Tanglemane gave him a wild-eyed look.
“Tell them that’s of the question,” Arvin said, placing a protective arm across Tanglemane’s broad back. He glanced at the rock behind them then spoke in a low voice to Karrell. “Too bad we didn’t have a way to turn the rock back into a giant. We’d have enough meat to feed a dozen packs of wolves.”
“Could you summon another animal for them to eat?” Karrell asked. “An elk, or….”
“Not without knowing how it ‘talks,’” Arvin said. “A wolfs howl is the only animal sound I could imitate reliably. Other than a snake’s hiss, of course.”
Tanglemane’s nostrils flared. His eyes were wide, with white showing around the edges as they darted back and forth, following the shapes that flitted through the darkness. “They’re coming closer,” he whinnied.
Arvin manifested his dagger into his glove. “Then we’ll fight them,” he said.
“Wait,” Karrell said, laying a hand on Arvin’s arm. “Let me try something else.”
Abruptly, she transformed into her serpent form—a sleek reddish-brown snake with a band of gold scales around the tip of its tail. One moment she was standing in the firelight; the next, she was slithering along the ground, circling around the fire. Tanglemane startled, rearing up, and for several moments Arvin frantically tried to calm him, terrified that the centaur would crush Karrell under his hooves. By the time Arvin turned around, Karrell was between them and the wolves, swaying back and forth. She hissed softly, slit eyes turning to stare first at one patch of darkened forest, then another. Arvin found himself swaying slightly as he watched her and felt Tanglemane doing the same.
The first wolf—the one with the white muzzle—padded closer. It stopped several paces from Karrell and stared at her as if mesmerized. Then another wolf walked out of the woods, then two more. Within moments, six shaggy gray beasts were sitting in a circle, surrounding Karrell. All were thinner than they should have been: hungry.
Something flashed out of the darkness—a seventh wolf that hadn’t succumbed to her trance. Releasing the near-panicked Tanglemane, Arvin raised his dagger, but before he could throw it, Karrell turned and confronted that wolf with a spitting hiss. The wolf immediately flattened on the ground, ears back and tail tucked between its legs. Whimpering, it crawled back to the woods. As soon as it reached the safety of the forest, it fled, crashing away through the undergrowth.
Karrell, meanwhile, had resumed her dance. The six remaining wolves continued to sit and stare at her, swaying in time with her motions. She drank in their scent with her flickering tongue then opened her mouth. What emerged wasn’t a hiss, but a series of yips, followed by a long howl.
One by one, the wolves threw back their heads and howled with her.
Arvin felt a shiver run through him. It suddenly came home to him that Karrell was something utterly nonhuman. It hadn’t fully struck him when he’d first seen her scales. But seeing her in serpent form—watching as she reduced one wolf to a quivering bundle of fear and ensnared the remaining wolves in her trance—was a different matter. He’d been thinking of her as a human with a hint of serpent about her. He’d refused to fully acknowledge that she was yuan-ti—and everything that came with it. Those charms she’d cast on him were only a small fraction of her powers.
The sight of her in serpent form terrified him. Yet he cared for her—even admired her. She could be kind, selfless, and brave. Just look at how she’d risked her own life to save the woman who had been bitten by the naga. These were qualities that simply didn’t occur in a yuan-ti.
And yet she was yuan-ti.
Karrell twisted, still swaying, to face Arvin and Tanglemane. “They have agreed,” she announced in her human voice—a strange thing, indeed, to hear coming out of a serpent’s mouth. “They will lead us to the satyr camp before we give them the meat.”
“What meat?” Tanglemane asked, his eyes rolling.
Karrell turned to Arvin. “You said that Foesmasher would teleport to us, once we have located—” She paused as Tanglemane gave her a sharp look. “Once we have found what we are searching for. He can bring meat with him.”
Arvin nodded. It was a sound plan—as long as the wolves’ hunger didn’t make them impatient.
Tanglemane glanced back and forth between Arvin and Karrell. “Lord Foesmasher will teleport into the Chondalwood?” he asked, incredulous. “This… ‘thing’ that he holds dear. It must be very precious.”
“It is,” Arvin assured him.
“As precious as my son is to me?” Tanglemane guessed.
“Yes,” Arvin said, meeting his eye.
The centaur nodded then slowly smiled. “I will pray to Skerrit, lord of the herds, that we find her, then.”
Arvin glanced at the hungry wolves then spoke in a low voice to Karrell. “If Glisena isn’t at the camp, we’re in trouble.”
“She will be there,” Karrell said. “The wolves said so.”
Unless, Arvin silently added, Glisena gave birth before they reached the satyr camp. If she had, all they would find would be her corpse—a report that wouldn’t please the baron.
And the wolves would feed.
They walked all night, following the white-muzzled wolf through the forest. Arvin and Karrell walked on either side of Tanglemane, soothing him with reassuring words. Yet when dawn brightened the sky to the east, illuminating the trees with wintry light, Arvin could see that fully two dozen wolves surrounded them. They padded through the forest, tongues lolling, casting hungry glances at Tanglemane. Occasionally one would veer closer, and White Muzzle would growl and bare her teeth, warning it away. As the sun rose, these challenges became more frequent. And now that Arvin could see the wolves clearly, he realized they weren’t eyeing just the centaur. They were looking hungrily at him and Karrell, too.
For the last little while, they had been climbing a low hill. The top of it was crowned with a tangle of brambles that extended for several hundred paces to the left and right. The pack halted before reaching it and White Muzzle turned and gave a series of bark-yips. Karrell recast her spell and spoke to the wolf.
“The satyr camp lies upwind, at the heart of these brambles,” Karrell said.
“Is the human female still in the camp?” Arvin asked.
Karrell translated. White Muzzle sniffed the air and yipped once.
“Yes,” Karrell said.
Arvin started to move toward the brambles, but White Muzzle planted herself in front of him, blocking his path, and growled. Glancing around, Arvin saw wolves in every direction, hunkered down as if ready to charge. He looked to Karrell for the translation, even though he really didn’t need one.
“She has done as she promised,” Karrell said. “She led us to the satyr camp. Now she wants her meat.”
“Tell her she’ll have to wait just a little longer,” Arvin said. “Tell her the meat is at the satyr camp; that we’ll return in a little while with it.”
Karrell did then listened to White Muzzle’s reply. “They want their meat now,” she translated. “They want Tanglemane.”
Arvin flexed his gloved hand. He’d disappeared his dagger into it earlier; at a whisper it was back in his hand.
Karrell tensed and laid a hand on her club. “We will fight?” she whispered.
“No,” Arvin answered. “I have something else in mind.”
One of the wolves moved in closer. Tanglemane whinnied nervously. Arvin laid a hand on his back. “Don’t run,” he urged. “It’s what they want you to do.”
Tanglemane nodded but remained tense. Arvin could feel him trembling. “Tanglemane,” he said. “I’m going to cast a spell on you. Don’t resist it.”
That said, Arvin awakened the psionic energies that lay deep inside his chest. The wolves sniffed as the scent of ginger and saffron filled the air, and White Muzzle’s hackles rose. But a moment later, it was done: the fates of Tanglemane and the pack leader were linked.