Vanity's brood hos-3

by Lisa Smedman

  Arvin nodded.

  "What's in her bag?" Darris breathed.

  "Poison," Arvin whispered back. "She plans to mix it into the wine."

  "I see," Darris said. He gave the worshipers a long, appraising look. "They look skinny as slaves," he said, using an old guild expression for someone with nothing worth stealing. Then he shrugged. "No sense hanging around, if you ask me. If the doomsayer really is yuan-ti, she'll demand first pickings."

  Arvin, disgusted, realized that Darris thought he was suggesting they stay behind to loot the bodies once the poison had done its work.

  "That's not what I meant," he said. "We've got to stop her from poisoning them."

  Darris removed his arm from Arvin's shoulder and stepped back. "What she does is none of my business," he said. He watched the yuan-ti as she walked with swaying steps to the spot where the worshipers piled branches for a cooking fire. "What makes it yours?"

  "Those people will die," Arvin answered.

  "So?" Darris asked. "Sooner or later, one of the floods or fires they keep praying for will kill them, anyway." He tapped his temple. Crazy.

  Arvin scooped up his pack and glanced at the worshipers out of the corner of his eye. One was a boy not yet in his teens who was being ordered about by an older, gray-haired man-probably his grandfather,

  given the resemblance between the two. Like the rest of them, the boy had ripped his shirt and gouged scratches in his face. He kept touching his cheeks however and wincing, giving his grandfather rueful looks.

  "That one's just a boy," Arvin whispered. "He deserves a chance to grow up, to make his own decisions about which god to worship."

  Darris listened, eyebrows raised. Then he nodded, as if enlightenment had suddenly come to him. He lowered his voice once more.

  "You won't find my stash."

  Arvin sighed. "I don't plan on looking for it."

  The rogue chuckled. "Strangely enough, I believe you." He picked up the five coins and shoved them in a pocket, then clambered up into the cart. "People will be leaving the city-and they'll be thirsty. I'll have the rest of this wine sold in no time. Give me a hand, and I'll split the profits." He lifted the reins. "Last chance. Coming?"

  Arvin shook his head. Thessania had disappeared inside one of the huts; she was probably lacing the wine with poison even as they spoke. Arvin was tempted to tell Darris what he thought of him but knew his words wouldn't change anything. The half-elf was a typical rogue; all he cared about was himself.

  Darris released the wagon's brake, then paused. "If the doomsayer really is yuan-ti, you'd better watch yourself."

  "I've dealt with them before."

  Darris grinned. "I'll bet you have, and… thanks for the warning." He touched a thumb to his temple, then closed his other fist around it. I'll remember you.

  He flicked the reins. The cart rumbled off down the hill, back in the direction of Hlondeth.

  Arvin could feel, once more, the faint tickle in his forehead that warned him that magic was being used

  to search for him. The iron serpent must have been drawing nearer. He'd wasted too much time already.

  But before he left, there was something he needed to do.

  He sent his awareness deep into his muladhara. You don't see me, he mentally told the Talos worshipers. I'm invisible.

  They continued going about their evening tasks, pulling food from their packs, tending the cooking fire and gathering water from the aqueduct in worn- looking iron pots. One or two turned to watch the cart as it left. As they did Arvin slipped an image into each of their minds of himself, seated next to Darris. Meanwhile, he picked his way carefully over the uneven ground toward the but the yuan-ti had disappeared into.

  She had hung a cloth over the entrance of the hut, preventing him from simply looking inside. The but itself proved to be of better construction than the rest. Arvin couldn't find any gaps between the stones to peer through. That didn't matter, however. Retreating to a spot where the trees screened him from sight-he didn't need to be close to manifest the power he had in mind-he allowed himself to become visible again and imagined the interior of the hut. Psionic energy spiraled into the power points in his throat and forehead and a low droning filled the air around him as silver sparkled out of his "third eye." He sent his awareness drifting with it in the direction of the hut.

  Slowly, its interior came into focus.

  Thessania was pouring one of the jugs of wine into a wooden bowl. The other two jugs lay empty on the ground beside her. She must have been certain none of the worshipers would disturb her; she'd pushed her cowl back, revealing a hairless scalp covered in vivid orange and yellow scales. She had no ears, just

  holes in the side of her head. She had also removed her gloves; the scales covered her hands and fingers as well.

  She set the empty jug down and rummaged inside her travel bag, then pulled out a glass vial containing an ink-black liquid. Unstoppering it, she poured a drop onto her finger, then stroked it along her wrist like a woman applying perfume. After repeating the application on her other wrist, she poured a few drops of the liquid into the wine. That done, she raised first one wrist to her mouth then the other.

  At first, Arvin thought she was sniffing her perfume. Then he saw a drop of blood fall into the wine and realized she'd bitten herself. Thessania squeezed each wrist, milking herself of blood. As it dribbled into the bowl, the wine turned a vivid green. Thessania bent low, sniffing it, and licked her wrists clean. Then she spat into whatever the wine had become.

  She pushed the stopper back into the vial-very little of the black liquid had been used-then pulled on her gloves. As she adjusted her cowl, Arvin skimmed quickly through the thoughts of the worshipers, searching for those who already had doubts about the stormmistress. From these he gloaned their names and a handful of recent experiences he hoped might be useful. By the time Thessania emerged from the hut, holding the bowl of wine, Arvin was ready. He stepped out of the forest and thew a mental shield between himself and the yuan-ti-who immediately turnod in his direction as soon as she heard the droning of his secondary display.

  "Worshipers of Talos," Arvin shouted. "You have been deceived."

  Thessania bared her teeth in what would have been a hiss, had she not checked herself in time. She sent a wave of magical fear rushing toward Arvin, but his psionic shield deflected it.

  "Thessania is no stormmistress," Arvin continued.

  Thessania's charm spell hit him next. "Poor man," she said. "The sun has addled your wits. You don't know me; we've never met before. You have mistaken my voice for that of someone else. Come and drink wine with us."

  Arvin's mental shield held. He needed to speak quickly. Once Tessalia realized her charm had failed, she would start tossing clerical spells at him.

  "I may be blind," Arvin said, "blind as Talos's left eye, but by the god's magic I can still see." Silver sparkles-bright as the stars reputed to whirl in the empty space behind the Storm Lord's eyepatcherupted from Arvin's forehead as he sent a thread of his awareness inside the hut. He pointed at one of the men, a tall fellow with bright red hair. "You wonder, Menzin, what Thessania was doing in the hut."

  Arvin wrapped the invisible thread around the vial and lifted it into the air. With a yank, he pulled it out of the hut.

  "She was adding poison to your wine."

  Thessania whirled and spotted the vial. Bright green wine slopped over tho edge of the bowl, staining her glove. Arvin sent the vial crashing against the wall of the hut, shattering it. Poison dribbled down the stonework like black blood.

  The worshipers stared at it. Menzin muttered something to the man next to him.

  "Ridiculous!" Thessania said. "Smell it-that's my perfume."

  They did, and turned, glowering, toward Arvin.

  Thessania pointed a slender finger at him. "This man has been sent by the Prince of Lies to stir up mistrust and strife among us. Don't listen to him."

  "Cyric didn't send me," Arvin said, naming the
god he'd frequently been warned about by the priests at

  the orphanage. He wove the name of Ilmater's chief ally into the lie: "Tyr did. The god of justice has allied himself with Talos to expose Thessania's trickery."

  "The Raging God stands alone," said Thessania. "He allies with no one."

  "Save for Auril, Malar, and Umberlee," Arvin said, hurling back the deity names he'd plucked from one of the worshiper's thoughts. "Though Malar would turn on the other Gods of Fury if he could-would send one of his beast minions sneaking like a serpent into Talos's tower to slay the Storm Lord, if he dared."

  "Deceit!" Thessania cried. "More lies!"

  She spat, and the glob of poisonous spittle hurtled through the air toward Arvin.

  He imposed a psionic hand in front of it just before it struck, and smiled as it splattered on the leaves behind him. Thessania had moved precisely the playing piece he'd hoped she would.

  He addressed one of the female worshipers-a thin woman who stared at him with narrowed eyes. "You've been wondering, Yivril, why your storm- mistress didn't smite the blasphemer in Ormath with a lightning bolt."

  The worshiper's eyes widened.

  "Odd, isn't it, that she's not hurling one at me now," Arvin continued. "Instead she's spitting at me… like a snake."

  With that, he used his manifestation to yank back Thessania's cowl.

  Some of the worshipers gasped; others gaped in open-mouthed silence.

  "It's an illusion," Thessania cried, yanking at her cowl. "Pay it no heed!"

  Several of the worshipers began babbling at once. "So that's why she refused to-"

  "I thought it was strange that-"

  "We've been tricked!" Menzin shouted, lunging at Thessania and knocking the bowl from her hands. "She's a yuan-ti!"

  Spitting with fury, Thessania bit him.

  Menzin collapsed, gasping, his lips already blue. The other worshipers, however, were not easily cowed. A handful were driven back by Thessania's magical fear, but the rest mobbed her. Arvin caught a glimpse of Thessania shifting to snake form in an attempt to get away, but then Yivril rushed forward, a chunk of broken stone in her hand. She smashed it down on Thessania's clothes. Even from where he stood, Arvin could hear the crunch of bones breaking.

  Satisfied, he slipped away into the woods. As he did, he touched the crystal at his throat. "Nine lives," he breathed, thankful that none of the gods he'd falsely invoked had seen fit to take notice of the fact.

  He circled through the woods, putting some distance between himself and the quarry before returning to the road. The tickling in his forehead grew stronger; the iron cobra was getting closer. Though Arvin was still tired-it hadn't been a very restful sleep, being jostled about in the cart-he needed to get moving again. Talos's temple was still a day's journey distant, and he doubted the cobra needed to rest or sleep.

  Fortunately, his meditations had replenished his muladhara. If the iron cobra did catch up to him, he'd have mind magic to fight back with. He doubted the thing had a mind to affect, and it was probably immune to ordinary weapons, but there were one or two manifestations he might use to at least slow it down a little.

  A branch rustled in the forest. Arvin whirled, then saw it was just a small bird that had flown from a tree. The tickling in his forehead was starting to get to him. He needed to get moving, to cover a lot

  more ground than his human legs were capable of. He decided to use his psionics to morph his body into something speedier, perhaps into a giant like the one he'd met the previous winter, or…

  Watching the bird climb into the evening sky, he had an inspiration. He would morph into something with wings. A flying snake, perhaps-he'd seen enough of them in Hlondeth. He made sure his backpack was snug against his shoulders, then began drawing energy up from his navel and into his chest. He held his arms out, imagining they were wings.

  Something sharp touched Arvin's throat-a curved sword blade-as a hand grabbed his hair from behind. A high-pitched male voice panted into his ear. "Where is it?"

  "Where is what?" Arvin gasped, his heart pounding. "Listen, friend," he said, attempting a charm. "I don't know what-"

  "None of that!"

  The blade pressed against his throat, opening a hair-thin cut. Arvin didn't dare swallow. The charm obviously hadn't worked, so it was time for somethlng less subtle. Raising his open hands in mock surrender, he imaged a third hand grasping his dagger. As the energy built he felt it begin to slide out of its sheath.

  "Please, don't kill me," he pleaded, feigning fear.

  At the same time he jostled the person behind him to cover the movement of the dagger. He guided it behind his attacker and turned it so the point was toward the man's back. Then he nudged it forward, manifesting a voice behind the man the instant he felt the dagger point poke flesh.

  "Release him," it said, "or die."

  The scimitar was gone from Arvin's throat as his attacker whirled to meet the illusionary threat. Arvin flung himself forward, wincing at the pain

  in his scalp as his hair was yanked out of the man's fist. As he tumbled away, he caught a brief glimpse of his attacker: a small, skinny humanoid with a doglike head, wearing a starched white kilt. The dog-man swung his scimitar through the space where an invisible dagger wielder would be. Still directing his dagger with his mind, Arvin slashed at the stranger's sword arm, opening a deep wound. The dog-man emitted a high-pitched yip and slashed once more through empty air, then backstepped to a spot where he could see both Arvin and the dagger.

  It also gave Arvin a better look at him. The fellow stood only as tall as Arvin's shoulder and had a humanlike body but with thick golden fur on his neck, shoulders, and arms. Atop his lean body was a doglike head with a slender muzzle and large, upright ears. Those ears looked familiar-the fellow had the same face as the dog that had startled him near Saint Aganna's shrine. The dog-man must have been a lycanthrope of some sort, of a species that Arvin had never seen or even heard of before.

  "Why are you following me?" Arvin asked. "What do you want?"

  The dog-man merely stared at him. "You should learn," he said in a high, quick voice like that of a yapping dog, "to let sleeping serpents lie!" Then his eyes began to glow.

  "I…" That was all Arvin managed before his gaze was locked by those large, golden eyes.

  He dimly realized the dog-man ‘vas unleashing magic that didn't require words or gestures-just as a sorcerer or psion would. Arvin tried to mount a defense, but even as energy flowed into the power point at his throat his eyes closed. He felt himself falling…

  When awareness returned, he found himself lying on the road in the spot where he'd been waylaid.

  Sunlight slanted through the forest as the sun slowly moved toward the horizon. Not much time had passed then. He sat up, rubbing an arm that must have banged against a rock when he fell. He blinked, yawned, and shook his head, willing himself to come fully awake.

  The dog-man was gone. Blood marked the spot where he'd stood.

  Arvin yawned again and rubbed his eyes.

  More blood was on Arvin's dagger, which lay next to his pack. The pack was open.

  Arvin scrambled toward it. He turned it over, inspecting it. The musk-creeper net was still inside- it looked as though the dog-man had the presence of mind to leave it alone-but the contents of the side pouches had been pulled out. Arvin's magical ropes and twines were scattered about, as were the mundane bits of equipment he'd gathered together after leaving Zelia's rooftop garden. There were smears of blood on several of them. The dog-man hadn't stopped to bind his wound before rifling through the pack.

  Stuffing the items back into their pouches, Arvin wondered what the dog-man had been looking for. Had he, like Pakal and the Naneth-seed, also been searching for the Ciroled Serpent? He didn't look-or act-like one of Sibyl's minions, which meant that some other faction must be involved, but who?

  Arvin didn't know much about ordinary tracking, but it was clear from the drops of blood on the road which way
the dog-man had gone. Uphill, toward the temple. Toward Pakal. A faint paw print in the dust marked the spot where he'd shifted back into a dog then started to run.

  Arvin turned in the other direction and felt the tickle in his forehead intensify. The iron cobra was olose-very close. He'd better get moving.

  He slung his backpack onto his shoulder and drew deep from his muladhara. Ectoplasm sweated out of his pores and the scents of saffron and ginger filled the air around him as he began his metamorphosis. He pressed his legs together and spread his arms, and willed his body into a tiny, slender, snakelike form. It unnerved him, a little, feeling his legs join together to form a tail-it was a little too close to what Zelia had just put him through-but he clamped down on his trepidation and forced himself to concentrate.

  Arms feathered into wings, his tongue split into a fork, and his pupils became slits. He felt his body shrinking, contracting, becoming sinuous and light- boned. He flapped his arms experimentally-and found himself hovering, his tail dangling just above the road. By concentrating, he was able to rise a little farther, but it was awkward; the form was so alien to his own. It was difficult to control, difficult to find his balance.

  From behind him came the scrape of metal on stone. Glancing back, he saw the iron cobra slithering up the road toward him. Red eyes gleamed in the dusk as it spotted him and gave a malevolent hiss.

  Silver burst from Arvin's forehead and coalesced as a sheen of ectoplasm on the cobra's body as Arvin manifested another of his powers. The ectoplasm solidified into transluscent ropes, and he gave them a mental yank, binding the cobra up in a tight ball. It thrashed, and two of the coils of rope burst apart, spraying ectoplasm, but the rest held.

  Before the entangling net he'd created evaporated, Arvin drew still more ectoplasm from the Astral Plane and gave it human form. It was difficult work, manifesting yet another power while hovering in mid-air with unfamiliar wings, but by concentrating fiercely he managed it. He was still a beginner when it came to creating astral constructs-he couldn't yet