Lisa Smedman: Vanity's brood

A yuan-ti holding a parchment and quill sat a short distance away, her limbless lower body coiled on a bench against one wall. Long red hair framed an angular face, and for a moment Arvin was reminded of Zelia, the woman who had become his nemesis, but this yuan-ti had red scales, instead of green. She raised her quill, an expectant look on her face.

"Your dreams?" she hissed-softly, as if not wanting to break the tenuous thread that connected dreaming and wakefulness.

Arvin wet his lips-a gesture that sent his long forked tongue flicking out toward her, sending a drop of spittle onto the parchment she held. Her upper lip twitched, baring the tips of her fangs-a gesture that often preceded a bite.

Arvin started to flinch, then remembered that he was supposed to be a yuan-ti. No, he was yuanti, at least for the duration of his metamorphosis. Drawing himself up imperiously-yuan-ti never apologized, even to another yuan-ti-he bared the

tips of his own fangs. He and the scribe locked eyes for a moment-and the scribe was the first to look away. As she did, Arvin manifested the power that would allow him to listen in on her thoughts. She swayed slightly, tipping her head as if listening to a distant sound, and her thoughts tumbled into Arvin's mind.

She was annoyed at him-how dare he threaten her! The mistress had given her a sacred task to fulfill, and she would not let a petty annoyance get in the way. Later, perhaps, she might exact her revenge, but for now, the important thing was to record whatever dreams the osssra had induced.

Arvin decided to get that part over with, then ask where Sibyl was.

"In my dream, I was in a jungle," he told the scribe.

She dipped her quill in the pot of ink that sat on the bench beside her and started scribbling. The script was narrow and flowing, a series of lines that looked like elaborately looped scratch marks, punctuated by blots of ink. Draconic.

Wary that his own nightmare might reveal some hidden human quality, Arvin repeated a dream Karrell had related to him just before she was killed: of being a mouse, struggling within the grip of a serpent. His voice cracked a little on the final words. He remembered how vulnerable Karrell had looked as she lay on the bench in Helm's chapel, her expression pinched and her fingers twitching as she fought, in her dream, to free herself. Seeing that, he'd been worried that Zelia had seeded her-that Zelia had used her psionics to plant, deep within Karrell's mind, a tiny seed of psionic energy that would eventually grow, choking out Karrell's own consciousness like a weed and replacing it with a copy of Zelia.

That hadn't been the case. The dream Karrell had been having was just a simple nightmare, rather

than a dream-taste of Zelia's thoughts.

The real nightmare had come later, when Karrell was yanked into the Abyss by a marilith.

Arvin's awareness was still hooked deep inside the scribe's mind. She was disappointed by what he'd told her; it offered nothing new.

"That wasn't very helpful, was it?" Arvin asked.

"No," she agreed, blowing on the parchment to dry the ink. "It wasn't." Certainly not worth bothering Mistress Sibyl with, her thoughts silently added, especially in the middle of the welcoming ceremony.

Arvin's heart quickened. The scribe knew where Sibyl was. He needed to convince her that he must be conveyed to her mistress at once, but how?

He thought quickly. Slumber-and dream-were important parts of Sseth's worshlp. In midwinter, a select few of the serpent god's priests underwent the Sagacious Slumber, a month-long hibernation during which they communed with their god, gaining new spells, but that didn't seem to be what was going on here. It sounded as thought Sibyl was looking for something in the dreams of her worshipers.

Arvin had an idea what it might be: a clue to the whereabouts of the Circled Serpent, an artifact Dmetrio Extaminos had found during his restoration of the Scaled Tower one year ago. Sibyl's minions had managed to get their hands on half of the Circled Serpent, but the other half was still in Dmetrio's possession. He'd hidden it so well, even Karrell hadn't been able to find it.

If Arvin's guess was right, he would be conveyed directly to Sibyl, welcoming ceremony or not. If not

He decided he'd take the risk. He stared up at the ceiling as if lost in thought. "There was more," he told the scribe, "a second part to my dream."

"Yes?" she said, dipping her quill in the pot of ink that sat on the bench next to her. She gave a soft, hissing sigh. Her thoughts-which Arvin was still reading-held a note of bored indulgence. He was attracted to her-most males were-and he wanted to keep talking. He was probably making the second part up, she decided.

"There was a serpent," Arvin continued. "A silver serpent. Its body was coiled back upon itself in a circle." He sketched a circle in the air with his hands. "It was swallowing its own tail."

Arvin fought to contain his smile as he listened to the scribe's thoughts race. She scribbled furiously. It was exactly what she'd been waiting to hear. Mistress Sibyl had instructed her-personally instructed her! — to pay close attention to any mention of circled serpents.

"Go on," she prompted.

"A man was holding the silver serpent-a yuanti," Arvin continued, "a man with a high forehead, narrow nose, and dark, swept-back hair."

The scribe frowned as she wrote that down. Arvin had neglected to mention scale color and pattern, the first thing a yuan-ti typically mentioned, when describing another of his race.

"Oh yes," Arvin said, as if suddenly remembering. "There was something odd about him. He didn't have any scales. His skin was almost… human."

He managed to inject a shudder of disgust into the word that satisfied the scribe. "Did you recognize him?" she asked.

"I think it was Dmetrio Extaminos," Arvin answered.

While she recognized the name, it didn't trigger the sudden rush of excitement Arvin had expected. The scribe, he decided, had been told only so much.

"Where was he?" she asked. "In your dream."

"He was in…" Arvin said that much then deliberately halted.

He didn't know where the royal prince was. Nobody else in the city did either-at least, nobody the guild had been able to question. After being recalled from Sespech six months ago, Hlondeth's former ambassador had made a brief appearance at the palace then simply disappeared. Arvin had tried to contact Dmetrio with a sending, but it had met with the same lack of success as his attempts to contact Karrell. Dmetrio was either dead or shielded by powerful magic.

"Yes?" the scribe prompted.

Arvin drew himself up in a stiff pose and looked down his nose at her. "That, I think, is something for the ears of our mistress alone, hatchling." He used the diminutive term, despite the fact that he had assumed an appearance that wasn't much older than the scribe.

She hissed softly at the verbal bite. How dare he, she thought. She, a ssethssar of the temple, and he a mere lay worshiper! She started to bare her fangs then remembered the task she had been charged with. The mistress would be displeased, indeed, if this impertinent male died before his dream was recorded.

"Mistress Sibyl is too busy to meet with you," she began. "Tell me your dream. I will ensure-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Arvin said, waving a hand. It was tingling fiercely, the scales on it starting to shrink. Already the belt around his waist felt tighter. "The welcoming ceremony. I was supposed to be part of it but chose to dream instead. Take me to Sibyl-immediately."

That made her blink. He dared address the mistress by name alone? Perhaps she'd misjudged him. A few of the high serphidians had attended Dreamings in the past, but he wasn't one she recognized. She took careful note of his face-then blinked as she noticed it was changing. The black-and-gray scales were melting away into human flesh…