Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [110]
Out of long habit, he raised a hand to his throat to touch his bead then remembered it wasn’t there. “Nine lives,” he whispered, shoving the stone back into his pocket.
Then he picked up his dagger and rose to his feet. The door was unlocked and open-and the hallway it opened onto was silent. No one, it seemed, had heard the sounds of the fight.
Arvin whispered a prayer of thanks to Tymora. He’d really have to fill her cup this time. But there was much he had to do, first. He had to rescue Naulg… and find Nicco.
But not necessarily in that order.
CHAPTER 18
28 Kythorn, Morning
In his dream, Arvin stared at the wemic who stood before him, flexing his muscles. The creature was magnificent, his body that of a lion and covered in lustrous golden fur, his upper torso that of a human. The wemic’s face was a blend of both: human in overall appearance, but framed by a mane of coal-black hair and with pupils that were vertical slits. His long tail swished back and forth behind him, fanning the grass that stretched in an unbroken plain to the distant mountains.
“How does it feel,” Arvin asked, his forked tongue flickering in and out of his mouth as he spoke, “to occupy that body?”
In answer, the wemic threw back his head and roared then flexed his forepaws, rending the earth with his claws. “Powerful,” he replied, throwing a low growl into the word.
“And your psionics?” Arvin asked.
The wemic squatted, placing his human hands on the ground, then slowly bent his human torso backward. He held the pose for a time then balanced awkwardly on his front paws and raised his hindquarters into the air, tail lashing wildly as he sought to maintain the asana. He went through the entire series of asanas-slowly and clumsily, making up in brute strength what he lacked in balance and flexibility-and was panting by the time he had finished.
“I’ve lost some of the powers you had when you created me,” the wemic answered at last. “The more powerful ones are gone.”
Arvin gave a soft hiss of satisfaction. “Keep that in mind,” he told the wemic. “And remember what happened to the seed who tried to defy me with what she retained.”
The wemic, which shared the memory of the first seed-the dwarf whose mind Arvin had squeezed into a pulp by a psychic crush-nodded slowly.
“Events have progressed swiftly over the past seven days,” Arvin told the wemic. “Garrnau has been padding about, insisting that she be the delegate to the Three Cities. She felt that you have been too… preoccupied over the past few days to present the Ten-Paw tribe’s case clearly. She will need to be dealt with. And there has been a communication from Lady Dediana. She thought it might be amusing if you were to be caught in the act of devouring one of Lord Quwen’s horses-especially if it was the racing stallion she sent him two days ago, as a truce offering.”
The wemic threw back his head and gave a roaring laugh. It was followed, incongruously enough, with a satisfied hiss. “All of Ormath will spring for their saddles and swords,” he said. “To protect their precious herds from-”
“Yes,” Arvin said. “And Hlondeth will have one less bothersome neighbor.”
The wemic leveled a stare at Arvin. “And what of me… afterward?”
Arvin smiled. “Cast your memory back to the elf-seed in Xorhun, and the lizardman-seed in Surkh. Did I abandon them?”
The wemic shook his head. “No.” A guarded look crept into his eyes. “As of seven days ago, you had not.”
Arvin laid a palm against the wemic’s broad chest and let his fingers slide seductively through the downy chest hair. “In fact,” Arvin murmured, his flickering tongue tasting the lionlike musk that hung heavy in the air, “in