Arvin’s eyes sprang open. Suddenly he was wide awake. Someone was leaning over him, touching his shoulder. A dark silhouette in the moonlight with long, loose hair.
Throwing himself to the side, he called his dagger into his glove. In an instant he was on his feet-and then he recognized Zelia. “By the gods,” he gasped, holding his weapon between them. “What did you just do to me?” He rubbed his temple and winced. The headache was still with him.
Zelia remained kneeling, hands on her knees. “What do you mean?”
Arvin blinked, trying to clear his head of the disturbing images. “That dream. I was…”
“Someone else?” Zelia asked, rising slowly to her feet.
Arvin nodded. “A yuan-ti. A child. A… girl.” The latter was something he’d only just realized-that he’d been female in both of the dreams.
“Sometimes when a psion sleeps, a power manifests spontaneously,” Zelia told him. “You obviously manifested a telepathic power that allowed you to peer into another person’s mind and listen in on her thoughts. That it was a yuan-ti is hardly surprising in a city with more than two thousand of us. Your mind tried to make sense of what the power showed you and turned it into a dream.”
Arvin stood, considering. Was that what he’d just been doing? Looking in on another person’s thoughts and knotting them into his dreams? It hadn’t felt like a dream. Not until the last, chaotic part that had woken him in a cold sweat. That last segment was easy to explain-it was a jumble of his old memories and fears, combined with fragments of what had happened earlier today, including the headache that just wouldn’t go away. But the first part had felt like… a memory.
Arvin stared at Zelia. “It wasn’t just any yuan-ti,” he said slowly. “It was someone trained in ‘mind magic.’ That girl was you-wasn’t it?”
Zelia smiled. “I must have been thinking about my childhood.” Her smile abruptly vanished. “The Pox have returned to the sewer chamber.”
“They have?” Arvin asked, all thoughts of the dream driven instantly from his mind. He looked up at the sky and saw that it was past Middark. “Was my friend with them?”
“I saw two men. Neither was your friend. It looked as though they were waiting for something-or for someone.”
She gave him directions to the sewer entrance he would use. It was just a short distance away, inside a slaughterhouse-one that had recently been shut down by the militia after its owners were caught butchering cattle that had succumbed to the rotting hoof disease and passing it off as quality meat.
“How appropriate,” Arvin muttered. He slid his dagger into the sheath at the small of his back and picked up his backpack. He pulled out one of the potions he’d purchased earlier, a clear liquid with a sweet scent that lingered in the air even though the tiny bottle that held it was stoppered. The rogue who had sold it to him had assured Arvin it would purge any disease from his body, even ailments that were the result of clerical magic.
Arvin transferred the bottle to his gloved hand and whispered the word that made it disappear into an extra-dimensional space where it could neither be seen nor smelled. The last thing he needed was for one of the Pox to spot the bottle and recognize what it held.
He put on the backpack and nodded at Zelia. “Tymora be with me, I’ll have some answers for you soon,” he said. Then he realized something. “How will I get a message to you?” he asked. “Do I meet you back here?”
“No,” Zelia replied. She opened her belt pouch and pulled from it a stone that glittered in the moonlight. It was dark blue, flecked with gold, about the size and shape of a thumbnail, and flat on one side. Arvin nodded, recognizing it by its distinctive color: lapis lazuli, with inclusions of pyrite. He extended his right hand, palm up, for the chip of stone.
Then he stiffened in surprise. He was no gem cutter. How in the Nine Hells had he known what type of stone it was?
Zelia tipped it into his palm. Arvin used a finger to flip it over. Its rounded surface was cool and smooth, but the flat surface was warm.
“When you have something to report, this will allow you to manifest a sending,” Zelia said.
Arvin gave her a puzzled look. “What’s a sending?”
“A psionic power-one the stone will allow you to manifest, even though you haven’t learned it yet,” she continued. “You can send a brief message to me-no more than two dozen words, and only once per day-and I can reply to you, in turn. The distance separating us is not a factor; your message will reach me, no matter where I might be.”
“And no matter where I might be?” Arvin asked.
Zelia nodded.
“I see,” he said. “It’s a contingency plan. In case something happens to… prevent me from returning.”
Zelia’s answer was blunt. “Yes. In order to use the stone, you must place it over your third eye.”
“My what?”
“You used it earlier tonight, when you manifested your telekinetic power. Place the flat surface of the stone here”-she touched a finger to a spot between her eyes, just above her nose-“and it will adhere.”
Arvin stared at the lapis lazuli, wondering if there was more to it than Zelia was telling him. “Can I put it on later?” he asked. “If the Pox see it-”
“They won’t know what it is. Only another psion would recognize it. But put it on and take it off as you wish. You need only think the command word-atmiya-and it will adhere or release. Just don’t lose it.”
“Why? Is it expensive?”
Zelia’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “Yes.”
Arvin stared at the stone. If he did run into trouble-if he wound up a captive, bound hand and foot and without his dagger to cut himself free-having the stone already in place on his forehead would allow him to call for help.
The question was would Zelia answer?
“All right,” he said. “I’ll use it-but I won’t put it on until I need to contact you.” He slipped the stone into his shirt pocket, tucking it safely inside a false seam.
24 Kythorn, Darkmorning
Arvin eased himself through a window and drew the shutter closed behind him. He stood a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom and his nose adjust to the smell. The slaughterhouse stank of old blood, animal excrement, and spoiled meat. The stench was so overwhelming he nearly turned to leave, but he steeled himself by thinking of what would happen in less than seven days and pressed on.
He made his way toward the center of the building, avoiding the stained hooks that hung from the ceiling. As he stepped over one of the troughs used to catch the slaughtered animals’ blood, his foot bumped against something in the darkness. Flies rose into the air with a soft buzzing noise. Looking down, he saw it was a cow’s head, its tongue purple and protruding and both eyes missing. The putrid smell rising from it made his eyes water.
The troughs all led to the same place-a grate in the floor near the center of the building. The spaces between its rusted bars were nearly clotted shut with chunks of decaying flesh, but the crust of blood that had sealed the edges of the grate was broken. Someone had lifted the grate since the slaughterhouse had been shut down.
He removed a hooked tool from his belt and used it to lift one side of the grate. Grabbing the edge of it with his gloved hand, he moved it aside-carefully, so it wouldn’t clank against the stone floor-then stared down into the shaft that led to the sewers. He could smell and hear water gurgling somewhere below, but the shaft was as black as a snake’s heart.
Wetting his lips, he shrugged off his backpack and set it on the ground beside him then rummaged inside it for the second potion he’d purchased. It was in a vial made from glass of such a deep purple it appeared almost black. Arvin pried out the wax that sealed it and sniffed the vial’s contents. It took him a moment to place the scent: night-blooming flowers, underlaid with a hint of something earthy-a root of some sort.