Viper's Kiss

by Lisa Smedman

  Arvin shook his head.

  “I did not expect so,” Karrell said. “He will have it hidden. He fears another attempt by Sibyl’s followers to steal it.”

  “The Pox?” Arvin asked, alarmed. “Did some of them survive?”

  “Who are The Pox?”

  “Followers of Talona, goddess of plague and disease,” Arvin’s heart was beating quickly. “And servants of Sibyl. They’re the ones who killed my friend.”

  Karrell frowned. “No. The ones I am speaking of worship a different deity: Talos, god of storms and destruction. They, too, have formed an alliance with Sibyl. At her bidding, they tried to steal the Circled Serpent after Dmetrio Extaminos discovered it inside the ancient tower.”

  Suddenly, Arvin realized what she was referring to. Last summer, a gang of rogues had attacked the workers who were restoring the Scaled Tower, killing the project’s yuan-ti overseer. The attack had been the talk of Hlondeth’s thieves’ guild for tendays; the rogues had not belonged to the Guild, and retribution was called for. The theft had taken place while Arvin was busy battling The Pox, and so he had not paid it much attention. Even when he’d met Tanju, and the militiaman accompanying him had let slip that Tanju was tracking someone who had committed a theft, someone called the “stormlord,” Arvin hadn’t put the pieces together. But now he understood. And he had bad news for Karrell. According to Tanju, the “rogues” had succeeded in getting what they came for.

  “You’re too late,” he told Karrell. “Sibyl already has the Circled Serpent.” Quickly, he recounted for her the events of last summer, and what he’d overheard.

  Karrell’s face paled. After a long moment of strained silence, she shook her head fiercely. “That is not possible,” she said. “The workers I questioned said that Dmetrio Extaminos still had the artifact they had dug up in his possession. They even described the container it was in: a round wooden box, coated with lead to prevent magic from revealing the contents.”

  “Perhaps they lied,” Arvin suggested.

  “That would not have been possible.”

  “You charmed them,” Arvin concluded. He thought a moment. “The people I spoke with were equally certain that the followers of Talos did manage to steal whatever had been found in the tower. Maybe they only got half of it.”

  “Yes. That must be what happened.” She twisted the ring on her finger, a worried look on her face. “Do you know where Sibyl is now?”

  Arvin shook his head. “If I did, I would have tried to avenge my friend’s death. I’ve been looking for her for the past six months, but even the Guild can’t find her.”

  “It is more vital now than ever that I recover the second half of the Circled Serpent,” Karrell said. “The half Dmetrio still has.”

  “Do you think he knows what it is?” Arvin asked. “Perhaps if we told him what was at stake….” Remembering who he was talking about, Arvin shook his head. Dmetrio Extaminos was arrogant, cruel, and callous. He cared nothing for Glisena and even less for his own child. He wasn’t the sort to be moved by the fate of hundreds of thousands of strangers.

  “What’s next?” Arvin asked. “Are you going to try to speak to Dmetrio a second time?”

  “I have already questioned his house slaves,” Karrell answered. “None of them have seen the Circled Serpent. Nor have they noticed a lead-coated box among the household goods they have been packing. I am starting to suspect that he did not bring the Circled Serpent with him, that he left it behind, in Hlondeth.”

  “Will you return there?” Arvin asked, starting to miss her already.

  Karrell sat in silence for several moments. “Perhaps.” Then she straightened, a look of determination in her eye. “No. I will search for Sibyl, instead. Finding her should prove easier than trying to locate a small box lined with lead.”

  Arvin leaned forward. “I can help you with your search,” he said. “But I’ll need your help in return. I’ve promised the baron that I’ll find his daughter. She’s somewhere in a forest called the Chondalwood. She can’t be located using magic; she’s shielded against all forms of detection. But you have a spell that might be able to help—the one that allowed you to communicate with the naga. If you used it to question the animals of the forest, we might find one who has seen Glisena. If we can find her, we stand a good chance of also locating Naneth; the midwife will certainly be on hand for the baby’s birth. And once we have Naneth….”

  “We can force her to tell us where Sibyl is,” Karrell said.

  “Then I’ll have my revenge. And you’ll have a chance to recover the Circled Serpent. Or half of it, anyway.” He extended a hand. “What do you say? Partners?”

  Karrell stared into his eyes for several heartbeats, ignoring his hand. Then she leaned forward and kissed him—passionately. Her fingers twined in his hair; her lips pressed against his. Excitement coursed through his body with a fire so fierce it left him trembling. Karrell was everything he’d dreamed of, everything he’d ever hoped to find in a woman. Her kiss left him as dizzy as the osssra smoke—and it showed no sign of ending. She pulled him toward her and he tumbled, landing on top of her on the bed. His hands brushed against her waist, her breasts—then found their way inside her dress. Still kissing her fiercely, he tried to stroke her breast, but for some strange reason the dress had gotten in the way. Its fabric felt rough under his fingertips.

  No, that wasn’t the dress. It was her breast. That wasn’t skin his fingertips were caressing, but …

  Scales?

  Her charm spell—which only now did he realize she’d been successful in casting—abruptly ended. He broke off the kiss, jerking his hand out of her dress. Suddenly, everything made sense. Her strange comments, her taking offense when he’d tried to warn her about the yuan-ti of House Extaminos.

  Karrell was—

  She sat up. “You have just realized that I am half yuan-ti,” she said. Her expression was a strange mixture of hurt and defiance.

  Arvin nodded, mute. “That’s not why—” he stammered. “It’s just….” Conflicting emotions surged through him. He wanted Karrell, he ached for her, even without the benefit of her charm spell—but now she reminded him of Zelia.

  Her cheeks flushed. With a quick, angry motion she jerked at her dress, straightening it. “I am used to it,” she snapped. “It is just one of the barriers in the maze of life—a barrier that I must overcome, if I am to find my true path. But it is hard. People are always mistaking me for human. How do you think it feels, to hear their comments about how ‘cold-hearted’ and evil the yuan-ti are, knowing that it is you they are talking about? The yuan-ti, also, are unkind. To them I look too human to ever be considered….” She glanced away.

  “Beautiful?” Arvin asked. “Desirable?” He reached out with a hand and lifted her chin. “You are. Believe me.” He sighed. “It’s just that, for a moment, you reminded me of someone. Another yuan-ti woman—a psion. She used her psionics to plant a seed in my head. If it hadn’t been removed, it would have stripped my mind from my body and left me an empty husk for her to fill with a copy of herself. She used me.”

  Karrell’s eyes softened. “The woman at Riverboat Landing?”

  Arvin nodded.

  “Not all yuan-ti are so cruel.”

  “I realize that,” Arvin said. “And now that I look at you—really look at you—I see that you’re not like Zelia at all. Not one bit.”

  He leaned forward—slowly—and kissed her.

  Karrell didn’t resist. Instead, at first hesitantly, she kissed him back.

  Arvin broke off the kiss. “How do you say it?” he asked. “‘Kiss’—in your language.”

  “Tsu.”

  Arvin smiled. The word puckered Karrell’s lips beautifully as she spoke it. “And ‘beautiful’? How do you say that?”

  “Kiichpan.”

  “‘Woman?’”

  She gave a slight frown, obviously wondering what he was up to. “Chu’al.”

  Arvin returned it with a frank stare.
“Keech-pan choo-hal,” he said haltingly. “May I be your yaakun?”

  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 Foesmasher. 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,” Foesmasher 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 Foesmasher, 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?”

  “Something 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 Foesmasher 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.