by Lisa Smedman
Now, in his mind, he repeated one of the howls that had prompted him to free the creature: a long, wavering, mournful cry.
The wolf cocked its head and gave Arvin a questioning look. It would see him for what he was: a human who had just howled like a wolf. Then it threw back its head. Its reply startled Arvin; it sounded as if the wolf were right next to him, howling in his ear. The cry ended, the wolf cocked its head a second time, following Arvin’s gaze as if it, too, were looking at the stone. Arvin could hear it panting … and the sending ended.
Exhausted, Arvin rose to his feet.
“Did it work?” Karrell asked.
“I made contact with a wolf, but I don’t know if it will come,” Arvin said. “We’ll have to wait and see.” He left the lapis lazuli in place on his forehead. If a wolf didn’t arrive in a reasonable amount of time, he’d try again.
Tanglemane returned then, carrying an armful of dead branches. He cleared a bare spot on the ground near the stone giant then dumped the branches onto it. “We need fire,” he announced. “To keep warm. And to keep the wolves from coming too close.”
Arvin nodded. Tanglemane needed something to drive away his fear of the wolves while they sat and waited. Arvin slipped his pack off his shoulders and rummaged inside it for the wooden box that held his flint and steel. The moss and shavings that were nestled inside were still dry, he was glad to see. He offered the fire kit to Tanglemane, who took it with a nod of his head.
The centaur soon had a small fire burning, despite the dampness of the wood he’d collected. He fed it until it blazed. Arvin felt its heat as no more than a dull warmth, thanks to Karrell’s spell, but soon his wet clothes were steaming. He stripped down to his breeches and hung his shirt, pants, and cloak on sticks near the fire. He even pulled off his glove; it might be magical, but the leather had become as soaked as the rest of his clothes by the fall of sleet.
Karrell hesitated a moment—unlike other yuan-ti, she seemed to be shy about her body—then stripped off her own clothes. Something that glinted reddish-brown in the firelight fell to the ground: loose scales.
Arvin glanced at them, wondering if he should say anything. Curiosity won out. “Do you shed your skin?” he asked.
Karrell stared at the scales that lay on the ground at her feet. “Not normally at this time of year,” she said. Then she shrugged. “Perhaps it is the change in the weather. Or perhaps the wet clothing chafed them off.”
She settled cross-legged by the fire, naked, combing her long, dark hair with her fingers. Her breasts and hips were full and rounded, her mouth soft and inviting.
If Tanglemane hadn’t been with them….
Arvin decided to channel his energy elsewhere, into something productive. He stood and kicked away fallen branches and dead leaves, expanding the bare patch around the fire. “I need to meditate,” he told Tanglemane and Karrell. “Let me know if the wolf shows up.”
He lay prone on the cold, wet ground, assuming the bhujanga asana. He still found it the most effective pose for replenishing his muladhara; sitting cross-legged, as his mother had done, never worked quite as well. The rearing-serpent pose gave his meditations an edge that the comfortable, seated position did not.
When his muladhara was replenished, he rose and flowed through the ten forms Tanju had taught him. Tanglemane was still keeping a close eye on the surrounding woods, but Karrell watched Arvin, her eyes ranging up and down his body. Her frank interest distracted him, causing him to lose his concentration and falter slightly on the final pose.
He sank down beside her and held his hands out toward the fire, even though her spell had made warming them unnecessary.
Karrell reached out for his left hand and turned it, looking at his abbreviated little finger. “An accident?”
Arvin shook his head. “I was young and on my own and hungry. I made the mistake of stealing on someone else’s turf. The Guild cut it off as a warning.” He picked up his glove, which had dried, and started to pull the stiff leather over his hand, but Karrell stopped him. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it.
“You have had a difficult life,” she said.
Arvin eased his hand from hers. “No more difficult than some. I’m sure your life hasn’t been easy.”
“It became much more pleasant after I pledged myself to the K’aaxlaat. They helped set my feet on the path I was to follow through the maze of life. They have become like broodmates to me.”
“Do you miss your home?” Arvin asked.
“Often,” Karrell said. Then she smiled. “But not at the moment.”
Tanglemane stood suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” Arvin asked, reaching for his dagger.
“All is well,” Tanglemane assure them. “I simply go to find more firewood.” Without another word, he trotted into the woods.
Karrell gave a soft laugh. “He realizes we would rather be alone.”
“Does he think we want to—”
Before he could finish the question, she kissed him, answering it.
Arvin could hear the sound of Tanglemane’s footsteps growing fainter. Collecting firewood, indeed. As the fire crackled beside them, filling the air with the sharp tang of smoke, he returned Karrell’s kiss, wrapping his arms around her. Before his meditations, he’d been exhausted. But now….
Easing her onto the ground, he kissed his way down her throat.
A rustling in the woods startled Arvin awake. It was dark, but the fire was burning brightly. Tanglemane must have stoked it while Arvin and Karrell slept. The centaur stood next to the fire, head lolling on his chest, fast asleep.
Karrell lay beside Arvin. Like him, she was still naked; they had fallen asleep, tangled together, after their lovemaking. She stirred, lost in a dream. It must have been an unpleasant one; she gasped and jerked her hand, as if trying to free it from something.
Arvin nudged her awake.
She blinked then sat up. “What is it?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Arvin said. “I heard something in the woods. I think it’s—”
Eyes glinted at him from the edge of the clearing—eyes that were low to the ground and shone red from reflected firelight.
“A wolf,” Arvin finished.
Tanglemane must have heard the word in his sleep. That, or he caught the wolf’s scent. Instantly, his head was up, nostrils flaring. Tail flicking back and forth, he started to reach toward the empty sheath at his hip then changed his mind and turned his hindquarters to the wolf, lifting one massive hoof in readiness to kick.
Karrell sat up, fully awake now. “Tanglemane, wait. I will speak to it.” She murmured something in her own language then gave a series of yips, half-barks, and growls. She was answered in kind by the wolf, which padded into the clearing. It proved to be an older animal, with a white muzzle and a lean, hungry-looking face.
“Has the wolf seen any satyrs?” Arvin asked. “Is there a camp nearby?”
“She does not know. She will ask her pack.”
“Are they—” Before Arvin could complete the question, the wolf threw back its head and howled. A second wolf answered it from just inside the forest on the opposite side of the clearing. Then a third answered, from slightly deeper in the forest. Within moments, howls came from the woods on every side, both from close at hand and from a great distance. There must have been a dozen voices or more. The chorus lasted for several moments, rising and falling like a song, then one by one the wolves fell silent.
Arvin glanced at Tanglemane, who stood stiff-legged and trembling. He placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on the centaur’s flank. “Steady, Tanglemane,” he told the centaur. “You were right; they’re afraid of the fire. They’re not going to come any closer.”
The wolf who had answered Arvin’s sending stared at Karrell and gave a series of yips and barks.
“A satyr camp lies to the east of here,” Karrell translated, her voice tight with excitement. “There is a human in it. A female human.”
“Tymora be praised,” Arvin whispered. Touching the crystal at his throat, he whispered a quick prayer of thanks to the goddess of luck, promising to throw a hefty handful of coins in her cup—coins that would come from the baron’s reward. “Can the wolves lead us there?” he asked Karrell.
She translated his question and received a reply. “They can. But they are hungry; the winter has been hard. They want something in return: meat. They want our ‘horse.’”
“Our horse?” Arvin echoed.
Tanglemane gave him a wild-eyed look.
“Tell them that’s of the question,” Arvin said, placing a protective arm across Tanglemane’s broad back. He glanced at the rock behind them then spoke in a low voice to Karrell. “Too bad we didn’t have a way to turn the rock back into a giant. We’d have enough meat to feed a dozen packs of wolves.”
“Could you summon another animal for them to eat?” Karrell asked. “An elk, or….”
“Not without knowing how it ‘talks,’” Arvin said. “A wolf’s howl is the only animal sound I could imitate reliably. Other than a snake’s hiss, of course.”
Tanglemane’s nostrils flared. His eyes were wide, with white showing around the edges as they darted back and forth, following the shapes that flitted through the darkness. “They’re coming closer,” he whinnied.
Arvin manifested his dagger into his glove. “Then we’ll fight them,” he said.
“Wait,” Karrell said, laying a hand on Arvin’s arm. “Let me try something else.”
Abruptly, she transformed into her serpent form—a sleek reddish-brown snake with a band of gold scales around the tip of its tail. One moment she was standing in the firelight; the next, she was slithering along the ground, circling around the fire. Tanglemane startled, rearing up, and for several moments Arvin frantically tried to calm him, terrified that the centaur would crush Karrell under his hooves. By the time Arvin turned around, Karrell was between them and the wolves, swaying back and forth. She hissed softly, slit eyes turning to stare first at one patch of darkened forest, then another. Arvin found himself swaying slightly as he watched her and felt Tanglemane doing the same.
The first wolf—the one with the white muzzle—padded closer. It stopped several paces from Karrell and stared at her as if mesmerized. Then another wolf walked out of the woods, then two more. Within moments, six shaggy gray beasts were sitting in a circle, surrounding Karrell. All were thinner than they should have been: hungry.
Something flashed out of the darkness—a seventh wolf that hadn’t succumbed to her trance. Releasing the near-panicked Tanglemane, Arvin raised his dagger, but before he could throw it, Karrell turned and confronted that wolf with a spitting hiss. The wolf immediately flattened on the ground, ears back and tail tucked between its legs. Whimpering, it crawled back to the woods. As soon as it reached the safety of the forest, it fled, crashing away through the undergrowth.
Karrell, meanwhile, had resumed her dance. The six remaining wolves continued to sit and stare at her, swaying in time with her motions. She drank in their scent with her flickering tongue then opened her mouth. What emerged wasn’t a hiss, but a series of yips, followed by a long howl.
One by one, the wolves threw back their heads and howled with her.
Arvin felt a shiver run through him. It suddenly came home to him that Karrell was something utterly nonhuman. It hadn’t fully struck him when he’d first seen her scales. But seeing her in serpent form—watching as she reduced one wolf to a quivering bundle of fear and ensnared the remaining wolves in her trance—was a different matter. He’d been thinking of her as a human with a hint of serpent about her. He’d refused to fully acknowledge that she was yuan-ti—and everything that came with it. Those charms she’d cast on him were only a small fraction of her powers.
The sight of her in serpent form terrified him. Yet he cared for her—even admired her. She could be kind, self-less, and brave. Just look at how she’d risked her own life to save the woman who had been bitten by the naga. These were qualities that simply didn’t occur in a yuan-ti.
And yet she was yuan-ti.
Karrell twisted, still swaying, to face Arvin and Tanglemane. “They have agreed,” she announced in her human voice—a strange thing, indeed, to hear coming out of a serpent’s mouth. “They will lead us to the satyr camp before we give them the meat.”
“What meat?” Tanglemane asked, his eyes rolling.
Karrell turned to Arvin. “You said that Foesmasher would teleport to us, once we have located—” She paused as Tanglemane gave her a sharp look. “Once we have found what we are searching for. He can bring meat with him.”
Arvin nodded. It was a sound plan—as long as the wolves’ hunger didn’t make them impatient.
Tanglemane glanced back and forth between Arvin and Karrell. “Lord Foesmasher will teleport into the Chondalwood?” he asked, incredulous. “This … ‘thing’ that he holds dear. It must be very precious.”
“It is,” Arvin assured him.
“As precious as my son is to me?” Tanglemane guessed.
“Yes,” Arvin said, meeting his eye.
The centaur nodded then slowly smiled. “I will pray to Skerrit, lord of the herds, that we find her, then.”
Arvin glanced at the hungry wolves then spoke in a low voice to Karrell. “If Glisena isn’t at the camp, we’re in trouble.”
“She will be there,” Karrell said. “The wolves said so.”
Unless, Arvin silently added, Glisena gave birth before they reached the satyr camp. If she had, all they would find would be her corpse—a report that wouldn’t please the baron.
And the wolves would feed.
They walked all night, following the white-muzzled wolf through the forest. Arvin and Karrell walked on either side of Tanglemane, soothing him with reassuring words. Yet when dawn brightened the sky to the east, illuminating the trees with wintry light, Arvin could see that fully two dozen wolves surrounded them. They padded through the forest, tongues lolling, casting hungry glances at Tanglemane. Occasionally one would veer closer, and White Muzzle would growl and bare her teeth, warning it away. As the sun rose, these challenges became more frequent. And now that Arvin could see the wolves clearly, he realized they weren’t eyeing just the centaur. They were looking hungrily at him and Karrell, too.
For the last little while, they had been climbing a low hill. The top of it was crowned with a tangle of brambles that extended for several hundred paces to the left and right. The pack halted before reaching it and White Muzzle turned and gave a series of bark-yips. Karrell recast her spell and spoke to the wolf.
“The satyr camp lies upwind, at the heart of these brambles,” Karrell said.
“Is the human female still in the camp?” Arvin asked.
Karrell translated. White Muzzle sniffed the air and yipped once.
“Yes,” Karrell said.
Arvin started to move toward the brambles, but White Muzzle planted herself in front of him, blocking his path, and growled. Glancing around, Arvin saw wolves in every direction, hunkered down as if ready to charge. He looked to Karrell for the translation, even though he really didn’t need one.
“She has done as she promised,” Karrell said. “She led us to the satyr camp. Now she wants her meat.”
“Tell her she’ll have to wait just a little longer,” Arvin said. “Tell her the meat is at the satyr camp; that we’ll return in a little while with it.”
Karrell did then listened to White Muzzle’s reply. “They want their meat now,” she translated. “They want Tanglemane.”
Arvin flexed his gloved hand. He’d disappeared his dagger into it earlier; at a whisper it was back in his hand.
Karrell tensed and laid a hand on her club. “We will fight?” she whispered.
“No,” Arvin answered. “I have something else in mind.”
One of the wolves moved in closer. Tanglemane whinnied nervously. Arvin laid a hand on his back. “Don’t run,” he urged. “It’s what they wa
nt you to do.”
Tanglemane nodded but remained tense. Arvin could feel him trembling. “Tanglemane,” he said. “I’m going to cast a spell on you. Don’t resist it.”
That said, Arvin awakened the psionic energies that lay deep inside his chest. The wolves sniffed as the scent of ginger and saffron filled the air, and White Muzzle’s hackles rose. But a moment later, it was done: the fates of Tanglemane and the pack leader were linked.
Arvin manifested his dagger into his gloved hand and passed it to Tanglemane. “When I tell you to,” he instructed, “use this to prick the palm of your hand.”
Tanglemane hesitated for only a heartbeat then took the dagger. Arvin, meanwhile, spoke to White Muzzle while Karrell translated.
“I have just cast a spell,” he told the pack leader. “Whatever happens to the centaur will also happen to you. If the centaur is wounded, you will suffer the same injury.” He nodded at Tanglemane, cueing him, and the centaur poked the dagger into his palm.