by Lisa Smedman
Karrell’s lips twitched. “I did not see you board, either.”
“I slipped into the hold this morning, just before dawn,” Arvin said. He lowered his voice so the sailors wouldn’t overhear. “I told the guard the truth—there was a woman, back at the Eelgrass Inn, who I’m trying to avoid. A woman with red hair and green scales that look like freckles. And a blue forked tongue. Did you notice her?”
“So that is why you left so hastily.” Karrell thought a moment. “She is yuan-ti?”
“Yes. But she can pass for human, at a distance.”
“I saw her. Twice. Last night, when I first arrived at the inn, and this morning, when she was talking to the innkeeper.”
Arvin leaned forward, tense. “You didn’t say anything about me, did you? Anything she might have overheard?”
“No.”
Arvin relaxed a little. “Did you hear what she said to the innkeeper?”
“That she would stay another night.”
Arvin nodded, thankful that Zelia hadn’t chosen to catch this morning’s riverboat. He’d been terrified by the prospect of being trapped in the cargo hold, unable to emerge on deck, and slowly freezing to death during the long voyage. Even if she did set out for Ormpetarr on the next riverboat, he would reach that city a full day ahead of her.
Karrell stared at him. “Why do you fear her?”
Arvin swallowed. Was it that obvious? He gave Karrell a weak grin. “She dislikes me. A lot. She wants me dead. Fortunately, she believes I am dead. I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“Did you quicken her egg?” Karrell asked.
“Her what?”
“She is yuan-ti. The snake people lay eggs. And the captain said—”
“Oh,” Arvin said, understanding at last. He laughed at the absurdity of it and shook his head vehemently. “We didn’t have that kind of relationship. We were … close, for a time. But not that close. She’s a….” He paused, shuddering. He’d been about to tell Karrell that Zelia was a psion, but she probably wouldn’t know what that was.
He saw that Karrell’s lips were pressed together in displeasure and decided to change the subject. Like most humans, she was probably appalled at the thought of a yuan-ti and human mating. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked.
The displeased look vanished instantly from Karrell’s face. She leaned forward and placed her hand upon his arm. Her touch sent a thrill through him but nothing near the rush of desire he’d felt after she’d charmed him. “You never said whether you would introduce me to Dmetrio Extaminos.”
Ah. So it was that again, was it? He wondered why she wanted to meet him so badly. Was she an assassin, after all?
Karrell reached for her cloak, one hand curling as if she were about to draw it closed at her neck. Odd—she didn’t look cold. Suddenly Arvin remembered where he’d seen the gesture before. It was the same one she’d used yesterday when she’d charmed him. Even as her lips parted to whisper the spell, Arvin awoke the psionic energy at the base of his scalp and manifested a charm of his own. Karrell halted in midwhisper, her eyes shifting to the side as if she’d heard something in the distance, over the creak of the riverboat’s rigging.
Arvin suppressed his smile. The shoe would be on the other foot, this time around.
Above them, the lookout shouted. “Disturbance in the water, one hand to port, three thousand paces ahead!”
The boat swung slightly to starboard and slowed.
Arvin glanced over the bow. The boat would soon be passing a small, rocky island near the center of the river; between this island and the boat was a circular patch of disturbed water about two paces wide. It looked as though a boulder had splashed into the river at that spot, sending out ripples. Arvin searched the island, but didn’t see anything. The island was rocky and flat—devoid of vegetation that would offer concealment, and low enough that a ship wouldn’t be able to hide behind it, which ruled out a catapult.
“What’s causing it?” the captain called up at the lookout.
The young man at the top of the mast chewed his lip. “I don’t know. Maybe a dragon turtle?” he asked nervously.
“Do you see a dragon turtle?” the captain asked in a tense voice.
“No.”
The gray-haired guard snorted. “It was probably air escaping from a wreck. Or a fish fart.”
The lookout twisted around to glance down at him.
“Do fish fart?”
The guard chuckled.
Red-faced, the young lookout went back to his duties.
Arvin turned back to Karrell. “I’ll introduce you to Ambassador Extaminos,” he told her. “But I’d like to know more about you, first.” He lowered his voice and caught her eye. “You can trust me. Is it Chondath you serve?”
Karrell gave a slight frown. “Who?”
Arvin was surprised by her response. Chondath, directly to the east of Sespech, was a country, not a person. Either she was playing dumb—really dumb—or she was what she claimed, a traveler from the Chultan Peninsula. “Tell me,” he urged. “What’s the real reason you’re going to Ormpetarr?”
Karrell’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m looking for—”
“Disturbance three hands to starboard, two thousand four hundred paces ahead!” the lookout shouted, interrupting her. This time, his high-pitched voice had an edge to it.
The riverboat turned a few degrees back to port, and slowed still more. Karrell glanced in the direction the lookout was pointing, a slight frown on her face.
Arvin touched her arm—and felt her move into his touch. “What are you looking for?” he prompted.
“Something that was entrusted to the people of Hlondeth many years ago. It—”
“Disturbance one hand to starboard, one thousand paces ahead!” the sailor shouted.
The riverboat slowed momentarily then picked up speed and turned sharply to port.
“Yes?” Arvin prompted.
Karrell opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted a third time.
“Disturbance dead ahead, four hundred paces!”
Arvin glanced up as the lookout repeated his cry, his voice breaking. “Disturbance dead ahead!” he shouted at the guards. “Something’s breaking the surface!”
Arvin glanced back at the guards. They stood tensely behind their crossbows, fingers on triggers as their eyes searched the river ahead. The merchant, the husband, and the wife milled uncertainly on the main deck. At the stern, the elf and barrel-chested sailor awaited the captain’s orders. The elf’s hands were raised, ready to redirect the wind. The captain glanced back and forth between the low island—much closer now—and the bubbling patch of water, his face twisted with indecision. At last he gave an order; the sailor responded instantly, leaning into the tiller.
The boat heeled sharply to port, causing Karrell to stumble. She blinked, gave Arvin a sharp look, and took a quick step back from him, withdrawing her arm from his hand. The charm Arvin had manifested on her seemed to have broken. “What is happening?” she asked, glancing warily around.
“I don’t know,” Arvin answered. “But I don’t think it’s goo—”
“Naga!” the teenaged lookout shrilled. “Gods save us, it’s a naga!”
“This far north?” the captain shouted. “Are you sure?”
The lookout mutely nodded, white-faced. Arvin stared at the spot he was pointing at—a frothing patch of water a few dozen paces to starboard. A serpentlike creature had risen from the center of it. The creature looked like an enormous green eel with blood-red spines running the length of its body. Its head was human-shaped, its face plastered with wet, kelp-green hair that hung dripping from its scalp. Its eyes were dark and malevolent as it stared at the riverboat.
“Shoot it!” the captain shouted.
Arvin heard a twang as the gray-haired guard loosed a crossbow bolt. In that same instant, the naga withdrew under the surface of the water with astonishing speed. Even as the bolt plunged into the river,
the naga was gone, leaving only a spreading circle of lapping waves behind.
A moment later, over the shouting of the crew, Arvin heard a loud thud as something struck the underside of the hull. The boat canted sharply up, its stern leaving the water entirely, throwing Arvin and Karrell together into the point of the bow. Timbers groaned as the boat was forced upward by the naga rearing up beneath it; Arvin heard wood splintering as the tiller was torn away. Something splashed into the water near the stern, and someone amidships screamed—either the wife or the merchant, he wasn’t sure. From above came the crack-voiced, terrified prayers of the lookout.
Then the stern slammed back down into the water. The riverboat rocked violently from side to side, water sloshing over the gunwales and its sail wildly flapping. A wave nearly carried Arvin’s pack over the side. As he grabbed for it, he heard Karrell whispering urgently in her own language. From behind them came the shouts of the captain and the terrified screams of the other passengers.
A thud came from the starboard side as the naga rammed the boat a second time. The riverboat rolled sharply to port, a yardarm brushing the water. The lookout screamed as his swing-seat cracked like a whip, throwing him into the water. Clinging to the rail, Arvin heard thumps and curses as the other crew and passengers tumbled across the now-vertical deck, and a groan and cracking noises as the mast struck the water. Karrell flew past him and fell headlong into the river; Arvin shouted her name as she sank from sight. Then something hit him from behind, and he was underwater.
The first thing he noticed was the water’s terrible chill; it would have taken his breath away had there been any air in his lungs. The second was the fact that the strap of his pack was loosely tangled around his left wrist. Clinging to it, he fought his way back to the surface in time to see the deck of the riverboat rushing down at him. It slammed into his face, tearing open his cheek and forcing him under again.
When he came up for the second time, he tasted blood on his lips; warm blood was flowing down his cheek. Karrell was treading water nearby. “Are you all right?” Arvin shouted.
Karrell grimly nodded, her wet hair plastered to her face. Like Arvin, she appeared to be unhurt, aside from a few scrapes and bruises. Her dark eyes mirrored Arvin’s concern. “And you?” she asked, staring at the blood on his face.
Arvin took stock. He ached all over, but nothing seemed broken. “Fine.” He touched the crystal at his neck, silently thanking Tymora for her mercy. “Nine lives,” he whispered to himself.
The lookout floated facedown a short distance away. Arvin swam over to him and tried to flip him over then saw that the young crewmember’s neck was broken.
The riverboat was turned completely over, its splintered keel pointing skyward. A tangle of lines surrounded it like a bed of kelp. Four people treaded water within this tangle: the gray-haired guard and the three passengers. The merchant was closest to the boat; he clambered onto the overturned hull, water streaming from his hair and sodden cloak, then clung to the broken keel, dazedly shaking his head. The gray-haired guard immediately followed, dragging a hand crossbow behind him, then turned to help the husband and wife out of the water. The wife was sobbing but seemed unhurt; the husband grunted with the effort of trying to kick his way out of the water with an injured leg.
There was no sign of the rest of the crew, save for the hook-nosed guard. He was swimming determinedly toward the tiny island without a backward glance.
Arvin heard a third thump as the naga struck the bottom of the overturned boat; it rocked violently, prompting a whimper from the merchant. Arvin turned to stare at the hook-nosed guard—the fellow had already reached the island, which was no more than a hundred paces away—then caught Karrell’s eye. “Let’s go,” he told her.
She stared at the overturned boat. “But the passengers—”
“There’s no room for us on the hull,” Arvin said. “And we can do more on solid ground.”
At last Karrell nodded. They swam.
Karrell reached the island first. Arvin was still dragging his pack; it slowed him down, but he couldn’t afford to lose the dorje inside it. He nearly let it go when he heard a splashing noise behind him, but when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw it was the husband. The fellow had slipped back into the water and was trying to scramble out again.
Arvin reached the rocky shore and climbed out, gratefully accepting Karrell’s hand. He’d only been in the river a short time but was shivering violently. Noticing this, Karrell chanted softly in her own language then touched his hand. Warmth flooded through Arvin, banishing the cold from his body. He nodded gratefully, understanding now why she hadn’t needed the blanket during yesterday’s wagon ride. Though a chill wind had started to blow, he felt as comfortable as if he were in a fire-warmed room. His abbreviated little finger didn’t even ache. A useful spell, Arvin thought, wondering if there was a psionic power that might do the same.
“Hey,” the hook-nosed guard protested, his teeth chattering. “What about me?”
Karrell was turning toward him when the wife’s scream made her whirl toward the river instead. The naga had burst out of the water next to the boat, no more than a pace or two away from the battered hull. Its slit eyes ranged over the four humans who had taken refuge on top of the overturned boat: the merchant, cowering with a horrified expression on his face; the wife, trying to pull her husband out of the water; and the gray-haired guard, loudly cursing as he fumbled one-handed with his crossbow. The guard was injured, Arvin saw; the fingers of his other hand stuck out at odd angles and his face was drawn and pale.
The naga’s eyes settled on the merchant. Its tongue flickered out of its mouth, tasting the man’s fear. Then it opened its mouth, baring its fangs.
The merchant screamed.
The naga lashed forward. Its teeth sank into the merchant’s shoulder, injecting a deadly dose of venom. Then it reared up. The merchant, hanging from its jaws, gave one feeble kick then slumped. The naga dropped his lifeless body. It splashed into the river then bobbed back to the surface facedown.
Arvin tossed down his pack and summoned his dagger into his glove. Before he could throw it, however, the gray-haired guard raised his crossbow and shot. The bolt struck the naga in the neck. The naga jerked and lashed its head from side to side, trying to shake the bolt loose. Then it glared at the guard. It opened its mouth and flicked its tongue four times in rapid succession. Four glowing darts of energy streaked toward the guard, striking him in the chest. He grunted, slumped down onto the deck, and slid into the river.
“Tymora help us,” Arvin whispered. He’d heard tales of nagas. They were said to be as cunning as dragons and as slippery as snakes, with a bite as venomous as that of a yuan-ti. He hadn’t realized they also were capable of magic.
Realizing his dagger would do little against such a fearsome monster, Arvin vanished it back into his glove. He glanced at the hook-nosed guard, hoping the fellow might also have a crossbow, but the fellow had lost his weapons during the swim to the island.
Karrell took a step toward the water’s edge; it looked as though she were about to dive back into the river. “Don’t,” Arvin urged, catching her hand. “Wait.”
“For what?” she said fiercely. “Someone else to die?”
Despite her angry rebuke, Karrell halted. She began chanting what sounded like a spell.
The naga, meanwhile, gave a loud hiss and turned its head back and forth, as if trying to decide who its next victim would be.
Arvin had to do something—and quickly, before the naga struck again.
Sending his awareness inward, he manifested one of the attack forms Tanju had taught him—the mind blast. A psion targeted by this attack would crumple emotionally as his self-esteem and confidence were flayed away by the blast of psionic energy. A creature incapable of psionics, like the naga, would only be briefly stunned. But perhaps it would be enough.
Arvin imagined the form as Tanju had taught it to him—a man standing braced and ready, his hand
s held out in front of him with forefingers and thumbs touching to form a circle. When the visualization was clear, Arvin imagined the man—himself—drawing the circle toward his forehead. As power coiled tightly behind his third eye, he threw it outward at the naga. Silver sparks spiraled out from this third eye as the energies contained in the blast swept toward the creature. As they struck, the naga swayed. Its eyes rolled back in its head.
“Swim for the island!” Arvin shouted at the couple. “It’s stunned—now’s your chance!”
The husband tried to get into the water, but his wife clung to him. “Lie still!” she cried. “Lie still, and it won’t see us!” As they struggled together, the naga blinked and shook its head. It glared down at them, its tongue flickering in and out of its mouth as its jaws parted in anticipation.
Arvin swore. The naga had recovered from the mind blast with surprising speed. Arvin wished, belatedly, that he’d chosen a different power to manifest. If he’d linked the naga’s fate with that of the merchant—or the guard—their deaths would have weakened the naga, perhaps even killed it. He could still manifest a fate link—but not until he knew for certain that another death was both imminent and unavoidable.
Arvin’s eye was caught by a flash of white above his head; craning his neck, he saw that it was the elf, walking through the air as if on solid ground. He held his hands out in front of him, as if half expecting to bump into something. “What happened?” he shouted. “Where is everyone?”
The hook-nosed guard stood. “Over here!” he shouted, waving his arms.
The elf turned toward the sound of his voice and started to descend. Each step carried him forward several paces at a time. But he wasn’t going to reach them in time. Not before someone else died.
Karrell finished her spell. She shouted at the naga it in a language Arvin didn’t recognize. The naga whipped its head around, staring at her, and made a series of strangled cries that sounded almost like words. Then it gave a long, menacing hiss.
Arvin groaned. Karrell had distracted the naga’s attention from the couple—but her spell seemed to have angered the monster. Would a glowing bolt of magical energy follow?