Vanity's brood

CHAPTER 2

Arvin withdrew his awareness deep into himself. Plunging it deep into his muladhara, he imagined the color leaching from his body, imagined his body fading, then disappearing altogether. At the same time he leaped to the side, vacating the spot he'd just occupied.

I was never there, he broadcast to the yuan-ti around him. You did not see me. You do not see me now.

He knew the manifestation was successful when one of the Se'sehen nearly walked into him. The power had clouded the senses of those in the altar room. Though Arvin could see and hear himself, he was invisible to them, impossible to detect even by sound or scent, and just in time. Looking down at

his arms, he saw that the black scales were gone. His metamorphosis had ended. Putting his pack back on, he glanced around.

The altar room was in turmoil. The Se'sehen babbled at each other in their own language while the nobles from Hlondeth milled about in confusion. Clerics ran for the doors, shouting orders. The high serphidian who had led Arvin through the temple stood with hands on hips, searching the room-his gaze passed over Arvin without stopping-and began elbowing his way through the crowd toward Medusanna.

Arvin started toward the exit that led back to the portal room, then remembered the snakes that surrounded the portal. Several were venomous, and he no longer had the yuan-ti's natural resistance to poison he'd gained by assuming yuan-ti form. He could manifest another metamorphosis, but the concentration necessary to reshape his body would result in the loss of his invisibility.

Whispering an oath under his breath, Arvin looked for another way out. The altar room had ten other exits: the five arched corridors along each side wall, between the statues of Varae, but which to choose?

Even as he tried to decide, Medusanna cast a spell, her arms moving in sinuous gestures as she prayed. Malevolent glyphs sprang into view at the top of each exit and the corridors beyond filled with a swirling mist. A whiff of it drifted out to where Arvin stood and stung his nose: acid.

His heart pounded. There was no escape. Then he laughed at himself; escape had never been part of his plan. Killing Sibyl had been, and Sibyl had disappeared into the dark cloud that still hung above the altar like a curtain-a curtain that Arvin's potion-enhanced vision allowed him to see through. Barely.

Through it, ho saw the dim outline of the large corridor down which Sibyl must have flown. That it was also warded he had no doubt. The spells those wards contained would be fatal, he was certain, but he had to try and soon. Medusanna was casting another spell.

Swiftly, Arvin manifested one of his powers he'd only rocently learned-a power that summoned ectoplasm from the Astral Plane. It was a risky choice. Psionic energy concentrated itself above and between his eyes then burst from his forehead in a spray of tiny silver sparkles that threatened to give his position away. The yuan-ti closest to him-all Se'sehen-were too busy to notice, talking together in slightly indignant voices. One of the them, a male with green scales and fingers that ended in snake heads, was close enough that Arvin's secondary display drifted down onto him like falling snow-fortunately, onto his back. The Se'sehen didn't notice them; he was intent upon some spell, holding the first two fingers out in a V and slowly turning.

Arvin's heart lurched as he realized the yuan-ti was casting a detection spell.

He sidestepped behind the snake-fingered yuan-ti as the fellow rotated, avoiding those splayed fingers. As he did, he completed his manifestation. He shaped the translucent, gooey ectoplasm he'd drawn into a vaguely human form and sent it running toward the portal room, roughly shouldering yuan-ti out of its way.

Medusanna took the bait, casting a spell at the construct. The spell had no visible effect, and Medusanna hissed in anger.

The snake-fingered yuan-ti, meanwhile, completed his spell and stared at the altar. He glanced over his shoulder-directly at Arvin-as he whispered something. For a terrible moment, Arvin thought he had

been detected, but the Se'sehen's eyes were focused on something well behind Arvin in the rear corner of the chamber, something that, an instant later, made a loud, groaning noise.

Arvin turned just in time to see one of the statues of Varae tear itself away from the wall. With great, lumbering strides the beast-headed statue thumped forward, its heavy feet sending tremors through the stone floor. The vibrations rattled a sword loose from the ceiling, and the rusted blade clattered down amid the yuan-ti. One or two threw themselves to the floor, prostrating themselves before the statue. It strode right over them, crushing them to a bloody pulp.

Medusanna continued to direct her attacks at Arvin's construct. Whipping a hand forward, she sent a snakelike stream of energy toward it. The crackling line of force looped around the running figure like a constricting snake, but the construct passed right through it.

The statue lumbered forward, its body shedding chunks of stone as its joints ground against one another. Behind it, more stone fell from the ceiling above the spot it had just torn itself out of. Then one of the corridors next to where it had stood collapsed with a thunderous crash.

Arvin didn't wait to watch the rest. Making the most of the distraction, he hurried toward the altar. So did the snake-fingered yuan-ti. The Se'sehen was fast; he clambered up onto the altar a heartbeat or two ahead of Arvin, heading for the corridor at the rear of it. As Arvin followed, he realized that the Se'sehen might have been the one who had been detected; he was certainly acting like a spy. He'd animated the statue that was wreaking havoc at the back of the chamber, and praise Tymora, it looked as though he was going to clear a path to Sibyl.

Arvin touched the crystal at his throat and grinned.

Snake-fingers stepped into the darkness that shrouded the back of the altar. To Arvin, his vision still enhanced by the darkvision potion, it seemed as though the yuan-ti shifted from color to shades of black and gray. He watched as Snake-fingers took a deep breath and blew into the corridor. Inside it, on one wall, something glowed a faint blue. As soon as it did, the yuan-ti hurried into the corridor.

Arvin followed close on his heels. He tensed as he passed the blue glow-a symbol in Draconic that set his teeth on edge and made his eyes ache, even though he only saw it in his peripheral vision. Then he was beyond it.

The walls of the corridor were carved in a scale pattern, so he knew he was still within the ancient temple. It was enormous, with a rounded ceiling, easily large enough for Sibyl to have flown through it. After a short distance, the corridor forked. Snake- fingers hesitated and extended the first two fingers of each hand then pointed each down a different fork. A moment later, he continued up the left corridor. Arvin followed. As he did, he heard a thunderous crash from the altar room. Dust rushed up the corridor and the floor trembled. Glancing back, Arvin saw that the tunnel was blocked. The ceiling of the altar room had collapsed.

Snake-fingers glanced back and grunted in satisfaction then continued up the corridor, which grew steadily darker. Arvin followed, silent as a ghost, his psionics keeping him hidden. Soon he was relying entirely on his magical darkvision. The Se'sehen also seemed able to see in the dark, since he moved forward without hesitation.

Arvin wondered what the spy was up to. It would be the height of irony, indeed, if Snake-fingers had

also come to kill Sibyl and had been given away by Arvin's blunder with the scribe. Curious to know if that was the case, Arvin tried to skim the spy's surface thoughts. He was surprised to receive nothing at all-not the faintest whisper of a thought. The Se'sehen didn't react at all; it was as if Arvin had never manifested the power. Snake-fingers must have had an amazingly strong will. Either that, or…

Arvin touched the ring on his left little fingerKarrell's ring. Was the Se'sehen protected by a similar device or by some spell?

The corridor forked a second time. Once again, the Se'sehen used magic to choose his course-and to reveal a nasty looking symbol positioned just inside the left fork. The Se'sehen disarmed it as he had the first, by pursing his lips and blowing. Arvin was close enough to hear the incantation he used. It didn't sound anything like Karrell's language, but perhaps that was because the yuan-ti's voice was lower, almost guttural-and strangely devoid of a hiss, which made Arvin wonder if all was as it seemed.

Once they were both beyond the symbol, Arvin risked another manifestation. Silver sparkles erupted from his forehead and his vision momentarily shimmered. When it cleared, he saw the person he'd been following for what he truly was.

He wasn't a yuan-ti at all.

He was a dwarf-but unlike any Arvin had seen before. His skin was so brown it was almost black, and his long, wiry black hair fell in what looked like matted braids across his shoulders. He was barefoot and wore only a loincloth made from a spotted animal pelt and two pieces of jewelry: a necklace of mismatched teeth and claws, and a band of gold set with a turquoise stone on his upper right arm. Faint white tattoos covered his body: the snarling

faces of stylized animals. A small pouch hung from his belt. Next to it, tucked into the belt, was a hollow reed that might have been a wand. Aside from that, he seemed to be unarmed.

Arvin's secondary manifestation didn't go unnoticed. The dwarf whirled, blinked in surprise, then cast a spell of his own. Arvin felt no appreciable difference but could tell by the dwarf's widening eyes-and the way the shorter man glanced up to meet his eye-that he was no longer invisible. In that same instant, Arvin's manifestation ended. The dwarf's illusion returned, cloaking him in the image of a snake-fingered yuan-ti.

The dwarf raised his hands and snarled. A pulsing nimbus of red surrounded his body, washing out Arvin's darkvision.

"Wait!" Arvin said. "I'm a friend-an enemy of Sibyl."

Frantically, he tried to manifest a charm. Before he could, the illusion-cloaked dwarf launched his attack. Arvin twisted aside, but it was hard to tell where the dwarf's limbs really were. Arvin's attempt to parry passed through empty air. Something that felt like a hooked dagger-or a claw-caught at Arvin's belt and raked across his hip, opening a painful gash.

Dancing backward, Arvin reached for the dagger sheathed at the small of his back. He drew it but didn't use it. Instead he manifested another power, stamping his foot down on the floor.

More sparkles erupted from Arvin's forehead, and a low droning filled the air as the stomp sent the dwarf staggering sideways. He caught himself against the wall. His illusionary fingers looked like snakes but scritched against the stone. Claws?

Wincing against the pain of the wound in his hip-the slash was deep, soaking his pants with blood- Arvin at last was able to manifest his charm. He was

thankful to see the dwarf frown as if listening to a distant, half-heard sound. The fellow could hear the power's secondary display.

"I'm an enemy of Sibyl," Arvin continued, backing away and still holding his dagger out to the side. "I came here to kill her."

The dwarf looked at him with a blank expression.

"Friend," Arvin repeated, tapping his chest. He was worried the dwarf didn't seem to speak his language. His charm wouldn't be any help if the dwarf couldn't understand him. Arvin spoke slowly, raising his dagger to make a violent cutting motion. "I want to kill Sibyl. Kill." With his free hand, he mimed a wing flapping, then a snake, as he repeated the cutting gestures, pretending to stab his own hand.

The dwarf shook his head like a dog throwing off water. His long, ropy hair whipped back and forth across his face. Then he charged.

Arvin dodged, still not using his dagger. He stared at the nimbus of red that continued to surround the dwarf, flickering like an angry flame. By concentrating, he could see where it was most prominent: around the smaller shape that was the dwarf's actual body. Arvin pretended to stumble, and as the dwarf leaped forward, caught him by the hair. Arvin touched the point of the dagger to the dwarf's throat, held it there for a heartbeat, then leaped away. Backstepping again, holding his left hand in a "wait" gesture, he returned the dagger to its sheath.

"Friend," he said again, in as loud a voice as he dared. He prayed that Sibyl wasn't just down the corridor, close enough to hear.

The dwarf halted, frowning. He said something in his own language and pointed at Arvin's extended hand.

Arvin spread his hands and shrugged. "I don't understand you."

The dwarf whispered something, raising his hands to his lips. Arvin tensed, but the spell produced no harmful effect. Instead the dwarf's words became intelligible. His illusion vanished-but the nimbus of red that had surrounded him didn't.

He grabbed Arvin's left hand and asked, "Where did you get this ring?"

"It belonged to a woman named Karrell."

The dwarf's grip on his hand tightened, and his claws pricked Arvin's flesh. "Where is she now?"

"She's-" the word stuck in Arvin's throat- "dead."

The dwarf's eyes blazed. In them, Arvin saw a mirror of his own grief.

"You knew her?" Arvin asked, incredulous. He thought quickly back over what Karrell had told him of her past-and her affiliations. "Are you one of the K'aaxlaat?"

The dwarf's eyes shifted at the question-answer enough. "Do you know what the ring does?"

Arvin nodded. "It shields thoughts."

The dwarf stared a challenge at him. "Take it off. Then tell me how you know Karrell-and how she died."

Arvin glanced warily around. "Here? Right now? What if Sibyl-"

"She is not that close. Speak quickly; there is still time."

Reluctantly, Arvin eased the ring off his finger. It felt like a part of Karrell-a part of him now. Speaking in a quick whisper, Arvin told the dwarf how he'd met Karrell, how they'd decided to join forces to fight Sibyl, and about how one of Sibyl's minions-the marilith-had yanked Karrell into the Abyss when it had been banished.

"It was my fault," he concluded. "I manifested the power that did it."

"Did what?" the dwarf asked.

Throughout Arvin's explanation, the red glow surrounding the dwarf faded. The hand that gripped Arvin's was normal again, without claws.

Arvin frowned. "I linked Karrell's fate with the demon's-but you should have been able to tell that from listening to my thoughts."

The dwarf shook his head. "My god has not granted me that ability."

"But-"

The dwarf nodded at Karrell's ring. "You were willing to remove it. I knew you were telling the truth."

"Then you believe me when I say that I came here with the same goal as you." Arvin shifted the backpack away from his injured hip. It was still bleeding. He took off his shirt, wadded it into a ball, and pressed it against the wound. He only needed to stay alive long enough to throw his net. "Lead the way."

The dwarf nodded at the blood that soaked Arvin's shirt. "First, there is something you need." He held out broad hands, as if in question.

Arvin nodded-then winced as the dwarf pinched the wound in his leg shut with his fingers. For several heartbeats, the pain was intense, but Arvin gritted his teeth against it. When the dwarf finished whispering, Arvin looked down at his hip and saw a threadlike vine, dotted with tiny leaves, holding the two edges of the cut together. The vine had a scent that reminded Arvin of a healing potion he'd once drunk. He flexed his leg. The muscle in his hip felt whole, and the pain was gone.

"Thank you, ah…"

The dwarf bowed, then supplied his name. "Pakal. Of the K'aaxlaat, as you guessed."

"I'm Arvin, of… no particular affiliation. My motive for wanting to kill Sibyl is strictly personal: to avenge Karrell."

"Thard Harr grant that your wish is fulfilled, some day."

"Today will be just fine," Arvin said. "Just lead me to Sibyl."

Pakal pointed back the way they had come. "Sibyl went in the opposite direction. She took the right passage when the tunnel first forked."

Arvin blinked. "You're not here to kill Sibyl? But I thought-" Then he guessed why the dwarf had disguised himself and come to the temple: for the same reason Karrell had come north to Hlondeth. "You're looking for the Circled Serpent."

Pakal nodded, and Arvin wondered if Pakal knew that Sibyl only had half of it.

"You can tell where it is?" Arvin asked.

"Yes." Pakal raised his hand and extended the first two fingers in a V shape. "With these." He pointed in the direction he'd been going. "The Circled Serpent lies in that direction."

"Is that so?' Arvin mused under his breath.

He remembered what Karrell had told him-that her search for the half of the Circled Serpent that Dmetrio had retained had been thwarted by something as simple as a lead-lined box. Surely Sibyl would have used a similar protection. Pakal had extremely powerful magic-he'd demonstrated that by getting past the wards Sibyl used to protect her lair-but even so…

"Doesn't this seem a little too easy?" Arvin asked. "We're deep in Sibyl's lair, yet there's been no sign of her minions."

"Any that might have pursued were squished like worms."

"That doesn't explain the lack of guards in these corridors," Arvin said. "It's almost as if Sibyl wants the Circled Serpent to be found. The easiest way to catch a mouse, they say, is to set out bait."

The dwarf grinned. "I am one mouse the serpent's coils cannot catch."

Arvin started to protest further then realized that if he was right-if Sibyl appeared in person to spring her trap-he'd get a second chance to snare her with his net, and Pakal seemed pretty confident of his own escape. The dwarf might have been deluding himself, but it was his decision. He'd been warned.

"You've got a way out, then," Arvin said. "Good."

Pakal stared up at him. "Don't you?"

Arvin shrugged. "That doesn't matter. Killing Sibyl does. Now that Karrell's…"

Arvin's eyes stung. He blinked.

"You loved her," Pakal said.

"Very much," Arvin agreed. Then he squared his shoulders. "I'm coming with you," he told the dwarf. "I've learned a few tricks from the guild. If there are traps guarding the Circled Serpent, I may be able to disarm them."

Pakal smiled. "Did you think I would come so ill prepared? I, too, can neutralize traps, but come. We have wasted enough time."

The dwarf led Arvin deeper into Sibyl's inner sanctum The passage forked three more times, and each time, the dwarf paused to determine their direction and disarm another protective glyph. The corridors they followed continued to be empty, heightening Arvin's suspicions that it was a trap. At last the tunnel turned a corner and dead-ended in a massive stone, carved in the shape of a snarling, bestial face, that filled the corridor like a plug.

"It's here," Pakal said, "behind this door."

"How do we open it?" Arvin asked.

"With a spell, but first…"

Whispering a prayer, Pakal moved his hands over the face, his palms not quite touching the stone. The mouth began to glow a dull red. For a terrible

moment, Arvin thought the dwarf had activated a magical trap, but Pakal merely nodded.

"Trapped, as I suspected," he said. He stepped back and whispered a prayer, raking the air with curved fingers. Then his shoulders slumped. "The magic is too strong," he said as the glow faded. "I can not dispel it." He turned to Arvin. "I can still open the door, but without knowing what the trap does, it will be risky."

"I might be able to help," Arvin said.

Turning his palm in the direction of the massive stone face, he tapped the energy that swirled around his navel, drawing it up into his throat. A low droning filled the air and a thin sheen of ectoplasm glistened on the stone face as his power manifested. A psychic echo of the past flowed into his mind: a vision of a yuan-ti in old-fashioned clothing, carrying a lantern, who approached the face and cast a spell. The mouth yawned open, giving a brief glimpse of a chamber beyond, and the yuan-ti bent to slither through. As he entered, rubbery black tentacles erupted from the mouth, filling it like a nest of snakes. They lashed out at the intruder, wrapping around his arms, legs, and neck. Then they yanked, each in a different direction. The yuan-ti was literally torn to pieces; his limbs and head wrenched from his body with wet tearing noises. The tentacles released what remained of him and retreated. Then the mouth slammed shut.

Arvin shuddered as the vision ended.

"I know how the trap works," he told Pakal. "The doorway is the mouth. The trap is inside." He described what he'd just seen. "I have a rope that might be able to entangle those tentacles long enough for us to get through."

Pakal shook his head. "I have a better idea. Even tentacles cannot grasp the wind." He glanced up

at Arvin. "With your permission, I will turn your body to air. When the mouth opens, float through it. I will make you solid again once we are safely inside."

Arvin hesitated. "What about my pack?" he asked. "And the things inside it?"

"They will become air also," Pakal assured him, "and will return to solid form after."

"All right," Arvin said. "Do it."

The dwarf uttered a prayer, moving his hands in a fluttering pattern. He started at Arvin's feet and moved up his body, standing on tiptoe to finish. Arvin felt a prickling numbness spread upward as Pakal cast the spell. Looking down, he saw his feet, legs, hips, and hands dissolve into individual motes of matter, then disappear. His body did not fall to the floor but remained standing upright. His heart lurched, however, as his arms and torso became fully gaseous. He felt a moment of panic as he realized he could no longer feel his heart beating. His breathing, too, had halted. Then his head became insubstantial as well. He floated, a detached awareness inside a swirl of air, somehow still able to see and hear but unable to feel. The only time he had ever come close to such a sensation was when he was deep in meditation-so deep, he feared he would lose his sense of self.

Beside him, Pakal cast another spell. He raised a fist and rapped once, smartly, on the stone face, then stepped quickly back. As the mouth groaned open, he rendered himself gaseous as well.

Follow me, a voice whispered.

Arvin felt the air next to him shift. It flowed toward the gaping mouth, leaving a swirling void where Pakal had been a moment ago. Arvin strained to follow it, but his legs wouldn't move-and he remembered he no longer had legs. Fighting down

his fear, he concentrated on where he wanted to go-through the mouth-and felt himself drift in that direction.

Pakal hovered next to him, a swirl of coherency that Arvin could sense but not touch. They entered the mouth one after the other. As they did, the trap sprang to life. Tontacles uncoiled violently and lashed out at them, thrashing through the space that Arvin and Pakal occupied. Arvin instinctively recoiled as ono of the tentacles whipped around his face, but the tentacle passed right through his gaseous form. His thoughts spun crazily as the gas that was his head swirled in its wake, then became coherent again. He concentrated on his objective-the chamber beyond- and drifted in that direction.

Once inside, his body solidified the same way that it had become gaseous: from the feet up. Blood rushed through his veins, sending a fierce tingle through his body from feet to head. He gasped and fought to keep his balance. As soon as the dizziness cleared, he reached over his shoulder to touch his pack. It was still there, the net inside it still weighing it down. Arvin heaved a sigh of relief.

The chamber was circular, its walls carved in the by-now familiar scale pattern. Against one wall lay the skeleton of an enormous snake, coiled in a neat loop where it had died.

"More bones," Arvin muttered.

He nudged the tail of the long-dead guardian with his foot, but the skeleton didn't react.

A simple wooden box sat on the floor; its hinged lid didn't appear to have a lock. Pakal materialized beside it-his feet, legs, torso, then head coalescing from air-then squatted to study the box. He pointed forked fingers at it, whispered something under his breath, and said, "The Circled Serpent is inside."

He reached for the lid.

"Careful," Arvin warned. "It's certain to be trapped."

"I sense no traps," Pakal said. He lifted the lid. Arvin winced, but nothing happened.

The box was lined with black velvet. Inside was a silver tube twice the thickness of Arvin's thumb, bent in a half-circle. At one end of the half circle was a snake's head, its fanged mouth open wide and its eyes set with gems. The other end was tapered slightly; that would be where the other half of the Circled Serpent would join with it. Arvin held his breath, waiting for something to happen-for the mouth-door to close, for an alarm to sound, even for the snake skeleton to suddenly rear up and attack. Nothing did.

Pakal looked up at Arvin, a concerned expression on his face. "Only half? We thought that Sibyl had both pieces."

"Perhaps she does," Arvin said, thinking of Dmetrio's disappearance. "Perhaps that's why she decided that leaving this half in an easy-to-find location would be worth the risk; whoever found it would be tempted to waste time searching for the other half. Sibyl knows there's a spy in her lair; this is obviously part of a trap to catch that spy." He shrugged the backpack off his shoulders and began unfastening the straps that held it shut. He nodded at the door; the writhing tentacles that had filled the mouth were gone, but the mouth was still open. "Odd, don't you think, that the door hasn't shut yet."

Pakal tapped the half-circle of silver with a fingernail, making the metal ring faintly-probably making sure it was real and not an illusion-then closed the lid. He picked up the box and rose to his feet. "The other half of the Circled Serpent-"

"Will still be inside its lead-lined box, where your

magic can't locate it," Arvin said. He rose to his feet as well, holding his pack, ready to toss the net inside it at the door the moment Sibyl came through it. A musky floral smell rose from its fibres. "Go," he told Pakal, "while you still can. You've got half of the Circled Serpent; be content with that."

"You are not-?"

"No," Arvin said. "I'm staying. Sibyl's bound to arrive soon."

Pakal nodded and said, "May Thard Harr guide your-"

The dwarf grunted and staggered forward, crashing into Arvin. Tho box tumbled from his hands as he fell, spilling Sibyl's half of the Circled Serpent onto the floor. Arvin heard a rattling noise: the sound of bones moving swiftly across the floor.

He swore and leaped backward. The skeleton- animated after all-reared up with its mouth open, ready to strike again. It had already bitten Pakal, and the back of the dwarf's left arm leaked blood. Empty eye sockets stared at Arvin across the dwarf's rigid body. Then the serpent began to sway.

Arvin dropped his pack and flung his hands outward toward the skeleton. Silver sparkles danced in the air between them as long strands of glistening ectoplasm shot from Arvin's fingers, coiling themselves about the undead snake. They looped through the ribs, and with a twist of his fingers Arvin knotted them there. Another yank pulled the cords of ectoplasm tight, cinching together the coils of the skeleton's body. Its head and neck, however, continued to sway.

A fog crept into Arvin's mind. He stared at the snake across Pakal's body, unconcerned about whether the dwarf was alive or dead. He felt dazed, thick-headed, as if he'd drunk too much wine. He

could feel his body moving in time with the serpent's swaying motion.

The skeleton opened its mouth wide to bring curved fangs into play. Head and neck still swaying, it hunched toward Arvin, awkwardly dragging its ectoplasm-bound body behind it.

Arvin meant to take a step back but took a step forward instead. His foot struck something that skidded across the floor with a metallic rasp. Glancing down, he saw it was the upper half of the Circled Serpent.

The interruption gave him a heartbeat's respite from the skeleton's mesmerizing motion. Arvin sank into one of the poses Tanju had taught him, raising his left arm as if to fend off a blow. He imagined himself in the Shield form, whirling to protect himself on all sides. As he did, energy exploded outward from the power point in his throat in a loud drone. It formed a protective barrier around him-one that helped him fend off the effects of the skeleton's swaying dance. His mind cleared.

Knowing that most of his psionic powers would be useless-the skeleton had no mind to attack-Arvin yanked the stone rope out of his backpack. Whipping it through the air, he shouted its command word. The rope stiffened into a pole of stone. It struck the skeleton just below the head, shattering the uppermost vertebrae. The head clattered to the floor, followed by the rest of the bones. Whirling a loop of the stone rope up and over his head, Arvin brought it crashing down into the serpent's skull. Bone exploded across the floor as the head shattered. The stone rope smashed as it struck the floor, and pieces skittered across the room.

Panting, Arvin looked down at what remained of the creature. Already the ectoplasm that bound it was evaporating. The skeleton, however, did not move.

It appeared to be dead. Arvin touched the crystal that hung at his throat.

"Nine lives," he croaked.

He crouched beside Pakal and pressed fingers against the dwarf's neck. Pakal's blood-pulse beat faintly beneath his leathery skin. His eyes were open and staring, his breathing shallow. The skeleton's bite had paralyzed him.

Arvin stared at his pack, wondering what to do next. Sibyl still hadn't come to investigate. What was keeping her?

Arvin heard a noise on the other side of the door; it sounded like the scuff of leather on stone or the slither of scales. Scooping up his backpack, he flattened himself against one wall. His heart pounded as he heard a woman's voice whispering an oath in the language of the yuan-ti. Certain it was Sibyl, he tried to yank the net from his pack. It wouldn't come free. He yanked harder, but it still wouldn't budge. He cursed silently as he realized what had happened: the yellow musk creeper vines he'd woven the net from had rooted in the soft leather.

Arvin yanked his dagger from its sheath, determined to cut the net free. As he drew it, he heard a furious thrashing sound from inside the mouth-door as the tentacles inside it were activated. Realizing it wasn't Sibyl but someone else coming through the door-or trying to-Arvin reversed his dagger, holding it by the blade, ready to throw. Whoever the intruder was, he was likely to be dangerous. Arvin reached deep into his inuladhara, preparing to tap its energy.

Something stepped through the doorway- something that looked like the silhouette of a woman. In the blink of an eye, it expanded, becoming three-dimensional. The woman was a heavyset human with a double chin and brown hair with a

streak of gray at one temple. Arvin's mouth dropped open as he recognized her. Naneth-the sorceress who had summoned the demon that had killod Karrell.

Or rather, he amended as he saw the sway in her body as she found her feet again and stared down at Pakal, a mind seed. The mind in that body was no longer Naneth's. It was Zelia's.

Arvin manifested the power that would cloud her mind, hiding him from her, and not a moment too soon. The wary Naneth-seed looked around the room then chuckled as her eyes fell upon the upper half of the Circled Serpent, lying next to Pakal's body. She bent to pick it up.

Knowing he was unlikely to surprise her with psionics-his secondary display would give her the instant's warning she needed to retaliate in kind-Arvin resorted to cruder methods. While she was distracted, he hurled his dagger. It struck home, burying itself between her shoulders. The blade would have killed someone with less fat padding her body, but the Naneth-seed merely grunted with pain.

She whirled around, her small eyes searching the room. Arvin gasped aloud as pain shot through his own back. It felt as though a dagger was embedded there. Something wet oozed down his back: not blood, but ectoplasm. The Naneth-seed must have manifested a power that transferred the pain of her wound to him.

The pain shattered Arvin's concentration, giving the Naneth-seed a brief glimpse of him. Her second psionic attack followed the first, swift as thought. Arvin tried to throw up a shield against it but wasn't quick enough.

Air exploded from his lungs in a rush as an invisible band of psionic energy looped around his chest then tightened. His own psionic power faltered as he

fought for breath-and failed. He was visible.

"You again," the Naneth-seed said, the hissing of her secondary display overlapping her words.

Arvin struggled to draw a breath. He tried raising a mental fortress, but the Naneth-seed beat it down. He started to form a construct out of ectoplasm to attack her, but before it was fully shaped she usurped control of it and ran it headlong into a wall, splattering ectoplasm everywhere. He would have tried charming her, but there was no breath left in his lungs. He couldn't speak, couldn't even beg. He did manage the most tenuous of links with her mind and found a faint source of hope: she was debating ending the power that was preventing him from breathing and replacing it with one that would force him to take his own life. That would draw out his death, allowing her to savor it.

Then she changed her mind. No, she would end Arvin's life more quickly. Returning with the upper half of the Circled Serpent was more important, especially since Sibyl had been alerted.

When the Naneth-seed finally noticed Arvin listening in on her thoughts, she gave a brutal mental shove, propelling him from her mind. Then she squeezed harder.

Arvin sagged to his knees as darkness clouded the edges of his vision. He blinked furiously, trying to find the force of will to resist the Naneth-seed's manifestation. As he struggled, he thought he saw Pakal's arm move. A moment later, despite the dark spots that clouded his vision and the roaring in his ears, he was certain of it. The paralysis the skeleton had inflicted was wearing off.

Pakal's eyes fluttered, then opened to stare at the Naneth-seed. One hand crept toward his hollow reed while the other fumbled open the pouch at his belt.

The reed scraped against the floor. The Naneth seed turned toward the sound.

With the last bit of his consciousness, Arvin manifested a power-one of the first he'd ever learned. A faint droning filled the air. Instead of completing her turn toward Pakal, the Naneth-seed glanced at the doorway, distracted.

The last thing Arvin saw before losing consciousness was the dwarf raising the hollow reed to his lips.

The next thing Arvin knew, Pakal was slapping him awake. Groggily, Arvin pushed him away and drew a shaking breath. He sat up-and had to wait for the room to stop spinning before he could speak. He felt as though he was going to be ill.

"What happened?" he asked.

Pakal pointed at the Naneth-seed, who lay face-down on the floor. She'd landed with one arm stretched out above her head, pudgy fingers splayed. One of her fingers, Arvin noticed, was encircled with a band of amber: the teleportation ring she'd used to spirit Glisena out of her father's palace. A tiny feathered dart protruded from the back of the Naneth-seed's neck, just above Arvin's dagger. He stared, not believing his eyes, at his defeated foe.

"Is she-"

"Dead." Pakal offered Arvin his hand.

Arvin sighed with relief. The fact that the dwarf had saved him was a sobering thought. Arvin should have, with his increased powers, been able to deal with the seed on his own. He took the dwarf's hand and climbed to his feet.

"Nice shot," he said.

He nudged the big woman's body with a toe. He half expected it to rise from death, as the skeletal serpent had.

Pakal picked up the Circled Serpent and placed it back inside the box, then pointed forked fingers

at the room's only exit. His face paled as he lowered his hand.

"Sibyl comes this way," said the dwarf. "Are you certain you will not come? I can turn your body to air once more."

Arvin picked up his backpack and glanced inside. The net had indeed knotted itself into the pack, but a few quick strokes of his knife would cut it loose.

"I'm not leaving until I kill Sibyl," Arvin replied.

He yanked his dagger from the Naneth-seed's back and got to work.

The dwarf shook his head. "I will he gone before then. Even if you succeed, you may be trapped here."

"No, I won't," Arvin said. He tilted his head at the Naneth-seod's hand. "Her ring is magical. It can teleport me out of here. Assuming, that is, that I survive."

As he spoke, he continued working to free his net. It was tricky work; one slip and he'd sever a strand of the net itself, ruining it. He could hear the whuff whuff-whuff of wings in the corridor beyond the chamber, as well as running footsteps and the slither of scaly bodies. Sibyl and her clerics drew closer.

Pakal laid a broad hand on Arvin's shoulder. "You are a braver man than I. Thard Harr grant you strength." He began the prayer that would turn his body to air.

It was cut short by an angry hiss from the corridor outside. "Naneth!" Sibyl shouted. "You will regret betraying me."

A heartbeat later, a wave of magical fear boiled into the room, even stronger than before. Panic filled Arvin's mind as he whirled, searching for a way out of the chamber. There was only one exit, and it led straight to Sibyl. He was trapped…

No. There was another way out. Shoving his way past Pakal, who cringed on the floor, Arvin grabbed

the Naneth-seed's hand. He sobbed in relief as he located the band of amber on one of her pudgy fingers. Yanking it free, he threw it onto the floor.

"Ossalur!" he cried.

The ring expanded.

Waves of magical fear lashed Arvin toward the circle of amber, which had grown to nearly two paces wide. Safety lay just a step or two away. Outside the chamber, he could hear Sibyl's furious hissing, could feel the rush of air from her wings as she approached.

No! he thought, fighting the compulsion to flee.

Rallying, he turned and scooped up his pack. The moment he'd been waiting for, planning for six months, was at hand. Sweat erupting on his brow from the strain, he plunged a hand into the pack. He'd almost freed the net. One good yank and it would be in his hands, ready to throw.

Then another wave of fear struck. Pakal leaped to his feet, wide-eyed. He clutched the box tight against his chest in white-knuckled fingers, trembling like a mouse about to be consumed by a serpent.

Arvin, fighting against the icy blasts of fear that threatened to sweep him off his feet like a hurricane, turned toward the doorway and saw Sibyl, her wings folded against her back, slithering through the hole. He started to yank the net from his pack…

Then Sibyl looked at him. Saw him. As a third wave of magical fear struck, the courage Arvin had found a moment before melted to slush in his veins. Screaming, his pack dragging behind, he darted for the ring. He grabbed Pakal as he ran past, yanking the dwarf with him into the circle of amber.

The scaled halls of the Temple of Varae vanished.

So did the magical fear.

Arvin cursed. Six months of planning and preparation, ruined. Despite the fact that his terror had

been magically induced, he was disgusted with himself. He was a psion, a master of mind magic. His will should have been stronger than that. He ground his teeth together then reminded himself that all was not lost. At least he'd had the presence of mind to pull the dwarf to safety and to bring his pack with him. Maybe, gods willing, he'd get a second chance to throw his net at Sibyl.

Still trembling from the after effects of the magical fear, Arvin extricated himself from Pakal and looked around. The ring-shrunk back to its normal size-had teleported them to a rooftop garden under an open, starry sky. A fountain tinkled, spraying the nearby potted plants with a cool mist. Arvin took a closer look at the plants, each fashioned into a topiary of a coiled serpent. He'd seen them before. Even as the realization struck him, he heard a gate creak open. A woman swayed into view from the staircase leading to the railing-enclosed rooftop-a woman with long red hair, and a freckling of green scales.

Zelia.

"Arvin!" she hissed. She glanced down at Naneth's ring. "What have you done with my seed?"