Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [70]
Waiting in the warm night air was making Arvin lethargic. He closed his eyes, listening to the hum of conversation around him and drinking in the scent from the flower baskets that lined the Terrace. It was a welcome change from the sewer stink he’d been floundering around in lately. He dozed.
A chair scuffed. Arvin opened his eyes to find Drin sitting across the table from him. The potion seller looked worried, as always. His narrow face with its deep vertical grooves between his eyebrows gave him a perpetual frown. His wrists were narrow and his fingers long-that and the slight point to his ears suggested that there might be a wood elf hiding in the branches of his family tree. He smiled at Arvin-a quick twitch of his lips-and leaned forward. “You wanted to speak to me?”
Arvin nodded and spoke in a low voice. “Do you have anything that can undo mind-influencing magic?”
“Clerical magic or wizardry?”
“Neither,” Arvin answered.
Drin’s eyebrows raised. “Then what-”
“Do you know what a psion is?”
Drin gave him a guarded look. “I’ve heard of them. They cast ‘mind magic.’ ”
“That’s right. I want something that will block a psionic power.”
Drin thought a moment. “There’s no ‘tea’ that does that. None that I know of,” he said. He glanced around then dropped his voice to a whisper. “But I think there might be a ring that blocks such spells.”
“Would it work against one that’s already been cast?”
“I’m not sure. It’s not my area of expertise.”
Arvin wet his lips. “Could you obtain a ring like that for me?”
Drin shrugged. “Maybe. But it would take time to find out. The… merchant I need to speak to won’t be back in Hlondeth for at least a month.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “The druids have been busy.”
Arvin drummed his fingers on the table in frustration. Coming to Drin had been a long shot-a gamble that hadn’t paid off. But perhaps Drin could tell him something about the potion the Pox were using-something that might help Naulg. Assuming Arvin was able to find him again, that was.
“One other thing,” Arvin said. “There’s a ‘tea’ that I’m trying to find out more about. A very rare blend. It comes in an unusual container-a small metal flask that’s shaped like the rattle of a snake. Do you know anything about it?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” Drin said. “I’ve never heard of a tea like that.”
The guarded look was back in Drin’s eyes; the potion seller was lying. “Listen, Drin,” Arvin said, dropping his voice to a whisper. “A friend of mine drank some of that tea, and it’s had an… unpleasant effect on him. I’m trying to help him.” Focusing on the potion seller, silently willing him not to leave, Arvin felt the prickle of his psionics coming into play. “All I want is information,” he pleaded. “Just some friendly advice-anything you think might help. I’m willing to pay for it.” He placed ten gold pieces on the table.
The wary look in Drin’s eyes softened. He leaned forward and scooped up the coins. “Let’s move to a quieter table,” he said. “One where we won’t be overheard.”
Arvin smiled.
They moved to a table at the back of the Terrace, well away from the other customers. When they settled into their chairs, Drin continued. “I can’t tell you much,” he said. “I’ve only seen a flask like that once before, in a ‘teashop’ in Skullport, a few months ago. The man behind the counter said it came from the Serpent Hills.”
Arvin hissed softly to himself. The Serpent Hills lay far to the northeast, up near the great desert. Once the area had been the seat of a mighty kingdom, but now the yuan-ti who lived in those desolate hills were forced to ally with lesser reptilian races just to survive. The yuan-ti kept vowing to retake what had once been the capital of their kingdom, but the humans who had unwittingly encamped upon the ruins stood in their…
Arvin shivered, suddenly uneasy. Once again, the