by Lisa Smedman
“It’s very remote.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you come here?” Arvin asked. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear what the seed thought about Dmetrio’s mission.
“To forge an alliance,” the seed answered. “House Se’sehen has turned its back on House Extaminos. We need new allies in the south.”
That much was the truth. Dmetrio—the real Dmetrio, before Zelia had seeded him—had been ordered south by Lady Dediana on a secret mission to build up the Jennestaa forces in preparation for an attack on the Se’sehen. That, it was hoped, would draw Sibyl south. If all went well, Sibyl would be killed in the resulting battle, thus removing the thorn that had festered in Hlondeth’s side those past two years. With Sibyl dead, Dmetrio could claim her half of the Circled Serpent, use it to free his god, and become Sseth’s avatar.
Zelia, of course, had no intention of letting this happen, nor did she intend to let her seed become an avatar—that much was clear in the seed’s thoughts. The Dmetrio-seed had been given strict orders to get the second half of the Circled Serpent from Arvin, kill him, and hand both halves over to Zelia.
The seed, of course, had his own thoughts on that matter. The idea of becoming Sseth’s avatar—of gaining powers far beyond those the original Zelia possessed—was a tempting one, but also one that gave the seed pause. Zelia was a more powerful psion and a dangerous woman to cross. Seeds who had attempted betrayal before had all met a swift death.
Arvin pressed deeper. Had the Dmetrio-seed learned where the door was? Arvin couldn’t find it anywhere in the seed’s thoughts. That was disappointing, but there was still more to be learned. Whether the seed had told Zelia that Arvin had contacted him, for example.
“Was that why the Se’sehen attacked Hlondeth?” Arvin continued. “Because of the new alliance?”
The Dmetrio-seed blinked. He’d had no idea Hlondeth was under attack.
“You didn’t know?” Arvin continued, even though he’d already heard the answer in the Dmetrio-seed’s thoughts. “Zelia didn’t tell you?”
The seed, he learned, hadn’t been in touch with Zelia since receiving the message that Arvin would get in touch with him soon. The seed had wanted to alert Zelia to the fact that Arvin had just contacted him with a sending—that Arvin had the other half of the Circled Serpent—but Juz’la had advised against it. Amazingly, the seed had acquiesced.
“When did this attack take place?” the Dmetrio-seed asked.
“Two days ago.”
The seed hissed. An attack on Hlondeth, he was thinking, might mean an attack on Ss’yin was imminent. The Jennestaa had been working hard to create an army, but they were nowhere near ready yet. After a moment, however, his agitation eased. He’d ask Juz’la for advice; she’d know what to do.
“War makes odd bedfellows,” Arvin prompted, hoping to hear more about Juz’la.
The Dmetrio-seed didn’t take the bait. His lips quirked into a smile. “That it does. The Jennestaa are wild and uncivilized—they find beauty in the power of the jungle to break apart even the largest stone. They’d like to see every city laid waste and reclaimed by the jungle.”
“Even Hlondeth?”
The Dmetrio-seed touched Arvin’s arm, drew him closer. “Even Hlondeth,” he breathed in Arvin’s ear. “Fortunately, they’ll never get that far.”
Arvin started to draw away—then stopped, as he smelled a faint but unmistakable odor. A perfume-sweet scent, overlaid with wine.
Hassaael.
That was what was muddying the Dmetrio-seed’s thoughts and making Zelia as passive as a slurring drunk. Like the Talassan on Mount Ugruth, she had fallen entirely under the sway of whoever had fed her hassaael.
Arvin could guess who that was.
Juz’la.
It all fit. Juz’la had run afoul of a yuan-ti slaver in Skullport, and she’d drunk a magic potion that transformed her—a potion that sounded hauntingly familiar to the one the Pox had used to transform Naulg. That potion had come from a slaver named Ssarm, a man who was also a supplier of hassaael to Sibyl’s minions.
Juz’la was one of them, a minion powerful enough to have conquered Zelia—or rather, one of Zelia’s mind seeds. Zelia, Arvin was certain, didn’t know that yet. She’d noticed the “dulling” of her seed’s mind but had put it down to his osssra use.
A slithering footstep drew Arvin’s attention to one of the tunnels. He glanced up in time to see Juz’la step into the chamber. She held a wine glass made of delicate green crystal in her hand.
“Ah,” she hissed. “Our guest has arrived.” She held the glass out to Arvin. “You must be thirsty after your journey. Here, drink.”
CHAPTER 8
Thank you,” Arvin said, taking the wine glass. He pretended not to notice the twin puncture marks on the inside of Juz’la’s wrist. “I am indeed thirsty. This is the hottest place I’ve ever been.”
He swept the improvised turban off his head and mopped his brow with it, then pretended to stuff it into his pocket. When he removed his hand, the fabric was inside his sleeve. He transferred the glass to this hand and raised it to his lips. He was tempted to manifest a distraction but was wary of alerting Juz’la with a secondary display. If she’d associated with Zelia in the past, she’d certainly know all about psions. He’d already noted the glance she’d given the crystal that hung at his neck.
The Dmetrio-seed stood slightly behind Juz’la. Arvin glanced in his direction and gave his head the slightest of shakes—just enough so Juz’la would notice. As he’d hoped, she glanced behind her to see what the seed was up to. Arvin used the opportunity to turn slightly to the right, to screen what he was doing from the seed, and tip the wine down his sleeve. The fabric inside it soaked it up, and any that bled through to his shirt would blend in with the sweat that already dampened it. He allowed the dregs of the wine to wet his tightly closed lips. As Juz’la turned back toward him, frowning, he wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. If she saw any wine stains on his sleeve, she’d likely attribute them to that; few people could remember which hand, exactly, had been used in such a casual gesture.
“Unusual taste,” he commented.
Juz’la glanced at the burning oil—probably making sure he hadn’t poured the wine into it—and smiled. Her eye teeth were slender and curved, like a snake’s. Scales covered her hairless scalp, her neck, and her arms, which were quite muscular. She wore a tight-fitting dress of a gauzy material that did nothing to hide her breasts or the darker patch of scales at her groin. If she’d been fed the same potion that Naulg had, it had left her mind remarkably unscathed; her eyes shone with a keen intelligence.
A black bracelet encircled her left wrist. Only when it lifted its head did Arvin realize it was a tiny viper. Juz’la lifted it to her lips and kissed it, then whispered an endearment to it as the tiny serpent twined around her fingers.
“Who are you?” Arvin asked, putting just a hint of suspicion into his voice.
“An old friend of Dmetrio’s.”
Arvin gave a mental nod. Juz’la was keeping up the pretense that Dmetrio was still himself. The Dmetrio-seed himself probably hadn’t realized that Arvin knew his secret.
“What’s your part in this?” Arvin continued.
“The same as yours. To help Dmetrio accomplish his goal.”
“I see.”
Arvin glanced at the seed, who followed their conversation with a passive look on his face. He wondered how much Sibyl’s spy had been able to glean from the seed. “Dmetrio” would have all of Zelia’s memories up to the time the seed was planted; if Juz’la had been rifling through those, she might know as much about Arvin as Zelia did. Presumably, she’d lifted more recent information from the seed, as well. Arvin had to assume Juz’la knew about the deal he’d struck with Zelia, and about Karrell. She would know that Karrell served Ubtao, a god that was Sseth’s enemy, and that Karrell was in Smaragd.
Arvin was suddenly very glad that Sseth’s worshipers we
re no longer in communication with their god.
“Where have you hidden the Circled Serpent?” Juz’la asked.
Arvin was surprised by the blunt demand. It had obviously been intended to startle. Juz’la whispered something to her viper again as she played with it, disguising the words and gestures of a spell. Arvin felt energy flow up his arm: Karrell’s ring, blocking what must have been an attempt to listen in on his thoughts.
He manifested a power of his own. If she heard its secondary display, she might think it was because he was blocking her spell. His attempt to charm her, however, was met by a force that pushed his awareness back so hard it made his head ache. Either Juz’la had an amazingly strong mind, or magic shielded her.
“How about this,” Arvin said, meeting her gaze with a challenging look. “You show me your half of the Circled Serpent, and I’ll show you mine.”
If Juz’la was disappointed by her spell’s lack of success, she didn’t show it. “You’ve made a mistake,” she said. “It’s not me you need to bargain with. I’m only Dmetrio’s … assistant.”
The Dmetrio-seed stepped forward. “I realize you don’t trust me, Arvin,” he hissed. “You’re no more likely to hand me your half than I am to give you mine. Juz’la is our compromise. When the time comes to open the door, she can put the two halves together and wield the key.”
Arvin wondered how much the hassaael would have affected him had he drunk it. It was probably safe to express a few lingering doubts. He glanced at Juz’la.
“Why should I trust her? We’ve only just met.”
The Dmetrio-seed smiled—a slight upturn of the lips that was all Zelia. “Talk to her,” he suggested. “Get to know her. Then decide.” The smile widened. “Take your time. From what Zelia told me, I’m sure Karrell can wait.”
Hissing with laughter, the Dmetrio-seed transformed into a serpent and slithered from the chamber.
Juz’la turned to Arvin. “Hungry?”
Arvin quickly considered whether Juz’la might drug any food he was served then decided that she probably wouldn’t bother after having plied him with hassaael. Besides, he needed to show that he was starting to trust her.
“Famished,” he answered. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
Juz’la smiled. She turned and hissed something; a moment later, one of the mutated halflings—a male—carried in a platter bearing a selection of bright orange and green fruits. The half-lizard had a stubby tail and a scattering of yellow scales across his face, back, and chest. Four horns that looked as if they had only recently budded rose from his forehead, and his elbows and knees were scabbed over with what looked like fresh scales. He walked erect, however, still more halfling than lizard.
Kneeling, the half-lizard placed the platter on the floor. He started to back out of the chamber on his knees, but Juz’la flicked a hand at him.
“No need for that, Porvar,” she said.
The half-lizard hesitated.
Arvin hid his frown just in time. Juz’la’s attempt to show him that she treated the slaves well was failing miserably.
“You may go,” she hissed.
Porvar turned and scurried away.
Juz’la indicated the platter with a wave of her hand. “Please eat,” she said.
Arvin did. The fruit was thirst-quenching and tasted sweeter than any he’d eaten before. He licked the juice from his fingers.
Juz’la watched him in silence. Then, abruptly, she spoke. “Dmetrio told me about the bargain you struck with him,” she said. “You want to enter Smaragd to rescue your woman—Karrell.”
“Yes,” Arvin said.
Juz’la gave him a conspiratorial smile. “You don’t need Dmetrio for that.”
Arvin played along. “Yes, I do. He has half of the Circled Serpent, remember?”
Juz’la gave him an unblinking stare. “So what? I know where it is.”
“Ah,” Arvin said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I see how it is, now.” He used the gesture to hide his breath, which should have smelled strongly of the drug. His back was against the dish of flaming oil. Pretending its heat made him uncomfortable, he stepped away from it, putting more distance between himself and Juz’la. “Why betray Dmetrio?” he asked her. “What’s in it for you?”
“It’s not Dmetrio I’m betraying. It’s Zelia.”
Despite his years of hiding his reactions from the guild, that one made Arvin blink. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do. You know who Dmetrio really is—why do you think I left you alone with him so long? I know about your powers. You can listen in on other people’s thoughts, sift through their memories.” She held up a hand when he started to protest. “You tried to do that with me a few moments ago.”
Arvin shook his head. “I merely—”
“Here’s what you would have learned, had you been able to probe my mind, as well,” Juz’la continued. “I discovered, shortly after my arrival in Ss’yin, that Dmetrio is one of Zelia’s seeds, and I decided to take my revenge upon her by thwarting whatever the seed hoped to accomplish.”
“Revenge for what?” Arvin asked.
“Years ago, Zelia and I both worked for the Hall of Mental Splendor in Skullport, an organization similar to a rogues’ guild that offered spies for hire. We became … friends.
“A few years ago, I was assigned the task of gathering information on one of Skullport’s slavers, a man named Ssarm. Around the time of that assignment, Zelia announced that she was leaving Skullport. She told me she was setting out on her own—she’d just learned how to plant mind seeds, and meant to build up an organization similar to the Hall—but there was more to her departure than that.
“The day after Zelia left, Ssarm learned I’d been selling his secrets. To say that he was furious about this would be an understatement. He … punished me.”
For several moments, her eyes shone with a fierce hatred. Then she smiled. “I know what you’re thinking—even without my spells. Ssarm is Sibyl’s man, but no, I’m not one of the abomination’s followers.”
For a heartbeat or two, Arvin actually believed her. Juz’la was that good. A strand of truth ran through everything she’d just said, but the end of the braid was frayed in two places.
Back at the portal, Pakal had said that the Dmetrio-seed had been in contact with Karrell’s organization, the K’aaxlaat. Juz’la must have known this. If all she wanted to do was thwart Sibyl’s plans, she could have handed the Dmetrio-seed’s half of the Circled Serpent over to them for eventual destruction.
Zelia couldn’t have been the one who betrayed Juz’la to Ssarm. Zelia had only heard the slaver’s name for the first time a year before, when Arvin told it to her. Juz’la was faking her vengeful anger.
All of the threads came neatly together in a tight knot, however, if Juz’la was working for Sibyl.
Juz’la stared with unblinking eyes at Arvin as he considered his answer. Once again, Arvin was glad that Karrell’s ring was on his finger.
“It sounds like we have a mutual enemy,” Arvin said at last.
Juz’la smiled like a snake that had just swallowed a mouse. “Zelia’s seed was wary of me, at first,” she continued, “but she was also arrogant—and just as blinded by vanity as Zelia herself. The seed thought I was fooled by the body it wore. When I cast my domination spell, she never even noticed.”
Arvin knew exactly what Juz’la was up to by claiming to have used a spell on the seed: trying to provide an explanation for the effects of the hassaael. He resisted the urge to touch the crystal at his neck. Tymora herself must have placed Thessania, the false stormmistress, in his path. If she hadn’t, he’d never have known what hassaael was. He pretended to scowl.
“Don’t try that on me,” he warned. “My psionics—”
“Are a match for my sorcery, I’m sure,” Juz’la said. A flicker of forked tongue appeared between her teeth as she laughed. Then her smile was gone. “Here’s what I propose. Go and get your half from wherever you�
�ve hidden it. Contact me with a sending, and I’ll tell you where the door to Smaragd is. I’ll steal Zelia’s half and meet you there.” She paused, measuring him with her eyes. “Agreed?”
Arvin stared back at her, pretending to consider the offer. According to the Dmetrio-seed’s memories, it had been five nights since Juz’la had learned where “Dmetrio’s” half of the Circled Serpent was—two full days before Arvin and Pakal had snuck into Sibyl’s lair and stolen her half of the Circled Serpent. If Sibyl had known where the door was, she would have opened it during the time that both halves were in her possession, but she hadn’t known where it was. That was what her dreaming minions had been searching for: the location of the door. They hoped their god would tell them.
It also explained why the Dmetrio-seed hadn’t been killed already. Sibyl had probably hoped that Zelia would learn the door’s location and relay it to her seed, allowing Juz’la to intercept the information.
There was the slim possibility, however, that Sibyl had learned the door’s location in the two days since Arvin and Pakal had stolen her half of the Circled Serpent, and—an even slimmer possibility—that she had told Juz’la where it was. Before he killed Juz’la, Arvin needed to rule that out.
“Agreed,” Arvin lied. “I’ll go and get my half at once.”
Juz’la gave a satisfied hiss and stroked the head of her viper. “Excellent. I’ll summon Hrishniss. She can fly you back to wherever—”
Arvin didn’t give her a chance to finish. Silver flashed from his forehead as he hurled a stream of ectoplasm at her. It struck exactly where he’d intended: the hand that was stroking the viper. Strands of shimmering ectoplasm wound themselves around both her hand and face, immobilizing and gagging her, and preventing her from casting any spells. As he cinched them tight, Arvin manifested a mental shield between them. If Juz’la used her magical fear on him, the shield would deflect at least part of it.
He drew his dagger and spoke over the droning of his secondary display. “If you want to live,” he threatened, “you’re going to answer some quest—”