Viper's kiss

CHAPTER 8

Arvin lay on the floor of the practice hall with his arms extended and upper torso bent back like that of a rearing snake. His palms, hips, and feet pressed against the floor as he craned his neck back to stare with unfocused eyes at the ceiling. He wore only his breeches, despite the chill in the hall. Snow fell outside the narrow leaded-glass windows that reached from floor to ceiling, muffling the sounds from the city.

His breathing was slow and deep, his mind focused entirely on his meditations. With each breath in through his nose, he drew in strength, courage, and confidence. With each breath out through his mouth, he blew away weakness, uncertainty, and doubt.

Picturing his mind as a net, he sent his consciousness down the strand that twined around his spine and located the muladhara that lay at the base of it. When he was ready, he activated his power points one by one, following this line. The "third eye" in his forehead emitted a flash of silver sparkles; a vibration deep in his throat filled the hall with a low droning noise; the base of his scalp prickled, causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise; his chest filled with crackling energy, which he exhaled in a breath scented with ginger and saffron; and a spiral of energy uncoiled from his navel, dewing the floor around him with a fine sheen of ectoplasm.

The energies coiled around his muladhara. The spiral grew tighter and stronger as Arvin wove strand after mental strand into it, replenishing it.

Arvin let out one last slow exhalation, ending his meditation. But he wasn't finished yet. Rising gracefully to his feet, he completed his morning routine, flowing through the motions that Tanju had taught him. The five combat and five defensive modes each had a pose associated with them, designed to focus the mind of the novice. Arvin had learned how to manifest just seven of them, but he ran through all ten poses, flowing from one to the next in what looked like one long, continuous motion.

When he was done, he yawned. He'd had very little sleep this past night; upon his return to the palace, Foesmasher had demanded a full report of what had transpired with the satyr. Arvin had been forced to admit that he could lift private thoughts from the minds of those around him, but the baron hadn't seemed alarmed by this revelation. Instead he'd been overjoyed to at last have some indication as to where his daughter had gone.

"So that's where she is," he said, "the Chondalwood.' One heavy hand clapped Arvin's shoulder. "Well done. Now we just need to find that satyr and learn where his camp is." He paused. "You said the satyr was worried about Glisena's health. What was it, exactly, that he said?"

Arvin met the baron's eye. "That she was ill. He was worried she would lose her child."

"There is no child,' the baron said with a catch in his voice. "Naneth saw to that, may Helm forgive me. You said that the satyr didn't actually use Glisena's name?"

"No, but-"

"Then it must have been someone else who needed the midwife's ministrations. Some other girl. Glisena is no longer with child."

"Yes, she is, Lord Foesmasher," Arvin said quietly. "Naneth didn't do as you ordered. She tricked you." Choosing his words carefully, he summed up what the visions had shown him-both in Glisena's chamber and at Naneth's house. He omitted any mention of the warning he'd given the midwife.

"When you charged into Naneth's home, she must have realized you'd learned of her treachery," Arvin concluded. "She teleported away."

"Gods willing, she'll have gone to wherever Glisena is," the baron said. His forehead puckered with worry. "I shudder to think of my daughter alone in the forest, giving birth in some dirt-floored shack with only satyrs to aid her. At least some good has come of my actions: I sped the midwife on her way."

"That… would not be a good thing," Arvin said.

"What do you mean?" the baron asked sharply.

Arvin took a deep breath then gave the baron the bad news. Naneth wasn't just a midwife. She served one of Lady Dediana's enemies-Sibyl. The yuan-ti abomination must be hoping to use Glisena's child as a playing piece in her bid for Hlondeth's throne. Once she had the child in hand…

The baron's eyes widened. "After the child has been born, Glisena is no longer of any value to them," he said in a strained voice. "She will be… disposed of."

"There may still be hope," Arvin said. "The satyr said the child hadn't been born yet. Until Glisena gives birth, Naneth won't harm her. Sibyl wants this baby. And once the baby is born, they will need Glisena to nurse the child." He paused. "Have your clerics found any trace of Naneth yet?"

The baron shook his head. "She has shielded herself, it seems, with the same magic that is preventing us from finding my daughter." He sighed. "It all hinges, now, on finding the satyr."

That was when things had become awkward. Foe- smasher had demanded that Arvin use his psionics to find the satyr, and Arvin had been forced to do some quick talking. He'd drained his energies, he told the baron. He needed to sleep, then to meditate, before he could manifest any more powers. Like a wizard consulting his spellbook, or a cleric praying to her god, he needed to restore his magic.

Grudgingly, the baron had agreed to the delay. Marasa and her clerics would search for the satyr while Arvin rested.

If only the dorje Tanju had given Arvin hadn't broken, finding the satyr would have been an easy matter, Arvin thought. Without it, he would be forced to rely on his own, limited, powers. The only one he had that might be of use was one that gave him an inkling of whether a given course of action was good or bad. By manifesting it, he might get a sense of whether it would be better to search this section of the city or that one for the satyr. But the inklings weren't always accurate, and the power could be manifested only so many times. And now it was morning, and his meditations were over-and the baron would expect him to perform a miracle.

Hunger grumbled in his stomach, reminding him that he hadn't eaten yet. He should get dressed and find some food. He lifted his belt from the rack that held wooden practice swords and buckled it around his waist, adjusting it so his dagger was snug at the small of his back. His trousers and shirt were draped over one of the battered wooden posts that served as man-sized targets; his boots lay on the floor nearby. He dressed then crossed the room to a table on which stood a bowl of cold water. He splashed some of it onto his hair, combing it away from his eyes with his fingers. He flexed his left hand-his abbreviated little finger always ached in cold weather-then pulled on his magical glove. Then, just to see if he could do it, he drew his dagger, closed his eyes, and suddenly spun and threw the weapon, relying on memory to guide his aim. He heard a thunk and a creaking noise and opened his eyes. The arm of the quintain was rotating slowly, the dagger stuck fast in the center of the small wooden shield that hung from one end of it. Arvin smiled.

Applause echoed from above. Glancing up, Arvin saw the baron standing on the spectator's gallery that ran along one side of the practice hall. He had entered it silently, his footsteps muffled by the gallery's thick carpet. Arvin wondered how long he'd been standing there. The baron had changed into fresh clothes, but his eyes were puffy; he hadn't slept. A sword was at his hip, and he was wearing his helmet. Its purple plume swayed as he descended the stairs to the floor of the practice room.

"The satyr has been found," Foesmasher announced.

"Excellent!" Arvin exclaimed, relieved. "If we ask the right questions, his thoughts will tell us where…" Belatedly, he noticed that the baron's lips were pressed together in a grim line. "What's wrong?"

"When I received your warning last night, I ordered the city's gates sealed," Foesmasher said. "The Eyes began a block-by-block search of Ormpetarr; their spells flushed the satyr out a short time ago. He scaled the city wall. One of my soldiers gave chase along the battlements. The satyr slipped and fell to his death." "That's terrible news," Arvin said.

"Yes. The soldier responsible has been punished."

Hearing the grim tone in Foesmasher's voice, Arvin cringed, thankful he hadn't been the one to cause the satyr's death. He didn't want to ask what had been done to the soldier; his imagination already painted a vivid enough picture.

The baron walked over to the quintain and pulled Arvin's dagger from it. "You've rested and replenished your magic." It was a statement rather than a question. -

Arvin gave what he hoped was a confident-looking nod.

"What will you do next?"

Arvin was wondering that, himself. Even with the dorje intact, he might not have been able to locate Glisena. Whatever was preventing her from being located by wizardry and clerical magic might very well block psionics, as well. There was one person, however, who wasn't shielded by magic.

"I'm going to pay a visit to Ambassador Extaminos," Arvin told the baron.

Foesmasher frowned. "To what end?"

"It's possible that Sibyl plans to use the child as a means to force Dmetrio to do her bidding," Arvin explained. "Demands may already have been made- and if they have, and it's Naneth who's making them, Dmetrio may be our way of finding her. And through her, Glisena."

"Excellent," the baron said. "Let's go there at once. If he doesn't tell us what we want to know-"

"That might not be such a good idea, Lord Foe- smasher," Arvin said in a careful voice. "Your presence might… agitate the ambassador. And an agitated mind will be harder for my psionics to penetrate. The best

chance we have of learning more is if I meet with the ambassador alone."

The baron toyed with Arvin's dagger, considering this. "Was it mind magic that allowed you to find the target with your eyes closed," he asked, testing the dagger's balance, "or the magic of this dagger?"

"Neither," Arvin said, surprised by the change of subject. "I've worked as a net weaver and rope maker since the age of six. It makes for nimble fingers-you learn to be quick with a knife. Target practice does the rest."

The baron handed him the dagger. "Helm grant that the questions you put to Ambassador Extaminos also find their mark."

Arvin paced impatiently in the reception hall, angry at having been kept waiting an entire morning. Dmetrio's house slaves had provided him with wine and food-roasted red beetles the size of his fist, pre-cracked and drizzled with herbed butter-but Arvin waved away the yuan-ti delicacy. He'd already blunted the worst of his hunger at the palace and was too restless to eat. He ignored the smooth stone platform the slaves urged him to recline on and instead paced back and forth across the tiled floor, staring at the locked door of the basking room. At last it opened and a slave, bent nearly double under the weight of the jug of oil he carried, stepped through. Arvin strode toward the door.

"Wait!" the slave cried through the scarf that covered his mouth. "There's osssra inside. You mustn't go in there!"

"Too late," Arvin muttered as he pushed past the slave. "I'm already in."

The air in the basking room was thick with smoke that smelled like a combination of mint tea, singed moss, and burning sap. It hit Arvin's nostrils like a slap across the face, leaving them watering. As he breathed in the smoke, the room swayed and his legs began to tremble. He staggered, catching himself on one of the pillars that held up the domed ceiling. He clung to it, shaking his head, fighting the waves of dizziness.

A low chuckle helped him focus. Still clutching at the pillar, he turned toward the sound.

Dmetrio Extaminos lay in a shallow pool in the floor a few paces away. His naked, scaled body was coiled under him; it gleamed from the oil that filled the pool. His upper torso rose from it, bending back like a snake's. He looked up at Arvin with a languid expression, slit eyes wide and staring, his dark hair slicked back from his high forehead. A forked tongue flickered out of his mouth, tasting the smoke-filled air.

"Ah," he said. "The rope merchant's agent. Are you really here… or just part of my dream?"

Smoke drifted slowly from the half dozen lidded pots that surrounded the pool, drawing Arvin's eye. He watched, fascinated, as amber-colored tendrils twisted toward the ceiling. Only when he heard the slither of Dmetrio shifting position was he able to wrench his eyes away from the smoke. He shook his head violently, trying to concentrate. The smoke, he thought. He should have listened to the servant's warning. He tried to manifest the power that would allow him to overhear Dmetrio's thoughts, but his own thoughts were too sluggish; they drifted like the smoke. A glint of silver sparked in his vision then was gone.

"Ambassador Extaminos," he said thickly, his words slurred. "Glisena is in danger. Her child-"

"What child?"

"The one you fathered," Arvin continued. "The midwife, she…" He paused, blinking slowly. What was it he'd wanted to ask?

"Glisena is pregnant?" Dmetrio asked. A slow hiss of laughter escaped from his lips.

Arvin tried to shake a finger at him and nearly fell over. "She's also missing," he said when he'd righted himself. "She's been kidnapped."

"So?" Dmetrio curled into a new position in the oil, his scales leaving glistening streaks on the tiled edges of the pool.

"Do you know where she is?"

Dmetrio slowly arched his neck, stretching it. Oil trickled down one cheek. "No. I don't. Nor do I care."

"She's with child. Your child," Arvin protested. "She might die."

"Human women die in childbirth all the time," Dmetrio said. "Bearing live young is messy. Laying eggs is a much more efficient way of doing things." He rolled over in the oil, coating his scales with it. "Glisena has grown tiresome. I'll be glad to be away from here."

Arvin let go of the pillar. He meant to take a step toward Dmetrio, but he reeled sideways. "But the child," he said. "You must care about…" His mind wandered. It was getting more difficult to concentrate by the moment. His thoughts were like bugs, caught in sap and struggling to get free. The smoke… His gaze drifted up to the ceiling again. He wrenched his mind back.

"But the child," Arvin repeated. "Won't you take it… with you?"

Dmetrio let out a loud hiss of laughter. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because it's your child. You can't just abandon-"

Dmetrio waved a hand. Someone seized Arvin's arms from behind-two someones, wearing armor and helmets flared like cobra hoods. "Rillis?" Arvin asked, peering at them through the smoke.

Neither was the guard Arvin had bribed for information the day before. They dragged him backward out of the basking room. A servant-the one who'd

been carrying the jar of oil-closed and relocked the door behind them. Arvin found himself being dragged through the reception hall, down a corridor, out a door, and down a snow-covered ramp. His heels skidded through the snow, leaving two drag marks. He stared at them, fascinated. They were like the trails left by snakes. If he moved his feet from side to side, they slithered…

A gate creaked open and the militiamen lifted him up. Then he was floating through the air. No, not floating… he'd been thrown, tossed out by the militiamen. He landed on his back in the snowy street. As people drifted past him, shrinking back from the spot where he lay, he stared, intrigued, at the snowflakes falling out of the sky. He watched them while the snow soaked through his cloak, trousers, and shirt. They started off so small and got so big. Like that one… it was huge.

No, that wasn't a snowflake. It was a woman's face, looking down at him. She had dark eyes, wide cheekbones, and black, wavy hair that reached toward him like snakes.

Heart pounding, Arvin tried to crawl backward through the snow, to escape the snakes. Then he spotted the frog hiding behind them. The notion of a frog sitting on a woman's earlobe seemed so silly, somehow, that he had to laugh. It came out like a croak.

"Vin?" the woman asked. "Are you all right?"

Arvin stared dreamily up at Karrell for several moments, tracing the curve of her lips with his eyes. He tried to raise a hand to touch them, but his arm flopped into the snow above his head. He needed to tell her something that he'd breathed in something called osssra-but his lips wouldn't form the word. "Sssraaa," he slurred.

Karrell bent down and lifted his arm from the snow. "Vin," she said, her voice low and serious. "You need help. Please try to stand."

His arm drifted up around her shoulder, and his legs were scrabbling under him, messing up the snow. Yanked along the street by Karrell, he stumbled after her, staring at the pattern his feet made, oblivious to the people staring at them. There were so many footsteps… and not a one of them from a satyr's cloven hoof.

Why that mattered, he couldn't say.

Arvin sat up, rubbing his head. His mind was his own again, but his head ached, and he felt shaky; it was difficult to coordinate his movements. He took it slow, swinging first one leg, then the other, off the side of the bed. When he stood, his legs trembled. He was naked, save for his breeches and the braided leather bracelet around his right wrist. And-he touched the crystal that hung at his throat-the now-depleted power stone his mother had given him, all those years ago.

He was in a small, simply furnished room with a door and one window. Through the shutters he could see that the snow had at last stopped falling; the street was three stories below. It was dark and a horn was sounding elsewhere in the city, signaling the evening prayer. He must have been unconscious for some time.

The room's furnishings included a bed, a narrow wardrobe by the fire, and a wooden table and chair. He was relieved to see his belt hanging on the back of the chair, his dagger still in its sheath. His magical glove lay on the table, next to a drawing of his sleeping face, rendered in charcoal on parchment. It was an amazingly good likeness; Karrell must have drawn it. A fire burned in the grate; his damp clothes and cloak hung, steaming slightly, on the fire screen in front of it. Noise wafted up from somewhere below-the overlapping sounds of voices, a stringed instrument, and the clatter of crockery. With it came the smell of food, a mouthwatering blend of stew and baking bread. Arvin's stomach growled.

He walked toward the fire-slowly, so he wouldn't stumble-and searched the pocket of his shirt. Inside the false seam was a familiar bulge: the lapis lazuli. Pulling it out, he affixed it to his forehead and tried to concentrate on Tanju, but the psion's face kept slipping out of focus. Realizing he was simply too tired to manifest a sending, Arvin removed the lapis lazuli and tucked it back inside his pocket. He'd contact Tanju later. All he really had to report, anyway, was that Dmetrio wasn't involved in Glisena's disappearance.

As he was making his way back to the bed, the door opened. Karrell came in, carrying a platter on which stood a bowl of stew, some bread, and a mug of ale. She set the platter down on the table then took Arvin's arm, guiding him toward the table. "You're still unwell," she said. "You should rest."

Arvin sank into the chair. "How long have I been here?" The savory odors of carrots, potatoes, and beef rose to his nostrils. He licked his lips and picked up a spoon from the platter. "And where am I?"

"I found you at midday, outside the ambassador's residence," Karrell answered, closing the door. "You are at the Fair winds Inn, a short distance from there."

Arvin nodded and tore a chunk off the bread, following it up with some stew. As the flavors washed over his tongue, he closed his eyes and sighed. He took a drink of ale then tucked into the stew in earnest. "Thanks," he said, nodding at the bowl. "And thanks for helping me."

"You were fortunate," Karrell said. "Osssra can be fatal to humans."

"What is it?"

Karrell walked to the fire screen and lifted Arvin's cloak from it, turning it so the other side was to the heat. "Osssra are oils," she told him over her shoulder.

"When burned, they have special properties. Some osssra clear the mind, while others heal the body. Some purge enchantments, while still others-like the one whose odor lingers on your hair and skin-stimulate dreams and memories."

"The only thing it stimulated in me was dizziness," Arvin said, talking around a mouthful of bread. The food was helping; he was starting to feel better already. "It made me as stupid as a slug."

"Be thankful it only enfeebled your mind. Some osssra are fatal to humans. They are intended for yuan-ti."

"You know a lot about these magical oils," Arvin noted between spoonfuls of stew.

Karrell shrugged and continued turning his clothing. "You came from the direction of the palace. Did you manage an audience with the baron, after all?"

"You were watching the ambassador's residence, weren't you?" Arvin asked between mouthfuls of food.

"Yes," she admitted. "Was he just as rude as before?"

Arvin's fist tightened on the spoon. "Worse. He's an arrogant, unfeeling bastard. Just like all the rest of-"

Karrell's eyes narrowed. "All the rest of what?" Arvin shrugged. He might as well say it. This wasn't Hlondeth; he could say what he liked.

"House Extant i nos."

"Ah." Karrell walked back across the room and sank onto the bed-the only other place to sit. She toyed with the collar of her dress, which was white and hemmed with intricate turquoise embroidery. The dress was made from a soft, thin fabric unsuited to a winter climate, a fabric that hugged her breasts. She tossed her hair with a flick of her head, revealing her jade earplug and the soft curve of her jaw and throat. Arvin found himself losing interest in his food. He really was

feeling better-much better. Even without the benefits of a charm spell, Karrell looked amazing.

She smiled and said something in a low voice. Arvin leaned forward. "Excuse me?" he asked, sopping up the last of the stew with his bread. "What did you just-"

He realized that she'd slid one hand behind her, as if to lean back on it. He caught sight of her fingers moving in an all-too-familiar gesture. Before she could complete her spell, he manifested a charm of his own. The base of his scalp prickled as psionic energy rushed from it. Break her promise, would she? Well he wasn't about to let her get the better of him this time.

He saw Karrell tilt her head slightly.

Arvin felt a rush of warmth flow through him. He could see, by the sparkle in her dark eyes and the way she looked at him, that she cared for him-really cared for him-as much as he did for her. She'd just saved his life, hadn't she? Karrell was someone he could count on, trust in, confide in. Setting down the piece of bread, he turned toward her. "He doesn't care," he told her.

She gave a slight frown. "Who does not care-and about what?"

"Dmetrio Extaminos." Arvin shoved the empty bowl away. "I tried to tell him that the woman carrying his child might be in danger, and he just laughed. He's not even going to try to look for Glisena; he's just going to walk away. To abandon his own child. Just like…"

He looked away.

Karrell laid a hand on his knee. "Just like what, Vin?"

"It's Arvin," he said.

"Just Arvin'?" she asked. "No clan name?"

"My father didn't live long enough to marry my mother. He died before I was born. Or at least, that's what my mother told me."

"Some fathers are not worth knowing," Karrell said.

Arvin caught the look in her eye, and saw that it would be better not to pursue this comment. He tried to lighten the mood. "The yuan-ti have that advantage," he said. "Their women lay their eggs all together in a brood chamber. None of them know their fathers." He chuckled. "It's a wonder they know who their mothers are."

"The yuan-ti of Tashalar have a similar custom," said Karrell. "So I hear." She flipped her hair back, showing off her jade ear plug. "I am of the Tabaxi, of Clan Chex'en."

"Check… shen," Arvin repeated, trying to capture the same inflection. "Was that your father's clan?"

Karrell smiled. "My mother's. The humans of Chult, like the yuan-ti, pay little attention to who sired them." Her smile faded. "In most cases."

"The Tabaxi don't have husbands?" Arvin asked. "We do not use that word. We call them yaakuns,"

She paused, searching for the translation. "Lovers." Arvin nodded. "What about you? Do you have-" "Brothers and sisters?" she interrupted. "No. And you?"

Arvin had a feeling she'd deliberately misinterpreted his question. He let it drop. "I was my mother's only child."

"Was?"

"My mother died of plague when I was six." "You must have been very lonely afterward."

Arvin shrugged. "There were plenty of other kids in the orphanage." Only one of them, however, had been his friend: Naulg. And Naulg was dead.

"Orphanage?" Karrell repeated. The word was obviously unfamiliar to her.

"It's something like a brood chamber," Arvin said, "for human children who have no parents. The priests run it."

"Priests of what god?"

"Ilmater," Arvin said, his lips twisting as he spoke the name. "God of suffering. His priests made sure we got plenty of it."

"This orphanage of yours sounds… unpleasant." "It was," Arvin agreed grimly.

Karrell stared into the distance. Her hand was still resting on his knee. Arvin glanced at the ring on her little finger. He'd love to know what she was thinking right now. Just as well that the ring was shielding her thoughts; otherwise he might be tempted to listen in on them.

She must have sensed his unwillingness to talk further about his childhood, for she changed the subject abruptly. "That woman you came to Sespech to find," she asked. "Was it Glisena Foesmasher?"

A tiny warning voice sounded in the back of Arvin's mind. One look into Karrell's dark eyes, and it was extinguished. Arvin nodded. "The baron's daughter ran away a tenday ago; I came to Sespech to help find her. A midwife helped her flee the palace. Glisena thinks the midwife was helping her, but Glisena is being used. They want her child-Dmetrio's the father. They hope to use it in a grab for Hlondeth's throne. Once it's born, the gods only know what Sibyl will do with-"

"Sibyl?" Karrell asked sharply. Her grip on Arvin's knee tightened.

"She's a yuan-ti," Arvin explained. "The midwife is one of her followers. They believe that Sibyl's an avatar of the god Sseth."

"She's no avatar," Karrell whispered.

Arvin blinked. "You know who I'm talking about?"

Karrell's eyes bored into his. "How do you know about Sibyl?"

Arvin's jaw clenched. "She killed my friend. I swore I'd do whatever I could to avenge his death. Even if it meant taking on an avatar."

Karrell took his measure for several moments before speaking. "Sibyl is mortal, though that was not always the case. For a time-during the Time of Troubles, when the gods walked Faerun-her body was possessed by Sseth. But when the Time of Troubles ended, the god withdrew from her body. That was fifteen years ago; she has been mortal since. But she hopes to become a god, just as did Sseth, who himself was once no more than an avatar of Merrshaulk."

Arvin stared at Karrell. He had only the barest notion of what she was talking about. The only god he knew much about was Ilmater; the priests at the orphanage had drilled every painful, gory detail of the sufferings of the Crying God's martyrs into the children under their care. Arvin didn't even know Hoar's history, despite the fact that he had sworn an oath of vengeance to that god-an oath the Doombringer seemed bent on forcing Arvin to keep.

"How do you know all this stuff about Sibyl?" Arvin asked Karrell.

Karrell gave him a hard, level look. "To defeat an enemy, one must learn her ways."

Outside the window, thunder grumbled in the distance; the voice of Hoar. Arvin whistled softly. "I think the gods have thrown us together for a reason."

"I, too, believe this," Karrell said. She leaned closer and spoke in a confiding voice. "The yuan-ti of the south still believes Sibyl to be Sseth's avatar. Only a handful see her for what she really is-a power-mad mortal out to resurrect the empire of Serpentes at any cost."

Arvin had heard of Serpentes. It was an ancient yuan-ti empire that had stretched across the whole of the Chultan Peninsula-an empire that the yuan-ti still talked about, even though it had fallen nearly fourteen centuries ago. "I thought it was Hlondeth that Sibyl was after," he said.

"Only as a means to an end," Karrell said. "Nearly two years ago, Sibyl vanished from our lands. We were relieved to hear that she was gone, until we learned that she had traveled north. When we learned that she had gone to Hlondeth-"

"Who's we?" Arvin interrupted.

"The K'aaxlaat," Karrell said.

He gave her a blank look.

"Protectors of the jungle. We walk in the footsteps of Ubtao."

Arvin nodded, though he was no closer to understanding. It sounded like some sort of druidic sect.

"We realized," Karrell continued, "what Sibyl must be looking for: an artifact that had been given, long ago, to House Extaminos for safekeeping. It was hidden, then forgotten as the centuries went by. But Dmetrio Extaminos found it."

Despite himself, Arvin was intrigued. "And you came north to Hlondeth to find it. To steal it."

Karrell's eyes blazed. "No. To recover it. To prevent it from falling into Sibyl's hands. To ensure it would never be used again."

"What is it?"

"Do you know the Story of Sseth?" Karrell asked.

Arvin shrugged. "Not really. Those of us of the 'lesser race' aren't exactly encouraged to learn about the serpent god. I've never even set foot inside the Cathedral of Emerald Scales. Except once. By proxy."

The memory rose, unbidden, from those that lingered on from Zelia's mind seed. He'd seen the temple through her eyes as she genuflected before a statue of the god in winged serpent form. He nodded to himself; no wonder the yuan-ti believed Sibyl to be Sseth's avatar. She had the wings-even for an abomination, that was rare. And her eyes glowed red-they flickered like the flames that had surrounded Sseth's statue.

Arvin dredged up the last of Zelia's memory. "There's

a prophecy about Sseth rising from the flames, isn't there?"

Karrell nodded, visibly impressed. "From the Peaks of Flame-volcanoes on the Chult Peninsula. There is a door there, one Sibyl hopes to open. She thinks it leads to Sseth's domain. She hopes to convince the god to claim her as his avatar once more. But the door does not lead to the Viper Pit. It leads to a cave on the Fugue Plane occupied by one of the eternal evils-Dendar the Night Serpent. Should the door be opened, and the Night Serpent escape, thousands will die-perhaps hundreds of thousands. A giant is a mere morsel to her; she can swallow an entire village in one gulp. Those she swallows are utterly destroyed; not a shred of their souls remain for the gods to claim. And the more souls she consumes, the larger she grows-and the more she feeds. According to the prophecies, if released and unchecked, she will grow until she is capable of swallowing the very sun-of plunging the world into eternal night. A night in which no plants will grow, all of the waters of Faerun will freeze, and the gods themselves will fade as their last worshipers die."

Arvin felt his eyes widen. Normally he would have blown off such an exaggerated story. But to hear Karrell tell it-to hear the tremble in her voice as she spoke of the end of the world-shook him. "This thing you came north to find," he said. "It's a key, right?"

Karrell's eyes bored into his. "It is called the Circled Serpent. It is made of silver, in the shape of a serpent biting its own tail and has a diameter about so." She held her hands about two palms' widths apart. "It was fashioned in two halves-one with a head, the other with a tail-which must be fitted together for its magic to work."

She lowered her hands. "I know this much: that Dine- trio Extaminos found the Circled Serpent when he was restoring the old section of Hlondeth. I believe he may have brought it with him to Sespech, but I am unable to locate it with my magic. During your last visit to the ambassador's residence, did you see anything like I have just described?"

Arvin shook his head.

'I did not expect so," Karrell said. "He will have it hidden. He fears another attempt by Sibyl's followers to steal it."

"The Pox?" Arvin asked, alarmed. "Did some of them survive?"

"Who are The Pox?"

"Followers of Talona, goddess of plague and disease," Arvin's heart was beating quickly. "And servants of Sibyl. They're the ones who killed my friend."

Karrell frowned. "No. The ones I am speaking of worship a different deity: Talos, god of storms and destruction. They, too, have formed an alliance with Sibyl. At her bidding, they tried to steal the Circled Serpent after Dmetrio Extaminos discovered it inside the ancient tower."

Suddenly, Arvin realized what she was referring to. Last summer, a gang of rogues had attacked the workers who were restoring the Scaled Tower, killing the project's yuan-ti overseer. The attack had been the talk of Hlondeth's thieves' guild for tendays; the rogues had not belonged to the Guild, and retribution was called for. The theft had taken place while Arvin was busy battling The Pox, and so he had not paid it much attention. Even when he'd met Tanju, and the militiaman accompanying him had let slip that Tanju was tracking someone who had committed a theft, someone called the "stormlord," Arvin hadn't put the pieces together. But now he understood. And he had bad news for Karrell. According to Tanju, the "rogues" had succeeded in getting what they came for.

"You're too late," he told Karrell. "Sibyl already has the Circled Serpent." Quickly, he recounted for her the events of last summer, and what he'd overheard.

Karrell's face paled. After a long moment of strained silence, she shook her head fiercely. "That is not possible," she said. "The workers I questioned said that Dmetrio Extaminos still had the artifact they had dug up in his possession. They even described the container it was in: a round wooden box, coated with lead to prevent magic from revealing the contents."

"Perhaps they lied," Arvin suggested.

"That would not have been possible."

"You charmed them," Arvin concluded. He thought a moment. "The people I spoke with were equally certain that the followers of Talos did manage to steal whatever had been found in the tower. Maybe they only got half of it."

"Yes. That must be what happened." She twisted the ring on her finger, a worried look on her face. "Do you know where Sibyl is now?"

Arvin shook his head. "If I did, I would have tried to avenge my friend's death. I've been looking for her for the past six months, but even the Guild can't find her."

"It is more vital now than ever that I recover the second half of the Circled Serpent," Karrell said. "The half Dmetrio still has."

"Do you think he knows what it is?" Arvin asked. "Perhaps if we told him what was at stake…" Remembering who he was talking about, Arvin shook his head. Dmetrio Extaminos was arrogant, cruel, and callous. He cared nothing for Glisena and even less for his own child. He wasn't the sort to be moved by the fate of hundreds of thousands of strangers.

"What's next?" Arvin asked. "Are you going to try to speak to Dmetrio a second time?"

"I have already questioned his house slaves," Karrell answered. "None of them have seen the Circled Serpent. Nor have they noticed a lead-coated box among the household goods they have been packing. I am starting to suspect that he did not bring the Circled Serpent with him, that he left it behind, in Hlondeth."

"Will you return there?" Arvin asked, starting to miss her already.

Karrell sat in silence for several moments. "Perhaps." Then she straightened, a look of determination in her eye. "No. I will search for Sibyl, instead. Finding her should prove easier than trying to locate a small box lined with lead."

Arvin leaned forward. "I can help you with your search," he said. "But I'll need your help in return. I've promised the baron that I'll find his daughter. She's somewhere in a forest called the Chondalwood. She can't be located using magic; she's shielded against all forms of detection. But you have a spell that might be able to help-the one that allowed you to communicate with the naga. If you used it to question the animals of the forest, we might find one who has seen Glisena. If we can find her, we stand a good chance of also locating Naneth; the midwife will certainly be on hand for the baby's birth. And once we have Naneth…"

"We can force her to tell us where Sibyl is," Karrell said.

"Then I'll have my revenge. And you'll have a chance to recover the Circled Serpent. Or half of it, anyway." He extended a hand. "What do you say? Partners?"

Karrell stared into his eyes for several heartbeats, ignoring his hand. Then she leaned forward and kissed him-passionately. Her fingers twined in his hair; her lips pressed against his. Excitement coursed through his body with a fire so fierce it left him trembling. Karrell was everything he'd dreamed of, everything he'd ever hoped to find in a woman. Her kiss left him as dizzy as the osssra smoke-and it showed no sign of ending. She pulled him toward her and he tumbled, landing on top of her on the bed. His hands brushed

against her waist, her breasts-then found their way inside her dress. Still kissing her fiercely, he tried to stroke her breast, but for some strange reason the dress had gotten in the way. Its fabric felt rough under his fingertips.

No, that wasn't the dress. It was her breast. That wasn't skin his fingertips were caressing, but… Scales?

Her charm spell-which only now did he realize she'd been successful in casting-abruptly ended. He broke off the kiss, jerking his hand out of her dress. Suddenly, everything made sense. Her strange comments, her taking offense when he'd tried to warn her about the yuan-ti of House Extaminos.

Karrell wasShe sat up. "You have just realized that I am half yuan-ti," she said_ Her expression was a strange mixture of hurt and defiance.

Arvin nodded, mute. "That's not why-" he stammered. "It's just…" Conflicting emotions surged through him. He wanted Karrell, he ached for her, even without the benefit of her charm spell-but now she reminded him of Zelia.

Her cheeks flushed. With a quick, angry motion she jerked at her dress, straightening it. "I am used to it," she snapped. "It is just one of the barriers in the maze of life-a barrier that I must overcome, if I am to find my true path. But it is hard. People are always mistaking me for human. How do you think it feels, to hear their comments about how "cold-hearted' and evil the yuan-ti are, knowing that it is you they are talking about? The yuan-ti, also, are unkind. To them I look too human to ever be considered…" She glanced away.

"Beautiful?" Arvin asked. "Desirable?" He reached out with a hand and lifted her chin. "You are. Believe me." He sighed. "It's just that, for a moment, you reminded me of someone. Another yuan-ti woman-a psion. She used her psionics to plant a seed in my head. If it hadn't been removed, it would have stripped my mind from my body and left me an empty husk for her to fill with a copy of herself. She used me."

Karrell's eyes softened. "The woman at Riverboat Landing?"

Arvin nodded.

"Not all yuan-ti are so cruel."

"I realize that," Arvin said. "And now that I look at you-really look at you-I see that you're not like Zelia at all. Not one bit."

He leaned forward-slowly-and kissed her. Karrell didn't resist. Instead, at first hesitantly, she kissed him back.

Arvin broke off the kiss. "How do you say it?" he asked. `"Kiss'-in your language."

"Tsu."

Arvin smiled. The word puckered Karrell's lips beautifully as she spoke it. "And "beautiful'? How do you say that?"

"Kiichpan."

"Woman?"'

She gave a slight frown, obviously wondering what he was up to. "Chu al."

Arvin returned it with a frank stare. "Keech-pan choo-hal," he said haltingly. "May I be your yctakun?"

She tossed her hair, mischief dancing in her dark eyes. Then she slapped him-lightly-across the cheek. "You charmed me," she said in an accusing voice.

Arvin chuckled. "And you charmed me." He rubbed his cheek, pretending the slap had stung the cut on his face, and saw her eyes soften in apology. "But I'm not under your spell anymore. Not that one, anyway."

"Your spell, also, has ended," Karrell said. Then she smiled. "Yet somehow, I still find you… intriguing." She hesitated then began unlacing the front of her dress.

As Arvin unlaced his breeches, removing them, his eyes were drawn to her breasts. Her scales, he saw, were small and fine, and a delicate shade of reddish- brown that nearly matched her skin, giving it a flushed appearance. He was, he realized, about to find out if the stories about yuan-ti women were true.

When she let her dress fall to the bed and moved toward him, encircling him in one graceful motion, he decided they might be, after all.