Lisa Smedman - Viper's Kiss

Karrell’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can threaten me?” she asked. “That dagger cuts both ways. What if I were to tell that woman at Riverboat Landing about you?”

Arvin felt his face grow pale. With an effort, he steadied himself. “Riverboat Landing is two days down-river. By the time a message got there—”

Karrell smiled. “A spell can always be used to speed a message on its way.”

Arvin shivered. She might be bluffing, but he didn’t want to take the chance. “It seems we’ve reached a stalemate.”

Karrell started to whisper something in her own language. Before she could finish, Arvin slapped a hand onto the gauntlet. The cold metal chilled his bare fingers, making him shiver. “Don’t try to charm me,” he warned her. “It won’t work. Not here. This statue is magical. It will turn the charm back on you, instead.”

He had no idea, of course, if the statue’s magic would even protect him from a spell that did no actual injury. But presumably, neither did Karrell.

She stared it him. “You will not stand here all night.”

“I will if I have to,” Arvin said.

“So will I.”

They stared at each other for several moments. Then Arvin heard footsteps behind him. He turned—his hand still on the gauntlet—and saw one of the red-cloaked clerics approaching. The man hadn’t been there a moment ago; the gauntlet seemed to have summoned him.

“Is there a problem?” the cleric asked, his eyes on Karrell. “Did this woman threaten you?”

Arvin let his hand fall away from the gauntlet and raised it to his lips, blowing on it to ward off the metal’s chill. For a moment, he considered answering yes. Having Karrell detained was a tempting thought—it would keep her out of the way until he’d accomplished his mission. But subjecting her to the magical punishments the innkeeper in Mimph h I described was something Arvin just couldn’t do. He shook his head.

“No,” he told the cleric. “I was just leaning against this statue while we talked. But she is pestering me—she keeps trying to solicit me and won’t leave me alone. Do you have a law against that?”

The cleric scowled at Karrell. “Helm’s Sanctuary is not a place for solicitation.”

Karrell’s face flushed. Her mouth opened then closed. “I apologize,” she said at last. “It will not happen again.” Chin in the air, she turned and strode away.

The cleric turned his scowl on Arvin. “The gauntlet is intended to be used only in times of true danger.”

“Sorry,” Arvin said. “I’m a stranger here. I’ve got a lot to learn about your customs.” He paused. “Could you direct me to the home of Ambassador Extaminos? I came to Ormpetarr to meet with him.”

The cleric gave Arvin a skeptical look. Then he raised his left hand and held it, palm out, toward Arvin. “State your business with the ambassador.”

“I’m….” Arvin started to say that he was a rope merchant’s agent who hoped for a formal introduction to the baron, but other words spilled out of his mouth. “I’m here to question Dmetrio Extaminos about the disappearance of—” With an effort that brought beads of sweat to his brow, he choked off the rest of what he’d been about to say. The magical compulsion the cleric had just placed on Arvin was one he recognized; he had once been forced to wear a ring that compelled him to speak the truth.

The truth, fortunately, could be told selectively. “I’m here on state business,” he told the cleric. “I’m meeting with the ambassador at the baron’s request. Baron Foesmasher will not be pleased if you force me to reveal state secrets.”

“Ah. My apologies.” He lowered his hand, gave Arvin directions, and strode away.

After a quick glance in the direction Karrell had gone, Arvin started on his way. It took him a while to figure out what “blocks” were, but after he started walking, it became obvious. He was used to the directions they gave in Hlondeth—a series of “fork rights” and “fork lefts.” Here in Ormpetarr, the intersections were composed of four streets, not three. Each intersection offered three choices—straight ahead, right or left, but instead of saying “fork straight” the people of Ormpetarr grouped all of the straights together and simply gave a total. Arvin lost his way more than once but eventually got himself pointed in the right direction. He peered over his shoulder several times, making sure that Karrell was not following. Though he did catch sight of the same man twice—a tall man with gaunt, beard-stubbled cheeks—he saw no sign of Karrell.

The tall man, however, was cause for concern. Arvin had noticed him down on the docks earlier; it seemed improbable that the fellow would have taken exactly the same route as Arvin through the city. Convinced the fellow was a rogue, out to tumble a newcomer to the city—and well aware that where there was one rogue, there might be others—Arvin took an abrupt turn into a side street and activated his magical bracelet. He scuttled up a wall like a lizard, jogged across the rooftop and climbed down the other side of the building. Peeking around the corner, he spotted the tall man hesitating at the side street Arvin had just vanished from. As the fellow started down the street, Arvin hurried back up the main thoroughfare then turned into another street two blocks from the one the tall fellow was searching.

He continued for several blocks, sometimes walking with his cloak hood up, other times with it down. On streets where others were walking; he positioned himself immediately beside or behind them, giving the appearance that he was part of a larger group. On streets that were empty, he turned into doorways, pretending to be opening the door with a key but all the while keeping an eye on the street, searching for the tall man—or anyone who might be one of his accomplices.

At last, satisfied he’d given the rogue the slip, he started again for the ambassador’s residence.

It took him some time to find it, despite the cleric’s directions. Losing the rogue had thrown Arvin off; he had to double back and recount the blocks. It was quite late before he found the right section of town; the darkened streets were empty, and the temperature had dropped below freezing, making the streets slippery with ice.

Eventually he located the building he was looking for: a three-story residence that stretched from one street to another, the length of one of Ormpetarr’s blocks. He knew it must be the ambassador’s residence when he saw two members of Hlondeth’s militia—recognizable by their distinctive helmets, which were flared in the shape of a cobra’s hood—standing just inside the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the building. Arvin hailed them and explained that he’d come to meet with the ambassador.

“This late at night?” one of the men asked from behind the gate. He was an older, stocky man with a neat gray beard and hands crisscrossed with faded white scars: a career soldier.

Arvin spread his hands apologetically. “I was delayed.” He held up the letter of introduction Tanju had given him. Written by one of Lady Dediana’s scribes, the folded letter bore a dab of wax impressed with the insignia of House Extaminos: a mason’s chisel and a ship on either side of a wavy line that represented a serpent.

“Could you at least show Ambassador Extaminos this and ask if he’ll see me?”

The bearded militiaman held out a scarred hand; Arvin passed the letter through the bars. As he carried the letter inside the building, the second militiaman—a thin, young man with a prominent nose that was red with cold—stood by the gate, waiting. Arvin heard his teeth chattering.

“An unpleasant night to be stuck outside,” Arvin said. “I’ve never seen a winter this cold.”