Vanity's brood

CHAPTER 5

Arvin patted the ground, pretending to search for his shirt, as he probed the mind of the "Stormmistress." She was delighted to have stumbled across the wine; that would make her job all the easier. She planned to mix something into it before serving it to the Talos worshipers. A word drifted through her mind: hassaael. Arvin wasn't sure if it was the name of a potion, a poison, or the yuan-ti word for blood. All three concepts seemed to be braided into the word. She'd been given it by a yuan-ti in Skullport named Ssarm-the same man who had provided the Pox with their deadly trans- formative potion.

He probed deeper, worming his way into her memories of Sibyl. He was relieved,

somewhat, to find that her most recent meeting with the abomination was more than a tenday in the past, and that she had no knowledge of the events unfolding in Hlondeth or Arvin's role in them. The cleric-Thessania, her name was-had been on the road with the latest batch of worshipers, who had come all the way from Ormath on the Shining Plains. Her instructions had been to herd them to the temple, where they would be killed. If they didn't die that night, Sibyl would be displeased.

An image of what Thessania intended flickered through her mind, swift as a snake's darting tongue: Men and women, piled in a heap, their faces bright red and eyeballs bulging.

Arvin shuddered. The followers of the Raging God might be crazy-they had to be, to view volcanic eruptions, hurricanes, and lightning-strike wildfires as something to celebrate-but that didn't mean they deserved to die.

Once again, Sibyl was taking advantage of human gullibility. The first time, it had been the Pox then it was the pilgrims. If Arvin could stop whatever was happening, he would.

He heard another grumble of thunder, out over the Reach. A natural storm? Or the voice of Hoar, god of vengeance?

Arvin cracked a wry smile.

"Vin!" a familiar voice cried out. "I told you not to sell any wine until I got back."

Arvin turned in that direction. Daris had said nothing about the wine. He was up to something, and Arvin docided to play along for the moment.

Suddenly, Arvin could see again. Darris strode toward him, the leather sack gone. He had one hand behind his back, inside his collar, as if scratching his neck. It was an old guild trick, a way of dropping something you'd palmed into your

shirt. Probably the wand he'd just used to restore Arvin's eyesight.

Pretending to still be blind, Arvin held his hands out in front of him. Play along, he signed. Aloud, he added, "Darris? Is that you?"

Meanwhile, he studied Thessania. The surprise of his eyesight returning had broken the link with her mind, but ho'd learned what he needed already. He committed her appearance to memory as he stared "blindly" past her. She was one of those yuan-ti who could pass for human. Her pupils were round and there was no sign of a tail under her robe. Ash-gray gloves covered her hands, which were human-shaped, and the only skin showing-her face, framed by a tight-fitting black cowl-was devoid of scales. Arvin noticed, however, that she kept her teeth clenched when she spoke, giving her words a tense, clipped sound. She probably had a forked tongue.

She was dressed as a cleric of Talos, in a long- sleeved black robe that reached to her ankles. Lightning bolts were embroidered on it in gold thread, and the sleeves ended in jagged hems, braided with more thread of gold. The front of the cowl bore; the god's symbol: three lightning bolts in brown, red and blue, radiating out from a central point, representing the destructive powers of earthquake, fire, and flood. A black patch covered her left ey e-another symbol of the one-eyed god she pretended to worship. Her face, Arvin noted, was unscratched, unlike those of the real worshipers.

She held the three jugs of wine she'd purchased in the crook of one arm, a traveling pack in the other. The worshipers clamored for the wine, insisting their throats were dry from the long march up into the hills. She rebuked them sharply, telling them to quench their thirst with water instead. The wine, she said, would be served with dinner.

"Start preparing our meal," she ordered.

The worshipers crossed their arms aver their chests and bowed, then scurried away.

Barris, meanwhile, strode up to Arvin. "How much did you charge her for the wine?" he demanded.

"Five vipers a jug." Arvin held out the gold coins while staring slightly to one side of Darius.

"Five?" Darris asked, his voice rising. Pretending to scold Arvin, he waggled a forefinger at him, then brushed the front of his nose. Pretend. "I told you to charge six!" He slapped the forefinger into an open palm. Fight. Glowering, he shouted, "What did you do? Pocket the balance? Up to your old tricks again, are you?"

He grabbed Arvin by the shoulder and shook him. The gold spilled from Arvin's hand onto the ground. Arvin knew what Darris had in mind; the mock argument was an old guild trick. Arvin was supposed to shove Darris toward Thossania, who watched the two humans with a bemused look on her face. The rogue would stagger into her, grasp at her robe in an effort to keep from falling-and in the process, slip a quick hand into a pocket. A neat trick-if you were dealing with a human and not with someone who could kill with a single bite.

"You never said six," Arvin said in an even tone. "You told me five, and that's what I charged." No, he signed.

A bored look in her eyes, the yuan-ti turned away to follow the worshipers.

Darris raised his palm and jerked it forwardPush! — then slapped Arvin. Hard.

Arvin took the blow like a blind man, without ducking; the worshipers still watched the fight. He lifted his hand to his mouth, as if to wipe away the blood from his split lip. Two fingers curled like fangs, he turned the wipe into a flowing motion

while nodding in the direction of the fake cleric. She's yuan-ti.

That stopped Darris cold. "Ah," he said. Then, loudly, "I remember now. You're right; this is the five- viper wine. Sorry for the misunderstanding, Vin." He clapped an arm around Arvin's shoulder, using the gesture to whisper in Arvin's ear. "A yuan-ti Stormmistress?Are you sure?"

Arvin nodded.

"What's in her bag?" Darris breathed.

"Poison," Arvin whispered back. "She plans to mix it into the wine."

"I see," Darris said. He gave the worshipers a long, appraising look. "They look skinny as slaves," he said, using an old guild expression for someone with nothing worth stealing. Then he shrugged. "No sense hanging around, if you ask me. If the doomsayer really is yuan-ti, she'll demand first pickings."

Arvin, disgusted, realized that Darris thought he was suggesting they stay behind to loot the bodies once the poison had done its work.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "We've got to stop her from poisoning them."

Darris removed his arm from Arvin's shoulder and stepped back. "What she does is none of my business," he said. He watched the yuan-ti as she walked with swaying steps to the spot where the worshipers piled branches for a cooking fire. "What makes it yours?"

"Those people will die," Arvin answered.

"So?" Darris asked. "Sooner or later, one of the floods or fires they keep praying for will kill them, anyway." He tapped his temple. Crazy.

Arvin scooped up his pack and glanced at the worshipers out of the corner of his eye. One was a boy not yet in his teens who was being ordered about by an older, gray-haired man-probably his grandfather,

given the resemblance between the two. Like the rest of them, the boy had ripped his shirt and gouged scratches in his face. He kept touching his cheeks however and wincing, giving his grandfather rueful looks.

"That one's just a boy," Arvin whispered. "He deserves a chance to grow up, to make his own decisions about which god to worship."

Darris listened, eyebrows raised. Then he nodded, as if enlightenment had suddenly come to him. He lowered his voice once more.

"You won't find my stash."

Arvin sighed. "I don't plan on looking for it."

The rogue chuckled. "Strangely enough, I believe you." He picked up the five coins and shoved them in a pocket, then clambered up into the cart. "People will be leaving the city-and they'll be thirsty. I'll have the rest of this wine sold in no time. Give me a hand, and I'll split the profits." He lifted the reins. "Last chance. Coming?"

Arvin shook his head. Thessania had disappeared inside one of the huts; she was probably lacing the wine with poison even as they spoke. Arvin was tempted to tell Darris what he thought of him but knew his words wouldn't change anything. The half-elf was a typical rogue; all he cared about was himself.

Darris released the wagon's brake, then paused. "If the doomsayer really is yuan-ti, you'd better watch yourself."

"I've dealt with them before."

Darris grinned. "I'll bet you have, and… thanks for the warning." He touched a thumb to his temple, then closed his other fist around it. I'll remember you.

He flicked the reins. The cart rumbled off down the hill, back in the direction of Hlondeth.

Arvin could feel, once more, the faint tickle in his forehead that warned him that magic was being used

to search for him. The iron serpent must have been drawing nearer. He'd wasted too much time already.

But before he left, there was something he needed to do.

He sent his awareness deep into his muladhara. You don't see me, he mentally told the Talos worshipers. I'm invisible.

They continued going about their evening tasks, pulling food from their packs, tending the cooking fire and gathering water from the aqueduct in worn- looking iron pots. One or two turned to watch the cart as it left. As they did Arvin slipped an image into each of their minds of himself, seated next to Darris. Meanwhile, he picked his way carefully over the uneven ground toward the but the yuan-ti had disappeared into.

She had hung a cloth over the entrance of the hut, preventing him from simply looking inside. The but itself proved to be of better construction than the rest. Arvin couldn't find any gaps between the stones to peer through. That didn't matter, however. Retreating to a spot where the trees screened him from sight-he didn't need to be close to manifest the power he had in mind-he allowed himself to become visible again and imagined the interior of the hut. Psionic energy spiraled into the power points in his throat and forehead and a low droning filled the air around him as silver sparkled out of his "third eye." He sent his awareness drifting with it in the direction of the hut.

Slowly, its interior came into focus.

Thessania was pouring one of the jugs of wine into a wooden bowl. The other two jugs lay empty on the ground beside her. She must have been certain none of the worshipers would disturb her; she'd pushed her cowl back, revealing a hairless scalp covered in vivid orange and yellow scales. She had no ears, just

holes in the side of her head. She had also removed her gloves; the scales covered her hands and fingers as well.

She set the empty jug down and rummaged inside her travel bag, then pulled out a glass vial containing an ink-black liquid. Unstoppering it, she poured a drop onto her finger, then stroked it along her wrist like a woman applying perfume. After repeating the application on her other wrist, she poured a few drops of the liquid into the wine. That done, she raised first one wrist to her mouth then the other.

At first, Arvin thought she was sniffing her perfume. Then he saw a drop of blood fall into the wine and realized she'd bitten herself. Thessania squeezed each wrist, milking herself of blood. As it dribbled into the bowl, the wine turned a vivid green. Thessania bent low, sniffing it, and licked her wrists clean. Then she spat into whatever the wine had become.

She pushed the stopper back into the vial-very little of the black liquid had been used-then pulled on her gloves. As she adjusted her cowl, Arvin skimmed quickly through the thoughts of the worshipers, searching for those who already had doubts about the stormmistress. From these he gloaned their names and a handful of recent experiences he hoped might be useful. By the time Thessania emerged from the hut, holding the bowl of wine, Arvin was ready. He stepped out of the forest and thew a mental shield between himself and the yuan-ti-who immediately turnod in his direction as soon as she heard the droning of his secondary display.

"Worshipers of Talos," Arvin shouted. "You have been deceived."

Thessania bared her teeth in what would have been a hiss, had she not checked herself in time. She sent a wave of magical fear rushing toward Arvin, but his psionic shield deflected it.

"Thessania is no stormmistress," Arvin continued.

Thessania's charm spell hit him next. "Poor man," she said. "The sun has addled your wits. You don't know me; we've never met before. You have mistaken my voice for that of someone else. Come and drink wine with us."

Arvin's mental shield held. He needed to speak quickly. Once Tessalia realized her charm had failed, she would start tossing clerical spells at him.

"I may be blind," Arvin said, "blind as Talos's left eye, but by the god's magic I can still see." Silver sparkles-bright as the stars reputed to whirl in the empty space behind the Storm Lord's eyepatcherupted from Arvin's forehead as he sent a thread of his awareness inside the hut. He pointed at one of the men, a tall fellow with bright red hair. "You wonder, Menzin, what Thessania was doing in the hut."

Arvin wrapped the invisible thread around the vial and lifted it into the air. With a yank, he pulled it out of the hut.

"She was adding poison to your wine."

Thessania whirled and spotted the vial. Bright green wine slopped over tho edge of the bowl, staining her glove. Arvin sent the vial crashing against the wall of the hut, shattering it. Poison dribbled down the stonework like black blood.

The worshipers stared at it. Menzin muttered something to the man next to him.

"Ridiculous!" Thessania said. "Smell it-that's my perfume."

They did, and turned, glowering, toward Arvin.

Thessania pointed a slender finger at him. "This man has been sent by the Prince of Lies to stir up mistrust and strife among us. Don't listen to him."

"Cyric didn't send me," Arvin said, naming the god he'd frequently been warned about by the priests at

the orphanage. He wove the name of Ilmater's chief ally into the lie: "Tyr did. The god of justice has allied himself with Talos to expose Thessania's trickery."

"The Raging God stands alone," said Thessania. "He allies with no one."

"Save for Auril, Malar, and Umberlee," Arvin said, hurling back the deity names he'd plucked from one of the worshiper's thoughts. "Though Malar would turn on the other Gods of Fury if he could-would send one of his beast minions sneaking like a serpent into Talos's tower to slay the Storm Lord, if he dared."

"Deceit!" Thessania cried. "More lies!"

She spat, and the glob of poisonous spittle hurtled through the air toward Arvin.

He imposed a psionic hand in front of it just before it struck, and smiled as it splattered on the leaves behind him. Thessania had moved precisely the playing piece he'd hoped she would.

He addressed one of the female worshipers-a thin woman who stared at him with narrowed eyes. "You've been wondering, Yivril, why your storm- mistress didn't smite the blasphemer in Ormath with a lightning bolt."

The worshiper's eyes widened.

"Odd, isn't it, that she's not hurling one at me now," Arvin continued. "Instead she's spitting at me… like a snake."

With that, he used his manifestation to yank back Thessania's cowl.

Some of the worshipers gasped; others gaped in open-mouthed silence.

"It's an illusion," Thessania cried, yanking at her cowl. "Pay it no heed!"

Several of the worshipers began babbling at once. "So that's why she refused to-"

"I thought it was strange that-"

"We've been tricked!" Menzin shouted, lunging at Thessania and knocking the bowl from her hands. "She's a yuan-ti!"

Spitting with fury, Thessania bit him.

Menzin collapsed, gasping, his lips already blue. The other worshipers, however, were not easily cowed. A handful were driven back by Thessania's magical fear, but the rest mobbed her. Arvin caught a glimpse of Thessania shifting to snake form in an attempt to get away, but then Yivril rushed forward, a chunk of broken stone in her hand. She smashed it down on Thessania's clothes. Even from where he stood, Arvin could hear the crunch of bones breaking.

Satisfied, he slipped away into the woods. As he did, he touched the crystal at his throat. "Nine lives," he breathed, thankful that none of the gods he'd falsely invoked had seen fit to take notice of the fact.

He circled through the woods, putting some distance between himself and the quarry before returning to the road. The tickling in his forehead grew stronger; the iron cobra was getting closer. Though Arvin was still tired-it hadn't been a very restful sleep, being jostled about in the cart-he needed to get moving again. Talos's temple was still a day's journey distant, and he doubted the cobra needed to rest or sleep.

Fortunately, his meditations had replenished his muladhara. If the iron cobra did catch up to him, he'd have mind magic to fight back with. He doubted the thing had a mind to affect, and it was probably immune to ordinary weapons, but there were one or two manifestations he might use to at least slow it down a little.

A branch rustled in the forest. Arvin whirled, then saw it was just a small bird that had flown from a tree. The tickling in his forehead was starting to get to him. He needed to get moving, to cover a lot

more ground than his human legs were capable of. He decided to use his psionics to morph his body into something speedier, perhaps into a giant like the one he'd met the previous winter, or…

Watching the bird climb into the evening sky, he had an inspiration. He would morph into something with wings. A flying snake, perhaps-he'd seen enough of them in Hlondeth. He made sure his backpack was snug against his shoulders, then began drawing energy up from his navel and into his chest. He held his arms out, imagining they were wings.

Something sharp touched Arvin's throat-a curved sword blade-as a hand grabbed his hair from behind. A high-pitched male voice panted into his ear. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?" Arvin gasped, his heart pounding. "Listen, friend," he said, attempting a charm. "I don't know what-"

"None of that!"

The blade pressed against his throat, opening a hair-thin cut. Arvin didn't dare swallow. The charm obviously hadn't worked, so it was time for somethlng less subtle. Raising his open hands in mock surrender, he imaged a third hand grasping his dagger. As the energy built he felt it begin to slide out of its sheath.

"Please, don't kill me," he pleaded, feigning fear.

At the same time he jostled the person behind him to cover the movement of the dagger. He guided it behind his attacker and turned it so the point was toward the man's back. Then he nudged it forward, manifesting a voice behind the man the instant he felt the dagger point poke flesh.

"Release him," it said, "or die."

The scimitar was gone from Arvin's throat as his attacker whirled to meet the illusionary threat. Arvin flung himself forward, wincing at the pain

in his scalp as his hair was yanked out of the man's fist. As he tumbled away, he caught a brief glimpse of his attacker: a small, skinny humanoid with a doglike head, wearing a starched white kilt. The dog-man swung his scimitar through the space where an invisible dagger wielder would be. Still directing his dagger with his mind, Arvin slashed at the stranger's sword arm, opening a deep wound. The dog-man emitted a high-pitched yip and slashed once more through empty air, then backstepped to a spot where he could see both Arvin and the dagger.

It also gave Arvin a better look at him. The fellow stood only as tall as Arvin's shoulder and had a humanlike body but with thick golden fur on his neck, shoulders, and arms. Atop his lean body was a doglike head with a slender muzzle and large, upright ears. Those ears looked familiar-the fellow had the same face as the dog that had startled him near Saint Aganna's shrine. The dog-man must have been a lycanthrope of some sort, of a species that Arvin had never seen or even heard of before.

"Why are you following me?" Arvin asked. "What do you want?"

The dog-man merely stared at him. "You should learn," he said in a high, quick voice like that of a yapping dog, "to let sleeping serpents lie!" Then his eyes began to glow.

"I…" That was all Arvin managed before his gaze was locked by those large, golden eyes.

He dimly realized the dog-man ‘vas unleashing magic that didn't require words or gestures-just as a sorcerer or psion would. Arvin tried to mount a defense, but even as energy flowed into the power point at his throat his eyes closed. He felt himself falling…

When awareness returned, he found himself lying on the road in the spot where he'd been waylaid.

Sunlight slanted through the forest as the sun slowly moved toward the horizon. Not much time had passed then. He sat up, rubbing an arm that must have banged against a rock when he fell. He blinked, yawned, and shook his head, willing himself to come fully awake.

The dog-man was gone. Blood marked the spot where he'd stood.

Arvin yawned again and rubbed his eyes.

More blood was on Arvin's dagger, which lay next to his pack. The pack was open.

Arvin scrambled toward it. He turned it over, inspecting it. The musk-creeper net was still inside- it looked as though the dog-man had the presence of mind to leave it alone-but the contents of the side pouches had been pulled out. Arvin's magical ropes and twines were scattered about, as were the mundane bits of equipment he'd gathered together after leaving Zelia's rooftop garden. There were smears of blood on several of them. The dog-man hadn't stopped to bind his wound before rifling through the pack.

Stuffing the items back into their pouches, Arvin wondered what the dog-man had been looking for. Had he, like Pakal and the Naneth-seed, also been searching for the Ciroled Serpent? He didn't look-or act-like one of Sibyl's minions, which meant that some other faction must be involved, but who?

Arvin didn't know much about ordinary tracking, but it was clear from the drops of blood on the road which way the dog-man had gone. Uphill, toward the temple. Toward Pakal. A faint paw print in the dust marked the spot where he'd shifted back into a dog then started to run.

Arvin turned in the other direction and felt the tickle in his forehead intensify. The iron cobra was olose-very close. He'd better get moving.

He slung his backpack onto his shoulder and drew deep from his muladhara. Ectoplasm sweated out of his pores and the scents of saffron and ginger filled the air around him as he began his metamorphosis. He pressed his legs together and spread his arms, and willed his body into a tiny, slender, snakelike form. It unnerved him, a little, feeling his legs join together to form a tail-it was a little too close to what Zelia had just put him through-but he clamped down on his trepidation and forced himself to concentrate.

Arms feathered into wings, his tongue split into a fork, and his pupils became slits. He felt his body shrinking, contracting, becoming sinuous and light- boned. He flapped his arms experimentally-and found himself hovering, his tail dangling just above the road. By concentrating, he was able to rise a little farther, but it was awkward; the form was so alien to his own. It was difficult to control, difficult to find his balance.

From behind him came the scrape of metal on stone. Glancing back, he saw the iron cobra slithering up the road toward him. Red eyes gleamed in the dusk as it spotted him and gave a malevolent hiss.

Silver burst from Arvin's forehead and coalesced as a sheen of ectoplasm on the cobra's body as Arvin manifested another of his powers. The ectoplasm solidified into transluscent ropes, and he gave them a mental yank, binding the cobra up in a tight ball. It thrashed, and two of the coils of rope burst apart, spraying ectoplasm, but the rest held.

Before the entangling net he'd created evaporated, Arvin drew still more ectoplasm from the Astral Plane and gave it human form. It was difficult work, manifesting yet another power while hovering in mid-air with unfamiliar wings, but by concentrating fiercely he managed it. He was still a beginner when it came to creating astral constructs-he couldn't yet

imbue them with the ability to discharge electricity or do extra damage with a chilling or fiery touch-but the constructs he created could punch and stomp. The one he manifested then did just that, pummelling the cobra with massive fists and feet. The cobra's iron body rang with each blow, and several of the metal bands that made up its body were dented. The astral construct gave it a final kick, and the iron cobra's metal head snapped back, its neck bent at a sharp angle. It clattered to the ground.

The ropes of ectoplasm faded then disappeared. Still the iron cobra didn't move. Arvin hovered just in front of it, waiting. Even given that invitation, it didn't attack, and the tickling sensation in Arvin's forehead was gone. Satisfied, he let his astral construct fade.

He climbed into the air. He rose above the treetops and began winging his way above the road to the distant temple. It lay higher up Mount Ugruth, on a bare area with burned trees to either side. Higher still, the peak of the volcano smoldered, a dim red glow that rivaled the setting sun.

Arvin flew toward it, hoping that Pakal still waited for him.

It was was middark by the time Arvin reached the temple. He spotted it by the red glow in its central courtyard. The building had been built in a square surrounding a deep fissure in the ground, one that plunged like a knife wound all the way down to Mount Ugruth's molten heart. The white marble tiles surrounding the fissure were splattered with glossy black stone: lava that had cooled and hardened. Heat hazed the air above the crack, carrying with it the smell of sulfur. The inside wall of the building surrounding the courtyard had a wide portico supported by massive pillars that glowed

a dusky red, like tree trunks in a burning forest. The rest of the building lay in shadow.

Farther up the mountain, Arvin spotted movement. He flew in that direction and saw a large group of people-about a hundred or so-climbing a narrow path that led toward the peak. Arvin swooped down lower and saw that they were Talos worshipers following a cleric-one who walked with a swaying gait. Suspicious, Arvin dipped into the cleric's thoughts.

The cleric-another yuan-ti in disguise-was leading an even larger group of worshipers to their deaths.

Not too much farther up the mountain was a large fissure, one that vented ash and poisonous fumes. The worshipers would be told to walk to its lip and breathe deeply. By breathing the fumes, they would "embrace" Talos and prove themselves worthy of him. If any of them dared to question their cleric's orders or realized what was happening and tried to run away, the wand would take care of them, just as it had taken care of the lower-ranked clerics. One way or another, they would die.

Arvin skimmed the thoughts of the worshipers closest to the cleric, hoping to find some spark of resistance. There was none. What their god had instructed them to do, they would do, no matter how odd his command seemed. Their thoughts were sluggish, as if they had been drugged.

The cleric glanced up at Arvin. Strange, he thought. I didn't know Thessania kept a pet.

Arvin broke contact. He wheeled back in the direction of the temple, searching for Pakal along the way. There was no sign of the dwarf, just as there had been no sign of him on the road leading to the temple. Nor did Arvin see anyone else. The temple seemed to be abandoned.

No, not quite. As Arvin circled over its roof, he spotted a solitary figure standing between two

columns of the portico. Bohind him was an arch that must have been the temple's main entrance. He was a tall man, his hair and beard as black as his clerical robes. Arvin might not have noticed him save for the javelin the man held. Its point, jagged as a lightning bolt, gave off a faint shimmer of electrical energy that illuminated his face. He leaned on the weapon, using it like a staff, staring into the courtyard with an unfocused gaze.

Arvin circled overhead, once again manifesting the power that allowed him to read minds, wondering if he'd discovered another yuan-ti. He was surprised to find nothing serpentlike at all about the man's thoughts. They were very human-and very troubled. The man wondered if he'd done the right thing. Did Talos truly demand more sacrifices? Already the clergy were gone, and they were forced to use lay worshipers from distant cities. The signs were all there, it was true-the smoke that rose from Mount Ugruth's peak, the lava that had bubbled up into the courtyard, the fire that had broken out on the hillside after the lighting strike-but was sacrifice what was truly required? And of the entire flock? Talos only seemed to be getting angrier with each passing day, yet if the high stormherald himself had sent word that sacrifice was necessary, it must be so.

He couldn't help but wonder, however, if he shouldn't have communed with Talos himself, just to be sure. If only his furies hadn't insisted on being the first to die, he might have consulted with them. Perhaps he should go after Siskin, ask the newly arrived cleric to wait until…

Arvin withdrew from the man's thoughts. The cleric-the stormlord of the temple, Arvin guessed- had been duped by the yuan-ti, but his mind was still his own. If Arvin could convince him to listen, perhaps the slaughter that was about to happen on

the hillside above could be stopped. The worshipers would surely listen to their stormlord.

Arvin landed outside the temple's entrance and allowed his metamorphosis to end. His tail sprang apart and became two legs again, and his body grew as it took on human form. He flexed his muscles, getting reacquainted with the feeling of arms and legs, then used his psionics to alter his appearance slightly, creating the illusion of deep red scratches in each of his cheeks. The stormlord would be more willing to listen to a warning if it came from one of his own followers.

Arvin strode through the entrance into the courtyard, he formed a cross with his arms against his chest as he'd seen the Talus worshipers do.

"Stormlord," he said, bowing, "I bring urgent news. May I speak with you?"

The brooding man turned. Close up, Arvin could see more details of his appearance. The stormlord's nose was long and sharp, his forehead creased with deep lines. Heavy black eyebrows were drawn together in what looked like a perpetual scowl. The right side of his face was puckered with white scar tissue and his hairline on that side was slightly higher. It looked as though he'd suffered a burn some time in the past. A wide metal bracer embossed with silver lightning bolts encircled each forearm.

"Approach," he said, "and speak."

Arvin rose from his bow and stepped closer. He had no idea what the protocol was for a lay worshiper addressing a cleric of this faith. He was taking a big chance. If he angered the stormlord, the man might strike him down with a lighting bolt. But he couldn't just let those people die-not when there was someone who might be able to do something about it.

"Stormlord," Arvin said, "I've just come from Hlondeth. I learned something there-something terrible.

The cleric who just left the temple…Siskin. He isn't human. He's a yuan-ti."

"Nonsense," the stormlord said. "Siskin has been touched by Talos. I saw the burn mark myself."

Arvin was about to counter that the burn had probably been an illusion when he realized something. The stormlord's breath had a sweet odor to it. He'd been drinking wine.

Wine that smelled like Thessania's perfume.

Arvin had been certain, back at the quarry, that the black liquid was poison, but he started to wonder. Perhaps it was something else, something more insidious. Something that would bend a person's thoughts along paths they wouldn't ordinarily follow, until even the most horrific suggestions sounded perfectly reasonable.

"Siskin served you wine earlier tonight, didn't he?" Arvin asked. "And he insisted that all of your flock drink, as well."

The stormlord nodded. The furrow in his brow deepened. "What of it?"

"Did the wine taste unusual?"

"It was sweeter. Flavored. It came from the east, he said."

"After drinking the wine, you talked," Arvin said. "Siskin suggested that the lay worshipers be sacrificed. Tonight. It sounded reasonable at the time, but less reasonable now that you've had a chance to think about it."

The stormlord started to nod, but just then, the ground trembled. Deep in the fissure that split the courtyard, something rumbled. Arvin heard a wet splat as lava shot out of the crack. He could feel its heat through his shirt.

The stormlord stared at the cooling rock, which was already losing its glow. "It is… necessary," he said. "Talos demands a sacrifice. Without it, he will level

Mount Ugruth. Thousands will die. Hlondeth itself may be wiped out. We cannot allow that to happen. The sacrifice is… necessary."

Arvin blinked. For a moment, the stormlord had sounded like Karrell. He'd sounded as though he cared about Hlondeth and its people. Arvin, like most folks in Hlondeth, had been taught that the clerics of Talos reveled in destruction and death, but the stormlord's comments gave him cause for thought.

"You don't want the mountain to erupt?" Arvin asked.

The stormlord glared at him. "You're not one of us," he rumbled.

"No," Arvin admitted. "I'm not. Nor is Siskin. I'll bet that when he arrived here, he was as much a stranger to you as I am." He spread his hands, entreating the cleric to listen. "Think about it-of the two strangers, who gives you more cause for concern? The one who is asking you to listen to your own doubts before it's too late-or a "cleric' who got you drunk on a strange-tasting wine, then suggested you kill off all of your worshipers?"

The stormlord blinked and blinked again. A shudder ran through him. He shook his head like a man trying to throw off a dream. When he looked at Arvin again, his eyes were clear and hard. "Thank you-friend-for the warning. May Talos's fist never strike you."

Then he wheeled, javelin in hand, and ran through the temple, out into the night.

Arvin activated his lapis lazuli. It was time to find Pakal. He imagined the dwarf's faoe, but though he could picture it clearly-dark, tattooed skin framed by ropy hair-Pakal refused to come into focus. Arvin, worried, wondered if Pakal had decided not to wait for him. Even if the dwarf had moved on from

the temple, a sending still should have been able to reach him.

Unless…

A terrible thought occurred to Arvin. Maybe the dog-man had caught up to Pakal, killed him, and taken the Circled Serpent.

Then again, Arvin realized, Pakal could just be in another form, as he had been in Sibyl's temple, cloaked in an illusion that fooled the sending-an illusion, for example, that would help him blend in at Talos's temple.

"Pakal!" Arvin shouted. "Are you here? Pakal!"

Arvin heard what he expected-silence. He could guess where Pakal was: on the footpath above the temple, somewhere among the hundred or so others who were walking to their deaths.

He bolted in the direction the stormlord had gone.

The path up the mountain was a steep one, made treacherous by loose volcanic rock that skittered away with each step. Arvin slipped repeatedly, scraping his hands and knees. The night was overcast, and Mount Ugruth lent an ugly red glow to the clouds above. Smoke and ash rose into the sky from its peak. Perhaps the mountain really was about to erupt. Arvin ran until his lungs ached, but instead of stopping to catch his breath, he pressed on.

The air was hotter than it had been below. Here and there beside the path, heat waves danced in the night air over a crack in the ground. Glancing down into one of them, Arvin saw glowing lava. It bubbled out onto the trunk of a dead tree. The bark smoldered, then burst into flame. A thin stream of molten rock oozed out of the hole and flowed downhill, cutting across the path.

From above, past a point where the path rounded a knoll that hid what lay above from view, came confused shouts then screams.

As Arvin reached the knoll, a bolt of lightning lanced out of the sky, then forked horizontally just before striking the ground, as if it had been deflected by something. One bolt hit a rocky outcropping just a few paces away from Arvin. He threw up his hand to shield his face as splinters of rock rained down on him. He scrambled up the path, manifesting the power that would allow him to see through illusions as he ran. Sparkles flashed into the night in front of his forehead then were gone.

As he rounded the knoll, he saw the stormlord locked in magical combat with the yuan-ti-and it didn't look good for the stormlord. The yuan-ti menaced the worshipers with bared fangs, using his magical fear to drive them toward a stream of flowing lava. The stormlord was several paces hack, caught in a dead tree that had wrapped it branches around him like a magical entangling rope. One of the cleric's hands was free, and he swept it up and down as he shouted a prayer. A pillar of lava burst from the flow, arced toward the yuan-ti in a streak of red, then plunged down.

The yuan-ti raised a hand above his head, magically deflecting the molten rock. It shot back toward the stormlord then veered aside and splashed onto the ground in front of him, splattering the worshipers. At least a dozen were badly burned, and they fell to the ground screaming.

The yuan-ti retaliated with a flick of his hand that engulfed the stormlord in a cloud of magical darkness. Then he turned his attention back to the remaining worshipers with an angry hiss. They recoiled and stumbled backward, screaming and weeping. At least a dozen ran blindly into the lava and were killed, their hair and clothes bursting into flame and their flesh sizzling as it roasted from their bones. One or two managed to resist the fear and tried to run back

down the hill past the yuan-ti, but the false cleric was faster. Whipping a wand out of his belt, he pointed it at them. A pea-sized mote of fire burst from the wand, growing as it streaked through the night. It struck the back of one of the worshipers and exploded into an enormous ball of white-hot flame. In the blink of an eye, all that remained of those who had fled were twisted, blackened corpses.

The yuan-ti turned back toward the remaining worshipers and began swaying toward them, driving them like cattle with its magical fear. Behind him, lightning bolts arced out of the darkness that surrounded the dead tree where the stormlord hung, entangled. None came close to the yuan-ti. One struck a worshiper, blowing the man into the air.

Arvin searched the crowd, looking for Pakal. It took him a moment, even with his psionically clarified vision, to spot the dwarf under the illusionary human body he'd created for himself. Pakal tried to lift his blowpipe to his lips but kept getting jostled by the worshipers who ran toward the lava, lashed on by the yuan-ti's magical fear. The dwarf also suffered the compulsion's effects. The blowpipe trembled in his hand as he fought against the desperate desire to flee. He took one step back, then another-then someone ran into him, knocking the blowpipe from his hands.

Arvin needed to do something. Fast. He tried tossing a psionic distraotion at the yuan-ti-only to hear Pakal scream his name from somewhere behind him. Arvin whirled then realized his distraction had bounced back at him. Whatever shield the yuan-ti had thrown up against the stormlord's magic also worked against psionics.

That must have been why Pakal had been trying to shoot the yuan-ti with a poisoned dart instead of using his spells. The dart lay beside the blowgun,

useless, while Pakal was driven back toward the bubbling lava by the other worshipers. The man just behind him stumbled, weeping, into the lava. Pakal looked wildly around. His eyes locked on Arvin's. They were desperate, pleading

Suddenly, Arvin realized he could use his psionics. He drew energy into the third eye in his forehead and sent it whipping forward in a thin, silver thread. He wrapped it around the dart then yanked. The dart flew from the ground and buried itself in the yuan-ti's neck.

The yuan-ti staggered backward then turned. Unblinking, wrath-filled eyes stared at Arvin and magical fear punched into his gut, making him want to vomit. Then it was gone. The yuan-ti crumpled slowly to the ground, dead.

The worshipers, freed from the effects of the yuan-ti's fear aura, let out a collective sob of relief. Several started to pray. Others turned to the tree, calling to their stormlord as the darkness seeped away from it into the ground. Arvin ran forward, toward Pakal.

The dwarf clasped his arms and said something in his own language. It sounded like a thank you, and possibly an apology. Hearing it, Arvin felt guilty at the wave of relief he'd felt upon seeing the cloth sack Pakal carried-a sack that had something square inside it.

"Do you still have the Circled Serpent?" Arvin asked.

Pakal frowned, said something in his own language, then intoned what sounded like a prayer. "What do you ask?" he repeated.

Arvin repeated his question.

"I have it." Pakal glanced at the stormlord. Talos's worshipers were breaking off tree branches, freeing him. Other worshipers tore the clerical robes off the

yuan-ti and pummeled his lifeless body with feet and fists. "We should go," Pakal added, "before my illusion wears off. I would not want them to think that I, too, am an enemy."

They moved quickly through the crowd, Pakal leading the way. They headed uphill, following the path. Soon the Talassan were well below them.

"Where are we going?" Arvin asked.

Pakal gestured at the peak. "Up there. To a portal that leads home."

"Where's home?"

"A jungle, far to the south. It is where Ts'ikil dwells."

"On the Chultan Peninsula?"

Pakal nodded. He glanced back at Arvin as they climbed. "Is Karrell truly alive? When we met in Sibyl's lair, you told me she was dead."

"I know," Arvin admitted, "but since then, I've been able to contact her. This time, for whatever reason, my sending worked. That's how I got Ts'ikil's name. From Karrell."

"Gods be praised," Pakal whispered. There was a catch to his voice; he must have cared deeply about Karrell, as well.

"Indeed," Arvin agreed, touching the crystal at his neck in silent thanks, "but Karrell's in deep trouble. She's still in the Abyss. In Smaragd."

"Sseth's domain," Pakal said.

"Yes." Arvin shuddered, imagining Karrell alone there. Giving birth. Vulnerable. "This Ts'ikil person will know how to get her out, right?"

The dwarf shook his head. "There is no escape from Smaragd."

"That's not true," Arvin countered. "I've learned there's a door that leads directly to Smaragd from this plane, a door that can be opened with the Circled Serpent. We can use it to reach Karrell, to rescue

her, and we won't have to worry about the serpent god getting free. He's apparently been bound by his own jungle."

Pakal stopped. He turned to face Arvin, a wary look in his eye. "Who told you this?"

Arvin decided to tell only part of the truth. Pakal didn't need to know the details of what Zelia had forced upon him. "The woman in the rooftop garden- the one who attacked us after we escaped from Sibyl's lair. Her name is Zelia; she's a yuan-ti. Her agent-the human woman you killed with the dart-had also snuck into Sibyl's lair to look for the Circled Serpent. Zelia hopes to use it to open the second door, the one that leads to Smaragd. Like Sibyl, she hopes to free the serpent god."

Pakal's eyes narrowed. "Why would she tell you all this?"

"She didn't tell me," Arvin said. "I used mind magic to pull the information directly from her thoughts, after I defeated her."

"Where is this "second door?' "

Arvin shook his head. "She didn't know."

"This Zelia recognized you," Pakal continued. "Why is that?"

Arvin smiled. That one he could answer with the truth. "Our paths have crossed before. She's an old enemy. She tried to kill Karrell and me when we were in Ormpetarr."

Pakal considered that.

"When I contacted Karrell, she told me to find Ts'ikil," Arvin continued. "She said that Ts'ikil would know what to do. I assumed that meant that Ts'ikil would help us use the Circled Serpent to open the door to Smaragd and free her."

Pakal folded his arms across his chest. "The Circled Serpent must not be used. Dendar must not be set free."

"We won't be opening that door," Arvin protested.

"If there is a second door, the Circled Serpent may cause both it and the one that would free Dendar to open at once."

"What if that isn't the case? What if the Circled Serpent only opens one door at a time?"

Pakal gave a firm shake of his head. "Ts'ikil will not allow it to be used. We cannot run the risk of Sseth emerging as an avatar. That would be as perilous as allowing Dendar to escape. The Circled Serpent must be destroyed. That is why we have been searching for it. Why Karrell was searching for it. Karrell herself would insist that this be done."

Arvin didn't like the sound of the word "destroyed." Maybe getting Pakal to take him to Ts'ikil wasn't such a good idea. He threw up his hands, exasperated.

"I thought you cared about Karrell, that you'd want to help rescue her."

"I do care about her," Pakal said, an intense look in his dark eyes, "and I would like to rescue her, but the life of one woman-even one to whom you owe your own life-does not negate the risk opening that door poses." He sighed and spread his hands. "This is an empty argument. We only have half of the Circled Serpent, and half cannot be used to open any door." He gave Arvin a level stare, as if warning him not to try anything.

"I know who's got the other half," Arvin said. "Dmetrio Extaminos."

Pakal's eyebrows shot up. "The yuan-ti prince from Hlondeth?"

It was Arvin's turn to be surprised. "You know him?"

"He claims to be on our side-to want to destroy the Circled Serpent. Why would he not tell us that he has-"

"Dmetrio is in Chult?" Arvin guessed.

Pakal gave him a look that made Arvin wonder if he'd spoken a little too enthusiastically.

"It's just that he disappeared from Hlondeth nearly six months ago," Arvin continued. "No one's heard from him since. I'm truly surprised to hear he's still alive. Everyone in Hlondeth thought he was dead."

"He's not dead," Pakal answered. He paused. "When we reach Ts'ikil, you must tell her what you have just told me."

"I will," Arvin agreed, uncertain whether he'd be able to keep that promise.

If Pakal was right about Ts'ikil not wanting the Circled Serpent to be used, maybe Arvin should grab Pakal's half and try to get to Dmetrio before the dwarf and Ts'ikil did. He was suddenly very glad of Karrell's ring. If the dwarf did turn out to have the ability to read thoughts, he wouldn't like what was going through Arvin's mind.

Arvin glancod up the path. "The portal is somewhere up above us, right?"

Pakal nodded. "Only a short distance ahead, but there is no hurry. The Talos worshipers are not following us."

"They're not what I'm worried about," Arvin said. He rubbed the scar on his forehead. It tingled again. "When I left Hlondeth, one of Sibyl's constructs was following me: a cobra, made of iron. I killed it, but my mind magic is warning me that Sibyl may have more than one of these constructs. If we don't get to the portal right away, it may lead Sibyl straight to us."

Pakal just stared at him.

"What?" Arvin asked.

"There is a problem," Pakal answered. "The portal can only be used at sunrise."

"Ah." Arvin thought for a moment. "We'll stay awake in turns until then and keep an eye out for the cobra. Maybe you can turn us to gas once we reach the portal. It may not be able to find us then."

"That I cannot do."

"Why not?"

Pakal sighed and spread his hands. "Thard Harr grants me only so many blessings each day. I can gain no more until I have prayed."

"Can't you pray now?"

"If I did, Thard Harr would not hear me," Pakal said. "The prayers raw t be said in daylight. The traditional time is when dawn first breaks."

"That's unfortunate," Arvin said.

He knew how Pakal felt. Arvin too was close to the limit of his own powers, already. His muladhara felt flat, a hair's breadth away from being utterly depleted. He needed to meditate.

He turned and stared down the mountainside. The stormlord and his worshipers were walking back to their temple, carrying the injured. Beyond the temple, the road vanished into darkness. Somewhere below, he was certain, another iron cobra slithered toward them.