A spell that, Arvin knew, would have no effect whatsoever on Naneth.
Reacting to the hissing, Naneth whirled to face Karrell.
“Naneth,” Karrell hissed. “I have an urgent message for Sibyl from the ssthaar of the Se’sehen. Where is she?”
Naneth’s eyes narrowed. One hand was behind her back; with it, she began a complicated gesture that could only have been the start of a spell. Karrell, under the impression that Naneth had been charmed, didn’t seem to have noticed. She just hung there, swaying, about to take the brunt of whatever spell Naneth was going to cast.
The time for bluffing was over.
Arvin leaped forward, seizing the midwife’s hand and clamping a hand over her mouth, but Naneth twisted her head aside and spat out a one-word incantation. Electricity shot into Arvin’s hands and surged through his body, throwing him backward. He landed heavily on the floor, heart rattling in his chest, gasping for breath.
Naneth turned away, ignoring him. “Tell me your message. I’ll convey it.”
Karrell’s head swayed back and forth. “My message is for Sibyl’s ears alone. Where is she?”
Arvin, listening, knew that Karrell’s attempt to pry information from Naneth was doomed. Under the compulsion of a charm spell, the midwife might have overlooked the extremely coincidental arrival of a messenger from Tashalar, asking exactly the same question “Lord Wianar’s spy” had just asked. Without the charm, everything Karrell said was an obvious lie. Naneth was toying with Karrell, buying time to cast a spell. Once again, her hand was behind her back, her fingers working.
Forcing himself up off the floor, Arvin threw his dagger. It spun through the air, striking Naneth in the back. But instead of penetrating, the weapon fell harmlessly to the floor, deflected by magic. The midwife spun and leveled a pointing finger at Arvin.
Karrell hissed sharply, glanced between Naneth and Arvin, and sank her teeth into Naneth’s shoulder.
Naneth’s eyes widened. She jerked away, clamping a hand to her injured shoulder. Barking out a two-word incantation, she vanished.
Arvin clambered to his feet.
Karrell dropped from the ceiling, shifted into human form, and rose gracefully to her feet. Despite the urgency of the moment, the sight of her, naked, took Arvin’s breath away. Her words, however, were harsh. “Why did you do that? In another moment she would have told me where Sibyl was.”
“No she wouldn’t; your charm spell didn’t work,” Arvin said, rising to his feet. “Naneth is shielded against spells that affect the mind. She knew you were lying and was about to cast a spell on you. I was afraid you’d be killed.”
Karrell’s eyes softened. “I thought the same… about you.”
“I know,” Arvin said, touching her cheek. He let his hand fall. “I’m sure whatever spell Naneth was about to cast wouldn’t have been very pleasant. But at least we won’t have to worry about her anymore. Yuan-ti venom is… pretty potent stuff, right?”
“My bite is not venomous.”
“Oh,” Arvin said. He frowned. “We’d better get out of here, then. As soon as Naneth figures out she hasn’t been poisoned, she’ll be back. And she won’t be happy—with either one of us.” He peered outside the door. The satyrs had obeyed Naneth’s instructions and were waiting outside, but they looked agitated. They were talking in low voices, and pointing toward the hut.
Arvin beckoned Karrell to the doorway. “Do you have all of a yuan-ti’s usual magical abilities?” he whispered.
She nodded.
“We need to get out of here,” Arvin continued. He pointed at his pack, which lay on the ground near the satyrs. “If you cast a magical darkness just outside the hut, I should be able to grab my pack. I’ll make for the nearest tunnel and keep going. In the meantime, use your magical fear on the satyrs; I hope I’ll be out of the maze before they’ve gathered enough courage to follow me. As soon as you’ve done that, assume snake form and get out yourself. We’ll meet back where we left Tanglemane and figure out some other way of finding Sibyl. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” She planted a kiss on his lips. “For luck.”
“Thanks,” he said, smiling. His lips tingled where she’d kissed them. Dagger in hand, he readied himself, calculating the number of paces it would take to reach his pack. “Do it.”
As utter darkness filled the clearing outside the hut, Arvin flung the door flap aside. He sprinted for his pack, keeping low. From his left, he heard the thrum of a bow, followed by the hiss of an arrow over his head.
The satyrs shouted at each other in confusion. Then Karrell loosed her second wave of magic, and the shouts turned to bleats of fear. Arvin scooped up his pack on the run, slinging it over a shoulder by one strap and praying that its contents weren’t spilling out behind him. Then he reached the edge of the darkness. He burst into daylight a dozen paces or so from the edge of the brambles. The tunnel the satyrs had dragged him out of was to his left. He raced for it then flung himself prone and started to crawl. Behind him, he heard shouts and the thrum-thrum of a bow being shot twice in rapid succession; at least one of the satyrs had shaken off the magical fear. His shots, though aimed at random from inside the darkness, passed uncomfortably close to Arvin. One struck a vine just above his head.
Crawling rapidly, pack still slung awkwardly over one shoulder, Arvin followed the drag marks. They led to the spot where he’d been ambushed by the satyr with the pan pipes; from this point on he followed his own trail. All the while he prayed that the satyrs wouldn’t figure out where he’d gone—that they wouldn’t know a quicker route through the bramble maze. The fear seemed to have worn off; Arvin could hear them in the clearing, shouting at one another.
Tymora must have been with him, however; the satyrs didn’t catch up. Soon he could see Tanglemane through the thicket of thorny vines. The centaur’s ears were twitching; when he spotted Arvin, he gave a snort of delight. Arvin crawled out of the brambles, leaped to his feet, and was relieved to see Karrell slither out after him a moment later. As she shifted into human form, he turned to Tanglemane. “We need to get out of here fast,” he told the centaur. “We’ve got a hornet’s nest of angry satyrs behind us. Will you carry us?”
“I would,” Tanglemane said. Then he glanced into the forest nervously. “But there’s a problem. The wolves are still waiting for their meat.”
Arvin turned and saw the wolves. They had been sitting, waiting, but when White Muzzle rose to her feet, the rest followed her lead. Tongues lolling, they stared at Arvin and Karrell. White Muzzle growled—and even without Karrell to translate, Arvin understood. The wolves were hungry.
And the satyrs’ shouts were growing closer. They would be through the brambles at any moment.
Arvin glanced at Karrell. “Magical fear?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not again. Not so soon.”
An arrow careened out of the brambles behind them, narrowly missing Arvin. “What about darkness?” he asked Karrell.
“Not yet. But I have other magic that may help.” Turning, she gestured at the brambles. As her fingers wove complicated patterns in the air, the vines constricted, closing off the tunnel like a net being pulled shut. The satyrs, trapped inside and pierced by thorns, bleated angrily.
Karrell cast a second spell, and their bows twisted into knots. No more arrows were fired.
“That’s one problem down,” Arvin said. The wolves, however, continued to pad closer to Arvin, Karrell, and Tanglemane. They were working up their courage with a series of low growls. Any moment now, they would rush forward and attack.
Arvin eyed the trees. He and Karrell could climb to safety, but not Tanglemane.