"There's just one problem," Arvin said. "I only know where half of the Circled Serpent is-with Pakal-and I don't know where he is."
"You'll find him," Zelia said.
"Maybe," Arvin countered, "but then what?" "Dmetrio Extaminos still has the second half." "I don't know where he is, either."
"I do," Zelia said. "His mind has been dulled lately by too much osssra, but he's still perfectly capable." She pointed at the scar on Arvin's forehead. "When you retrieve the first half from the dwarf, use my stone to contact me. I'll tell you where Dmetrio is-and where the door to Smaragd is. Together, you and Dmetrio can open it."
Arvin hesitated. He knew he couldn't trust Zelia, but what if the Circled Serpent would allow him to rescue Karrell? It was the only shard of hope he'd found. He clung to it, even though it cut deeply.
He met Zelia's eye. "You know I'll try to take Dmetrio's half of the Circled Serpent and open the door myself."
"Yes," Zelia answered, a gleam in her eye.
"Then why trust me?"
"I don't," she hissed, "but if you don't do exactly as I say, I'll tell the marilith that its fate is no longer linked with Karrell's. When the demon catches her-and it will-Karrell will die… and so will your children."
Arvin felt the blood drain from his face. He should have expected as much. Zelia always made sure she had something to threaten him with-and Karrell herself had handed Zelia just the weapon she needed.
"I'll need Karrell's ring back," he said at last.
Zelia tossed it to him-an offhanded gesture, as if the ring meant nothing to her. Arvin caught it and squeezed it tight in his hand. He stared at Zelia.
"What's in it for you?"
"The eternal gratitude of Lady Dediana Extaminos," she answered, "when it is her son-not Sibyl-who enters Smaragd, frees Sseth, and reaps the rewards of service to a god."
Arvin let out a long, slow breath. Dmetrio also wanted to become Sseth's avatar? For a year, Arvin had struggled against one arrogant yuan-ti who wanted to become a god, and Zelia was proposing that he join forces with another-with a man who had callously used then abandoned a woman who had been pregnant with his child, a man who had the backing of Arvin's most feared enemy.
Arvin rubbed his temples. It was a dangerous game he was about to play. In order to rescue Karrell-and not release an evil god in the process-he would need to find a way to defeat Zelia.
"Well?" she asked.
He closed his eyes and shuddered. Zelia still controlled his destiny, as certainly as if she'd seeded him. She liked watching him squirm.
"I'll do it," he whispered, "for Karrell and our children."
CHAPTER 4
Arvin winced as the fleshmender turned his hand over, studying his lacerated fingers. "Strange wound," she said.
Arvin merely nodded. "Can you heal it?"
The cleric was a young, blonde-haired woman who might have been pretty save for the deep lines in her forehead, the price to be paid for taking on the suffering of others. She returned his nod.
"The Crying God feels your pain, my son," she intoned.
Dressed in ash-gray tunic, trousers, and matching gray skullcap, she had Ilmater's
symbol-a pair of bound hands-pinned over her heart.
her heart.
Arvin remembered that symbol well from his childhood. The severed hands-he
always thought of them that way-and the other symbols cf martyrdom had decorated the orphanage. Ilmater's martyred clerics were painted in vivid glory, spotted with plague sores, being torn apart by wolves, or covered in open, weeping wounds. All had their faces turned toward Shurrock, a savage domain of broken hills, torrential rains, howling winds, and wild beasts. Ilmater's dwelling place-the domain where his faithful would reap their reward of eternal suffering.
Arvin could have gone to a guild healer, but that would have meant answering unwanted questions. The guild frowned upon members taking on "outside work." But in the Chapel of Healing that catered to the humans of Hlondeth, the only demand made was a coin or two-whatever the petitioner could afford-in the wooden donation box.
Darkmorning had almost ended, and outside the chapel, the streets were quiet. Only Arvin sought healing. Come sunrise, however, the chapel's stone benches would be filled with petitioners.
The cleric murmured a prayer-one that Arvin could recite from memory, even though healing prayers had been used infrequently at the orphanage; the clerics believed that suffering built character in children. The wounds on his fingers slowly closed. She touched his mouth and ears, and the sting of each wound faded. When she was finished, she held his left hand in hers and touched his abbreviated little finger.
"This," she said, lifting his hand slightly, "is too old a wound for me to heal. It requires a Pain- bearer's touch."
"That's all right," Arvin said. He had no desire to meet any of the senior clerics. The only reason he'd come to the chapel was that it was run by the order's most junior clerics-men and women who weren't old
enough to dredge up unpleasant memories. "I'm used to it," he told her
He didn't bother to explain what the guild would do to him if they found he'd removed their mark. One day, perhaps, when he was finally clear of Hlondeth, he might seek out a cleric who could regenerate his finger, but…
She released his hand. "You have the face of someone who has seen much suffering. Ilmater bless you and help you to bear your load."
Arvin stood. He was grateful for Ilmater's healing, but that was as far as it went. The last thing he needed was another god meddling in his life.
As he dropped coins in the donation box, a disheveled woman rushed through the door, an infant lying limp in her arms.
"She's been bitten!" the woman shrieked. "There was a snake! A snake in her swaddling basket! She started to cry-it woke me-and I saw she had its tail in her fist. It bit her. Please, oh please, can you save her?"
The cleric turned her attention to the baby, touching its tiny hand and intoning a spell. Arvin watched a moment-the mother was panting from her run, and it was probably already too late for the poison to be neutralized-then he slipped out the door. He really didn't want to see the outcome. As he walked away from the chapel, ho heard the cleric murmur condolences and the mother break into loud sobs. At least, he thought grimly, the woman had known the joy of holding her child in her arms, if only for a short time.
He wondered if Karrell would live to do the same.
As he walked the narrow, curving street, awash
in the faint green glow from the buildings on
either side, he struggled with his conscience. Karrell would be wary of his forced alliance with
Zelia-she'd made the same mistake herself, six months before, with near-disastrous results. She would certainly condemn any plan that ran the risk of both halves of the Circled Serpent falling into the hands of one of Sseth's devotees. Arvin ached to speak to Karrel I again, but the sending he'd attempted after leaving Zelia's rooftop garden had failed, just like the rest of them.
He still couldn't quite believe that Zelia had let him go. She'd tossed a blanket at him when he requested something to hide his nakedness-he'd since retrieved a change of clothes and tossed the blanket on a garbage heap-then escorted him out of her garden and down the ramp to the street. He'd followed her warily, expecting her to seed him, but she hadn't. Perhaps she thought recovering Pakal's half of the Circled Serpent would take more than seven days.