Viper's kiss

CHAPTER 15

As Arvin strode along behind the soldier, he glanced this way and that, looking for Karrell. He didn't think she'd desert him a second time, especially after he'd at last convinced her how dangerous Zelia was, but a lingering worry still nagged at him.

They passed the practice hall where servants were busy oiling and cleaning the equipment, and several rooms in which still more servants cleaned fireplaces, swept the floors, and dusted furniture. Arvin was amazed to see life at the palace apparently carrying on as if nothing untoward was happening. Only the clerics, it seemed, knew of the life-and-death struggle Glisena was facing.

They passed the council chamber where Arvin had first spoken to Foesmasher, following

his arrival in Ormpetarr. Arvin glanced inside and saw two women polishing the many shields that hung on the wall. One of them caught his eye at once: a middle-aged woman with graying hair. It took Arvin a moment to remember where he had seen her before, but when he did, he halted abruptly.

The woman had been at Naneth's house, the night Foesmasher had burst into it, searching for the midwife-she'd been the one the soldiers had taken away for questioning. It seemed just a little coincidental that she should turn out to be one of the palace servants.

"I need to speak to someone," Arvin told the soldier. "It won't take long-no more than a moment."

The soldier grabbed Arvin's elbow. "There's no time. Lord Foesmasher-"

"Will want to hear what I'm about to find out," Arvin finished for him. "That servant," he said, nodding into the room, "is somehow involved in what's happened to Glisena. I intend to find out what she knows."

The soldier stared at him a moment, indecision in his eyes. Then his hand fell away. "Just be quick," he said.

"I will."

Arvin entered the council chamber and walked to the far end of the room, pretending to be admiring the model ships that stood on the table. As he passed the two servants, he manifested the power that would let him listen in on their thoughts. Silver sparkles erupted from his forehead, vanishing even as the woman with the graying hair turned around. Her eyes had a distant expression, as if she were listening to some half-heard sound. When they focused on Arvin, she nodded and bobbed a curtsey.

The other servant-a girl in her teens, glanced over her shoulder then continued with her work. Her thoughts were superficial: musings about one of the stable hands-how handsome he was-and a slight irritation that the baron's guest had trod on her clean floor. Arvin focused instead on the thoughts of the older woman, the one he suspected of being Naneth's spy. She was worried about something, but not clearly articulating her fears.

Arvin would help her along.

He gestured for her to approach. She did, holding a rag that smelled of beeswax. So far, her thoughts were a mix of annoyance at having been interrupted and puzzlement about what Arvin could possibly want. She didn't remember him.

He leaned toward her and spoke in a low voice. "I know who you serve," he said.

The woman frowned. Of course he did, she thought. She served the baron. What did this man really want with her?

Arvin was impressed. If the servant was a spy, she was a good one. "I know why you were at Naneth's home, the other night," he continued. "About your… arrangement with her."

That made her eyes widen. And her thoughts begin to flow. Who was this man, and how did he know about Naneth? Would he tell her husband? She prayed to Helm that he wouldn't. Ewainn was so proud-he would crumble if he knew the fault had been his, all along. She'd thought he'd find out, when she'd been hauled before the Eyes for questioning four nights ago, but all they'd wanted to know, it turned out, was where the midwife was. And just as well, that Naneth had disappeared. Now she wouldn't have to pay the midwife-coin Ewainn would notice was missing, sooner or later. If he'd pressed her, she might have had to explain to Ewainn that he wasn't the one who quickened a child in her-that the midwife had used magic to do it.

Arvin struggled to keep his expression neutral. This woman was pregnant? He'd assumed, when he'd overheard her protest to the baron's soldiers that she was just one of Naneth's customers, that she had gone

to the midwife's home to arrange for Naneth to deliver a daughter's child. With her graying hair, he'd taken her to be a pending grandmother.

"I don't know what you're talking about, my lord," she choked out at last.

"Yes, you do," Arvin said, more gently, this time. He glanced pointedly down at her stomach; it had a slight but unmistakable bulge. "When did Naneth cast the spell?"

Her hands twisted the rag. "A tenday and a hand ago."

Arvin glanced once more at her stomach. She was three months along, at least. "What date?" he asked. "The fifth."

Arvin nodded. The same night the demon had been bound into Glisena's womb. The night Glisena, thinking her pregnancy merely hastened along, had fled the palace.

Arvin stared at the servant, thinking furiously. Should he tell her that the child in her womb was really that of Glisena and Dmetrio? Seven days from now, Naneth would be as good as dead. No one except Arvin would ever know the baby wasn't the serving woman's.

Until the first time it turned into a serpent.

How would the woman's husband react to that, Arvin wondered.

In the doorway, the soldier cleared his throat impatiently. "'At once,' the baron said. Not a tenday from now."

Arvin touched the servant's hand. "Your name?" he asked gently.

Why does he want to know? she thought in a panicky voice. But she answered obediently, as her years of servitude dictated. "Belinna."

"We'll talk again, Belinna. Later. In private. There's something about your child that you need to know. In the meantime, your secret is safe with me." Ending his manifestation, he strode back to the soldier.

As he once more followed the soldier down the hall, he wondered whether he should tell Glisena he'd located her child. It would certainly bolster her for the ordeal she was about to face, but it would result in anguish for Belinna when Glisena reclaimed her child. Belinna had already come to regard the infant inside her as her own, to love it. That much Arvin had seen in her eyes and heard in her thoughts.

But would she love it still when it turned out to be half serpent?

They reached Glisena's chamber, and the soldier rapped on the door. Magical energy sparkled around the lock. It was opened a moment later by a haggard- looking Foesmasher. He ushered Arvin into the room then closed the door.

Glisena no longer lay on her bed; now she was seated on a birthing chair. Davinu and the other clerics still stood in a circle around her, praying with voices that were nearly hoarse; Arvin wondered how long they could continue without sleep. The shields still floated in a circle, surrounding them, but they were moving more slowly. Every now and then one would bob toward the ground like the head of a horse that had run too far and too long then rise again.

Marasa sat on a stool next to the birthing chair, holding Glisena's hand. A knife lay on a low, cloth-draped table beside her. To cut the cord once the demon was born, Arvin supposed. The room smelled of blood; rags under the birthing chair were stained a bright red.

The baron began to pace back and forth behind them, thumping a fist against his thigh. Each time his daughter groaned, his jaw clenched. "Can't you do something for her pain?" he growled at Marasa.

"I already have," the cleric said in an exhausted voice.

As Glisena bore down, panting, Marasa's face grew pale. Her free hand pressed against her own stomach, and she shuddered. Arvin, watching, realized that she must have cast a spell that allowed her to draw Glisena's hurts into her own body. There was a psionic power that did something similar-it operated on the same principles as the fate link that Tanju had taught Arvin, except that the damage and pain could only be channeled to the psion, himself. Arvin had declined it as something he didn't really want to learn. At the time, he couldn't think of anyone he cared enough about to want to inflict that kind of pain on himself.

Marasa exhaled through clenched teeth then gestured at one of the clerics. He stepped out of the circle and held his left hand out, palm toward her. Magical energy crackled faintly in the air as he cast a spell. Marasa shook her head, like a dog shaking off water. Her shoulders straightened, and her face resumed its natural color.

The baron continued pacing.

Davinu turned as Arvin approached. "The demon is a breach birth," he said. "We will need to cut it free. But before we begin, I need to know what it's thinking. Use your mind magic."

Glisena groaned, and Marasa shuddered. Another cleric stepped forward and healed her. As Glisena panted, blood trickled down onto the rags beneath the birthing chair. She looked up at Arvin, her face glistening with sweat. There was terror in her eyes- she was afraid of dying-but also something more: a question.

Arvin squatted beside her. The words came unbidden to his lips. "I found the person you asked me about," he said quietly. "She-or he-is safe."

The lines of strain on Glisena's face eased, just a little. "She," she panted, a mother's certainty burning in her eyes. "Take… care of… her."

"No need," Arvin whispered fiercely. "You'll make it through this."

Glisena shook her head. "Promise. That you'll… take care…" she gasped.

Arvin touched her shoulder. "I promise."

The clerics gently lifted Glisena onto the bed, reforming their circle there. Marasa pulled her stool up next to the bed. Davinu opened Glisena's night robe, exposing her stomach. The lines Naneth had drawn on it were almost gone; only the faintest traces of white remained. Davinu picked up the knife. It was silver, the blade inlaid with gold in the shape of a staring eye: Helm's symbol. Davinu held the knife out, and one of the clerics poured water over it from a silver chalice that also bore a stylized eye. Then he held it ready, waiting.

Arvin manifested his power. Sparkles of silver erupted from his third eye and drifted down onto Glisena. The thoughts of those in the room crowded in on him: Glisena's relief that Arvin had located her child, Marasa's fierce love for Glisena and grim determination to bear her pain, Davinu steeling himself for the surgery he was about to perform, and the other clerics' fervent prayers, all overlaid with a tight clench of fear. Davinu had given them careful instructions about what was to happen; the moment the blood cord was severed, he would banish the demon. Arvin expected to hear Foesmasher's thoughts as well-his anguish at seeing his "little dove" in such pain was clear for all to see-but something was shielding his thoughts. Was it a magical item, like Karrell's ring? Briefly, Arvin wondered where Karrell was-he hoped far from this part of the palace-then turned his mind back to the task at hand. Blotting out the overlapping babble of mental voices, he sent his consciousness deeper, and found the voice he'd dreaded hearing.

So tight, so confined… but I will be free soon. If only I had my swords, I would slash my way out.

Arvin shuddered. "It's wishing it had its sword," he reported. "No, swords," he corrected. "Plural."

Distantly, he heard the clerics murmuring to each other.

"A balor, then?" one asked.

"Too large," another answered. "And the horns-they would have torn-"

Ah. That's better. I can turn.

"It's turning," Arvin said.

Glisena screamed as her stomach bulged. Something flickered between her legs then drew inside her again; it looked like the tip of a tail.

Foesmasher whirled, one hand on his sword hilt, his face twisted with anguish. Marasa clapped a hand on Glisena's stomach, drawing the pain into herself. "Do it," she gritted up at Davinu. "Now. Before it-" Her face paled as another spasm of pain rushed into her.

Davinu touched Glisena's forehead with a fingertip. "Hold," he commanded.

Glisena's body stiffened. Her chest, however, still rose and fell. And her stomach heaved.

Davinu lowered the point of the knife to her belly then took a deep breath. He began to cut.

Foesmasher stood rigid, eyes locked on Glisena, barely breathing. One fist was white-knuckled on his sword hilt; the other was pressed against his mouth.

The other clerics crowded around the bed, hands extended toward Glisena, chanting. "Guardian of the innocent, lord of the unsleeping eye, watch and protect this girl in her time of need…"

Blood sprayed onto Davinu's breastplate as he cut. The knife parted muscle, and something that glistened, and a layer of darker flesh that smelled of seared meat. Then came a rush of sulfurous-smelling liquid, and something could be seen writhing within. Arvin caught a glimpse of flailing arms and a long, serpentine tail.

Marasa groaned and swayed, nearly falling from her stool. One of the clerics steadied her.

I am wounded! It burns!

"You've cut the demon," Arvin said. "You've injured it."

Him again! Where is he? He will pay for this!

Arvin felt a chill run through him. He swallowed nervously. "It thinks… that I'm the one who hurtDavinu passed the knife to one of the clerics and grabbed the edges of the gaping hole he'd just cut in Glisena's bloody flesh. "Now," he shouted. "Pull it free."

One of the clerics plunged his hand into the wound and seized hold of the demon. He pulled, his free hand braced against Glisena's pelvis, and the demon suddenly came free. It was tiny, the size of a newborn child-but instead of legs, it had a thrashing tail fully twice the length of its body. It had six arms, a full head of sulfur- yellow hair and an upper body like that of a mature woman, with full, round breasts.

“Marilith?" the cleric holding it gasped. He had grabbed it by one of its arms and fought to maintain his grip on the blood-slicked flesh. The demon twisted violently, its tail lashing and flicking blood. A twisted pink cord spiraled down from its naval into Glisena's stomach.

Davinu seized the cord and motioned for the other cleric to cut it with the knife.

The demon twisted, knocking the knife out of the cleric's hand. As the cleric scrambled after the knife, the demon wrapped its tail around Davinu's neck. "You annoy me," it said in a voice deeper and more malevolent than any mortal man's. Then it constricted.

Davinu clawed at the tail that was choking him. "Cut… cut…"

Behind him, the shields that had been circling through the air clunked to the floor.

Foesmasher drew his sword and lunged forward, slashing at the cord, but missed. His blade whistled through the air, narrowly missing the cleric who was holding the demon.

The demon slithered out of the cleric's grip, then thrust all six of its hands out at once, as if fending off foes. Tendrils of shadowy darkness sprang into being around it and coiled themselves around its body. Foe- smasher shoved the cleric aside and thrust at the demon, but the tendrils coiled around the weapon, halting it. The darkness slithered up the blade and licked at Foes- masher's bare hand, and the baron dropped his sword. Foesmasher backed away, his fingers moving creakily as he tried to force his hands to obey him.

These mortals want to play with swords? the demon mused, tightening its grip on Davinu's neck.

Davinu's face purpled.

Then swords they shall have.

"Swords!" Arvin shouted. "The demon's going to use magic to-"

A loud whirring noise filled the air as thousands of tiny blades sprang into existence, forming a curtain of steel around the bed and enclosing Glisena, Marasa, Arvin, and Davinu inside it. The remaining clerics screamed as the blades slashed into them. The whirling weapons clattered off their breastplates but sliced into exposed arms, legs, faces, and throats; five of the clerics fell, mortally wounded. The remaining three staggered back, screaming, bloody but still on their feet. Foesmasher, well behind them, was still struggling to pick up his sword; the demon's magic seemed to have sapped the strength from his arms.

Outside the chamber, fists pounded on the magic- locked door. Arvin could hear the muffled shouting of the soldiers.

The demon, its tail still wrapped around Davinu's throat, glanced around the room. Which one, it mused, was I supposed to kill? It gave a mental sigh. All of them, I suppose.

Davinu leaned back-dangerously close to the whirling blades-pulling the birthing cord taught. "Cord…" he choked. "C-c-c…"

"You cannot banish me," the demon gloated in a voice like thick, bubbling blood. Not while I am bound by" Shivis,"Arvi n shouted, summoning his dagger into his glove and leaping forward. The demon tried to twist aside but failed. With a clean stroke, Arvin severed the birthing cord.

Davinu staggered, the demon still wrapped around his throat. Blades clattered against the armor that shielded his back; one sliced through an unprotected spot near his shoulder, leaving a deep slash. He recoiled from the whirling curtain of steel and struggled to speak the words of the prayer that would banish the demon-Arvin could hear them echoing in Davinu's thoughts-but there was no air in his lungs.

"Marasa," Arvin shouted. "Banish the demon!"

Marasa, busy with Glisena, ignored him. She threw something to the floor-the afterbirth she had just pulled out of Glisena's wound-and pressed the two edges of the wound together, chanting a healing spell. She realized the danger-Arvin could hear it in her thoughts-but without a restorative spell, now, Glisena would bleed to death. Just a moment more, and Marasa would cast the banishing spell.

A moment they didn't have.

Davinu collapsed, unconscious. The demon released him and coiled its tail under itself, rising like a rearing snake, the lowermost pair of its six hands resting on its hips.

Outside the barrier of whirling blades, the three clerics who still stood were casting spells. One shouted commands at the demon while holding out a gauntleted hand; another had summoned a shimmering mace into

his hand. The third chanted a prayer that caused a glowing sword to rush toward the demon, but the weapon broke apart before reaching its target, scattering into shimmers of light. Foesmasher, meanwhile, had finally picked up his sword and a shield and was trying to force his way through the barrier of blades. They thudded into the shield with a loud clatter, driving him back.

The demon eyed them scornfully. Time to even the odds, it thought. It cocked its head to the side. Should it be dretches, or hezrou?

Marasa continued to chant her prayer, running a finger along Glisena's wound. Slowly, the flesh knit itself back together.

"Marasa!" Arvin screamed. "The demon's going to summon-"

The demon stared at Arvin with slit eyes. "So it was you whose voice I heard."

An invisible force yanked Arvin's dagger from his hand.

Let's play.

The dagger reversed itself and drove, point-first, at Arvin's chest, forcing him to twist aside. He shouted the command word that should have caused it to fly back to his hand, but the demon's magic was stronger. The knife refused to obey. The demon, meanwhile, had begun the spell that would summon others of its kind; Arvin could hear the words of its summoning whispering through its mind. He glanced wildly at Marasa-she still hadn't finished healing Glisena-and the dagger thrust at him, slicing a nick out of his left ear.

No time.

The demon would finish its summoning before Marasa could banish it.

The dagger flew toward him again; he batted it away with his left hand. The blade sliced a line through the ensorcelled leather glove.

His glove.

Leaping toward the demon, he slapped his gloved hand down on its tail. "Shivis!" he cried.

The demon disappeared into the glove.

For several moments, no one spoke. A muffled pounding continued on the door-the soldiers outside, trying to break in-while the blades continued to whir through the air. Then, all at once, they clattered to the floor, together with Arvin's dagger. The three clerics hurried toward Davinu. Foesmasher stood gaping, his sword hanging limply from his fist.

Arvin held up his gloved hand, turning it slowly back and forth. "It worked."

Marasa uttered the final word of her prayer, sealing the wound shut. She started to turn toward Arvin but then suddenly tensed. She leaned over Glisena, pressing one hand to the girl's throat. Glisena's chest was no longer moving. Her eyes stared glassily at the ceiling. "No," she howled. "By Helm's mercy, no!"

A distant voice whispered into Arvin's mind. The binding ends. I am free!

The glove bulged. One of its seams split.

Ah. An exit.

The palm of the glove humped upward.

Terrified, Arvin yanked the glove from his hand and hurled it to the floor. "Marasa!" he shouted, allowing his manifestation to end. Too much was happening too fast. "The demon's breaking free!"

Foesmasher stared at his daughter. A pained look on his face, he caught Marasa's eye. "Is she…?"

Marasa hung her head. Foesmasher gave a grief- stricken sob.

The glove tore open with a loud ripping sound as the demon erupted from it. In the space of a heartbeat, the demon expanded to its full size. Even coiled on its tail, it loomed over Arvin; his head was barely level with its chest. The tail was as thick as a man's waist, and each of the demon's arms was twice the length

of a human's. Each hand held a long sword that was utterly black, save for a glowing line of red that edged its wavy blade. Where the weapons had come from, Arvin had no idea. Tendrils of darkness still wreathed the demon: the magic it had used to sap the baron's strength earlier.

The demon stared at Arvin, chuckling. A forked tongue, black as the swords, flickered out of its mouth, savoring his fear.

Arvin backed slowly away. "Marasa," he croaked. "The demon-"

The cleric with the glowing mace rushed the demon, swinging his weapon, and shouted Helm's name.

Swifter than the eye could follow, the demon flicked one of its hands. Its sword sliced through the cleric's neck. The cleric fell to the floor in an expanding pool of blood, his head hanging by a thread of flesh. The other two clerics exchanged nervous glances. Behind them, the door finally burst open. One of the soldiers rushed into the room, three others crowding behind him. His eyes widened at the sight of the demon.

As if awakened from a nightmare, Marasa sprang into action. "By Helm's all-seeing might," she shouted, thrusting her palm out at the demon, "I order you to return to-"

The demon disappeared.

Arvin blinked. "Did you-"

The flat of a sword blade tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled.

The demon was behind him.

The four soldiers rushed it. With a whirlwind of motion, the demon cut them down.

Marasa spun on her heel, trying to bring her palm into line with the demon. "To return to the-"

This time the demon teleported behind her. Its tail lashed out, coiling around the cleric's torso like a whip. Then it squeezed.

"To-" Marasa grunted as the air was forced from her lungs.

The demon squeezed.

Roaring, Foesmasher slashed at the demon's tail with his sword. Once again, the tendrils of darkness blocked the weapon and slithered up it. This time, they sent Foesmasher staggering. He stumbled back on wobbly legs then fell.

Marasa struggled to draw air into her lungs, to finish her spell.

The demon squeezed tighter, hissing.

Arvin opened his suddenly dry mouth, closed it, opened it again, and-fighting down the fear that washed through him in chilling waves-at last found his voice. "Hey, demon!" he shouted. He reached down for the ice dagger that was still sheathed in his boot. He watched the tendrils of darkness that coiled around the demon as they shifted, seeking a pattern. "I'm the one you were supposed to kill."

He whipped his hand forward, throwing the dagger. Swift as thought, it flew toward the demon and caught it square in the chest. Cold exploded outward from the weapon, etching crackling lines of frost across the demon's bare skin.

The demon glanced down at the dagger that had buried itself to the hilt between its breasts. It laughed and plucked it out. "A pinprick," it rumbled. It snapped the blade in two and tossed the pieces aside. Then its eyes met Arvin's. "But even pinpricks annoy me."

Suddenly releasing Marasa, the demon slithered forward.

Marasa sagged, facedown, onto the floor.

Terrified, Arvin backed away from the approaching demon. Then he turned and ran. Leaping over the mangled remains of the soldiers, he sprinted out through the adjoining room and into the hall. Behind him, he heard the hiss of scales on stone. Soldiers ran toward him up the hall; he dodged around them, shouting at them to get out of the way. Metal clashed against metal and wet thunks sounded as the soldiers rushed up to attack the demon-and died. Arvin ran past the council chamber, past other rooms in which servants startled then screamed as they saw what was slithering after him, and past the practice hall.

As he ran, he manifested a sending. The image of Marasa formed in his mind's eye. She was being helped to her feet by someone Arvin couldn't see. She was shaky and unsteady-but alive. She startled as Arvin's face appeared in her mind.

I'm leading the demon to the chapel, Arvin sent, praying that the demon wasn't also capable of reading thoughts. Get Foesmasher to teleport you there. I'll keep it busy until you can banish it.

Arvin, she croaked. Even her mental voice sounded awful; absorbing Glisena's hurts had taken its toll. I'll come as quickly as I can.

"Little mouse," the demon taunted from behind Arvin. "I can smell your fear. What a tasty little morsel you will be."

A blade swished through the air just over Arvin's head. A second blade thunked into the doorframe next to him as he pelted into the chapel. He raced for the gauntlet at the far end of the room, his breathing ragged and heart pounding. Leaping onto the dais, he slapped both palms against the gauntlet. He skittered around behind it, both hands still on the polished silver, placing the statue between himself and the demon.

The demon halted at the edge of the dais. Lazily regarding him through slit eyes, it coiled its scaly tail under itself. "Little morsel," it hissed. "Come down from there."

"Make me," he said, staring defiantly into its eyes. The demon bared its teeth, hissing. Its incisors were long and curved, like a snake's. Arvin wondered if they held venom.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway: Marasa? The demon's head started to turn.

One palm still pressed tight to the gauntlet, Arvin plunged his other hand into his pocket and found the monkey's fist. "Here," he said to the demon, hurling the knot of twine. "Catch."

Even as the monkey's fist unknotted, the demon raised its swords. Six blades flashed through the air, chopping the magical twine to pieces. The frayed remains fell at its feet. The demon cocked its head then frowned. "I grow weary of this."

"So do I," Arvin said in a loud voice, hoping to cover the sound of footsteps in the hall. Marasa would have a better chance if she was able to surprise the demon. She could banish it before it got a chance to teleport out of the spell's path.

"But I've got one more trick up my sleeve," Arvin bluffed. "One that's bound to-"

He faltered as he saw who was coming down the hall. Not Marasa, as he had desperately hoped, but Karrell.

"Arvin!" she called. "What is happening? Are you-" She jerked to a halt just inside the room as she saw the demon. Her eyes widened.

The demon turned.

Karrell immediately began to cast a spell, but even as she raised her hands, the demon lashed out with one of its swords. Karrell twisted out of its path, but the blade caught her raised right hand. Blood sprayed and fingers flew to the floor. Karrell gasped and clutched her wounded hand.

The demon snaked its tail across the doorway, blocking it, and prodded Karrell with one of its swords. "Go ahead," it hissed with malicious delight. "Try to flee."

Arvin tried to manifest a distraction, but though a loud droning filled the air, the demon's eyes remained locked on Karrell. He leaned out from the dais and kicked the demon in the back. A shock of weakness flowed up his leg as his foot struck one of the black tendrils that coiled around the demon's body. Ignoring the numbness it caused, he shouted at the demon's back and kicked it a second time. "Hey, scale-face! Behind you!"

Almost absent-mindedly, the demon turned its head and slashed backhanded at him with one of its swords. Arvin flinched as the blade came to a jerking halt a palm's width from his head, halted by the magic of the gauntlet. A heartbeat later, a whirling circle of blades appeared, this time surrounding the gauntlet and trapping Arvin inside. Cursing, he shrank back from them, his sweaty palms still on the statue. A moment ago, the gauntlet had provided sanctuary. The demon had turned it into a prison.

The momentary distraction, however, gave Karrell the time she needed. The far end of the chapel was suddenly plunged into darkness, hiding her from sight.

The demon frowned then twisted, whipping its tail through the patch of darkness. Arvin heard Karrell gasp-and the tail yanked her back into the light. Caught within the demon's coils, Karrell fought to free herself, her wounded hand leaving smears of blood on the demon's scaly tail. The demon lapped at the blood with its long black tongue then smiled. "A yuan-ti?" it said. "You must be the one I'm supposed to kill." It tail squeezed-and Karrell exhaled in pain. Arvin heard a dull crack that sounded like a rib breaking.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway-more than one person, and running this time-and a woman's voice was shouting orders: Marasa?

Arvin looked wildly around the chapel. He was weaponless, and the monkey's fist-the last of his ensorcelled items-was lying on the floor in tatters. If he let go of the gauntlet, he'd be cut down before he took a single step. But Marasa was at last on her way. He and Karrell only needed to survive for a few moments more.

"Helm," he croaked. "Help us now. Do something."

The skies outside lightened. Dusk-red sunlight slanted in through the chapel's stained-glass windows, turning the blue eyes at their centers an eerie purple. The light beamed in, limning the image of Helm's eye on the chapel floor.

With a hiss, the demon thrust its sword at the nearest window, smashing a hole through the eye. Glass exploded outward. The skies outside darkened again as the sun continued its descent.

As a loose pane of glass fell from the broken window to shatter on the floor, Arvin realized there was a weapon he could use, after all. He reached out with his mind, sending a thread-thin line of glowing silver toward the broken window. With it, he seized one of the panes of glass and threw it at the demon's face. The demon batted it away with a sword, smashing it into bright blue shards, but Arvin hurled another pane of glass at it, and another, keeping up the distraction.

Four of the baron's soldiers-three men and a woman-charged into the chapel, swords in hand. The woman shouted a command, and Arvin's heart sank as he realized it hadn't been Marasa's voice he'd heard, after all. The soldiers leaped forward, engaging the demon.

The demon, however, needed only four swords to meet their attack. One of the men went down even before he'd managed to close with it, his throat slashed. With its fifth sword, the demon continued to knock away the panes of glass Arvin hurled at it. That left one more sword. This one it thrust at Karrell; it thunked into the wooden floor beside her head as she desperately twisted aside.

Karrell's face was purple now and her movements were jerky. The demon-still fighting the soldiers with three of its arms-yanked the sword free and flexed its tail, dragging Karrell across the floor.

The female soldier pressed the demon, shouting Helm's name. The demon thrust a sword through her stomach, spitting her, then flicked her limp body away. One of the two remaining soldiers turned to run; with a flash of steel, the demon lopped off his head. The other grimly continued to attack but met the same end.

Its opponents dead, the demon glanced down at Karrell, tongue flickering through its hissing smile.

Karrell's fear-filled eyes sought Arvin's. He could see that she realized she was about to die. Her lips tried to form a word, but there was no breath left in her body.

Arvin ended his manifestation; the pane of glass he'd been about to throw fell to the floor and shattered. Reaching deep inside himself, he manifested a different power-one whose secondary display filled the air with the scents of saffron and ginger. Then, for a heartbeat, he hesitated. He didn't want to make the same mistake he'd made with Tanglemane. If the demon died…

It was a gamble he had to take. Spells and steel hadn't defeated the demon; he doubted anything would. And if he didn't manifest his power, Karrell would die.

Guiding the energies with his mind, he coiled one loop around the demon, another around Karrell. Then he tied them together and yanked the knot tight.

"Demon!" he shouted. "I've just bound your fate to the yuan-ti woman. Kill her, and you'll die!"

It was a desperate lie. Karrell's death would mean little to the demon. She might cause it a slight wound, but no more.

Ignoring Arvin, the demon slashed at Karrell with its sword. This time, Karrell's reaction was slower; the sword sliced a line down her cheek as she wrenched her head aside. The demon grunted-then hissed and touched its own cheek with the back of a hand. The hand came away slick with green blood.

The demon turned to face Arvin and tried to speak, but no words came from its mouth. It seemed to be having trouble breathing. It frowned down at Karrell, who lay gasping on the floor, then uncoiled its tail from her. Then it stared, its eyes slit with malevolence, at Arvin. "Unbind me, sorcerer," it commanded.

Relief washed through Arvin. He glanced at Karrell.

Her lips formed silent words: "Thank you."

Arvin gave her a grim smile. Just a few moments more, and Marasa would surely appear and banish the demon. He stared back at it through the whirling blades that still surrounded the dais. "No," he told the demon. "You will remain bound."

The demon flicked a hand, and the blades disappeared. It cocked its head to the side and considered Arvin. "Mortal," it hissed. "Surely you can be persuaded." Its hand opened, revealing a glitter of gems. The demon tipped its hand, letting them spill from its palm onto the floor. "The yuan-ti means nothing to me; she may go. Unbind me from her, and these are yours."

Arvin smiled grimly. "A rogue tried to entice me with a similar offer a few days ago," he said. "He's dead now."

The demon clenched its fist-causing the swords to reappear-and pointed one of them at Arvin. "Unbind me!" it roared.

Arvin gripped the gauntlet with sweaty hands. "No."

"We seem to have reached an impasse," the demon hissed.

Outside the chapel, just beyond the spot where one of the soldier's bodies lay, Arvin saw a flash of silver: light, glinting off a polished breastplate. Marasa stepped into view in the doorway, her lips moving as she whispered a spell, her left hand-clad in a silver gauntlet whose palm was set with an enormous, glittering sapphire- extended toward the demon.

"Yes," Arvin answered. "It seems we have." He shrugged, a gesture that removed his hands for no more than a fraction of a heartbeat from the gauntlet. It had the desired effect; the demon lashed out with a sword, but before the blade connected, Arvin's hands were back on the gauntlet.

The demon glared at him, oblivious to Karrell, who had risen to her hands and knees and was crawling away, her wounded hand leaving a smear of blood on the floor, and to Marasa, who was casting her spell. Marasa swept her hand down toward the demon, the sapphire in her gauntlet glinting. "By Helm's all-seeing might, I order you, demon, back to the place from whence you came!" she shouted.

The demon rose from the floor, roaring, slashing wildly with its swords. A rent appeared in the air next to it; an angry boil that burst open, emitting a sulfurous stench. Dark shapes writhed inside the tear in the fabric of the planes, howling and thrashing. The demon tumbled toward them.

Karrell fell onto her side-had she slipped on her own blood? As she rose again, blood from her wounded hand streamed toward the hole in a thin red ribbon-a ribbon the demon grabbed in one clawed hand.

Arvin reeled, realizing he'd seen this once before: in the vision at Naneth's home.

Still roaring, the demon disappeared through the gap between the planes. Karrell was yanked after it, screaming.

The gap closed.

For a heartbeat, Arvin stood rooted to the spot, Karrell's scream echoing in his mind. Then he hurled himself across the chapel toward the spot where she'd disappeared. "Karrell!" he cried desperately. Tears streaming down his face, he clutched at empty air. He sagged to the ground and beat his fists against the floor. A fate link wasn't supposed to work that way; it transferred pain, wounds, even fatal injury from one individual to the next, but that was all.

What had gone wrong?

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Marasa staring down at him. Her face was deeply lined and streaked with tears; her hair seemed even grayer than it had been before. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't realize…"

Arvin looked up at her through tear-blurred eyes. "Karrell was still alive when she went into the Abyss. Is there any way she could still be-"

Marasa shook her head grimly. "No. She would never survive."

Arvin's shoulders slumped.

"She was pregnant," he whispered, "with my child." He shook his head and corrected himself. "With my children. They're all…" His throat caught, preventing him from speaking further.

Marasa nodded but seemed too weary to offer any further comfort. Her hand fell away from his shoulder.

Outside, the skies darkened and a wet snow began to fall. A chill wind blew flakes of white in through the shattered window. A shard of blue-all that remained of Helm's eye-fell to the floor like a tear and broke, tinkling.

Arvin spotted Karrell's ring, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Two severed fingers lay next to it. He picked the ring up and wiped it clean on his shirt, then stared for a long moment at the turquoise stone. Then he pressed the ring to his lips. "Forgive me," he whispered.

He slipped the ring onto the little finger of his left hand then clenched his hand shut, savoring the pain of his abbreviated little finger.

Karrell was dead.

So was Glisena.

Arvin had failed them both.

But Sibyl was still alive. And if she managed to get her hands on the second half of the Circled Serpent, many more would die.

He stared down at the ring on his finger. "I'll do it," he vowed. "Finish what you started. See to it that Sibyl never gets a chance to use the Circled Serpent."

In the darkening skies outside, thunder rumbled.