Lisa Smedman: Viper's Kiss

The dwarf’s feet crunched in the snow as he walked back to open the door of the wagon. “Slavers,” he said as Arvin climbed down from the wagon. “From Nimpeth.” He pointed across the river at the far shore. “They have their own boats. Sleek and fast.”

Arvin caught Karrell’s eye as she rose and gathered up her bag. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “If the slavers do attack, there will be more than just crossbows to stop them. I’m armed with a magical weapon—and I’m very capable in a fight.”

Karrell gave him a bemused glance. She swept back her cloak, revealing an ironwood club, with a knobbed, fist-sized ball at one end, that hung from her belt. “So am I.”

Arvin’s eyebrows rose. “But you’re—”

She stared down at him, eyes narrowed. “A woman?”

“No,” Arvin said quickly. “I mean yes. You’re clearly a woman.” He realized he was staring not at her weapon, but at the curves the drawn-back cloak had revealed—at weapons of a different sort. “And there are lots of women in the Guil—” He caught himself just in time and took a deep breath. “I meant that you’re… an artist,” he finished lamely.

“And you, so you say, are a rope merchant’s agent,” she said, giving the final word a slight emphasis, as if to imply she thought he was an agent of a different sort.

Arvin swore to himself. What had he been thinking, bragging to this woman? To a complete stranger. She might have been anyone—even a spy from Chondath. She seemed to have guessed that he was more than he was pretending to be, but then, so was she. Arvin glanced at her bag. It didn’t look big enough to hold an artist’s ink pots, quills, and scroll tubes. Even so, he had a feeling he could trust her.

A gust of wind caught his cloak, and he shivered. The inn the wagon had stopped in front of was two stories tall, with walls made of roughly squared logs and a roof whose eaves were crusted with icicles. A signboard hanging above the front door was painted with a picture of a snakelike creature winding its way through submerged river grass. The door opened briefly as a man—one of the sailors from the riverboats, carrying a hand crossbow—exited the inn and headed for the piers. The smell of stew flavored with winter sage and onions drifted out in his wake.

The dwarf grunted and marched back to the hitching post, his feet crunching in the snow. “I need to rub down my animals,” he grunted. “When you’re done chatting.” He untied the reins and stared pointedly at the stable that adjoined the inn.

Karrell nodded. “Of course.” She stepped down from the wagon, glanced up at the inn’s signboard, and picked her way gracefully toward the door.

Arvin trailed after her. “You’re taking a room here?”

Karrell nodded.

“Maybe we could share it,” he suggested. “To save some coin.”

She paused, one hand on the door latch, and tilted her head. “We have only just met. Perhaps once you have introduced me to Ambassador Extaminos “

Arvin nodded eagerly. Then he realized something. Once he got to Ormpetarr, he was going to be busy with his mission. And he didn’t think he could wait until then. Karrell was an amazing woman, as quick-witted as she was beautiful. If he didn’t win her over now, someone else surely would.

Karrell opened the door, releasing a gust of warm, savory-scented air that was thick with conversation. At least two dozen people were inside. Several glanced up from their meals as the door opened. More than one man raised his eyebrows appreciatively or whistled under his breath at the sight of Karrell.

“Listen,” Arvin said, desperate now. He dropped his voice to a low, confiding whisper. “I won’t have time to spend with you once we reach Ormpetarr. I’ll be too busy. You were right—I’m not really here to sell rope. I actually came to Sespech to find someone. She—”

The words froze in his throat as he saw who was seated at one of the tables. A woman with long red hair, slit eyes, and skin freckled with green scales. She lifted from her plate what looked like a raw egg that was still in its shell, swallowed it whole, and licked her lips with a forked blue tongue.

For the space of several heartbeats, Arvin stood rooted to the spot, unable to breathe. The chill that filled him was colder than the thickest ice.

Zelia—here?

She glanced up.

Arvin jerked back, putting the half-opened door between himself and Zelia. He stared at Karrell, who was hesitating in the doorway. Suddenly, Arvin saw her in a new light. The flame of desire that had almost driven him to confide his mission to her had been snuffed out the instant he’d spotted Zelia. He recognized it now for what it was—a magical compulsion.

He’d been charmed by Karrell. And she’d led him straight to Zelia.

Or… had she? Karrell glanced once at Arvin, then back through the open door, her eyes ranging over those within. She obviously realized that Arvin had spotted someone inside the inn who terrified him—but she’d made no move to force him inside. Instead she had a thoughtful expression on her face.

She wasn’t in league with Zelia. But if Arvin didn’t act quickly, she’d give him away.

“Go on,” Arvin said, flicking his hands at Karrell, frantically motioning her inside. Sharing a room with her was the last thing on his mind now. “This place looks too expensive. I’ll find a room somewhere else.”

Karrell frowned. “Will I see you in the morning?”

“Perhaps,” Arvin said. “If not, safe journey.” He turned and walked swiftly away. Thank the gods that it was dark. The night’s gloom hid his face—and, most important, the lapis lazuli on his forehead. He spoke the word that would loosen it and peeled it from his skin. Then he vanished it inside his magical glove. He ducked around the corner of the building, his heart still pounding at his narrow escape. Why hadn’t the sixth sense that had been plaguing him, ever since he’d begun a serious study of psionics under Tanju, given him any warning that the person he most feared was lurking within the inn? All his premonitions could do, it seemed, was give him unsettling glimpses of the dangers that other people faced. The vision he’d had on the ship—of a sailor falling from the ratlines and snapping his neck on the deck below—was a prime example.

Keeping low to avoid being spotted through the inn’s windows, he made his way to the rear of the building. What now?

Every instinct screamed at him to flee, to put as much distance between himself and Zelia as possible. Should he steal a wagon and return to Mimph? Or maybe try for Fort Arran? He stared at the falling snow and realized he would only get lost in the darkness.

No, there were only two ways out: as a passenger on one of the wagons back to Mimph or on tomorrow morning’s riverboat. Either way, he’d have to be careful not to be spotted. If by wagon, he could hide overnight in the stables then board at the last moment after making certain Zelia wasn’t also catching a wagon back to Mimph. Bundled in a heavy blanket, he’d be indistinguishable from any other passenger. There was always the risk that some stable hand or driver would find him in the stables, but he could give the simple excuse of not having enough coin for an inn, and charm the fellow into agreeing to let him sleep in a stall.

If by riverboat, he’d also have to find a way to board without Zelia seeing him.

Two men were approaching—the sailors who had been mounting the repeating crossbows on the boat earlier. Fortunately, the snow was still falling. Screened by its mottled white curtain, Arvin stepped into the shadows at the rear of the Eelgrass Inn and watched the men enter another of the inns. He glanced at the boat they’d just come from. Of the dozen tied up to the piers, it was the only one with a guard—Arvin could see him moving on the boat’s raised stern, beside a dull red glow that must be a brazier. The guard obviously wasn’t going anywhere, which meant the riverboat had cargo loaded on board. It was the one that would sail in the morning. It would be an easy matter for Arvin to use his psionics to distract the guard then slip into the hold and hide. That would ensure that Zelia wouldn’t see him. Then, with Tymora’s blessing, Arvin would be on his way to Ormpetarr. Zelia would never even know that he’d nearly blundered into the inn where she was staying.