Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [59]
Osran Extaminos, youngest brother of Lady Dediana.
Arvin pretended not to have noticed the slip. “Can you dispel the potion’s magic?” he asked Hazzan. He curled the fingers of his gloved hand, readying it for his dagger, as he waited for the wizard’s reply. If the answer was no, he’d have to fight his way out.
Hazzan stroked his beard. “Possibly.”
Gonthril took a deep breath. “For the sake of Hlondeth’s true people, Talona grant it be so,” he whispered. Then, to the wizard, he said, “Try.”
Hazzan rolled up his sleeves then extended his right hand toward Arvin, pointing. Staring intently into Arvin’s eyes, he began casting a spell. The incantation took only a moment; the final word was a shout. As it erupted from his wizard’s lips Hazzan flicked his forefinger and Arvin felt a wave of magical energy punch into his chest. It coursed through his body like an electric shock, making his fingers and toes tingle and the hair rise on the back of his neck. Then it was gone.
Gonthril peered at Arvin. “Did it work?”
“Let’s find out.” Hazzan picked up the chalice and tipped the potion out of it, pouring it into the mortar. Then he pulled a scrap of cloth out of a pocket and wiped the inside of the chalice clean. He then held out a hand. “Give me your hand,” he told Arvin, picking up the scissors.
Arvin drew back, unpleasant memories of the Guild filling his thoughts. “What are you going to do?”
“He needs a sample of your blood,” Gonthril told Arvin. “To see if the potion is still in it.”
“All right.” Arvin answered reluctantly, placing his hand in Hazzan’s. “As long as it doesn’t cost me another fingertip.”
Gonthril chuckled.
“A small incision should do,” Hazzan reassured him. “I just need a few drops of blood, enough to cover the bottom of the chalice.”
He winced as Hazzan sliced into his finger with the blade of the scissors-deliberate cuts always hurt more, it seemed, than those inflicted in a fight-but kept his hand steady over the chalice. A few drops of blood leaked into it, splattering against the clear glass.
“That’s enough,” Hazzan said.
Arvin pressed against the cut in his finger, staunching the blood. He sat back down and stared at the bowl of the chalice. Strangely, though the blood had been red as it had dripped into the bowl, now it looked clear as water-so clear that for a moment he thought the blood had disappeared. He leaned forward, peering down into the mouth of the chalice again, and saw that it was indeed drizzled with bright red blood. Surprised, he started to let out an involuntary hiss-and saw Chorl’s frown deepen.
Hazzan-once again peering through the side of the chalice at the lantern-nodded. “The spell worked,” he told Gonthril. “The potion has been neutralized.”
Chorl stared at Arvin. “Why’s he still hissing, then?”
Gonthril stared at Arvin thoughtfully. “I don’t know.”
Arvin did. It was the mind seed. Zelia hadn’t been bluffing, after all.
“I still say we should get rid of him,” Chorl urged.
The rebel leader shook his head. “Arvin will stay with us, for the time being. There may be ways in which he can aid our cause. But keep a close eye on him, Chorl, and let me know if he does anything suspicious. If he takes any hostile action against us, or attempts to escape, I leave his punishment to your discretion.”
Arvin matched glares with Chorl, and for a moment actually considered summoning his dagger into his hand and plunging it into the man’s heart. But this done, the odds of Arvin being the next one to die would be very high indeed. Mortin held his sword at the ready, the wizard could blast him with magic, and the gods only knew what the rings on Gonthril’s fingers were capable of doing.
No, there were other, better ways to deal with the situation. Arvin relaxed his grimace into a smile and tried to summon up the familiar prickle of psionic energy. None came. And for good reason, he suddenly realized.