Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [63]
He grinned as the bolt sprang open. He tried to open the gate…
He couldn’t move.
Not a muscle. His eyes continued to blink and his chest rose and fell-albeit only in short, shallow breaths-and his heart thudded in his chest. But the rest of his body was as still as a statue. Realizing he must have fallen victim to a spell, he strained against it until sweat blossomed on his temples and trickled down his cheeks, but still he couldn’t move.
Stupid. He’d been stupid to think they’d simply let him walk away. He should have paid attention to the warning voice that had told him it was all too easy.
Meanwhile, the voices continued from behind the door. It sounded as though Gonthril was wrapping up the meeting. At any moment, the door would open-and Chorl would have all the excuse he needed to kill Arvin.
Arvin could hear Chorl’s voice coming from behind the door. “I’m in favor,” Chorl growled. “It will send a message to that scaly bitch-that she’s not safe anywhere.”
Another voice-one Arvin didn’t recognize-raised an objection. “I still think we should ambush him in the street.”
“He’ll be on his guard there,” Gonthril answered. “Especially after what happened to the overseer.”
“That was just thieves, trying to steal whatever it was the work crews found in the old tower,” someone else protested.
“Those thieves killed a yuan-ti-one who served the royal family,” Gonthril said. He sighed; Arvin pictured him shaking his head. “The only place he’ll let down his guard now is within the walls of his own home.”
“It’s suicide,” the other man grumbled. “We’ll never get inside.”
“Yes we will,” Gonthril said in a confident voice. “One sip of this and we’ll be able to slip right past the guard. They won’t suspect a thing. They’ll think we’re his little pets, out for a Middark soar. We’ll even have the right markings.”
Suddenly a voice whispered in Arvin’s ear. “I think you’ve heard enough.”
Had Arvin been capable of it, he would have jumped at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. Held frozen by magic, all he could do was wonder who in the Nine Hells had crept up so silently behind him.
He heard a whispered chant, felt momentarily dizzy, and was standing in a room-a brightly illuminated room, next to the pallet on which Kayla lay. Her eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell smoothly. The flush of fever was gone from her face.
Arvin, still unable to move, could feel a hand on his shoulder-that of the person who had just teleported him. He could guess who it was. The cleric. The fellow spoke in a normal tone, no longer whispering. “That was poetic justice, don’t you think?”
The hand fell away from Arvin’s shoulder. Suddenly able to move, Arvin whirled to face the cleric. The green eyes that stared back at him were filled with mirth.
“What do you mean?” Arvin asked.
The cleric tipped his head in the direction of the hallway. As he did, an earring dangling from his left ear flashed in the light; the three silver lightning bolts hanging from it tinkled together. “By unlocking that gate, you locked your own body.”
Understanding dawned on Arvin. “There was a glyph on the gate, wasn’t there?”
The cleric nodded.
Arvin slid a wary glance toward the door to the room and saw that it was shut. It had no visible lock, but he was willing to bet its handle bore a glyph that was similar to the one on the gate he’d just tried. His imagination came up with unpleasant possibilities-turn the handle and have your head turned completely around. Until your neck snapped.
“What happens now?” he asked the cleric.
“We wait.”
“Until…?”
“Until Gonthril and the others have finished their night’s work,” the cleric calmly replied.
“Where are they going?” Arvin asked.
“To scotch the snake.”
Arvin stared at the cleric, suddenly understanding. It wasn’t the Pox the Secession were going after, but the yuan-ti who had supplied them with the potions, Osran Extaminos.