Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [116]
This brought a murmur of surprise from the rebels.
“-and the yuan-ti who is Karshis’s superior: an abomination named Sibyl. She’s delivering the transformative potion to the cultists tonight, and I know where that delivery is going to take place. All of the cultists will be together in one place. If you want to finish what you started, tonight may be your only chance.”
Gonthril reached into his pocket and withdrew a silver ring-the one that compelled the truth. “Tell me how you know this,” he said, handing it to Arvin.
Arvin put on the ring then recapped what had happened in the crematorium, reciting from memory the conversation he’d overheard between Karshis and Sibyl. “It took me a while to figure out which field they must have been talking about,” he said. “The Pox like to use places associated with disease: the sewers, the closed slaughterhouse, the crematorium. The ‘rotting’ field is the one that lies trampled and burned. The field used for last year’s Rotting Dance.”
Chorl, standing beside Gonthril, listened with narrowed eyes. “An open field,” he grumbled, “with no place to hide. If this is an ambush, we’ll be cut down like ripe wheat.”
The rebels muttered; Gonthril silenced them with a curt gesture. “Arvin has told us the truth,” he told them. “Tonight may be our only chance to save our people. It’s worth the risk; we’ll send someone ahead to scout the field, and the rest of us will wait here until just before Middark. In order to prevent information from… slipping out again, Arvin will remain here with us, under guard.” He turned to Arvin. “Agreed?”
Arvin wet his lips. “Agreed,” he said.
Gonthril held out a hand and the ring was suddenly loose on Arvin’s finger. Arvin took it off and passed it back to him.
As the rebels clustered around Gonthril, talking, Nicco led Arvin aside. Arvin dropped his voice to a whisper, and spoke urgently to the cleric. “I’ve given the rebels what they need,” he reminded Nicco. “Now how about that restorative prayer?”
Nicco shook his head. “I’m going to need all of the blessings Hoar has bestowed upon me for tonight’s work. There are more than a dozen people who must be rendered invisible-not to mention bestowed with protective blessings-and other prayers will be needed. Once we have dealt with the cultists-”
“But that won’t be until Middark! “ Arvin protested. “And tomorrow will be the seventh day since the mind seed was planted. It could blossom as soon as Middark turns. By making me wait, you’re condemning me to-”
“I condemn you to nothing,” Nicco flared. “I have promised you a restorative prayer, and you shall receive it-when I am ready. Until then, you are in Hoar’s hands. If it is his will that the mind seed blossom at the turn of Middark, it may blossom. But I think that it will not. Hoar showed you mercy once, already, in the pit. He will surely continue to do so.”
Arvin nodded glumly. His own clever trick was working against him. Nicco might be convinced that Hoar favored Arvin, but Arvin himself knew otherwise. He reached to touch the bead at his throat then remembered it wasn’t there any more. He thrust a hand into his pocket instead, clenching the power stone in his fist.
“Nine lives,” he muttered.
Then he stood and watched-and waited and fretted-as Nicco, Gonthril, and the rebels conferred with each other, laying plans for tonight’s ambush.
28 Kythorn, Evening
Arvin squatted next to a low stone wall, staring at the field it enclosed. The Rotting Dance had been held eight months ago, at Highharvestide, but the field still had a ripe, rotten odor. Low, mushy mounds of what had once been piles of rotten fruit and vegetables dotted the ground, and a large patch of blackened earth near the center of the field marked the spot where the bonfire had raged. The field was fallow and tangled with weeds.
Like Arvin, Gonthril and the other rebels had been rendered invisible by Nicco’s prayers. Nearly two dozen of them were waiting, positioned around the field, for the cultists to appear. Unlike Arvin, though, they