Both of the snakes had eaten recently. Arvin counted one bulge inside the adder, three inside the constrictor. He shuddered, wondering which of the rebels they were. Only one of the rebels had been shown “mercy,” which made Arvin’s choice easier. Nicco would show no mercy, either. He’d choose the punishment the majority of the Secession’s raiders had suffered.
Slaves were still sweeping up the litter dropped by the crowd who had come to watch this morning’s executions. The yuan-ti spectators were long gone from the viaduct that encircled the plaza, but a couple of dozen humans still lingered below-those who had been mesmerized by the serpents. They stood, staring into the pits and swaying slightly, as mindless as grass blown by a malodorous wind. The slaves swept around them.
One man stood, alone and rigid as an oak, at the western edge of the plaza. Nicco. He stared at the pits, scowling, arms folded across his chest. His shadow was a long column of black that slowly crept toward the pits as the sun sank. So unmoving and determined did he appear that Arvin wondered for a moment if Nicco had stood there since morning, plotting divine vengeance against the executioners.
And against Arvin.
Arvin waited, watching the cleric. Nicco finally turned and glanced at the setting sun, as if gauging the time of day, then stared out toward the Reach and the clouds that were building there. While he was thus occupied, Arvin rose to his knees and whirled the monkey’s fist in a tight circle over his head. He spoke its command word as he let it fly-and hissed in satisfaction as it landed inside the constrictor’s pit. The enormous snake didn’t react to the sudden movement. Eating three condemned people in a single day must have sated it.
As Nicco returned his attention to the pits, Arvin climbed down onto the viaduct. He strode around it to the spot where Nicco stood. Only when he was directly above the cleric did Nicco look up. Nicco squinted and raised a gloved hand to shield his eyes from the sun; Arvin had the sun behind his back and would be no more than a silhouette. Then Nicco pointed an accusing finger. “Four people died this morning,” he rumbled in a voice as low and threatening as thunder. “Their blood is on your lips. You betrayed them.”
Arvin shook his head in protest. “I didn’t say anything that-”
“You must have! How else do you explain the yuan-ti who surprised them just outside Osran’s door-a yuan-ti with powers far beyond those normally manifested by her race-a psion. Deny that you serve her, if you dare!”
“I don’t serve her. Not willingly. She-”
Nicco jerked his hand. A bolt of lightning erupted from his fingertip. It blasted into the viaduct at Arvin’s feet, sending splinters of stone flying into the air. Several of them stung Arvin’s legs. The edge of the viaduct abruptly crumbled and Arvin found himself falling. He managed to land on his feet and immediately let his knees buckle to turn the landing into a roll, but scraped his ungloved hand badly in the process. Blood began to seep from it as he stood, and from the numerous nicks in his legs that had been caused by the flying stone.
As the startled slaves fled the plaza-together with those spectators whose trances had been broken by the thunderclap-Arvin turned to face Nicco. Arvin was careful not to make any threatening moves. The cleric was angry enough already.
But at least he was still talking. All Arvin had to do was get him to listen-and to believe him.
“I didn’t tell the yuan-ti psion anything,” Arvin protested. “If I had, your geas would have killed me. She reached into my mind-she violated it-and plucked out Osran’s name.”
“You gave it to her willingly,” Nicco accused. “That’s why you fled the city. You feared Hoar’s wrath.”
“Then why would I have come back? Why would I seek you out? I needed help-I left the city to find it. But the person who tried to negate what Zelia had done to me wasn’t able to-”
“Zelia.” Nicco’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s the name of your master.”
Arvin opened his mouth to explain further, but in that same moment Nicco barked out a quick prayer. “Walk,” he commanded, the lightning bolts in his earring tinkling as he thrust out a hand, pointing at the execution pits.
Arvin felt the compulsion of the prayer grip him-and found himself turning smartly on his heel. Like a puppet, he marched toward the pits, guided by Nicco’s pointing finger as the cleric strode along behind him. Arvin had an anxious moment when they passed the pit with the adder. He hissed with relief as Nicco directed him to the constrictor’s pit, instead.
“Halt,” Nicco ordered.
Arvin did. Stealing a glance down, he saw a strand of cord peeking out from under the serpent’s body-the unraveled monkey’s fist. A faint, powder-sweet odor rose from the pit, just detectable over the stink of the snake-the last of the gloomwing scent. Arvin took care not to inhale too deeply.
Nicco stared at him from the edge of the pit. “Any last words, condemned man?”
“Just this,” Arvin answered. “If I’m guilty, then may Hoar punish me by allowing the serpent to crush and consume me. If I’m innocent, may Hoar let me survive unharmed.”
“So be it,” Nicco said. Then he gave a third command: “Walk.”
Arvin did, not even bothering to try to fight the compulsion. He fell onto the serpent’s back and tumbled to the floor of the pit. The constrictor had been placid about the monkey’s fist landing beside it earlier, but at the touch of a large, living creature, it immediately responded. It whipped a coil around Arvin’s upper chest and flexed, driving the air from Arvin’s lungs. Another coil immediately fastened around Arvin’s legs.
For one terrible moment, Arvin thought he had miscalculated. As the serpent squeezed, his vision went gray and stars began to swim before his eyes…
Then he felt its coils loosening. The one around his legs slackened and fell away, followed by the one around his chest. Gasping his relief, Arvin staggered away from the constrictor. The gloomwing scent had done its work. The serpent had just expended what remained of its strength.
From above, he heard a sharp intake of breath. Glancing up, he saw Nicco staring down at him, a troubled expression on his face. “It seems that I accused you unjustly,” he said. He reached down into the pit. “Take my hand. Climb.”
Arvin did.
From the east side of the plaza came the sound of running footsteps. Looking in that direction, Arvin saw a dozen militia hurrying down one of the side streets toward the plaza. From one of them came a shout: “There he is!”
Arvin thought it was Nicco they were pointing at; then he realized it was him.
Nicco began murmuring a prayer that Arvin had heard once before and recognized. It was the one that would teleport him away. Realizing he was being left behind, Arvin spoke quickly. “I know where the Pox are hiding!” he cried. “Take me with you!”
A weighted line, fired from a crossbow, whizzed overhead.
Nicco smiled. “What makes you think I was going to leave you here?” Then he touched Arvin’s shoulder. Arvin felt himself wrenched through the dimensions by a teleportation spell. The Plaza of Justice-and the militia who were raising their crossbows-all disappeared from sight.
26 Kythorn, Evening
Arvin and Nicco stood together in the alley the cleric had teleported them to, talking in low voices. A few paces away, the alley opened onto the courtyard of the Nesting Tower, an enormous pillar honeycombed with niches in which flying serpents made their nests. Every now and then, their dark shapes flitted across the moonlit sky toward the faintly glowing tower.
“Zelia’s not my master,” Arvin explained to Nicco. “I met her for the first time four nights ago. She negated the poison the Pox made me drink and tried to hire me to spy on them. She needed a human who would pretend to join their cult-someone who had survived one of their sacrifices. When I refused, she told me I was going to wind up working for her, like it or not. She’d planted a mind seed in my head.”