Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [108]
Nine lives, he thought to himself, adding a silent prayer of thanks to Tymora.
The yuan-ti’s attention was fully focused on the sphere, which was filled with what looked like a twisting filament of smoke. This slowly resolved into a solid form-a black serpent with the face of a woman, four humanlike arms and enormous wings folded against her back. As the winged serpent peered this way and that with eyes the color of dark-red flame, tasting the air with her tongue, Arvin made sure he remained utterly still, his eyes open only to slits. Then the winged serpent turned her head toward Karshis, as if she’d suddenly spotted him. Her voice, sounding far away and thin, rose from the sphere. “Speak,” she hissed.
Karshis wet his lips. “A problem has arisen,” he said. “A human spy has discovered the hiding place of the clerics. Fortunately, we captured him.”
“A human?” the black serpent asked scornfully. Her wings shifted, as if in irritation.
“He says he was sent by a yuan-ti who calls herself Zelia. She may be a serphidian of House Extaminos.”
Though the word was foreign, Arvin recognized it as one of the titles used by the priests of Sseth. He suddenly realized that the entire conversation between Karshis and Sibyl was being conducted in Draconic-a language he didn’t speak. Zelia spoke it, however. And the mind seed-a familiar throbbing behind Arvin’s temples-allowed Arvin to understand it.
“Shall we abandon our plan?” Karshis asked.
The winged serpent inside the sphere fell silent for several moments. “No,” she said at last. “We will move more swiftly. Tell the clerics to abandon the crematorium-”
“It has already been done. They have scattered into the sewers.”
“-And to prepare to receive the potion tomorrow night.”
“That soon?” Karshis exclaimed. “But surely it will take more time than that to replace Osran. We haven’t-”
“You dare question your god?” the winged serpent spat, her voice low and menacing.
“Most assuredly not, oh Sibilant Death,” Karshis groveled. Both of his secondary heads hissed as he twined his arms together. “This humble member of your blessed ones simply expresses aloud the confusion and uncertainty that inhabits his own worthless skin. Forgive me.”
“Foolish one,” she hissed back. “Sseth never forgives. But your soul will be spared a descent into the Abyss-for now. There’s still work ahead. See that it is done well. The barrel will be delivered to the rotting field at Middark. When it arrives, be sure the Pox save a little of the ‘plague’ for themselves. After tomorrow night, we’ll have no further use for them.”
“What of the spy?” Karshis asked.
“Kill it.”
Arvin’s heart thudded in his chest.
“But find the serphidian first,” Sibyl continued. “If she has disappeared into some hole, use the human as bait to lure her out again.”
“Yes, Great Serpent,” Karshis answered, bending his flexible upper torso into a convoluted bow. “I will set our spies in motion. She will be found.”
The image inside the sphere dissolved into a coil of dark mist then was gone.
As Karshis rose from the table and lifted the sphere out of the statuette’s mouth, Arvin closed his eyes fully and made sure his breathing was even, slow, and deep. Soft footsteps approached. Karshis prodded him in the ribs with a foot then continued across the room. Arvin heard a key rattle in a lock, the groan of hinges as a door opened and closed, and a click as the door was locked again.
He waited for several moments then opened his eyes. He spoke a command word and the stone coils that bound his wrists and ankles turned back into braided hair and fell to the carpet. Arvin sat up, quickly coiled it, and stuffed it into a pocket.
Tymora willing, he would get out of here-wherever here was.
Crossing to the door, Arvin inspected it carefully. He didn’t want to fall victim to another glyph like the one Nicco had used. This door, however, appeared unmarked. Reaching for his belt buckle, Arvin bent down and