Vanity's brood hos-3

by Lisa Smedman

  The driver started to glance in Arvin's direction, then stared at something beyond him and gasped. Arvin glanced over his shoulder and saw the cobra rearing, its head level with the cart, its mouth clear. It lashed out, its fangs missing Arvin's hand by a hair's breadth. Then the cart veered off the road and into a fallow field. The horse broke into a trot, leaving the cobra behind. It followed, but the cart was moving too quickly for it to catch.

  The driver of the cart turned again, met Arvin's eye, then broke into laughter. Arvin, taking a better look at him, was equally bemused. The driver was the half-elf Arvin had warned earlier, the one with the unlaced trousers. His long black hair was tangled and dusty, and one of his eyes was starting to purple. Someone must have thrown a punch at him. His trousers were laced and belted, and a thin black wand was tucked into the belt. A leather bag sat between his feet, bulging with something that clinked as the cart jostled along. Passing the whip into the hand that held the reins, he extended his left hand. Arvin took it and clambered onto the seat beside him.

  "Good haul, hey?" the half-elf grinned, tipping his head at the dozens of jugs the cart held.

  Arvin nodded, still panting from his mad scramble across the field.

  "Was that a yuan-ti chasing you?" the driver asked.

  "It was a-" Arvin paused, not really sure what it was. Better not to say too much. "Yes," he lied. "I think so."

  Once they were ahead of the refugees the half-elf tugged on the reins, steering the horse back onto the road. "I just hope whatever you got was worth it."

  "My life," Arvin muttered, touching a finger to his crystal.

  The driver grunted. "You can call me Darris," he said, holding out a hand.

  Arvin clasped it. "Call me Vin, and thanks for the ride."

  Danis made a circle with forefinger and thumb and flicked it open, then tapped his index fingers lightly together: It's nothing, friend.

  "Where are you headed?" Arvin asked.

  Darris glanced back at the city. A mansion in the noble section burned, throwing a plume of dirty gray smoke into the air. Figures struggled in combat on the viaducts. Arvin saw two tiny shapes fall, snake tails flailing, into the street below.

  "Away from that," the half-elf said at last. "Somewhere I can stash this until things cool down." He glanced at Arvin's abbreviated little finger and added. "Somewhere the guild won't take their cut."

  Arvin nodded at the road that switchbacked up into the hills, toward Mount Ugruth. "There's an old quarry about a day's journey up the aqueduct road," he said. "Lots of broken rock, lots of places to hide things. The Talos worshipers use it as a stopping place on their way up the mountain, and they've built some huts out of the rubble."

  "Sounds like as good a place as any," Danis said, flicking the reins.

  Arvin whispered a prayer to Tymora, thanking her for sending Darris his way. Riding in a cart, he stood an excellent chance of catching up to Pakal.

  He glanced back at the city one last time. Sunlight glinted off an object that slithered along the road, causing the refugees to draw away from it in

  fear. It was the iron cobra, still following him, and still producing a tickling sensation in the scar on Arvin's forehead.

  "What's wrong?" Darris asked.

  "It's the… yuan-ti," Arvin said. "He's following us."

  Darris flicked the reins again. "Don't worry. He won't catch us, not unless he sprouts wings."

  Arvin nodded, uneasy. The metal construct might not have wings, but Sibyl did. The battle of Hlondeth was keeping her busy for the moment, but when it was over, the iron cobra would lead her straight to him.

  The cart jolted to a stop. Shaken awake, Arvin rose from the space he'd cleared for himself between the jugs of wine and looked around. By the slant of the sun, it was late afternoon. They had reached the quarry. Arvin recognized the cliff that had been cut into the forested hillside, the large blocks of broken stone that littered the ground, and the crude shelters that had been built out of unmortared stone and tree branches. When he'd been there a year ago, the place had been crawling with Talos worshipers. It had since been deserted.

  Arvin rubbed the scar on his forehead. The tickling sensation was gone. The iron cobra had either given up its search, or they'd left it far behind.

  "Looks like we've got the place to ourselves," he observed.

  "Not for long," Darris said as he climbed down from the cart. "We passed a gaggle of doomsayers on the way up here. They wanted me to stop and sell them wine, but I told them they'd have to wait until they reached the quarry." He looped the reins of the

  horse around a tree branch and lifted the leather sack down from the driver's seat. It must have been heavy; he staggered slightly as he stepped back from the cart. "I wanted a chance to dispose of this first."

  The cart had pulled up under the aqueduct that ran alongside the road. Mist drifted down from above, a welcome respite from the heat. Arvin turned his face toward it and closed his eyes, savoring the spray.

  "Go ahead," he told Darris. "I won't look."

  "That's right," Darris said, his tone changing. "You won't."

  Arvin opened his eyes and saw Darris point the wand at him.

  "Danis! Don't-"

  A thin line of black crackled out of the tip of the wand and struck Arvin in the face.

  He was blind.

  "Stay where you are," Darris said. "I'll be right back."

  "Darris, wait!" Arvin shouted. "I won't…" His voice trailed off as he realized the futility of pleading. Guild members didn't trust each other at the best of times, and they certainly didn't trust those who had "robbed" from the guild-as Arvin's amputated finger announced for all the world to see-which was ironic, because Darris was doing exactly the same thing: betraying the guild by denying them their share of his loot.

  Arvin sighed. He'd just have to wait it out and pray that the wand's effects weren't permanent.

  He heard the horse whickering, the splatter of water dripping from the aqueduct above, and the distant grumble of thunder as storm clouds built over the Vilhon Reach. Somewhere in that direction, the rulership of Hlondeth was being contested. Serpent

  versus serpent-a battle that needn't concern him. He said a prayer for the few people he actually cared about in that city, though there weren't many. Tanju was away for the summer, off on another mission for House Extaminos, and so would be safe. Gonthril and his followers had gone to ground, and Arvin hadn't seen the rebel leader in a year. Nicco had wandered off about four months past, summoned by his perpetually angry god on another mission of vengeance, but Drin, the potion seller, was still in town. So was little Kollim, eight years old and chafing under his mother's heavy hand. Tymora grant both of them luck.

  The nap in the back of the cart had been uncomfortable, but it had refreshed him somewhat. He felt strong enough to perform his meditations. Arvin felt his way down from the cart, placed his pack on the ground next to him, then stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. He lay down on his belly on the road, then levered his upper torso into an arch by extending his arms. Stretched out in the bhujang asana, his neck craned back and sightless eyes staring up into the sky, he pulled his awareness deep inside himself. It was even easier without sight to distract him, or it would have been, had he been certain that his eyesight would return. His mind was crowded with worries. There was no guarantee that Pakal would wait for him at the temple. The dwarf had abandoned Arvin once already, and there was also the iron cobra to worry about.

  Arvin took a deep breath and pushed these thoughts from his mind with the exhalation. "Control," he breathed.

  It was Zelia's expression, but it served. In order to get through what lay ahead, he'd need nerves as steady as hers. He breathed in through one nostril, out through his mouth, in through the other nostril,

  out through his mouth, slow and deep, savoring the smell of sap from the pine trees nearby, restorlng his muladhara with each long, extended breath.

  When it was full, he rose graceful
ly to his feet and began the five poses of defense and five poses of attack that Tanju had taught him, alternating one with the other. He raised his hands and tilted his face back, then swept his hands through the air in front of his face, as if scrubbing his mind clean. Then he brought both hands to his forehead and thrust them forward, feet braced like a man shoving against a boulder, picturing his thrust shattering the rock that was an opponent's mind. He spun in a circle with hands extended and one leg parallel to the ground, forming an imagined barrier with both palms and the sole of his foot, then whipped his arms forward, one after another, imagining himself lashing an enemy's confidence to shreds and so on, through each of the ten poses, one flowing gracefully into the next.

  When he was done, sweat covered his body. By sound, he found his way to one of the trickles that fell from the aqueduct above and caught the water in cupped hands. As he drank, he listened for Darris. The thief should have been back by then. Arvin hoped nothing had happened to him- especially if that wand was required to restore his eyesight. Already he could feel the air cooling slightly as evening approached.

  The sound of footsteps caught his attention. "Darris?" Arvin called.

  More footsteps. Voices. Men and women, weary. Then a cry: "Smoke! The Stormlord speaks!"

  The cry was followed by a rush of excited shouts and the sound of people-several dozen of them, by the sound of it-thudding to their knees. Arvin knew, from his experiences the previous summer,

  what they would be doing: tearing at their clothes and faces. His guess was confirmed by the sound of ripping cloth.

  Above the commotion, he heard someone speak. "Wine!" the voice cried. "The wine merchant stopped here, just as he promised."

  Arvin heard the people moving toward him. His nose crinkled as he caught the smell of hot, unwashed bodies and fresh blood.

  "How much for a jug?" a woman's voice asked.

  Arvin heard the clink of a coin pouch. He turned his head, trying to figure out where she was, and heard a male voice whisper: "He's blind."

  Then a second man added, in a smirking whisper, "Pay him in coppers; he won't know the difference."

  Arvin nudged his pack with one foot, making sure it was still there.

  "Silence," the woman's voice hissed. "I will buy the wine, and you will drink only as much of it as I serve you. We must reach the temple tonight."

  "Yes, Stormmistress," the second man said, contrite.

  A hand touched his cheek, turning his face-a woman's hand, by the soft feel of the skin and the sweet- smelling, almost overpowering perfume she wore.

  "I'm over here," the Stormmistress said in a silky, sensuous voice, "and I'd like to buy some wine for my fellow pilgrims. How much?"

  "Five pythons a jug," Arvin answered, naming the price of the most expensive bottle of wine he'd ever seen ordered at the Mortal Coil. Judging by the fine ceramic jugs, Dar ris had stolen the stuff from a noble household, and it was probably worth that much or even more.

  "Done," the woman said, not even bothering to haggle. "I'll take three." She caught Arvin's hand and pressed coins into it. He rubbed one of them. There

  was a snake embossed on one side of it, and what felt like the House Extaminos crest on the other. Judging by its weight, it was gold, not copper.

  The woman leaned past him to lift a jug of wine from the cart. As she did, Arvin caught a whiff of what the perfume was hiding: the musky odor of snake.

  That startled him. The clergy of Talos were all human as far as he knew. Yuan-ti scorned the Raging God as one of the lesser Powers, inferior to their serpent deity. To the yuan-ti, Sseth was the only god worth worshiping.

  That brought up an unpleasant possibility-that the woman who'd just purchased wine for her "followers" had some ulterior motive for being there.

  A moment later, when he listened in on her thoughts-hiding his secondary display by kneeling on the ground and pretending to search for his shirt-he discovered that it was even worse than he'd thought.

  She was indeed a worshiper of Sseth.

  One of the clerics who served Sibyl.

  CHAPTER 5

  Arvin patted the ground, pretending to search for his shirt, as he probed the mind of the "Stormmistress." She was delighted to have stumbled across the wine; that would make her job all the easier. She planned to mix something into it before serving it to the Talos worshipers. A word drifted through her mind: hassaael. Arvin wasn't sure if it was the name of a potion, a poison, or the yuan-ti word for blood. All three concepts seemed to be braided into the word. She'd been given it by a yuan-ti in Skullport named Ssarm-the same man who had provided the Pox with their deadly trans- formative potion.

  He probed deeper, worming his way into her memories of Sibyl. He was relieved,

  somewhat, to find that her most recent meeting with the abomination was more than a tenday in the past, and that she had no knowledge of the events unfolding in Hlondeth or Arvin's role in them. The cleric-Thessania, her name was-had been on the road with the latest batch of worshipers, who had come all the way from Ormath on the Shining Plains. Her instructions had been to herd them to the temple, where they would be killed. If they didn't die that night, Sibyl would be displeased.

  An image of what Thessania intended flickered through her mind, swift as a snake's darting tongue: Men and women, piled in a heap, their faces bright red and eyeballs bulging.

  Arvin shuddered. The followers of the Raging God might be crazy-they had to be, to view volcanic eruptions, hurricanes, and lightning-strike wildfires as something to celebrate-but that didn't mean they deserved to die.

  Once again, Sibyl was taking advantage of human gullibility. The first time, it had been the Pox then it was the pilgrims. If Arvin could stop whatever was happening, he would.

  He heard another grumble of thunder, out over the Reach. A natural storm? Or the voice of Hoar, god of vengeance?

  Arvin cracked a wry smile.

  "Vin!" a familiar voice cried out. "I told you not to sell any wine until I got back."

  Arvin turned in that direction. Daris had said nothing about the wine. He was up to something, and Arvin docided to play along for the moment.

  Suddenly, Arvin could see again. Darris strode toward him, the leather sack gone. He had one hand behind his back, inside his collar, as if scratching his neck. It was an old guild trick, a way of dropping something you'd palmed into your

  shirt. Probably the wand he'd just used to restore Arvin's eyesight.

  Pretending to still be blind, Arvin held his hands out in front of him. Play along, he signed. Aloud, he added, "Darris? Is that you?"

  Meanwhile, he studied Thessania. The surprise of his eyesight returning had broken the link with her mind, but ho'd learned what he needed already. He committed her appearance to memory as he stared "blindly" past her. She was one of those yuan-ti who could pass for human. Her pupils were round and there was no sign of a tail under her robe. Ash-gray gloves covered her hands, which were human-shaped, and the only skin showing-her face, framed by a tight-fitting black cowl-was devoid of scales. Arvin noticed, however, that she kept her teeth clenched when she spoke, giving her words a tense, clipped sound. She probably had a forked tongue.

  She was dressed as a cleric of Talos, in a long- sleeved black robe that reached to her ankles. Lightning bolts were embroidered on it in gold thread, and the sleeves ended in jagged hems, braided with more thread of gold. The front of the cowl bore; the god's symbol: three lightning bolts in brown, red and blue, radiating out from a central point, representing the destructive powers of earthquake, fire, and flood. A black patch covered her left ey e-another symbol of the one-eyed god she pretended to worship. Her face, Arvin noted, was unscratched, unlike those of the real worshipers.

  She held the three jugs of wine she'd purchased in the crook of one arm, a traveling pack in the other. The worshipers clamored for the wine, insisting their throats were dry from the long march up into the hills. She rebuked them sharply, telling them to quench their thir
st with water instead. The wine, she said, would be served with dinner.

  "Start preparing our meal," she ordered.

  The worshipers crossed their arms aver their chests and bowed, then scurried away.

  Barris, meanwhile, strode up to Arvin. "How much did you charge her for the wine?" he demanded.

  "Five vipers a jug." Arvin held out the gold coins while staring slightly to one side of Darius.

  "Five?" Darris asked, his voice rising. Pretending to scold Arvin, he waggled a forefinger at him, then brushed the front of his nose. Pretend. "I told you to charge six!" He slapped the forefinger into an open palm. Fight. Glowering, he shouted, "What did you do? Pocket the balance? Up to your old tricks again, are you?"

  He grabbed Arvin by the shoulder and shook him. The gold spilled from Arvin's hand onto the ground. Arvin knew what Darris had in mind; the mock argument was an old guild trick. Arvin was supposed to shove Darris toward Thossania, who watched the two humans with a bemused look on her face. The rogue would stagger into her, grasp at her robe in an effort to keep from falling-and in the process, slip a quick hand into a pocket. A neat trick-if you were dealing with a human and not with someone who could kill with a single bite.

  "You never said six," Arvin said in an even tone. "You told me five, and that's what I charged." No, he signed.

  A bored look in her eyes, the yuan-ti turned away to follow the worshipers.

  Darris raised his palm and jerked it forwardPush! — then slapped Arvin. Hard.

  Arvin took the blow like a blind man, without ducking; the worshipers still watched the fight. He lifted his hand to his mouth, as if to wipe away the blood from his split lip. Two fingers curled like fangs, he turned the wipe into a flowing motion

  while nodding in the direction of the fake cleric. She's yuan-ti.

  That stopped Darris cold. "Ah," he said. Then, loudly, "I remember now. You're right; this is the five- viper wine. Sorry for the misunderstanding, Vin." He clapped an arm around Arvin's shoulder, using the gesture to whisper in Arvin's ear. "A yuan-ti Stormmistress?Are you sure?"