Lisa Smedman - Viper's Kiss

The militiaman nodded. “It’s better than crewing a galley, though.” He glanced at Arvin’s face. “What happened to you?”

Arvin touched the wound on his cheek. The flesh was tender and bruised under the scab. He hadn’t shaved this morning and probably wouldn’t for the next few days, at least. “A riverboat accident,” he answered. “We were attacked by a nagas.”

The young militiaman’s eyes widened. “That’s what delayed you?” Before he could comment further, however, the other militiaman returned. “The ambassador will see you in the morning,” he announced, passing Arvin’s letter back.

“But I’ve traveled far,” Arvin protested. “And my business is urgent.”

“In the morning,” he said firmly.

Silently, Arvin cursed the thief who had delayed him. Baron Foesmasher was expecting Arvin to show up at the palace tomorrow morning, and—so Arvin had heard—the baron wasn’t a man who liked to be kept waiting. Arvin had hoped to question Dmetrio this evening. If Dmetrio was sleepy, so much the better. It would be easier for Arvin to manifest a charm on him.

“I realize it’s late,” Arvin said, manifesting a charm on the bearded militiaman even as he spoke. “But I won’t have time to come back in the morning. I just need a quick word with the ambassador, and I’ll be on my way.” He smiled and drew the coin pouch from his boot. “I realize he’ll be angry at you for annoying him a second time, but I can make it worth your while. Please let me speak with him. Tonight.”

The bearded militiaman tilted his head—then shook it, like a man shaking himself awake. “No,” he said firmly.

Arvin swore under his breath. The bearded man’s mind must have been as tough as the rest of him.

The younger man stared greedily at Arvin’s coin pouch. “Sergeant,” he said in a low voice. “Couldn’t we just—”

“That’s enough, Rillis,” The sergeant placed a hand on his sword hilt and stared at Arvin through the gate. “The merchant can come back at a civilized hour of the morning… or not at all.”

Arvin let his hand fall away from his pouch. “In the morning, then,” he said with a sigh. Then, “Could you at least tell me where to find a reputable inn?”

The next morning, Arvin rose well before dawn. He dressed in his better clothes and ate a quick meal of fried cheese and thick-crusted bread. He waved away the ale the innkeeper offered; he wanted a clear head for this morning’s work.

As he stepped outside the inn, the air bit at his lungs, crisp and cold. The sky to the east was turning a faint pink behind the clouds. It had snowed overnight; a few flakes were still falling from the sky. Snow crunched beneath Arvin’s boots as he strode past merchants opening the shutters of their shops, boys kindling fires in the stoves of their mulled-wine carts, and men carrying heavy sacks on their backs as they made early-morning deliveries to the shops and homes in this part of the city. These men were doing the work of slaves, yet not one of them had an S-brand on his cheek.

Arvin had heard that, while slavery existed in Sespech, it was an uncommon practice. Those slaves who did exist within the barony had been brought to Sespech by their masters. Hearing this and seeing it with his own eyes, however, were two different things. It felt odd to be walking along streets populated by free men. It was odder still to have no viaducts arching above—to be on a street that was open to the sky. For perhaps the first time in his life, Arvin walked without the slight hunch that a human in Hlondeth automatically adopted—the tensing of shoulders and neck that came with the constant awareness of the yuan-ti slithering along the viaducts overhead. He felt lighter, somehow, more sure of himself, relaxed.

He smiled.

The smile vanished as something sharp pricked through the fabric of his cloak and shirt, jabbing his back. A hand on his shoulder turned him toward a doorway.

“Inside,” gritted the man behind him.

Arvin risked turning his head slightly. The tall rogue from last night had the hood of his cloak pulled up, but Arvin recognized him by his gaunt, stubbled-cheeks. “My pouch is in my boot,” Arvin told him, gesturing at his coin pouch; as soon as the fellow bent for it, Arvin would draw his dagger and stab backhanded through his cloak, giving the rogue a nasty surprise. He put a quaver in his voice. “Please don’t hurt me. Just take my coin and go.”

The rogue pressed the sharp object—most likely a dagger—into Arvin’s back. The blade was icy cold; the flesh around the wound immediately began to ache.

“One thrust, and it will freeze your flesh,” the man promised in a grim voice. “I don’t think you’d survive long with your entrails turned to ice.” He gave Arvin a slight shove. “Now… inside.”

“Listen, friend,” Arvin began, raising his hands so the rogue could see them. He’d use silent speech to show the fellow that he, too, was Guild, albeit from Hlondeth, then hit him with a charm. “I’m one of—”

The dagger pricked harder, drawing a gasp of pain from Arvin. It felt as though a needle of ice were being driven into his back.

“No tricks,” the rogue gritted. “There’s others watching—others with weapons who will take you down if I fall. One suspicious move, mind mage, and you’re a dead man.”

Arvin blinked. How did the rogue know he was a psion? Arvin knew better than to look around. The threat would be genuine; rogues almost never worked alone. “What do you want?” he asked.

“To talk,” the rogue answered.

“All right,” Arvin said. “Let’s talk.” He reached for the handle of the door and opened it.

As he stepped inside what turned out to be cooper’s workshop, he braced himself for what was to come. Someone in the local rogues’ guild must have heard that a member of the Hlondeth Guild was in Sespech. The locals probably wanted to learn what Arvin was doing here—to make sure he wasn’t planning on thieving on their turf. Arvin balled his left hand into a fist and felt the familiar ache of his missing fingertip. He didn’t intend to lose another.

The rogue removed the dagger from Arvin’s back and stepped quickly away from him, closing the door. The weapon was an odd-looking one, made of metal as white as frost and with a spike-shaped blade that tapered to a point, like an icicle. The rogue sheathed it—a bad sign. It meant that the room held other, more potent threats.

Arvin glanced around. The workshop looked ordinary enough; half-finished barrels stood on the floor, next to loose piles of metal hoops. The smell of fresh-sawn wood lingered in the air, suggesting the workshop had been used recently. Chisels, saws, and mallets were scattered about; Arvin could have turned any one of them into a surprise weapon using the power that allowed him to move objects at a distance. He refrained, however, realizing that the tall man probably wasn’t the only rogue in the room. His guess was confirmed a moment later when some sawdust on the floor shifted slightly; a second person, cloaked by invisibility, was also present. The tall man confirmed this a moment later, with two words in the silent speech, directed at his invisible companion: None followed.

Arvin shifted his eyes away from the spot where the invisible person stood, looking at the tall man instead. “What do you want to talk about?”

“We know the baron’s daughter is missing and that you’ve come from Hlondeth to find her,” the rogue said.

Only through years of practice did Arvin manage to prevent his eyes from widening. This wasn’t what he’d expected.

“We want to make you an offer,” the rogue continued.

Arvin raised an eyebrow. “One that’s just too good to refuse?”