had been, in a cape—hers made of overlapping “scales” of turquoise feathers—and a clinging, gauzy tunic that ended just below her waist, where her snake tail began. Both her skin and her scales were a dark brown. A band of gold encircled her left wrist, and a round plug of jade as wide as Arvin’s thumb pierced the skin between her lower lip and chin. Instead of hair, a ruff of scales framed her face.
Wary that she might be yet another of Zelia’s seeds—or the Dmetrio-seed itself, cloaked in illusion—Arvin probed her mind as soon as she was within range. To his surprise, he encountered no resistance. If she saw the silver that sparkled out of thin air when he manifested the power, she gave no sign.
She studied the illusion, mentally comparing it to the description Hlondeth’s prince had given her. She was surprised by how human Arvin looked. Dmetrio had led her to believe the person she’d been sent to fetch was a halfblood.
She spoke. Arvin, inside her mind, understood the words, even though they were spoken in Draconic. She asked if he was the one she’d been sent to fetch. He made the illusion nod.
Meanwhile, he probed deeper. The yuan-ti’s name was Hrishniss, and she was a noble of House Jennestaa. She was one of those who had greeted Dmetrio when the prince had come to her tribe nearly six months before on a highly secret mission from Hlondeth. House Extaminos was poised to turn against its former allies, and assisted by the Jennestaa and Eselemaa, it would conquer the Se’sehen in a surprise attack.
She obviously had no idea what was going on in Hlondeth.
Hrishniss had no psionic powers, no clerical spells, also no attack or defense forms, aside from those native to the yuan-ti race. She had come alone and knew nothing about Arvin save that she was to fetch him back to Ss’yin, the ruined city he’d spotted in the distance. Her thoughts gave Arvin the city’s full name—Ss’yin’tia’saminass—a word Arvin knew he’d never have a hope of pronouncing without a serpent’s forked tongue.
Arvin’s attempt to lure the Dmetrio-seed to him had failed. It looked as though Arvin would have to go to the seed instead—to place his head inside the serpent’s mouth, so to speak.
Still wary but seeing no reason why he should continue to hide, Arvin ended the illusion and allowed himself to become visible. Hrishniss blinked but otherwise didn’t react. Yuan-ti didn’t startle easily, and she was no exception. She hissed something at him—an invitation for him to climb onto the carpet with her.
Arvin took a closer look at it. The “carpet” was a section of shed snakeskin with dozens of wings from the tiny flying snakes sewn into its hem. The translucent skin looked fragile, as if it would tear if too much weight were placed upon it. He climbed onto it—the skin gave slightly but seemed strong enough—and seated himself facing the yuan-ti. She turned her back to him and stared to the west, and the carpet moved in that direction.
As they flew toward the ruined city, Arvin wondered what was going on. It wasn’t like Zelia to delegate a task, especially one as important as retrieving someone who claimed to have half of the Circled Serpent. She didn’t trust anyone but her seeds—if indeed she trusted them. Arvin worried that Hrishniss might be part of some elaborate scheme but couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it might be.
With a growing sense of unease, he rode the carpet toward Ss’yin.
The ruined city was even larger than Arvin expected—three times the size of Hlondeth at least. It stretched through the jungle for a vast distance. Tree-covered mounds that had once been buildings gave the jungle canopy a bumpy appearance. Here and there Arvin could see the jagged remains of a partially collapsed arch or viaduct rising above the treetops. Circular patches of lighter-colored vegetation marked the spots where plazas had once been. In the center of some of these were the lower coils of enormous serpent sculptures.
The setting sun filled the spaces between the ruins with ominous shadows. Dozens of yuan-ti slithered and strode those shadows.
As the carpet descended, a depression in the ground caught Arvin’s eye—it looked like the remains of an enormous cistern. The rim of it was lined with hundreds of needle-like
spikes that faced inward and down. It looked as though there were people inside it, and as the carpet passed over the cistern, Arvin got a better look. He was stunned to see a dozen halflings in ragged clothing, huddled in a group. One was smaller than the rest, probably a child. Two of them looked up listlessly as the carpet flew overhead. The rest stared at the floor.
Arvin once again manifested the power that would allow him to read Hrishniss’s thoughts, then tapped the yuan-ti on the shoulder and pointed down. She spoke in her own language, but Arvin heard the words as they formed in her mind just before each was spoken.
“Monkey-men,” she said. “Soon to join the other slaves, once we have altered them.”
The word she’d used—“altered”—had several other meanings rolled into one. It was also the word for “improved” and “magically changed,” and strangely enough, the word for “fed”—specifically, for feeding a liquid to someone.
With a growing horror, Arvin realized what Hrishniss meant. The halflings below were going to suffer a similar fate to his friend Naulg. They would be fed a potion that would transform them into lizard creatures, just like the half-lizard Arvin had spotted in the plaza.
Arvin swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. His best chance at doing anything for the wretches below lay in feigning indifference. He stared back at Hrishniss, his face impassive, and nodded his approval.
They landed, as the sun was setting, in the deep shadow of a pyramid. It was shaped like a coiled serpent but was missing its head—this lay in the jungle nearby, blank eyes peering out of an overgrowth of vines. The broken neck was hollow. The serpent’s mouth must have been the pyramid’s original entrance.
As Hrishniss and Arvin stepped off the carpet, one of the half-lizards scuttled out of the shadows to retrieve it—a female with dull brown hair that had fallen out on the left side of her head to be replaced by scales. She smelled as if she had not bathed in several tendays and her clothes hung in rags. There were twin punctures in her left arm—bite marks—each surrounded by a nasty looking patch of red. Her eyes had a tortured, half-mad look that reminded Arvin of the way Naulg had looked just before he died.
Hrishniss hissed an order. The half-lizard flinched.
Arvin balled his fists. He exhaled, long and slow, breathing out his anger. He couldn’t offer the transformed halfling so much as a sympathetic glance. He turned away and followed Hrishniss up the pyramid.
They entered the neck of the snake and descended through the pyramid’s spiraling interior. For several circuits, they moved through darkness. Arvin had to listen for the sound of Hrishniss’ footsteps as her feet slid along the stone. He walked with one hand brushing the wall, sliding his own feet forward to feel out any debris or sudden gaps, but he didn’t encounter any. Despite the great age of the pyramid, its interior was clean and smooth.
The spiraling corridor lightened, and a yellow light flickered up ahead. The air felt drier. Arvin could smell sweet-scented smoke. Rounding the last bend, they entered a circular room illuminated by a enormous metal brazier, filled with oil, that occupied the center of the room. Yellow flames rippled across its surface, occasionally crackling as one of the chunks of resin floating on the surface burst into flame. Shadows danced on the walls, which were pierced around the circumference of the room with eight circular tunnels, including the one Hrishniss and Arvin had just emerged from. Each had been carved to resemble the open mouth of a serpent, and was framed by elongated, stylized fangs that stretched from roof to floor like curved pillars.
Inside one of those tunnels—the one directly opposite where Arvin stood—the Dmetrio-seed lounged, naked. His back was against one wall, his feet propped up on the other. His tongue flickered in and out of his mouth as he stared up at Arvin through the brazier’s dancing flames. One hand made a lazy gesture.
“Leave us,” he hissed.
Hrishniss bowed then backed out of the chamber.
Something tickled Arvin’s forehead: his lapis lazuli, warning him that someone was using detection magic. Someone was scrying him.
There was nothing he could do about that now. Ignoring the tingling, he mentally braced himself. He stared at the Dmetrio-seed, ready for the psionic attack he was certain was coming, one thread of his awareness deep in his muladhara, touching the energy it contained. Worried that the burning oil might contain osssra, he breathed as shallowly as he could. He felt clear-headed, however. Sharp. Ready. He had defeated one of Zelia’s mind seeds already, and he would match another, blow for blow, and beat it down, too—but not until he absolutely had to. For the time being, he’d play the game, pretending he didn’t know it was Zelia.
The Dmetrio-seed rose to his feet and moved toward Arvin. The body might be male, but the swaying walk was feminine, seductive. Arvin wondered if the seed realized he was doing it. Arvin kept his eyes firmly on the Dmetrio-seed’s face, deliberately not looking down at the spot in the yuan-ti’s groin where his genitals were hidden.
“Lord Extaminos,” Arvin said, bowing.
“Arvin.” The answer was in a higher, softer tone than Dmetrio had used. “Zelia told me to expect you. Did you bring it?”
“No,” Arvin said. “It’s hidden. When the time comes, I’ll go get it.”
He felt a finger-light tickle touch his mind and heard the tinkling of Zelia’s secondary display. A surge of magical energy tingled up his arm from Karrell’s ring, sweeping away the seed’s attempt to read Arvin’s thoughts. Arvin drew energy up through his navel, into his forehead, preparing to manifest a defense against whatever the seed hurled at him next.
The Dmetrio-seed merely smiled.
Sweat trickled down Arvin’s temples. This was unlike Zelia. He had to know what was going on. Taking a big risk, he redirected the energy that swirled around his navel and third eye into the base of his scalp instead. The Dmetrio-seed frowned slightly and turned his head, as if a distant sound had caught his attention.
Then, amazingly, Arvin was in.
It was Zelia’s mind, all right. She stared at Arvin with tightly controlled loathing. He was a human—a member of a lesser race. An insect. Like an annoying gnat, he kept coming back to pester her over and over again. She ached to manifest a catapsi and watch his psionic energies bleed from him, then kill him. Slowly. For the moment, he was a gnat she dared not swat, not after all of the work the original Zelia had done to set things up. Of course Arvin hadn’t been foolish enough to bring the other half of the Circled Serpent with him; Juz’la had said to expect that. Juz’la would worm the secret of where it was hidden out of Arvin. Yes, the seed would leave that to her.
Arvin blinked. Who was Juz’la? Whoever she was, the Dmetrio-seed was deferring to her like a subordinate. Arvin was shocked to hear even a seed of Zelia admitting that someone else was more powerful and capable. It was inconceivable.
He dug deeper and was surprised at the ease with which he read the Dmetrio-seed’s thoughts. It was as if he were walking a well-worn path. The seed offered no resistance. Was he playing some sort of game—one that involved luring Arvin deeper into his mind? Arvin pushed on warily.
In a matter of moments, he had learned where the Dmetrio-seed had hidden the lower half of the Circled Serpent: inside a ceramic statue of Sseth that had been part of the tribute he had presented to the Jennestaa upon his arrival at Ss’yin, a statue that now sat in a place of honor on one of their altars. Bound up with that information was a much more recent memory—from five nights before—of the Dmetrio-seed bragging to Juz’la, over a glass of wine, how clever the hiding place was. No yuan-ti would dare smash open a statue of the god.
Arvin frowned. Juz’la again.
He found a picture of her in the Dmetrio-seed’s memories: a dark-skinned yuan-ti woman with a bald head covered in orange and yellow snake scales that dipped down onto her forehead in a widow’s peak. The image was nested amid a memory of the Dmetrio-seed seducing Juz’la. Memories of that seduction drifted to the surface of the seed’s thoughts: Juz’la straddli
ng the seed, naked, her muscular body glistening with acidic sweat, an indifferent look on her face. Skirting those images—which were fuzzy and incomplete, like the memories of a drunken man—Arvin explored the connection between the two. Zelia and Juz’la were old friends. They had known each other, long ago, in the city of Skullport.
The Dmetrio-seed had been surprised to learn that Juz’la had left Skullport, but he’d accepted Juz’la’s explanation of needing to leave the city quickly, something about having run afoul of a slaver there. As for how Juz’la had wound up in the Black Jungles, that was simple. She had taken passage on a ship that had sailed through one of Skullport’s many portals—one that led to the Lapal Sea—then made her way west. The seed thought it odd that Juz’la had wound up here in Ss’yin shortly after he did, but life was like that—people’s lives entwined in the strangest of ways.
Stranger still was the fact that Juz’la, once human, now appeared to be yuan-ti. That part, too, Juz’la had explained. She’d drunk a potion, one that had transformed her into a yuan-ti. It was something she’d always wanted. Venom is power, she’d said.
All of this had the ring of truth—or at least, the truth as the Dmetrio-seed believed it to be. Something still didn’t sit right, however. Zelia never accepted stories at face value, and one of her seeds would never look up to a human—even one who had since been transformed into a yuan-ti—with the kind of admiration and respect, even awe, that Arvin heard echoing through the seed’s thoughts.
The Dmetrio-seed stared idly at the flaming oil—again, a most uncharacteristic behavior for one of Zelia’s seeds. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he hissed. “Just like a slitherglow.”
Arvin looked around, pretending to study the chamber. “This city must be ancient,” he said, stalling as he tried to think what to do next.
“It was built centuries ago,” the seed answered, “at the height of the Serpentes Empire.”