Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [80]
“I see,” Tanju said. He didn’t bother to inspect Arvin’s arm. “How do you know Gonthril’s name?”
“I overheard one of the militia mention it when I was hiding in the pottery factory,” Arvin said. “ ‘There’s a ten thousand gold piece bounty coming to the man who captures Gonthril,’ he said. I figured that was the name of the person you were looking for.”
“Why did you claim to be him?” Tanju asked.
“I didn’t think you’d agree to meet with me otherwise.” Arvin was uncomfortable inside the cocoon of ectoplasm. The slippery feel of the strands reminded him of the unpleasant cling of sewer muck. His clothes and hair were growing damper by the moment. At least the ectoplasm was odorless, the gods be thanked for small mercies.
The militiaman standing beside Tanju snorted as he placed the bucket back on the ground. “It’s a trick, Tanju,” he said. “The stormlord is trying to stall us-and we fell for it. We’ve already lost an entire day.”
Tanju gave the militiaman a sharp look, as if the other man had just said something he shouldn’t have. “Our quarry knows nothing about the rebels, least of all what their leader looks like.”
“What if we were wrong?” the militiaman suggested. “Maybe the rogues were, in fact, rebels and the theft nothing more than a plot to draw you out of the city.”
“The theft was real enough,” Tanju said grimly. “And they weren’t rebels. I know that much already.”
The militiaman frowned. “But how does this man fit in?”
“I don’t,” Arvin interrupted, exasperated by their endless speculations about rogues and rebels and stormlords-whoever they were. “I’m here because I need Tanju’s help. I need him to negate a psionic power that’s been manifested on me.”
Tanju tilted his head. “Why should I do this for you?”
“I can pay,” Arvin continued. “Look in my backpack and you’ll find a magical rope. It’s yours, if you’ll help.”
The militiaman began to pick up Arvin’s backpack, but Tanju held up a hand, cautioning him. Then Tanju waved his hand over the backpack and a faintly sweet smell filled the air. The scent was a little like the burnsticks Arvin’s mother had burned when she was meditating-flower-sweet, with sharp undertones of resin.
Tanju lowered his hand. “You can open it now,” he told the militiaman.
The militiaman undid the buckles on the backpack and tipped it open. Arvin’s clothes, extra pair of boots, blanket, and food spilled out, together with a neat coil of rope. Tanju stared at them, his eyes sparkling with multicolored fire a second time.
“It’s braided from trollgut,” Arvin explained. “I made it myself. A command word causes it to expand. The extra fifty paces worth of rope will eventually rot away, but it can be grown back over and over again. The rope is quite valuable; you can sell it for three thousand gold pieces or more to the right buyer.” He paused then, when the tingle arose at the base of his scalp, used his most persuasive voice. “Will you do it? Will you use your psionics to negate the power that’s been manifested on me? If you do, I’ll tell you the command word; the rope is useless without it.”
Tanju fingered the rope, squeezing its rubbery strands between his fingers. He cocked his head as if listening to a distant sound-the secondary display of the charm Arvin was manifesting. When he turned back toward Arvin, he was smiling. Arvin peered at the psion, uncertain whether his charm had worked on the man or not. “Well, friend?” he ventured. “Will you help me?”
“I need to know what power has been manifested,” Tanju said.
Arvin wet his lips. “A mind seed.”
Tanju’s eyes widened. He placed his hands on his knees then nodded. “That explains the aura.”
“What aura?”
“The one that surrounds you. It was a strange mix. Dominated by yang-male energy-but streaked with yin. Mostly good but tainted with evil. It contained elements of both power and weakness, human and reptile. I assumed you were trying to alter your own