Lisa Smedman - Viper's Kiss

“There you are,” Zelia said to Naneth, gesturing at Arvin and Karrell. “The girl. As promised.”

Naneth thanked her with a silent nod then walked briskly toward them.

A second faint pop sounded, right next to Arvin. Relief swept through him as he saw the newcomer’s red cloak and brightly polished breastplate, emblazoned with the eye of Helm.

“The baron’s daughter!” Arvin gasped, shifting Karrell so the cleric could see her face. “She’s in danger.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Naneth break into a run. For a large woman, she moved surprisingly fast. “Detain that man!” she screamed. “He’s an agent of Chondath. He’s kidnapping the baron’s daughter.”

The cleric frowned then raised his gauntlet, turning the eye on its palm toward Arvin.

Arvin answered the question before the cleric even asked it. “I serve Lord Foesmasher,” he said. As he spoke, a tingle swept through him: the gauntlet’s truth-enforcing magic. He jerked his head at Naneth. “That woman’s a sorcerer—an enemy of Foesmasher.”

Naneth’s hands were up, her fingers weaving a spell.

“Teleport us to the palace,” Arvin shouted. “Now!” The cleric had been summoning his weapon—a mace-shaped glow that had half-materialized in his fist. The glow vanished, and he clamped a hand on Arvin’s wrist.

As he did, Naneth completed her spell. In the area next to the dais, up suddenly became down. Arvin fell into the air, legs flailing. Karrell tumbled from his arms. The cleric was still holding onto Arvin’s wrist and was praying—a prayer Arvin recognized, though he’d heard it only once before, when the yuan-ti ambassador had been teleported away by the clerics in Mimph.

“Wait!” Arvin shouted. With his free hand, he twisted violently, trying to catch Karrell. He caught hold of her ankle as he had a dizzying glimpse of Naneth on the dais below, casting another spell while Zelia hissed furiously, manifesting a power.

Tendrils of thought wiggled their way into his mind like tiny serpents. Hissing, they slithered through his mind, tearing with their fangs at his thoughts. He felt his mind begin to fray, and with each strand that parted, his body became weaker. One leg went limp, his left arm suddenly stopped responding to his thoughts, his head lolled back on a weakened neck—and the fingers of his right hand, the one that was gripping Karrell’s ankle, grew limp as severed strings. He tried to keep hold of her, but felt his fingers slipping, slipping….

Naneth gloated up at him, reaching for Karrell with her pudgy fingers, while Zelia hissed with laughter.

“No,” Arvin gasped. With his last bit of strength, he forced his thumb and one finger to close around Karrell’s ankle—just as Zelia hit him with a massive thrust of psionic energy that smashed into his mind like a fist. Reeling, still falling upward, he caught a glimpse of her savoring his defeat with her forked tongue.

And the street vanished as the cleric teleported Arvin away.

Arvin groaned and rolled over. He ached in several places, there were sharp pains in his side and along his left arm, and his mind felt as though it were full of holes—the aftermath of Zelia’s psionic attack.

The memory jolted him fully awake.

Karrell! Had she —

He looked wildly around. He was in the same chapel in which he had spoken to Foesmasher two nights ago—inside the palace. Relief rushed through him as he spotted Karrell farther along the bench he was lying on, just beyond his feet. The effects of the magical powder had worn off; she looked like herself again. She’d been teleported back with him. She was safe.

He touched the crystal at his neck. “Nine lives,” he whispered. He glanced around, but saw they were alone in the room. Oddly, the cleric who had teleported them here had just left them. Or perhaps it was not so odd, given the events that were unfolding elsewhere in the palace. Arvin wondered if Glisena had given birth yet.

Karrell’s chin was on her chest, her body slumped with exhaustion. She seemed to be sleeping, albeit restlessly. Her fingers twitched, as if plucking at something. Then she groaned in her sleep.

Fear swept through Arvin then, chilling him like an icy wind. Was Karrell having a nightmare—one drawn from the dark pit of Zelia’s memories? Fingers trembling, he nudged her awake.

Karrell’s eyes flew open. “Arvin! You have recovered. The cleric assured me you would, but I was worried, even so. He told me that I had been drugged, that Naneth had attacked you and—”

Arvin pulled her closer to him and anxiously ran his fingers over her temples, her hair, searching for traces of ectoplasm. He found none, but that meant nothing. If she had been seeded, it had been done some time ago.

“What are you doing?” Karrell asked.

“Did you meet with Zelia?”

Karrell pulled away, a wary expression on her face. “I said nothing that would give you away. My ring prevented her from learning about you.”

“That doesn’t matter—not now,” Arvin said. He laughed bitterly. “Zelia knows I’m alive. She showed up at the inn, just as I was carrying you out. She saw me.” He winced and rubbed his aching head. “She nearly killed me.”

Karrell glanced away. She was silent for several moments. “I am sorry,” she said at last.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to help me now,” Arvin said. He shook his head. “What in the Abyss were you thinking?”

Karrell met his eye. “That Zelia might know where Sibyl is hiding. And I was right. She—”

“Damn it, Karrell,” Arvin exploded. “Zelia might have seeded you.”

“Yes,” Karrell said gravely. “I know. But it was a calculated risk. You found a way to root out a mind seed once before; I was confident in your ability to do it again, if need be.” Then her voice lowered. “I just wish you had an equal confidence in me.”

Arvin sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Were you dreaming just now?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “Why?”

“Was the dream….” He searched for the right word. He had found Zelia’s memories foreign, disturbing—but perhaps Karrell wouldn’t. She was a yuan-ti, after all, and female. “Did it seem to be a memory from someone else’s life?”

“Ah. You are still worried about the mind seed. No, it was not Zelia’s dream. It was one I have been having for many months. A troubling dream, in which I am bound tightly and cannot escape.”

“Your own dream, then,” Arvin said, feeling slightly relieved.

“No, not mine. Not mine alone.”

“What do you mean?” Arvin asked sharply.

Karrell tilted her head and stared at the window. Pale winter sunlight shone through the stained glass, causing the blue-and-gold eye of Helm to glow. “I have talked to other yuan-ti. Many of us have been having troubling dreams. Dreams of someone who is embracing us who will not let go, or of being bound by ropes, or even—most strange, for a yuan-ti—of being a mouse, held tight by a serpent. No one knows what they mean. Not even Zelia.”

Arvin nodded, completely at a loss. Whatever the dreams meant, they had little to do with their immediate problem. “If you start having strange thoughts while you’re awake, tell me,” he said. “Or strange dreams—stranger than the ones you’ve just described, I mean.”

“I will,” Karrell said with a grave nod. Then she said, “Tell me what happened. How did I come to be drugged?”

Arvin told her about the two rogues who hoped to sell “Glisena” to Chondath, about finding her unconscious in the room at the inn, and about trying to carry “Glisena” back to the palace, only to be confronted by Naneth. He also told her about their narrow escape, thanks to the cleric.