Viper's kiss

CHAPTER 9

Where have you been?" the baron growled. "My daughter is ill-she may be dying-and instead of finding her, you-"

Arvin bowed. "I apologize, Baron Foe- smasher. I was poisoned."

The baron blinked. "Poisoned?"

"The ambassador kept me waiting all day. I decided to confront him in his basking chamber. I didn't realize it was filled with poisonous smoke. I only recovered from its effects a short time ago."

That wasn't strictly true, of course. His interlude with Karrell had followed. It had been brief-both of them felt the urgency of what was now a shared goal. But time had been lost; it was now nearly the middle of the night.

The room in which they stood-a chapel with one of the enormous, silver gauntlets of Helm standing on a dais near one wall-was lit by a single lantern. The baron had been standing in prayer, his left hand raised and head bowed, when Arvin was ushered in. Karrell had been detained outside the room by the soldiers who served as palace guards. She stood at the end of the hallway, waiting.

Baron Foesmasher glanced at her. "Who is the woman?"

"Another tracker," Arvin said. "She's going to help in the search for your daughter."

The baron's eyes narrowed. "You have told her Glisena is missing?"

"Yes," Arvin acknowledged.

"What else have you told her?"

Arvin met the baron's eye. "Only that Glisena has run away," he said. "And that she is most likely hiding in the Chondalwood, among the satyrs. And that her flight from the palace was aided by minions of Sibyl, who hope to exploit your daughter for their own, ill purposes."

"By the sound of her accent, she's from Chult," Foe- smasher said. "Is she yuan-ti?"

Arvin met the baron's eye. "Yes."

The baron grunted and turned back to Arvin. "You promised to be discreet. And now I find you've told a complete stranger. Another serpent."

"If you want me to find your daughter, Lord Foe- smasher, you'll have to trust my judgment," Arvin told him. "I trust Karrell. It was a stroke of Tymora's fortune that she turned up here, in Sespech. Karrell knows a great deal about Sibyl; the abomination has had her people under her thrall for some time. Karrell was already investigating what Sibyl's minions are up to in Sespech. She would have learned, eventually, of your daughter's disappearance. By including her now, we gain some valuable assistance."

The baron glowered. "You assured me your mind magic would locate Glisena."

"It's already narrowed the search," Arvin countered. "We've learned she's in the Chondalwood."

"That tells us very little," the baron said. "The Chondalwood is enormous. It's nearly as wide as Sespech is long. Were I to send an entire garrison into it to search for Glisena, they could wander for a tenday and never meet a soul, let alone find a band of reclusive satyrs. And ordering in a garrison is something I can't do. Lord Wianar has laid claim to the Chondalwood; he hopes to cut off the supply of wood I need to build my navy. Sending troops into it would only give him the excuse he needs to invade." His eyes bored into Arvin's. "One man, however, would slip into the Chondalwood unnoticed. But that brings us back to the central problem-we don't know where to look."

Arvin thought a moment. "How close is the nearest edge of the Chondalwood to Ormpetarr?"

"Nearly two days' ride to the north, just across the river from Fort Arran."

"The satyrs seemed quite worried about Glisena's health," Arvin said. "They wouldn't have come to Ormpetarr to fetch Naneth unless their camp was a reasonable distance from the city."

"Naneth gave a teleportation ring to Glisena," the baron pointed out. 'She may have also given one to the satyr."

"If she had," Arvin countered, "surely he would have used it to flee Ormpetarr, instead of trying to scale the walls."

"Indeed," the baron said, nodding in agreement. "But even if you are correct in your guess about what part of the forest the satyr came from, how do you propose to find his camp?" He nodded at Karrell. "And why do you need her help? Is your mind magic not up to the search?"

"It is," Arvin assured him. "But it won't be able to cover enough ground in the limited time we have left before Glisena… becomes more unwell. Karrell knows a spell that can help find the camp quickly. One that gives her the ability to communicate with animals."

The baron frowned. "Asking questions of a handful of animals in one tiny corner of the forest will accomplish nothing." He shook his head. "And I thought you were an expert tracker."

"We won't ask just any animals," Arvin countered. "We'll ask wolves. They're swift runners, capable of traveling a distance as far as that between Ormpetarr and Mimph in a single day. Their territories span even greater distances than that. And their sense of smell is keen enough to pick out the scent of a human from an entire camp of satyrs. If anyone can locate the satyr camp Glisena is staying in, it's wolves."

The baron nodded, grudgingly impressed.

"The only problem," Arvin continued, "will be in getting to the Chondalwood quickly enough."

The baron picked up his helmet, which had been sitting on the floor next to him. "You'll be in the Chondalwood tonight," he said, pulling it on. The purple plume bobbed as he spoke. "Naneth isn't the only one with a teleportation device:'

"Can yours teleport two people at once?" Arvin asked.

"It can," the baron answered. "But that brings up an important question." He gestured at Karrell. "If it's her spell that will find my daughter, what further use are you?"

Arvin had anticipated that question. "In order for Karrell to use her spell, the wolves need to be close enough for her to speak with them," he said.

"Any hunter can find a wolf," the baron countered. "I'm not just going to find wolves," Arvin said. "I'm going to call them to me. With this." He pulled the lapis lazuli from his pocket and displayed it on his palm. "This is what I used to send you the message about the satyr. With it, I can contact anyone. Human… or wolf. It has magic that only a psion can use."

Though he spoke with confidence, Arvin wasn't actually certain what he was proposing would work. He could definitely send a message that would catch a wolf's attention-the whine of an injured pup, for example-but a sending wasn't like a shout; it sounded inside the recipient's head. Arvin might be able to say "come here," but only by putting the sending to the test would he find out if he could convey where "here" was. But it was worth a try.

"The stone will also allow me to report to you-`at once'-the moment we find Glisena," Arvin added, deliberately using one of the baron's favorite phrases.

The baron nodded, satisfied. "You're a man who uses his head," he said. "I like that." He reached into a pouch that hung from his belt and pulled from it a shield-shaped brooch. It was made of polished steel and no larger than a coin, with Helm's blue eye on the front of it. Foesmasher handed it to Arvin.

"Pin this somewhere it won't be seen," he instructed.

"What is it?"

"Something that will assist me in locating you, once that message is sent," Foesmasher explained.

Arvin pinned the brooch to the inside of his shirt. "You'll come to the Chondalwood in person?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes." The baron stared at Arvin. "My teleportation magic is limited, so be certain that you are with Glisena-at her side-before you summon me."

"I will."

Foesmasher turned to the soldiers in the hall then paused, as if remembering something. "Oh yes, that yuan-ti you mentioned: Zelia."

Arvin tensed.

"She's in Ormpetarr. She arrived by riverboat last night."

Arvin gave a tight nod. Zelia in Ormpetarr was bad news. But he'd soon be out of the city. Tymora willing, Zelia would be gone by the time he got back. Or she'd do something that would give Foesmasher an excuse to arrest her.

Foesmasher gestured to the soldiers, indicating they should bring Karrell into the room.

Arvin caught her eye as she entered. "Lord Foe- smasher has agreed," he told her. "You'll be joining the search."

Foesmasher waved his guards away then clapped one hand on Arvin's shoulder, the other on Karrell's. "Shall we go?"

"This teleportation device," Arvin asked "Is it a portal, or-"

The floor suddenly fell out from Arvin's feet, and the walls of the chapel spun crazily around him. He dropped about a palm's width through the air, landing unsteadily on the floor of a room with thick stone walls and arrow-slit windows. Two officers wearing armor bearing the baron's crest who were sitting at a table, deep in discussion, leaped to their feet, startled, then bowed deeply.

"Lord Foesmasher," one said. "Welcome."

Foesmasher removed his hands from Arvin's and Karrell's shoulders. "These two," he announced, "are en route to the Chondalwood. Make sure they reach it without Lord Wianar's patrols spotting them."

The officers exchanged a glance.

"Is there a problem?" Foesmasher demanded.

"We're not sure," one of the officers replied. "Wianar's men seem to have drawn back from the river. There hasn't been a sighting of them all day. But there may have been an incident."

Foesmasher frowned. "May have been?"

"One of the patrols we sent across the river this morning didn't return," the second officer said. "Nor did the one we sent to find it. Until we know what happened to them, it wouldn't be prudent to-"

"These two must reach Chondalwood," The baron growled. "Tonight."

The officer gave an obedient bow. "As you command, sir."

They crossed the Arran River in a wagon drawn by a centaur. The wagon had no driver, nor was the centaur fitted with reins; he seemed to be draft animal and driver in one.

Arvin was amazed to see such a magnificent creature in harness. Centaurs were. creatures of the wild, untamed and proud. This one was the size of a warhorse, his upper torso more muscular than any human's could ever be, his arms nearly as thick as a man's thighs. Coarse, almost woolly hair covered his lower torso, but his chest and arms were bare to the elements. He seemed not to mind the cold as he trotted on enormous hooves that thudded heavily on the massive timbered bridge that spanned the river. Every now and then he snorted, his breath fogging the night air, and tossed back his black, tangled mane, exposing pointed ears. Around his waist he wore a belt; from it hung a sheathed knife the size of a small sword. Hanging from the sheath was a purple feather, like the ones Foesmasher's soldiers wore on their helms.

Two of Foesmasher's soldiers had been assigned to accompany Arvin and Karrell; each man was armed with a crossbow and sword. The first-Burrian, a burly fellow with a. black beard and enormous, calloused hands who said he had been a woodcutter before joining the militia-would serve as their guide in the Chondalwood. The second-Sergeant Dunnald, a man with a narrow face and long blond hair-would return to Fort Arran with the wagon. Burrian was watchful as they left the bridge, turned right off the main road, and started toward the Chondalwood. Dunnald, however, seemed confident, even a little bored. Arvin hoped that boded well for their journey. Perhaps the two officers they'd met earlier had been alarmists. There were any number of reasons that soldiers might fail to return from a patrol. Even so, Arvin found himself touching the crystal at his neck, for luck.

It didn't comfort him.

The forest lay some distance ahead, a dark, bumpy line against an even darker sky. Behind them, the bridge across the River Arran fell steadily away into the distance. Fort Arran dominated the far side of the bridge, its crenellated wooden towers keeping watch over the timbered arch that spanned the narrows and the road that led north from it to Arrabar. For now, this road was open, linking the two capitals of Chondath and Sespech. Come daylight, it would be dotted with merchant wagons and travelers. But if war broke out between the two states, Fort Arran would act as a gate, barring entry to any army that Lord Wianar might send marching south.

Arvin glanced up at the sky. The moon was half full, haloed by a thin layer of clouds. At least it wasn't snowing. The air was cold, but Karrell had cast another of her spells upon him, making him feel cozy and warm. He yawned, exhausted. It must have been well past mid-dark by now. He leaned back, trying to make himself comfortable. Lulled by the thud of the centaur's hooves and the warmth of Karrell seated next to him at the rear of the wagon under a thick wool blanket, he dozed.

A while later, something poked Arvin's side, Karrell's hand. Instantly, he was awake. "What is it?" he asked.

Karrell pointed at something ahead. Arvin tried to peer past the centaur but could see only the dark line of the woods, drawing steadily closer. Between the forest and wagon was a flat expanse of snow-covered ground that sparkled in the moonlight.

"I don't see anything."

"Was it the movement near the woods you spotted?" Dunnald asked Karrell. "It's just a herd of wild centaurs, out for a moonlit trot. There's nothing to be frightened of."

Burrian called out to the centaur who drew the wagon. "Some of your old pals, Tanglemane?"

The centaur ignored him.

"I did not mean the centaurs," Karrell told the sergeant, an indignant edge in her voice. "And I am not frightened." She stood and pointed. "There is something up ahead. A dark line on the ground."

Dunnald continued to smile indulgently. "That's nothing to fret about, either," he told her. "Just the trail left by the centaurs through the snow."

Karrell sat down again and turned to Arvin. "Do they always travel in such complicated paths?"

Arvin stood and peered ahead. The line in the snow Karrell had spotted ran in a broad arc from left to right, paralleling the curve of the woods at a more or less constant distance from the forest. But instead of following a direct path, the centaurs seemed to have paused at several points along their journey to loop back upon their own trail. "Looks like they doubled back the way they came, crisscrossing their path," Arvin told Dunnald, who obviously didn't take anything a woman said seriously. "Several times. What would make them do that?"

Burrian looked to his sergeant for an answer, but

Dunnald only shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe they were playing follow the leader."

"Tanglemane?" Arvin asked. "What do you think?"

The centaur shook his head. "It is unusual," he said in a voice as low as the wagon's rumble.

As the wagon drew closer to a spot where the hoof- prints formed a loop, Arvin's frown deepened. Now that they were about to cross the trail through the snow, its complicated meanderings reminded him of something.

"Stop the wagon!" he shouted.

Startled, the centaur skidded to a stop, his four legs stiff and ears erect. The wagon jerked to an abrupt halt, jostling its passengers and causing Dunnald to drop his crossbow.

"What are you doing?" Dunnald snapped, picking up the weapon. "Why did you order the beast to halt?"

Arvin glanced over the side. He had called out a moment too late; the wagon was already inside one of the loops that had been stamped into the snow. "Don't move, Tanglemane," he instructed, reaching for his pack.

"What is wrong?" Karrell asked.

Burrian scanned the open ground around them, his crossbow at the ready. "Yes, what's the matter?" he echoed. "I don't see anything."

Arvin pulled a sylph-hair rope out of his pack. Soft as braided silk, it shimmered in the moonlight. "I'll know in a moment." He tossed the rope into the air, and smiled at the faint intake of breath he heard from Burrian as the rope streaked upward then hung, motionless, as if attached to thin air. He passed the lower end of it to Karrell. "Hold this, will you?"

Karrell took the rope, a curious look in her eye.

Arvin climbed. As he did, the meandering trail through the snow came increasingly into view. From a height, it was possible to see the intricate loops that had

been stamped into the snow. The centaurs had not been wandering randomly; there was a design below-one that had been deliberately done. The wagon had halted inside one of its loops.

"The centaurs weren't playing follow the leader," he called out to the others. "They were making an arcane symbol in the snow."

The soldiers, Karrell, and the centaur all stared up at him.

"What kind of symbol?" Dunnald asked.

Arvin, studying the design below, shook his head grimly. "I think it's a death symbol."

Dunnald scowled. "You think? You're not sure?" Beside him, Burrian looked nervous. "So that's what got our patrols."

Arvin slid down the rope. "I saw a symbol just like this one, years ago," he told the others as he recoiled his rope. "It was the central motif on an old, threadbare carpet from Calimshan. The carpet supposedly once had the power to fly; the noble who owned it thought that repairing it might restore its magic. He hired me to do the job. The day after I completed the work, he must have decided to try the carpet out. His servants found him sitting on it later that day, dead. He was slumped at the center of the carpet, without a mark on him. The spot he was sitting on was blank-the symbol I'd restored had vanished."

Karrell glanced nervously over the side of the wagon. "We are inside the symbol," she observed.

"Yes," Arvin answered.

"But not fully inside it?"

"We're not at the center of it, no," Arvin began. "But I'm not sure if that-"

Dunnald abruptly stood. "This is getting us nowhere," he said. "We can't just sit here all night." He clambered down from the wagon and walked toward the line in the snow, then squatted down next to it.

"Don't touch it!" Arvin warned.

Dunnald drew his sword and used it to prod at the symbol. "It's a trick," he announced. "A feint, to frighten us away from the woods. I'm touching it, and nothing's happening."

"You're touching it with your sword," Arvin noted, wondering if the sergeant would be stupid enough to touch a foot to the line.

He wasn't.

"If it is a magical symbol, it's not very effective, is it?" Dunnald commented as he straightened up. "It's narrow enough to step right over." He gave Burrian a meaningful glance. "If this is what waylaid our two patrols, we need to get a report back to the fort."

Burrian's eyes widened. He wet his lips. "Sir, I…"

Dunnald cocked his head. "Are you refusing my order, Burrian?"

Burrian shook his head. "No, sir.. It's just…"

Dunnald gestured at the track in the snow. "Tangle- mane walked across it without harm. Look here-one of his hooves actually touched it."

"He's a centaur," Arvin interjected. "Perhaps centaurs are immune to it and humans aren't."

"Humans crossed the symbol once already," Dunnald countered. He glowered at Burrian. "Get down from that wagon, Burrian."

The soldier swallowed. "Yes, sir." He glanced at Arvin, lowering his voice to a whisper. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Arvin said, less certain now. "The sergeant's right about one thing: we did pass across it once already in the wagon. But I'm no wizard. I don't know how these things-"

"Trooper Burrian!" the sergeant snapped. "Now!"

Reluctantly, Burrian climbed down from the wagon. He started to walk up to the track in the snow, then turned around again and came back to wrench a board off the wagon. He laid this across the track, visibly screwed up his courage, and took a long step across, taking care to keep both feet on the board. As his foot touched the board on the far side of the track, however, he crumpled to the ground.

Karrell gasped then leaped out of the wagon. Arvin shot to his feet, calling out a warning to her, but Karrell had the presence of mind to stay well back from the line in the snow. She dragged Burrian away from the dark line in the snow, lifted his arm, tugged up his sleeve, and pressed her fingers to the inside of his wrist. "He's dead," she announced, staring accusingly at Dunnald.

Dunnald's eyes narrowed. He wheeled on Arvin. "This is your fault. You said the center of the symbol was what killed, not the-"

Arvin leaped out of the wagon and caught Dunnald by the collar of his cloak. The sergeant tried to draw his sword, but Arvin batted his hand aside. "Not another word," Arvin growled. Shoving the sergeant aside, he stared at the dead man who lay facedown in the snow, feeling sick. Then he squatted to study the symbol. The line was darker than it should be-blacker than the shadows that filled it. Though both Burrian's body and the board he'd tried to use as a bridge had been drawn back across it, scuffing deep gouges in the snow, the line itself remained intact.

"Can you dispel it?" Arvin asked Karrell.

She looked doubtful as her eyes ranged up and down the symbol in the snow. "It is so large. But I can try."

Spreading her hands, she began to pray. As she did, Arvin watched the line in the snow. When Karrell completed her prayer, there was no visible change. The darkness was just as intense.

The sergeant, meanwhile, rotated his hand in a circle. "Tanglemane! Turn the wagon around and go back across the line. Return to the fort and fetch one of the clerics. We need someone who can dispel this thing."

The centaur snorted, his ears twitching.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," the sergeant said. "You crossed it once already. Go on-move! What's the matter-what are you afraid of?"

"Afraid?" the centaur snorted, his breath fogging the air. His eyes narrowed. "You're the one who's afraid, human. Cross it yourself."

Arvin was still staring thoughtfully at the line in the snow. He noted the ruts the wagon wheels had made as they traversed it and the spot where one of Tanglemane's hoofs had touched the symbol. Perhaps the captain was right about Tanglemane being immune to its magic. Then again, perhaps he wasn't.

Arvin stood and pulled out his lapis lazuli. "Sergeant, there's no need to send another person across. I can use mind magic to send a message back to the fort."

Dunnald wasn't listening. His face red, he glared at the centaur. "That's an order, Tanglemane," he said in a low voice. "Don't forget, you are one of the baron's soldiers now. Shall I report to Lord Foesmasher that you broke your vow by failing to carry out your duties?"

Tanglemane shook his head, a pained look in his eye.

"Then return to the fort," Dunnald ordered, pointing back at the distant bridge.

"As you order… sergeant." Tanglemane began to turn the wagon.

Arvin rushed forward and grabbed the harness. "Tanglemane, wait." He turned to the sergeant. "We don't know how the symbol's magic works. Maybe trying to leave is what activates it."

"Leaving it is what we need to do," said Dunnald. He pointed. "And quickly. The centaurs are headed this way."

Arvin glanced in the direction the sergeant had just indicated. The herd that Karrell had spotted earlier had turned around and was moving toward them at a brisk trot. Arvin glanced at Tanglemane. "Are they hostile?"

"Of course they're hostile," Dunnald snapped. "They're wild things. Not like Tanglemane, here."

"They will be angry, if they see me in harness," the centaur said in a low voice. He started to unbuckle the straps across his chest. "Already they have drawn their bows."

"The centaur's right," Dunnald said. "We need to get moving." He offered Karrell his hand, as if to help her into the wagon. "We'll be right behind you, Tanglemane, in the wagon," he told the centaur. He gave Karrell a sly look. "Won't we?"

Karrell took a step back, folding her arms across her chest.

"We're not moving," Arvin said. "Nor is Tanglemane," he added. "We'll take our chances with the centaurs."

Dunnald climbed into the wagon, muttering under his breath. Then, louder, "You'll all see in a moment there's nothing to fear."

Tanglemane continued to unfasten his harness. "Stop that," the captain ordered. "Get moving." One of the harness straps fell away from the centaur's broad chest.

"Move!" Dunnald shouted, drawing a crossbow bolt and slapping it against the centaur's flank.

At the sting of the improvised whip, Tanglemane's eyes went wide and white. He slammed a hoof against the wagon, splintering its boards. The wagon shot backward, yanking the partially unfastened harness from his shoulder.

Dunnald sprawled onto the floor of the wagon as it rolled away. "You stupid beast!" he shouted from inside the wagon. "When we get back to the fort, I'll have you-"

As the wagon rumbled to a stop just beyond the line in the snow, Arvin suddenly realized the shouting had stopped. Karrell took a hesitant step forward. Arvin caught her arm, holding her back.

Beside them, Tanglemane whiskered nervously. "I have killed him," the centaur said. "Killed the sergeant. When the baron hears of it…"

"It was an accident," Karrell said softly. "You didn't mean to."

Behind them, Arvin heard the sound of pounding hooves. Glancing in that direction, he saw a dozen centaurs racing toward them across the open plain. They skidded to a stop just outside the symbol and aimed powerful composite bows at Arvin, Karrell, and Tanglemane.

One of the centaurs-a male with a white body and straw-colored mane-snorted loudly and stared at them. "Soldiers of Sespech," he said in heavily accented Common. "You yet live?" He tossed his mane then pulled a white feather from a leather pouch that hung at his hip and waved it over the line in the snow. The magical darkness that filled it seeped away and the trail through the snow became just that: an ordinary trail of hoofprints. The centaur put the feather away and gestured curtly. "Come you with us."

"What are they saying?" Arvin whispered to Tangle- mane.

The centaur swiveled an ear to listen to the combination of whinnies, snorts, and whickers that made up the centaur language. Thirteen centaurs surrounded Arvin, Karrell, and Tanglemane, herding them along through the ankle-deep snow north along the river, toward Ormpetarr. The Chondalwood lay to their right, but it was falling farther behind with each step. The forest was still close enough that they could have reached it by dawn at a walking pace, even hindered by the snow. But it might as well have been a continent away. Six of the centaurs had their bows in hand with arrows loosely nocked; if the prisoners tried to flee, they'd quickly be shot down.

When the centaurs had first captured them, they had confiscated Karrell's club and Tanglemane's knife, giving the centaur several swift kicks when he didn't surrender it quickly enough. They'd taken an intense dislike to Tanglemane, perhaps because he'd allowed himself to be harnessed to a wagon. Tanglemane, however, showed a stoic indifference to the kicks the other centaurs had aimed at him, bearing them with only the slightest of winces.

The centaurs had also forced Arvin to turn out the contents of his pack. They seemed to have an aversion to rope-they'd tossed aside his magical ropes and twines as if they were poisonous snakes, and declined to search the pack further. Fortunately, they'd made no protest when Arvin gathered the ropes up again and returned them to his pack. Nor had they confiscated his glove, which he'd managed to vanish his dagger into.

The centaurs finished speaking. Tanglemane bowed at the waist to speak in Arvin's ear. "They serve Lord Wianar," he said. "They will turn us over to his soldiers."

Arvin had been afraid of that. Chondath wasn't officially at war with Sespech… yet. But the larger state was overdue for another attempt to oust Baron Foesmasher and reclaim lands they had never given up title to. Lord Wianar would be keen to question "soldiers from Sespech" to learn the current strength of Fort Arran's defenses. The questioning would no doubt be brutal and long.

Arvin swallowed nervously. "Would you tell them we're not soldiers?" he asked Tanglemane.

Tanglemane's eyes blazed. "I am a soldier," he said. Then his voice softened. "I tried to convince them earlier that you and the female are not the baron's vassals, but it was no use. They say you are spies."

Arvin swallowed. "That's worse than being a soldier, right?"

Tanglemane nodded. He lowered his voice. "You are not the first spies to cross the river. Last night, our soldiers took another across. These centaurs spotted him as he slipped into the woods. They laid the symbol in retaliation; they claim the woods as their own."

Arvin blinked. Foesmasher, it seemed, hadn't been content to wait for Arvin to reappear. There were others searching the Chondalwood for Glisena. The search had become a race.

Arvin glanced at the big white centaur. "What's their leader's name?" he asked.

"You could not pronounce it."

"In Common," Arvin said. "What would it translate as?"

"Stonehoof."

Arvin caught Karrell's eye then tipped his head at the centaur leader. "We need to talk him into letting us go," he whispered. "Let's see how… persuasive we can be. If I don't manage to convince him, perhaps you can."

"I cannot help you," she whispered back. "That… ability comes to me only once a day."

"Looks like it's up to me, then," Arvin said. Leaving Karrell, he jogged ahead to a position closer to the centaur leader. Stonehoof was even more powerfully built than Tanglemane, his massive hooves hidden by a fringe of hair. His upper torso was as pale as the rest of his body, covered with the same short white hair. His eyes were ice-blue.

Stonehoof glared at Arvin. "Return you to center of herd," he said sternly.

Arvin spread his hands in a placating gesture. "Stonehoof," he said, feeling energy awaken at the base of his scalp as he spoke. "You've got the wrong people. We don't serve the baron-we're not even from Sespech."

"Came you across river in soldier wagon." Stonehoof said. One of his ears swiveled, as if he'd heard something in the distance.

"That's true," Arvin agreed. "But we were only getting a ride with the soldiers. We're actually from Hlondeth. We were just passing through Sespech on our way to-"

One of the centaurs let out a loud, startled whinny. Instantly, the herd halted. They formed a circle, facing outward with bows raised. Stonehoof planted one of his massive hooves in Arvin's chest and shoved. Arvin stumbled backward, landing on his back in the snow beside Karrell and Tanglemane. He sat up, rubbing his bruised chest.

"The charm did not work?" Karrell whispered as she helped him to his feet.

"Apparently not," Arvin said.

Tanglemane stood next to them, listening. He lifted his head, his nostrils flaring as he sampled the breeze, then snorted.

A moment later, Arvin's less sensitive ears picked up the sound the centaurs had reacted to: the thud of hooves.

"Who is it?" Arvin whispered to Tanglemane. "Soldiers?"

"No." Tanglemane said. "A lone centaur."

As the centaur loped into view, Stonehoof and his herd relaxed. Most lowered their bows-though two kept arrows loosely nocked as they returned their attention to their captives.

The newcomer slowed to a trot and tossed his head. He was black from mane to tail, save for a blaze of white on each of his front hooves. Unlike the other centaurs, whose manes flowed freely down their backs, this one wore his hair pulled back with a thong. A wide leather belt around his waist held his quiver and bow case, as well as a large pouch.

As the black centaur approached, Stonehoof charged out to meet him. When only a pace or two separated them, Stonehoof reared up on his hind legs, forelegs flailing in the air. It looked to Arvin like a challenge of some sort, but a moment later Stonehoof bowed his head, and the two powerful males were slapping each other's hacks in greeting.

"Who is he?" Arvin asked.

"They greet him by the name Windswift." Tangle- mane answered.

"Is he their leader?"

Tanglemane stared appraisingly at the newcomer. "No. But he will lead the herd, someday soon, judging by the way Stonehoof submitted to him."

Windswift turned and trotted toward them, followed by Stonehoof. The other centaurs parted to let him through their circle. Windswift said something to Tanglemane in the centaur language and received an answer, then turned his attention to Arvin and Karrell. After studying them a moment, he spoke. "You're not soldiers." His Common was flawless, save for a slight lisp on the final word. He swayed slightly, causing Arvin to wonder if the centaur was as exhausted as he was. Steam rose from Windswift's back; he must have traveled some distance.

"You're right: we're not soldiers," Arvin agreed, relieved to be speaking to someone who might prove sympathetic. He manifested his charm a second time. This time, Tymora willing, there would be nothing disrupt it. "We're from Hlondeth. I'm a rope merchant's agent, and this-" He reached for Karrell's hand. "Is my wife."

One of Windswift's ears twitched, as if to catch a distant sound, and Arvin smiled. But then Windswift tossed his mane, and his eyes cleared. Arvin's heart sank. Windswift had shaken off his charm.

The centaur's eyes narrowed. "A psion?" he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

As Arvin stood stupidly, blinking-how had Wind- swift known? — Karrell gave his hand a quick squeeze and pressed something into his hand: her ring. He hid his surprise and slipped a finger into it, using her hand to shield the action. And just in time. A heartbeat later Windswift manifested a psionic power. Shielded by Karrell's ring, Arvin no longer had cause to fear Windswift listening in on his thoughts. What did send a shiver of fear through him, however, was the power's secondary manifestation.

A hiss.

By the gods, Arvin thought, feeling his face grow chill and pale, Windswift isn't just any psion.

He's one of Zelia's mind seeds.

Arvin's hands trembled, and his thoughts stampeded in all directions. Should he throw up a defensive mental shield? Launch a psionic attack? Had the centaur-seed realized who he was yet? Arvin had just identified himself as a rope merchant from Hlondeth, and Windswift had heard Arvin's own, unique secondary manifestation, and yet the centaur-seed hadn't attacked him. He didn't seem to know who Arvin was.

Arvin's racing heart slowed-a little. Zelia must have planted the seed in Windswift more than six months ago, before she'd met Arvin.

The hissing of the centaur-seed's secondary display faded. One hoof pawed the snow-covered ground in irritation.

Arvin nodded to himself. Windswift must have been the person Zelia had been waiting to meet at Riverboat Landing; the centaur-seed must have been spying, on Hlondeth's behalf, on Chondath.

It all fit. The centaur-seed couldn't have come into the inn without giving himself away; his appearance was too distinctive. And the fact that he hadn't reacted to Arvin must mean one of two things. Either he hadn't made it to his meeting with Zelia-or Zelia hadn't come to Sespech in search of Arvin, after all.

If the latter, Arvin's secret was safe. Zelia still thought he was dead.

Arvin could see only one way out of his current predicament, and it involved taking a gamble-a big gamble. He caught the centaur-seed's eye and lowered his voice. "Zelia."

Windswift drew in air with a sharp hiss.

"I, too," Arvin said. "Three months ago." He nodded first in Karrell's direction, then toward Tanglemane, turning the motion into the sort of motion a yuan-ti would make: swaying, insinuative. The mannerisms came to him easily-disturbingly so. "We three," he continued in a low, conspiratorial voice, "must reach the Chondalwood."

Karrell, thankfully, kept her silence. The gods only knew what she was thinking about the odd turn the conversation had taken, but she had the good sense not to interrupt. Tanglemane also stood quietly, a puzzled frown on his face. The other centaurs, however, were getting restless. Stonehoof took a step closer to Arvin and Windswift, only to prance back when the centaur-seed launched a warning kick in his direction.

"Why was I not told?" Windswift hissed. "I was just…" He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the other centaurs, whose ears were twitching as they strained to listen, and thought better of continuing.

Arvin smiled to himself. So Windswift had met with Zelia. "I was at Riverboat Landing recently, too," he answered in a low voice. "And I was not told about you, either. We like to play our pieces behind our hand, don't we?"

Windswift tossed his head. "That we do." He arched one eyebrow. "You're not as handsome as we usually pick," he chided.

Arvin gave a mental groan. What was Karrell thinking of all this? He returned the centaur-seed's coy look. "We needed someone less… distinctive for this mission, this time. A mission I should be attending to:' He glanced pointedly at the Chondalwood. The sky was brightening over the forest; it was almost dawn.

"Yes. You've been delayed long enough." Windswift turned and addressed the other centaurs in their own language. There was more than one murmur of protest, and Stonehoof reared up, challenging the centaur-seed a second time, but an instant later he clapped Windswift on the back, as he had before.

This time, Arvin was close enough to the centaur- seed to hear the hiss of the charm power's secondary display.

Stonehoof whinnied an order, and the centaurs lowered their bows. They handed Karrell's club back to her-and very pointedly ignored Tanglemane when he held out his hand for his knife-then allowed a gap to form in their ranks. Tanglemane stiffened then, eyes darting back and forth and tail lashing, trotted through it. Arvin and Karrell followed.

When they were well away from the centaur-seed, Arvin slipped the ring off his finger and pressed it back into Karrell's hand. "Thanks," he whispered. "Now let's get out of here before Stonehoof changes his mind."