Lisa Smedman: Viper's Kiss

None of the people in the small plaza that surrounded the statue came to the aid of the blinded boy—thieves must have been as despised in this city as they were in Hlondeth. And yuan-ti must have been just as greatly feared. The humans had parted to let the angry yuan-ti pass, though Arvin noted they weren’t lowering their gazes. Instead they stared at the yuan-ti, faint smiles quirking their lips, as if expecting something to happen.

They didn’t have long to wait. The young rogue, hearing the rustle of the yuan-ti’s tunic and cloak against the ground, spun in place then leaped. His jump carried him up onto the ankle-high dais, where he crashed into the gauntlet. He clung to it like a drowning man clutching a log as the yuan-ti reared above him, savoring his terror. A drop of venom fell from his fangs onto the boy’s hair. Amazingly, though the young rogue flinched, he did not move.

Arvin manifested his charm.

The yuan-ti cocked his head, as if listening to a distant sound, then shook it.

“Mager yuan-ti!” Arvin called in as obsequious a tone as he could manage, sorry that he hadn’t bothered to ask the yuan-ti his name during their day-and-a-half-long voyage across the Reach. “You’re needed back at the ship. The crew aren’t certain which trunks are yours. Don’t waste your time on this boy. You got your jewelry case back. All’s well now, friend.”

The yuan-ti stared at Arvin for several heartbeats while flakes of snow drifted down between them. His lips twitched in a sneer. “Friend?” he asked.

“Damn,” Arvin muttered. Quickly, he spoke the command word that made the dagger reappear in his gloved fist. He started to raise it—but a man beside him caught his arm. The fellow—a large man in a food-stained apron, his lack of a cloak indicating he’d stepped out of a building to watch the fight—shook his head. “No need, stranger,” he whispered. “The gauntlet will provide sanctuary.”

While Arvin was still trying to get his arm free—the man beside him might have been stout, but he had a grip tight as a coiled serpent—the yuan-ti lashed out at the rogue, fangs bared.

Halfway through his lunge the yuan-ti jerked to a halt. He strained for several moments against an unseen force, his body quivering, then slowly drew back. He studied the rogue for a moment, swaying back and forth, and glanced at the gauntlet. Then he reached down to grab the young rogue’s ankles.

It was clear to Arvin what the yuan-ti intended—to drag the boy away from the gauntlet, which obviously was providing some sort of magical protection. But once again, the yuan-ti jerked to a halt, his grasping fingers just shy of the rogue’s ankle. The yuan-ti shook for a moment in silent rage, and his face flushed red where it was not covered by scales.

A woman in the crowd chuckled.

The yuan-ti spun and lashed out at her instead.

Screaming, she jerked away, clutching her shoulder. She tried to get to the gauntlet, but the yuan-ti slithered into her path, cutting her off. The crowd, suddenly fearful, broke apart. Several people shouted, and some ran.

The young rogue, still gripping the gauntlet, turned his head from side to side, trying to hear what was happening through all the commotion.

Arvin felt the hand fall away from his arm. He still held his dagger but was jostled by the panicked crowd and could not get a clear throw. Too many people were between him and the yuan-ti—but the crowd was quickly thinning.

The woman who had been bitten, her face pale, backed up until she was against a building then stared with wide eyes at the yuan-ti. “No!” she moaned, her hands clasped in front of her. “Please, no.” The yuan-ti’s first bite must have failed to penetrate her thick cloak, but his second one wouldn’t. The yuan-ti’s head wove back and forth, his eyes fixed on her bare hands. If Arvin didn’t act swiftly, an innocent woman would die.

Just as the crowd thinned and Arvin raised his dagger, a deep male voice shouted from somewhere to the right. “Hold!” it cried.

Arvin caused the dagger to vanish back into his enchanted glove and turned, but the command wasn’t for him. The two armored men who had appeared in the plaza from out of nowhere had their eyes firmly locked on the yuan-ti. Both wore breastplates of brightly polished steel, each emblazoned with the blue eye that marked them as clerics of Helm. Their helmets were without visors, leaving their faces bare. Crimson cloaks hung from their shoulders. Their gauntleted fists were empty; amazingly, neither seemed to be armed.

“You,” one of the clerics ordered, pointing at the yuan-ti. “Step away from that woman.”

The yuan-ti turned slowly. His lips twitched into a false smile, the effect of which was spoiled by the forked tongue that flickered in and out of his mouth. “I was robbed,” he said. He pointed at the young rogue. “By that human.”

The second cleric strode over to where the young rogue knelt and took hold of the boy’s cloak, dragging him to his feet. “Did you steal from this….” The cleric hesitated, then glanced at the yuan-ti as if uncertain what to call him. “From this gentleman?” he concluded.

The rogue shook his head, but the cleric raised his left hand, turning the eye on the palm of his gauntlet toward the boy. The boy nodded. “Yes,” he said in a broken voice. “I stole from him. But I gave back what I took. And he blinded me.”

The crowd, recovered from its earlier panic, drifted back into the plaza. The yuan-ti drew himself up, imperiously wrapping his cloak around himself. “Take the human away,” he ordered, pointing at the rogue. “Throw him in the pit.” He began to slither back to the ship.

“Not so fast,” the first cleric said, stepping between the yuan-ti and the stairs. He turned to the woman the yuan-ti had been menacing. “Did he harm you, miss?”

Before the young woman could speak, the yuan-ti gave an irritated hiss. “Step aside,” he told the cleric. “Step aside, human, or it will go badly for you. I am an important person. I will not be trifled with. Step… aside.”

Arvin felt the hairs on his arms raise, as if he’d just shivered. Once again, the yuan-ti was using his innate magic—this time, in an attempt to bend the cleric to his will. In another moment the cleric would either step obediently aside—or would feel the sharp sting of the yuan-ti’s bite.

Ignoring the yuan-ti’s order, the cleric raised his gauntlet and turned its eye toward the woman. He stood, waiting for her answer.

“He bit me,” she replied. “By Helm’s grace, my cloak stopped his fangs. If it hadn’t, I’d be….” She shuddered, unable to say the word.

The spectators crowded forward, calling out to the two clerics.

“I saw the whole thing….”

“The boy did give the jewelry case back….”

“The yuan-ti spat in his eyes….”

“It was a silver case. It’s in the serpent man’s pocket….”

The yuan-ti’s eyes darted right then left. Slowly he raised his hand. Acid trickled down his palm; he was about to use the same trick he’d used to blind the rogue. Arvin opened his mouth to call out a warning—

No need. The cleric neatly sidestepped the flick of acid. A weapon appeared in his fist—a translucent mace that glowed with an intense white light. He used it to knock the yuan-ti’s hand aside. The blow was no more than a light tap, but as soon as the mace touched the yuan-ti, his body became rigid. He stood, paralyzed, his eyes wide, the tips of his forked tongue protruding from his mouth, so still and silent that Arvin wondered if he was still breathing.

The cleric’s glowing mace disappeared.

“That’ll teach him,” the man beside Arvin said—the fellow who had grabbed his arm earlier.