Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [117]
Was it Middark yet? He had no idea. His temples pounded like drums. For the moment, however, his mind was still his own.
Sweat trickled down his sides as he waited in the darkness. Even though the sun had set long ago, the air was still muggy and hot. The heavy gray clouds that had been building over the Reach had at last moved inland over Hlondeth, and, judging by the low rumbles of thunder in the distance, would soon break. In the meantime, they obliterated the moon, throwing the vineyards and fields outside the city into utter darkness. Out of the corner of his eye, Arvin could see the green glow of Hlondeth’s walls, several fields distant.
The rumble of wheels announced the approach of a cart. Though he strained to turn his head, he still could not move; he was only able to see the cart after it turned into the rotting field. It was being driven by a yuan-ti who sat balanced on a coiled serpent’s tail. A cask the size of a wine barrel was lashed in the back. It was too dark to make out details of the yuan-ti’s face, but Arvin could see his head snaking this way and that as he scanned the field. While the yuan-ti seemed at ease, his horse did not; it kept tossing its head and whickering, as if it had sensed the invisible rebels. When the yuan-ti reined it to a halt, the horse pawed at the ground with a hoof, digging a furrow into the stinking soil.
The yuan-ti glanced up at the sky, as if trying to tell what segment of the evening it was, then continued glancing around the field. As his head turned toward the spot where Arvin crouched, Arvin would have tensed-if he had been capable of it. Instead he let out a low hiss of relief as the yuan-ti’s glance continued past him.
A moment later, the yuan-ti’s head whipped around as something materialized on the far side of the cart. It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment the burned patch near the center of the field was bare of all but ashes, the next, a dozen cultists were standing there, holding hands. Their gray-green robes made them almost invisible in the darkness. Their pale, pox-spotted faces were faint white ovals.
Arvin felt something brush against him and heard the faint tinkle of Nicco’s earring.
“At the signal, use your dagger,” the cleric breathed, touching his arm. “Aim for the yuan-ti.”
Suddenly, Arvin could move. Wary of making any noise, he rose slowly to his feet-only to find that his legs were numb from having remained in a crouch for so long. He winced at the hot tingling of blood returning to his feet, and nearly stumbled.
The attack began without him.
A shrill whistle sounded. A heartbeat later, from several points around the field, came the thwap, thwap, thwap-thwap of crossbow strings releasing. Several of the cultists staggered, clutching at the bolts that had suddenly appeared in their bodies. In that same instant, the rebels became visible. Arvin saw Gonthril, running at the cultists with his sword raised, and other rebels closing with spears and swords. Nicco had not yet become visible, but Arvin could hear him praying. The cleric’s voice came from a spot near the cart.
The yuan-ti also heard the prayer. Hissing with anger, he turned to face the spot where Nicco must have been standing. A tangle of weeds next to the cart came alive and began wrapping themselves around an invisible form.
Belatedly, Arvin threw his dagger, but in that same moment, the yuan-ti reared up. The dagger plunged not into his throat but into his coiled body, well below any vital organs. Hissing in frustration, Arvin threw up his bare hand, summoning his dagger, which yanked free of the yuan-ti’s scaly body. Arvin caught it-but the yuan-ti had seen him. The yuan-ti stared at Arvin, turning the full force of his magical fear on him.
Arvin staggered backward under a wave of magical fear. He had to flee, to get out of here, to run. The dagger forgotten in his fist, he whirled