by Lisa Smedman
Arvin returned it with a frank stare. "Keech-pan choo-hal," he said haltingly. "May I be your yctakun?"
She tossed her hair, mischief dancing in her dark eyes. Then she slapped him-lightly-across the cheek. "You charmed me," she said in an accusing voice.
Arvin chuckled. "And you charmed me." He rubbed his cheek, pretending the slap had stung the cut on his face, and saw her eyes soften in apology. "But I'm not under your spell anymore. Not that one, anyway."
"Your spell, also, has ended," Karrell said. Then she smiled. "Yet somehow, I still find you… intriguing." She hesitated then began unlacing the front of her dress.
As Arvin unlaced his breeches, removing them, his eyes were drawn to her breasts. Her scales, he saw, were small and fine, and a delicate shade of reddish- brown that nearly matched her skin, giving it a flushed appearance. He was, he realized, about to find out if the stories about yuan-ti women were true.
When she let her dress fall to the bed and moved toward him, encircling him in one graceful motion, he decided they might be, after all.
CHAPTER 9
Where have you been?" the baron growled. "My daughter is ill-she may be dying-and instead of finding her, you-"
Arvin bowed. "I apologize, Baron Foe- smasher. I was poisoned."
The baron blinked. "Poisoned?"
"The ambassador kept me waiting all day. I decided to confront him in his basking chamber. I didn't realize it was filled with poisonous smoke. I only recovered from its effects a short time ago."
That wasn't strictly true, of course. His interlude with Karrell had followed. It had been brief-both of them felt the urgency of what was now a shared goal. But time had been lost; it was now nearly the middle of the night.
The room in which they stood-a chapel with one of the enormous, silver gauntlets of Helm standing on a dais near one wall-was lit by a single lantern. The baron had been standing in prayer, his left hand raised and head bowed, when Arvin was ushered in. Karrell had been detained outside the room by the soldiers who served as palace guards. She stood at the end of the hallway, waiting.
Baron Foesmasher glanced at her. "Who is the woman?"
"Another tracker," Arvin said. "She's going to help in the search for your daughter."
The baron's eyes narrowed. "You have told her Glisena is missing?"
"Yes," Arvin acknowledged.
"What else have you told her?"
Arvin met the baron's eye. "Only that Glisena has run away," he said. "And that she is most likely hiding in the Chondalwood, among the satyrs. And that her flight from the palace was aided by minions of Sibyl, who hope to exploit your daughter for their own, ill purposes."
"By the sound of her accent, she's from Chult," Foe- smasher said. "Is she yuan-ti?"
Arvin met the baron's eye. "Yes."
The baron grunted and turned back to Arvin. "You promised to be discreet. And now I find you've told a complete stranger. Another serpent."
"If you want me to find your daughter, Lord Foe- smasher, you'll have to trust my judgment," Arvin told him. "I trust Karrell. It was a stroke of Tymora's fortune that she turned up here, in Sespech. Karrell knows a great deal about Sibyl; the abomination has had her people under her thrall for some time. Karrell was already investigating what Sibyl's minions are up to in Sespech. She would have learned, eventually, of your daughter's disappearance. By including her now, we gain some valuable assistance."
The baron glowered. "You assured me your mind magic would locate Glisena."
"It's already narrowed the search," Arvin countered. "We've learned she's in the Chondalwood."
"That tells us very little," the baron said. "The Chondalwood is enormous. It's nearly as wide as Sespech is long. Were I to send an entire garrison into it to search for Glisena, they could wander for a tenday and never meet a soul, let alone find a band of reclusive satyrs. And ordering in a garrison is something I can't do. Lord Wianar has laid claim to the Chondalwood; he hopes to cut off the supply of wood I need to build my navy. Sending troops into it would only give him the excuse he needs to invade." His eyes bored into Arvin's. "One man, however, would slip into the Chondalwood unnoticed. But that brings us back to the central problem-we don't know where to look."
Arvin thought a moment. "How close is the nearest edge of the Chondalwood to Ormpetarr?"
"Nearly two days' ride to the north, just across the river from Fort Arran."
"The satyrs seemed quite worried about Glisena's health," Arvin said. "They wouldn't have come to Ormpetarr to fetch Naneth unless their camp was a reasonable distance from the city."
"Naneth gave a teleportation ring to Glisena," the baron pointed out. 'She may have also given one to the satyr."
"If she had," Arvin countered, "surely he would have used it to flee Ormpetarr, instead of trying to scale the walls."
"Indeed," the baron said, nodding in agreement. "But even if you are correct in your guess about what part of the forest the satyr came from, how do you propose to find his camp?" He nodded at Karrell. "And why do you need her help? Is your mind magic not up to the search?"
"It is," Arvin assured him. "But it won't be able to cover enough ground in the limited time we have left before Glisena… becomes more unwell. Karrell knows a spell that can help find the camp quickly. One that gives her the ability to communicate with animals."
The baron frowned. "Asking questions of a handful of animals in one tiny corner of the forest will accomplish nothing." He shook his head. "And I thought you were an expert tracker."
"We won't ask just any animals," Arvin countered. "We'll ask wolves. They're swift runners, capable of traveling a distance as far as that between Ormpetarr and Mimph in a single day. Their territories span even greater distances than that. And their sense of smell is keen enough to pick out the scent of a human from an entire camp of satyrs. If anyone can locate the satyr camp Glisena is staying in, it's wolves."
The baron nodded, grudgingly impressed.
"The only problem," Arvin continued, "will be in getting to the Chondalwood quickly enough."
The baron picked up his helmet, which had been sitting on the floor next to him. "You'll be in the Chondalwood tonight," he said, pulling it on. The purple plume bobbed as he spoke. "Naneth isn't the only one with a teleportation device:'
"Can yours teleport two people at once?" Arvin asked.
"It can," the baron answered. "But that brings up an important question." He gestured at Karrell. "If it's her spell that will find my daughter, what further use are you?"
Arvin had anticipated that question. "In order for Karrell to use her spell, the wolves need to be close enough for her to speak with them," he said.
"Any hunter can find a wolf," the baron countered. "I'm not just going to find wolves," Arvin said. "I'm going to call them to me. With this." He pulled the lapis lazuli from his pocket and displayed it on his palm. "This is what I used to send you the message about the satyr. With it, I can contact anyone. Human… or wolf. It has magic that only a psion can use."
Though he spoke with confidence, Arvin wasn't actually certain what he was proposing would work. He could definitely send a message that would catch a wolf's attention-the whine of an injured pup, for example-but a sending wasn't like a shout; it sounded inside the recipient's head. Arvin might be able to say "come here," but only by putting the sending to the test would he find out if he could convey where "here" was. But it was worth a try.
"The stone will also allow me to report to you-`at once'-the moment we find Glisena," Arvin added, deliberately using one of the baron's favorite phrases.
The baron nodded, satisfied. "You're a man who uses his head," he said. "I like that." He reached into a pouch that hung from his belt and pulled from it a shield-shaped brooch. It was made of polished steel and no larger than a coin, with Helm's blue eye on the front of it. Foesmasher handed it to Arvin.
"Pin this somewhere it won't be seen," he instructed.
"What is it?"
"Som
ething that will assist me in locating you, once that message is sent," Foesmasher explained.
Arvin pinned the brooch to the inside of his shirt. "You'll come to the Chondalwood in person?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes." The baron stared at Arvin. "My teleportation magic is limited, so be certain that you are with Glisena-at her side-before you summon me."
"I will."
Foesmasher turned to the soldiers in the hall then paused, as if remembering something. "Oh yes, that yuan-ti you mentioned: Zelia."
Arvin tensed.
"She's in Ormpetarr. She arrived by riverboat last night."
Arvin gave a tight nod. Zelia in Ormpetarr was bad news. But he'd soon be out of the city. Tymora willing, Zelia would be gone by the time he got back. Or she'd do something that would give Foesmasher an excuse to arrest her.
Foesmasher gestured to the soldiers, indicating they should bring Karrell into the room.
Arvin caught her eye as she entered. "Lord Foe- smasher has agreed," he told her. "You'll be joining the search."
Foesmasher waved his guards away then clapped one hand on Arvin's shoulder, the other on Karrell's. "Shall we go?"
"This teleportation device," Arvin asked "Is it a portal, or-"
The floor suddenly fell out from Arvin's feet, and the walls of the chapel spun crazily around him. He dropped about a palm's width through the air, landing unsteadily on the floor of a room with thick stone walls and arrow-slit windows. Two officers wearing armor bearing the baron's crest who were sitting at a table, deep in discussion, leaped to their feet, startled, then bowed deeply.
"Lord Foesmasher," one said. "Welcome."
Foesmasher removed his hands from Arvin's and Karrell's shoulders. "These two," he announced, "are en route to the Chondalwood. Make sure they reach it without Lord Wianar's patrols spotting them."
The officers exchanged a glance.
"Is there a problem?" Foesmasher demanded.
"We're not sure," one of the officers replied. "Wianar's men seem to have drawn back from the river. There hasn't been a sighting of them all day. But there may have been an incident."
Foesmasher frowned. "May have been?"
"One of the patrols we sent across the river this morning didn't return," the second officer said. "Nor did the one we sent to find it. Until we know what happened to them, it wouldn't be prudent to-"
"These two must reach Chondalwood," The baron growled. "Tonight."
The officer gave an obedient bow. "As you command, sir."
They crossed the Arran River in a wagon drawn by a centaur. The wagon had no driver, nor was the centaur fitted with reins; he seemed to be draft animal and driver in one.
Arvin was amazed to see such a magnificent creature in harness. Centaurs were. creatures of the wild, untamed and proud. This one was the size of a warhorse, his upper torso more muscular than any human's could ever be, his arms nearly as thick as a man's thighs. Coarse, almost woolly hair covered his lower torso, but his chest and arms were bare to the elements. He seemed not to mind the cold as he trotted on enormous hooves that thudded heavily on the massive timbered bridge that spanned the river. Every now and then he snorted, his breath fogging the night air, and tossed back his black, tangled mane, exposing pointed ears. Around his waist he wore a belt; from it hung a sheathed knife the size of a small sword. Hanging from the sheath was a purple feather, like the ones Foesmasher's soldiers wore on their helms.
Two of Foesmasher's soldiers had been assigned to accompany Arvin and Karrell; each man was armed with a crossbow and sword. The first-Burrian, a burly fellow with a. black beard and enormous, calloused hands who said he had been a woodcutter before joining the militia-would serve as their guide in the Chondalwood. The second-Sergeant Dunnald, a man with a narrow face and long blond hair-would return to Fort Arran with the wagon. Burrian was watchful as they left the bridge, turned right off the main road, and started toward the Chondalwood. Dunnald, however, seemed confident, even a little bored. Arvin hoped that boded well for their journey. Perhaps the two officers they'd met earlier had been alarmists. There were any number of reasons that soldiers might fail to return from a patrol. Even so, Arvin found himself touching the crystal at his neck, for luck.
It didn't comfort him.
The forest lay some distance ahead, a dark, bumpy line against an even darker sky. Behind them, the bridge across the River Arran fell steadily away into the distance. Fort Arran dominated the far side of the bridge, its crenellated wooden towers keeping watch over the timbered arch that spanned the narrows and the road that led north from it to Arrabar. For now, this road was open, linking the two capitals of Chondath and Sespech. Come daylight, it would be dotted with merchant wagons and travelers. But if war broke out between the two states, Fort Arran would act as a gate, barring entry to any army that Lord Wianar might send marching south.
Arvin glanced up at the sky. The moon was half full, haloed by a thin layer of clouds. At least it wasn't snowing. The air was cold, but Karrell had cast another of her spells upon him, making him feel cozy and warm. He yawned, exhausted. It must have been well past mid-dark by now. He leaned back, trying to make himself comfortable. Lulled by the thud of the centaur's hooves and the warmth of Karrell seated next to him at the rear of the wagon under a thick wool blanket, he dozed.
A while later, something poked Arvin's side, Karrell's hand. Instantly, he was awake. "What is it?" he asked.
Karrell pointed at something ahead. Arvin tried to peer past the centaur but could see only the dark line of the woods, drawing steadily closer. Between the forest and wagon was a flat expanse of snow-covered ground that sparkled in the moonlight.
"I don't see anything."
"Was it the movement near the woods you spotted?" Dunnald asked Karrell. "It's just a herd of wild centaurs, out for a moonlit trot. There's nothing to be frightened of."
Burrian called out to the centaur who drew the wagon. "Some of your old pals, Tanglemane?"
The centaur ignored him.
"I did not mean the centaurs," Karrell told the sergeant, an indignant edge in her voice. "And I am not frightened." She stood and pointed. "There is something up ahead. A dark line on the ground."
Dunnald continued to smile indulgently. "That's nothing to fret about, either," he told her. "Just the trail left by the centaurs through the snow."
Karrell sat down again and turned to Arvin. "Do they always travel in such complicated paths?"
Arvin stood and peered ahead. The line in the snow Karrell had spotted ran in a broad arc from left to right, paralleling the curve of the woods at a more or less constant distance from the forest. But instead of following a direct path, the centaurs seemed to have paused at several points along their journey to loop back upon their own trail. "Looks like they doubled back the way they came, crisscrossing their path," Arvin told Dunnald, who obviously didn't take anything a woman said seriously. "Several times. What would make them do that?"
Burrian looked to his sergeant for an answer, but
Dunnald only shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe they were playing follow the leader."
"Tanglemane?" Arvin asked. "What do you think?"
The centaur shook his head. "It is unusual," he said in a voice as low as the wagon's rumble.
As the wagon drew closer to a spot where the hoof- prints formed a loop, Arvin's frown deepened. Now that they were about to cross the trail through the snow, its complicated meanderings reminded him of something.
"Stop the wagon!" he shouted.
Startled, the centaur skidded to a stop, his four legs stiff and ears erect. The wagon jerked to an abrupt halt, jostling its passengers and causing Dunnald to drop his crossbow.
"What are you doing?" Dunnald snapped, picking up the weapon. "Why did you order the beast to halt?"
Arvin glanced over the side. He had called out a moment too late; the wagon was already inside one of the loops that had been stamped into the snow. "Don't move, Tanglemane," he instructed, reaching for his
pack.
"What is wrong?" Karrell asked.
Burrian scanned the open ground around them, his crossbow at the ready. "Yes, what's the matter?" he echoed. "I don't see anything."
Arvin pulled a sylph-hair rope out of his pack. Soft as braided silk, it shimmered in the moonlight. "I'll know in a moment." He tossed the rope into the air, and smiled at the faint intake of breath he heard from Burrian as the rope streaked upward then hung, motionless, as if attached to thin air. He passed the lower end of it to Karrell. "Hold this, will you?"
Karrell took the rope, a curious look in her eye.
Arvin climbed. As he did, the meandering trail through the snow came increasingly into view. From a height, it was possible to see the intricate loops that had
been stamped into the snow. The centaurs had not been wandering randomly; there was a design below-one that had been deliberately done. The wagon had halted inside one of its loops.
"The centaurs weren't playing follow the leader," he called out to the others. "They were making an arcane symbol in the snow."
The soldiers, Karrell, and the centaur all stared up at him.
"What kind of symbol?" Dunnald asked.
Arvin, studying the design below, shook his head grimly. "I think it's a death symbol."
Dunnald scowled. "You think? You're not sure?" Beside him, Burrian looked nervous. "So that's what got our patrols."
Arvin slid down the rope. "I saw a symbol just like this one, years ago," he told the others as he recoiled his rope. "It was the central motif on an old, threadbare carpet from Calimshan. The carpet supposedly once had the power to fly; the noble who owned it thought that repairing it might restore its magic. He hired me to do the job. The day after I completed the work, he must have decided to try the carpet out. His servants found him sitting on it later that day, dead. He was slumped at the center of the carpet, without a mark on him. The spot he was sitting on was blank-the symbol I'd restored had vanished."
Karrell glanced nervously over the side of the wagon. "We are inside the symbol," she observed.
"Yes," Arvin answered.