by Lisa Smedman
Just then, however, the husband at last wrenched himself away from his wife. He balanced unsteadily on the hull, preparing to dive, but then his injured leg slipped on the wet wood. Spotting the sudden movement, the naga lashed down, catching the husband’s arm in its jaws. The wife screamed in horror. The husband cursed, striking the monster with his free hand. But his blows were feeble; the poison was swiftly sapping his strength.
That decided it.
Arvin sent his awareness deep into his chest, unlocking the energies stored there. As he exhaled through pursed lips, a faint scent filled the air—the power’s secondary display. To Arvin, it smelled of ginger and saffron, spices his mother used to cook with, but each person catching a whiff of it would interpret it differently. To some, it might be the scent of a flower; to others, the tang of heated metal.
Arvin directed the energy first at the husband, then at the naga. The monster continued to hold the husband’s arm in its jaws, oblivious to the fact its fate had just been linked with the human. The husband, meanwhile, grew increasingly weak. When his eyes began to glaze, the naga at last released him. The husband collapsed in a heap on the hull, next to his ashen-faced wife.
Arvin stared at the naga in anticipation. It shook its head and swayed loosely back and forth, part of its body sliding back under the water. It stared with dull eyes at the humans who were proving so much of an annoyance, and for one hope-filled moment Arvin thought the injuries the fate link had inflicted might cause it to retreat back into the river. But then it gave a loud, angry hiss. Whatever had prompted its attack on the riverboat, it wasn’t giving up.
Arvin heard the sound of panting just above. Turning, he saw the elf had reached them at last.
“The naga’s by the boat!” Arvin shouted at the elf. “Use your magic against it—quickly!”
“Where?” The elf cocked his head, trying to pinpoint the naga by sound alone. The monster, however, was no longer hissing. And the wife was wailing as she clutched her husband’s lifeless body, masking any sounds the naga was making.
Arvin made a quick mental calculation. “About a hundred and fifteen paces away,” he called over his shoulder. “And….” He glanced at the naga and took a wild guess. It was slightly to the left. “And one hand to port?”
The elf immediately cast a spell. Pointing a finger at the sky, he shouted in his own lilting tongue, and whipped his hand down so that it was pointing at the naga. As he did, a bolt of lightning streaked down from the overcast above, momentarily blinding Arvin. Thunder exploded directly overhead.
When Arvin opened his eyes again—blinking them to clear away the white after-image of the lightning—he saw that the bolt had missed. Instead of striking the naga it had struck the overturned boat, tearing a huge hole in the riverboat’s stern. Smoke rose from the blackened planks.
“Did I hit it?” the elf cried.
The naga gave a humanlike scream, which ended in a fierce hiss of anger. Then it retaliated. Its tongue flicked out, hurling a glowing dart of energy toward the elf. He gave a sharp cry as it struck him in the shoulder and he immediately tried to cast a counter spell. But even as his lips parted, a second magical missile struck him in the chest, then a third, and a fourth. The elf faltered, fell to his knees, and began sinking through the air toward the island.
Arvin tried to manifest a second fate link—this time, between elf and naga. The monster wouldn’t suffer the effects of the damage the elf had already taken, but if it continued to attack, the pain it would suffer would give it pause for thought. Though he felt a slight tingle in his chest, nothing happened. His psionic energies were too depleted to manifest that power.
The wife’s wails were increasing in volume. Releasing her husband’s body at last, she rose unsteadily to her feet and shook her fist at the heavens, one hand gripping the keel. “Why him?” she screamed. “Why?”
The naga’s head whipped around. It lunged down, sinking its teeth into her upraised arm. She gave a choked cry and staggered backward as the naga released her. She collapsed into a seated position, supporting herself with one hand.
“Stay where you are,” Karrell called to the woman. “I am coming to help.” Then, before Arvin could stop her, she dived into the water. What Karrell thought she could accomplish, Arvin had no idea. The woman would be dead within a few heartbeats from the naga’s venom. Even if Karrell reached her in time to cast a preventive spell, she’d be the next to fall.
“Karrell, no!” Arvin cried. “Come back!”
She ignored him, swimming steadily on toward the boat.
He had to do something—but what? His energies were almost depleted, but there was one small thing he could do. Sending his awareness down into his throat, he chose one of his lesser powers—one that caused its target to become momentarily distracted by an imagined sight or sound. A low droning filled the air as it manifested. The naga had been lashing back and forth, but as the power manifested, its head turned sharply to stare at a distant spot on the river.
As Karrell at last reached the boat and climbed up to help the injured woman, Arvin used his power to distract the naga a second time. “Karrell!” he shouted. “Swim with her back to the island! Get away from there!”
Karrell, however, wasn’t listening. She crouched beside the woman, touching her arm.
The naga glanced down at her and parted its jaws.
Arvin distracted it a third time.
“Hurry up,” Arvin gritted under his breath. “Finish the spell.”
The naga recovered—more quickly than before.
Arvin distracted it a fourth time.
Karrell still hadn’t completed her spell.
The naga loomed above her, hissing furiously. It was almost as if the monster realized it was being hit with psionics—and blamed the attacks on the woman who was crouched on the overturned boat, within easy striking distance.
Arvin tried to distract the naga a fifth time.
Nothing happened. The energy stored in his muladhara had run dry. “Leave her!” he shouted at Karrell.
She ignored him.
“Where …” a faint voice asked, “… is it?”
Arvin glanced around. The elf was kneeling on the rocks behind him, his head drooping.
“Give me your hand,” Arvin said. “I’ll show you.” He grabbed the elf’s hand and aimed it at the spot where the naga was. “There,” he said. “About….”
Seeing that Karrell was also in a direct line with the elf’s hand, he hesitated. If he judged the distance or angle incorrectly, she would die.
The naga bared its venomous fangs. Its eyes were locked on Karrell.
“One hundred and seventeen paces away!” Arvin urged. “Quick! Cast your spell.”
The elf’s lips drew together in a determined line. He pointed at the sky with his free hand and chanted the words of his spell. Guided by Arvin’s hand, his arm swept down—
The naga lunged forward; Karrell jerked to one side. The naga reared back, preparing to lash out at Karrell a second time—
The lightning bolt struck. This time, the aim was true. The bolt lanced into the naga’s head, exploding it. This time it was bits of skull and brain that splashed down into the water, rather than splinters of wood. The suddenly headless naga swayed back and forth for a moment longer then crumpled into the water. It disappeared from sight, leaving behind ripples that sloshed against the overturned boat, staining the river red.
The elf turned his head, listening. “Did I—”
“Yes,” Arvin answered. “It’s dead.” Dropping the elf’s hand, he dived into the water and swam rapidly toward Karrell. She was hunched over the injured woman, unmoving. But as he crawled up onto the hull, he saw Karrell straighten. Her movements seemed steady enough.
“Thank the gods it missed you,” he started to say. “For a moment there, I thought—” As he climbed up onto the hull, his eyes fell on her trouser leg and the twin puncture marks in it. A dark stain surrounded each puncture: blood.
Karrell glanced at the wound. “Yes. It bit me. But the wound is small.” As she turned back to comfort the injured woman, Arvin saw her wince.
“But the venom?” he asked. “Why didn’t it kill you?”
“My magic halted it.”
Her hands, Arvin noticed, were bare. She’d yanked off her gloves to lay hands on the injured woman. Arvin saw now what had caused the bulge under her glove—a wide gold ring, set with a large turquoise stone, on the little finger of her right hand. It was probably the source of the magic that shielded her thoughts.
“You’re a cleric?” Arvin guessed.
Karrell nodded. She reached for her gloves and began pulling them on.
“Of what god?” Arvin continued.
“You will not have heard of him, this far north. He is a god of the jungle.”
“Your wound is still bleeding,” he told her. “We’ve got to staunch the blood.” He reached for her leg.
“No,” Karrell said sharply.
Arvin drew his hands back. “No need to take offense,” he told her.
“I can heal it myself.” She laid a palm over the punctures and chanted a brief spell in a language Arvin had never heard before—her native tongue, he guessed. The words were crisp and short, as abbreviated and staccato as her accent.
The riverboat creaked, listing slightly as it settled deeper into the river. Glancing down at the water, Arvin saw a dark-skinned body, surrounded by a stain of red, tangled in the submerged rigging. That explained where the captain had gone. The body of the husband floated nearby. The man’s head had suffered the same fate as the naga’s; it had ruptured like a smashed melon. Pinkish chunks floated in the river next to it.
Karrell, wisely, had turned the wife’s head away from the gruesome sight.
The boat shifted, releasing a bubble of air half the size of a wagon. Arvin was forced to grab the keel as the boat tilted still further. “It’s going to sink,” he told Karrell. He glanced down at the injured woman. “Let’s get her to the island.”
The wife had fallen silent now; she stared straight ahead with dull eyes. Together, Arvin and Karrell eased her into the water and dragged her between them as they swam back to the island where the guard and elf waited.
Karrell immediately went to the elf, despite the guard’s protests that he was “freezing to death” and in need of one of her warming spells. Kneeling beside the elf, she cast a healing spell. Arvin, meanwhile, stared at the riverboat. Its bow rose slowly into the air at an angle, and it sank, borne down by the weight of its cargo.
The injured woman sat up and stared at the spot where it had gone down, crying. Karrell’s spell had saved her life, but the woman’s heart was still wounded. “My husband,” she keened. “Why …?”
Karrell, meanwhile, cast a warming spell on the hook-nosed guard. Instead of thanking her, he spat. “So many dead—and for what? A few lousy ingots of iron.”
The elf turned toward him. “The barony needs steel; that iron would have forged new shields, armor, and weapons to keep Chondath at bay.” He turned blind eyes toward the water. “Did the boat sink? Was the cargo lost?”
“All but this pack, here,” the guard muttered, giving Arvin’s pack a kick. The pack rolled over, spilling a length of trollgut rope. Horrified, Arvin realized that the main flap had been torn. Had his dorje fallen out during his swim to the island?
The guard frowned. “That’s a strange-looking rope.”
Arvin hurried to his pack and began rummaging inside it, searching frantically for the dorje. He breathed a sigh of relief as his fingers brushed against the cloth-wrapped length of crystal.
“What I don’t understand is what the naga was doing this far north,” the guard continued, turning back to the elf. “Nagas never come north of the barrier. And why did it attack? We did nothing to provoke it.”
“Yes, we did,” Karrell said softly. “We crushed her nest.”
The guard snapped his fingers. “That snag,” he said. “The one we grazed.”
Karrell nodded. “She had laid her eggs in its roots.”
Startled, Arvin looked up at Karrell. He’d seen the “rock” in the snag—but Karrell hadn’t. “How did you know that?”
“I asked her.”
“That was the spell you cast?” he asked, incredulous.
Karrell shrugged. “I thought I could talk to her. But she was too angry.”
Arvin shook his head. “You can’t reason with a gods-cursed serpent,” he told her. He gestured at the weapon that still hung from her belt. “Next time, use your club.”
Karrell’s face darkened, but before she could snap back at him, Arvin turned to the elf. “What now?” he asked. He wanted to pull the dorje out of his pack and check it, but not in front of the others. “Do we wait here for the next riverboat?”
“There won’t be another until tomorrow morning,” the elf said. “But I can air walk back. With a magical wind to push me, I’ll be swift.”
Arvin stared at the elf’s unfocused eyes. “How will you find your way back?”
“Hulv will guide me,” the elf said, gesturing in the general direction of the hook-nosed guard. “I can cast the spell on him, as well.”
Karrell nodded down at the injured woman. “Can you take her with you?” she asked. “She needs more healing than I can provide.”
The elf nodded. “Hulv will carry her.”
“What about my husband?” the woman asked in a trembling voice. She stared at the spot where his headless body floated, next to that of the merchant. The lookout and gray-haired guard floated a short distance away, but the captain’s body was nowhere to be seen; it must have been dragged below by the boat. As for the barrel-chested sailor, he had completely disappeared.
“Lady, your husband’s body will be recovered later, together with the others who died,” the elf told her. He tilted his face in the general direction of Arvin and Karrell. “I don’t have enough magic to cast the spell on all of us, so you two will have to wait here. I will get them to send another riverboat—it should reach you by midday.”
“Fine,” Arvin said. He pulled his cloak tighter as a breeze started to blow—a natural wind, this time. Arvin squinted up at the overcast sky, hoping it wasn’t going to start snowing again. If it did, the riverboat would have a hard time locating them.
The elf cast the spell on himself then on the sailor. Hulv picked up the injured woman and followed the elf into the air, as if climbing an invisible staircase. They walked swiftly away and soon were no more than specks in the distance.
Arvin glanced at Karrell, who had her back to him. She was staring at the bodies, which were slowly drifting away from the island, back in the direction of Riverboat Landing.
“We should recover them,” she said. “Before the current carries them away.”
“I suppose,” Arvin agreed reluctantly. Despite the fact that the spell Karrell had cast on him was keeping him warm, he was nervous about entering the river again. “But what if another naga happens along?”
“None will come,” Karrell said. “The naga was alone—an outcast, hiding from the others of her kind. She thought this would be a safer place to lay her eggs.”
“Ah,” Arvin said. He glanced again at the bodies. The river had only a sluggish current; it wasn’t as if they were going to vanish in the next few moments. “I need to check something in my pack first. Just give me a moment; then I’ll help.”
Karrell didn’t reply. She seemed to still be smarting from his critical remark about the spell she’d used on the naga. Arvin gave himself a mental kick for being so sharp with her—especially after she risked her own life to save that of the woman—and tried to stammer out an apology, but she dived into the water alone.
“Uh … I’ll be right there,” Arvin called to her.
He pulled the dorje out of his pack—then stiffened as he felt something shift inside the cloth in which it was wrapped. He tore the cloth open with fumbling fingers and groaned as he saw what lay wi
thin. The dorje had snapped cleanly in half. The lavender glow of psionic energy that had once filled it was gone.
Cursing, he slammed a fist against his leg. Now that the dorje was broken, Arvin would have to rely on his own, limited, psionic powers.
Finding Glisena wasn’t going to be easy.
He shoved the broken crystal back into his pack, together with his ropes. As he tied the torn flap shut, he wondered how long it would take the second riverboat to reach them. Thinking about that, he realized the broken dorje wasn’t his only problem. When the riverboat came to rescue them, it would also recover the bodies Karrell was so diligently recovering. Its crew wouldn’t want to travel with these all the way to Ormpetarr. Instead they would return to the closest town—to Riverboat Landing …
Which was the last place Arvin wanted to go …
Especially if Zelia was still there.
CHAPTER 4
As the dark shape that had been moving upriver drew closer, resolving into a riverboat, Arvin waved his arms above his head. This boat had neither sail nor rudder. Instead it was drawn by a giant eagle whose talons gripped a crossbar attached to the end of the bowsprit. The bird was enormous, with a wingspan nearly as wide as the riverboat was long. The eagle let out a screee as it spotted the pair of humans on the island, and the boat slowly turned until its bow was pointed toward them.
“They’ve seen us,” Arvin said, lowering his arms. Warming his back at the fire they’d built from wood salvaged from the wreck of the first riverboat, he watched as the boat draw nearer. He tried to pick out the figures on board, hoping he wasn’t going to see an all-too-familiar face. He’d wrapped a scarf around his face so that only his eyes showed and had disappeared his dagger into his glove. If Zelia was on board, these crude preparations might give him a chance to catch her off guard. He just wished he hadn’t used up his store of psionic energy. He couldn’t even manifest a simple distraction, let alone shield himself from whatever Zelia might hurl at him.