Lisa Smedman - Viper's Kiss

“Is your forest far from here?” Arvin prompted.

“Why ask you this?” the satyr asked suspiciously.

“That is, I’m assuming you live in a forest,” Arvin added hurriedly, realizing he’d almost given himself away. “For all I know you have a house here in Ormpetarr. If your woman was ill with a fever, you would naturally seek out the closest midwife who could—”

The satyr’s eyes narrowed. I never told him the female had a fewer.

Arvin had only the briefest flicker of a warning before the satyr leaped forward and up just enough to let Arvin twist aside as horns slammed into his forehead. Hot sparks of pain exploded across Arvin’s vision as he was knocked backward. Stunned, barely conscious, he dimly heard the satyr running away. He rolled over onto his stomach and pressed his face into the snow. The cold revived him a little, took away some of the sting. But when he sat up, the alley spun dizzily around him. By the time he was able to stagger to his feet, the satyr was long gone. Arvin stood, one hand against a wall, the other holding his pounding head. For the second time in a single evening, he’d seriously misjudged someone.

The monkey’s fist lay in the snow near his feet. He picked it up, brushed it clean, and shoved it back into his pocket. His finger brushed against a small, hard object: the lapis lazuli, tucked safely inside a hidden seam. He considered using it to ask Tanju for advice, but he knew what the psion would say. He’d tell Arvin to use the dorje to track the satyr—and Arvin would be forced to admit that the magical item had broken. Hearing this, Tanju might insist on coming to Sespech and conducting the search for the baron’s daughter himself. And Arvin would be out of a job.

There was, however, still a chance that the situation could be salvaged. If the satyr could be found and questioned, Arvin might yet learn where Glisena was.

Touching the stone to his forehead, he formed a mental image of Baron Foesmasher. It took only a moment for the baron to become solid in his mind’s eye; he was leaning over a table, barking orders and gesturing at something that was spread out on the table before him. He started as Arvin interrupted whatever it was he’d just been saying.

The sending allowed Arvin only a few words. He chose them carefully. “A satyr knows where Glisena is. He just fled from Naneth’s house. He’s wearing a green hooded cloak. We need to find him.”

The baron regained his composure instantly. “Return to the palace,” he ordered. “At once.”

Arvin nodded his acknowledgement then tucked the lapis lazuli back in his pocket. Now that he knew that Sibyl’s minions were involved, he felt a newfound resolution. He would find Glisena. He wouldn’t allow Sibyl to claim another victim.

Rubbing his aching forehead—a lump was already starting to rise over his right eye—he turned and trudged back to the palace.

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.”