Vanity's brood hos-3 Read online

  Arvin rubbed his temples. It was a dangerous game he was about to play. In order to rescue Karrell-and not release an evil god in the process-he would need to find a way to defeat Zelia.

  "Well?" she asked.

  He closed his eyes and shuddered. Zelia still controlled his destiny, as certainly as if she'd seeded him. She liked watching him squirm.

  "I'll do it," he whispered, "for Karrell and our children."

  CHAPTER 4

  Arvin winced as the fleshmender turned his hand over, studying his lacerated fingers. "Strange wound," she said.

  Arvin merely nodded. "Can you heal it?"

  The cleric was a young, blonde-haired woman who might have been pretty save for the deep lines in her forehead, the price to be paid for taking on the suffering of others. She returned his nod.

  "The Crying God feels your pain, my son," she intoned.

  Dressed in ash-gray tunic, trousers, and matching gray skullcap, she had Ilmater's

  symbol-a pair of bound hands-pinned over her heart.

  her heart.

  Arvin remembered that symbol well from his childhood. The severed hands-he

  always thought of them that way-and the other symbols cf martyrdom had decorated the orphanage. Ilmater's martyred clerics were painted in vivid glory, spotted with plague sores, being torn apart by wolves, or covered in open, weeping wounds. All had their faces turned toward Shurrock, a savage domain of broken hills, torrential rains, howling winds, and wild beasts. Ilmater's dwelling place-the domain where his faithful would reap their reward of eternal suffering.

  Arvin could have gone to a guild healer, but that would have meant answering unwanted questions. The guild frowned upon members taking on "outside work." But in the Chapel of Healing that catered to the humans of Hlondeth, the only demand made was a coin or two-whatever the petitioner could afford-in the wooden donation box.

  Darkmorning had almost ended, and outside the chapel, the streets were quiet. Only Arvin sought healing. Come sunrise, however, the chapel's stone benches would be filled with petitioners.

  The cleric murmured a prayer-one that Arvin could recite from memory, even though healing prayers had been used infrequently at the orphanage; the clerics believed that suffering built character in children. The wounds on his fingers slowly closed. She touched his mouth and ears, and the sting of each wound faded. When she was finished, she held his left hand in hers and touched his abbreviated little finger.

  "This," she said, lifting his hand slightly, "is too old a wound for me to heal. It requires a Pain- bearer's touch."

  "That's all right," Arvin said. He had no desire to meet any of the senior clerics. The only reason he'd come to the chapel was that it was run by the order's most junior clerics-men and women who weren't old

  enough to dredge up unpleasant memories. "I'm used to it," he told her

  He didn't bother to explain what the guild would do to him if they found he'd removed their mark. One day, perhaps, when he was finally clear of Hlondeth, he might seek out a cleric who could regenerate his finger, but…

  She released his hand. "You have the face of someone who has seen much suffering. Ilmater bless you and help you to bear your load."

  Arvin stood. He was grateful for Ilmater's healing, but that was as far as it went. The last thing he needed was another god meddling in his life.

  As he dropped coins in the donation box, a disheveled woman rushed through the door, an infant lying limp in her arms.

  "She's been bitten!" the woman shrieked. "There was a snake! A snake in her swaddling basket! She started to cry-it woke me-and I saw she had its tail in her fist. It bit her. Please, oh please, can you save her?"

  The cleric turned her attention to the baby, touching its tiny hand and intoning a spell. Arvin watched a moment-the mother was panting from her run, and it was probably already too late for the poison to be neutralized-then he slipped out the door. He really didn't want to see the outcome. As he walked away from the chapel, ho heard the cleric murmur condolences and the mother break into loud sobs. At least, he thought grimly, the woman had known the joy of holding her child in her arms, if only for a short time.

  He wondered if Karrell would live to do the same.

  As he walked the narrow, curving street, awash

  in the faint green glow from the buildings on

  either side, he struggled with his conscience. Karrell would be wary of his forced alliance with

  Zelia-she'd made the same mistake herself, six months before, with near-disastrous results. She would certainly condemn any plan that ran the risk of both halves of the Circled Serpent falling into the hands of one of Sseth's devotees. Arvin ached to speak to Karrel I again, but the sending he'd attempted after leaving Zelia's rooftop garden had failed, just like the rest of them.

  He still couldn't quite believe that Zelia had let him go. She'd tossed a blanket at him when he requested something to hide his nakedness-he'd since retrieved a change of clothes and tossed the blanket on a garbage heap-then escorted him out of her garden and down the ramp to the street. He'd followed her warily, expecting her to seed him, but she hadn't. Perhaps she thought recovering Pakal's half of the Circled Serpent would take more than seven days.

  He paused beside one of the city's public fountains and scooped up a drink of water in his hands. A line of scar tissue ran down the finger the cleric had just healed, wavy as a snake. He wiped his fingers dry on his trousers. Zelia had drained his muladhara, but he still had his lapis lazuli. If he was going to steal the Circled Serpent from Pakal, he'd better get on with it.

  He closed his eyes, concentrating on the dwarf's face. The scar tissue on his forehead tingled as the lapis lazuli activated, and Pakal's image solidified in his mind. The dwarf was awake, sweat trickling down his face as he walked through the darkness. Arvin couldn't see Pakal's surroundings-a sending only showed the person contacted-but it looked as though the dwarf was trudging up a steep incline.

  Choosing his words carefully, Arvin spoke directly to Pakal's mind. He'd already decided to tell the truth-part of it, anyway. Karrell's alive, he said, in trouble. She told me to find Ts'ikil. Where are you? I

  need your help. Use few words; this spell is brief

  Pakal halted, his eyes wide. He stared straight ahead for a moment-he would be seeing, in his mind's eye, a faint image of Arvin's face. Delight, then caution played across the dwarf's face. At last his expression settled into a look of contrition, and he spoke. Though the words were into the dwarfs own language, Arvin understood them as they flowed into his mind. I will take you to Ts'ikil. Meet me at the temple on Mount Ugruth. I will wait there. He paused, then added, /am sorry I fled, but dutyPakal's image vanished as the sending ended. Arvin frowned, wondering why Pakal would be heading for another god's temple, especially one dedicated to Talos, god of destruction. Arvin wouldn't be able to ask him, however, until the next night. The lapis lazuli would only allow him to contact any given individual once per day. He stared over the city, toward Mount Ugruth. A smudge of black smoke wafted from the volcanic peak up into the gradually brightening sky.

  Arvin realized he was exhausted. He'd been awake for a day and a night, but he was too keyed up to sleep. He had to get moving to rescue Karrell.

  As he turned away from the fountain, something brushed against his foot. He glanced down and nearly jumped as he saw a slender orange snake with large, bulging eyes slither out of a crack at the base of the fountain. The snake met his gaze and hissed a warning. Slowly, Arvin backed away from the fountain. Whether it was a natural snake or a yuan-ti in serpent form, he didn't want to make any sudden moves, not with its fangs bared and ready to strike.

  The snake turned away and slithered up the street. With dawn approaching and the shadows lifting from the street, Arvin saw dozens of snakes emerge from cracks between buildings and holes in

  the ground. They slithered uphill, toward the section of Hlondeth where the nobles lived. Several of the snakes had scale patterns he'd neve
r seen before: checkered beige-and-black with a circle of white crowning the head; jet black with a creamy pink belly; and cream-and-black bands with large red dots on each cream band. He was reminded of the legend of how Lord Shevron had summoned snakes to defeat the kobolds that crept through Hlondeth's sewers in the Year of Tatters to attack the city, except that these snakes slithered up from the sewers, not down into them. They were headed for the palace, rather than emerging from it.

  Something was up-and Arvin was certain Sibyl was behind it. A fragment of her welcoming speech to the Se'sehen in the altar room came back to him then, her promises that those loyal to her would soon reap their reward… in Hlondeth. The oddly patterned snakes must have been yuan-ti from the south-the Se'sehen, breaking their longstanding alliance with Hlondeth. With that realization, a rush of anger filled him. One of those serpents must have been responsible for the death of the infant in the chapel.

  A door opened to Arvin's left, and he waved back the sleepy-looking girl who emerged with a water jug.

  "Bar your door!" Arvin shouted at the her. "The city is under attack."

  Startled, the girl fled back into her home.

  Arvin activated his lapis lazuli a second time. He paused, wondering who to send his warning to. He had never spoken with Hlondeth's ruler face to face, but he had seen her from a distance. He could visualize Lady Dediana well enough to contact her, but she wouldn't know who he was and might not heed his warning. Instead, with great reluctance, he visualized Zelia.

  She was sleeping, but her eyes sprang open at Arvin's mental shout: Zelia-wake up! Sibyl and lhe Se'sehen are attacking the city. They're moving toward the palace in serpent form, even as I speak.

  Zelia didn't even bother to reply. She merely nodded then with a brusque mental push, broke off the sending. Arvin shrugged; it was exactly what he'd expected. He'd acted instinctively in sending the warning. Hlondeth had been his home for too many years for him to ignore a threat to it, especially one that came from Sibyl. But did it really matter, to the humans who lived there which faction of serpents ruled them?

  A gong sounded from somewhere up the hill, followed by another, farther in the distance. A bright flash of yellow seared the air above the section where the nobles lived, followed a heartbeat later by a thunderous boom. There were cries close by- humans, no doubt startled to find so many serpents slithering along the streets. Hlondoth's yuan-ti traditionally kept to the viaducts that arched overhead.

  Arvin could hear shouted questions as people asked what was going on in the nobles' section, where a pillar of vivid green flame had just whooshed down out of a clear sky. Some cried that Mount Ugruth was erupting, while others, feeling the rumbling tremors under their feet, shouted back that no, it was an earthquake.

  Arvin's part in this battle over-he'd passed on his message, and it was up to Zelia to relay it. He ran for the nearest city gate. People spilled out of doorways on either side as he ran past, some frightened, some clutching children or valuables to their chests, all looking confused. A half-elf holding his unlaced trousers up with one hand glanced sharply at Arvin as if he'd recognized him, then flicked his free hand

  to get Arvin's attention and gave a quick gesture in the silent speech: What's happening?

  War, Arvin signed back as he ran past.

  The guild member broke into a grin and grabbed an empty leather sack that had been hanging just in side the door. Then he ran toward the sound of the fighting.

  Arvin turned into a wider street with shops on either side. Though none were yet open for business, the shuttered windows on their upper stories had been flung wide. People leaned out of them and called to each other across the street. Several shouted down at him, asking what was happening. Arvin ignored them; he needed his breath for running. He felt a tickle under the scar on his forehead. Zelia, looking in on him psionically? He slowed to a trot, expecting her to manifest some communication with him, but nothing happened. The tickling sensation continued. Someone, he realized, was scrying him.

  An unpleasant possibility occurred to him. If Sibyl's crystal ball had survived the collapse of the altar room, it might be the abomination observing him. She'd gotten a good look at both Arvin and Pakal just before they'd teleported away with her half of the Circled Serpent; she'd be able to home in on him.

  Fortunately, Arvin still had the net he'd created to kill her inside the backpack that bounced up and down against his shoulders.

  He started to run into a circular plaza with streets radiating from it in five directions. At its center was a wrought-iron streetlight in the form of a rearing cobra. Something about it caught his eye, and he skidded to a stop. The streetlight was smaller than usual and of brightly burnished metal, rather than a dull black. It didn't have a glowing white stone in its mouth-and it was swaying.

  As the metal snake turned and fastened glowing red eyes on Arvin, the sensation in his forehead intensified. This creature-whatever it was-had been using divination magic to search for him.

  One of Sibyl's creatures!

  With a scrape of metal on stone, the iron cobra slithered toward Arvin.

  Unable to manifest his psionics due to his depleted muladhara and certain his dagger would be useless, Arvin turned and ran. Behind him, the scraping sound quickened. The iron cobra hissed like hot steam escaping from a boiling kettle. Panting, Arvin turned down a narrow alley, only to find that it dead- ended against the city wall. He leaped, activating the magic of his bracelet as he hurtled through the air. He slammed into the wall, knocking the air from his lungs, but his fingers and toes found a grip. The iron cobra lunged, and Arvin heard a clang as it struck the wall just below his foot. Venom splattered onto his boot. He scrambled up the wall, praying that the metal serpent wasn't capable of following.

  It wasn't. As Arvin climbed, it remained coiled at the base of the wall, hissing softly, bathed in a faint green light from the glowing stones. It flared its hood and watched with ember-red eyes as Arvin climbed to the top of the wall and hauled himself onto the battlements. Then it turned and slithered back up the alley.

  Arvin stood, panting, hands on knees. "Nine lives," he whispered, touching the crystal at his neck.

  From inside the city came distant screams and more explosions. A militia member ran toward him along the wall, sword in hand. The soldier's flared helmet and scale armor reminded Arvin of the serpent he'd narrowly escaped.

  "Out of the way!" the soldier shouted as he shoved past Arvin.

  He clattered down a staircase a short distance beyond. Then he cried out in alarm. Arvin heard the clash of metal on metal-a single clang-then a thud as something heavy hit the street below. He straightened, wary. A heartbeat later, a metal head rose from the staircase and looked around. The iron cobra.

  Cursing, Arvin clambered over the far side of the wall. He climbed down as quickly as he could, but the smooth green stones had been designed to offer little to grip, even to someone with a magical bracelet. Above him, Arvin heard a rasping noise as the iron cobra slithered through a slit in the battlements. Realizing it was about to drop on him, Arvin shoved off the wall, twisting as he fell. He landed awkwardly, crashing down onto hands and knees in a tangle of gourd vines. As he scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over one of the large, rock-hard gourds, he heard a thump behind him and a soft, metallic hiss.

  Arvin looked around. The sun was rising-it was finally light enough to see clearly-but the iron cobra was screened by the vines. It was somewhere between Arvin and the wall. If he ran right or left it would merely change course and outflank him. Arvin wished he had a magical entangling rope-the net in his backpack would work only on living flesh-or even a sturdy club or a tree to climb, but the field he'd landed in offered none of those.

  As he turned, the tinglo in his forehead intensified. He smiled as he realized which direction the attack would come from. He started to sling his backpack around to the front, thinking he might be able to shove it at the serpent like a shield. Then he had a better idea. Yanking
out his dagger, he slashed one of the vines and lifted the yellow gourd, holding it like a morningstar.

  "Come on, you scaly bastard," he breathed, turning in the direction the magical tingling came from. "Come on…"

  A gleam-morning sunlight on burnished iron scales-gave him a moment's warning. The iron cobra lunged up from the vines in a lightning-fast strike. Arvin whipped the gourd forward, slamming it into the serpent's head, but it was like hitting a solid metal door. The iron cobra's aim was knocked off only slightly-just enough that its teeth snagged and tore the hem of Arvin's shirt-but the blow itself didn't harm the cobra in the least. It reared back, body coiled beneath it, glowing red eyes watching the gourd, then lashed out again.

  Arvin started to swing the gourd-but checked its motion, pulling the vine through his hand until the gourd was against his fist. He punched it into the cobra's gaping mouth, forcing the gourd down its throat. Metal fangs scraped along the gourd, then hooked fast. The vine was yanked through Arvin's fingers as the cobra tore its head away.

  The iron cobra hissed and shook its head back and forth, trying to fling the plug from its mouth. It tried to gulp down the gourd, but couldn't swallow it. The metal bands that made up its body wouldn't expand enough. It lashed its tail in fury, ripping the vines around it into a tangle.

  Arvin didn't wait around to see how long it would take to get the gourd out. He plunged through the field, tripping over gourds and falling several times as vines snagged his ankles. Ahead lay the road from the city's northern gate. People streamed out of Hlondeth, fleeing the fighting that echoed within the walls.

  Arvin ran toward a cart being pulled by a horse. As he closed the gap, an elegantly painted ceramic jug spilled out the back and smashed on the road in

  a spray of dark red wine. The driver continued whipping his horse, trying to force it through the crowd, heedless of the missing cargo. Arvin vaulted up onto the cart and tried to find a place to stand among the rolling jugs.