Its opponents dead, the demon glanced down at Karrell, tongue flickering through its hissing smile.
Karrell’s fear-filled eyes sought Arvin’s. He could see that she realized she was about to die. Her lips tried to form a word, but there was no breath left in her body.
Arvin ended his manifestation; the pane of glass he’d been about to throw fell to the floor and shattered. Reaching deep inside himself, he manifested a different power—one whose secondary display filled the air with the scents of saffron and ginger. Then, for a heartbeat, he hesitated. He didn’t want to make the same mistake he’d made with Tanglemane. If the demon died….
It was a gamble he had to take. Spells and steel hadn’t defeated the demon; he doubted anything would. And if he didn’t manifest his power, Karrell would die.
Guiding the energies with his mind, he coiled one loop around the demon, another around Karrell. Then he tied them together and yanked the knot tight.
“Demon!” he shouted. “I’ve just bound your fate to the yuan-ti woman. Kill her, and you’ll die!”
It was a desperate lie. Karrell’s death would mean little to the demon. She might cause it a slight wound, but no more.
Ignoring Arvin, the demon slashed at Karrell with its sword. This time, Karrell’s reaction was slower; the sword sliced a line down her cheek as she wrenched her head aside. The demon grunted—then hissed and touched its own cheek with the back of a hand. The hand came away slick with green blood.
The demon turned to face Arvin and tried to speak, but no words came from its mouth. It seemed to be having trouble breathing. It frowned down at Karrell, who lay gasping on the floor, then uncoiled its tail from her. Then it stared, its eyes slit with malevolence, at Arvin. “Unbind me, sorcerer,” it commanded.
Relief washed through Arvin. He glanced at Karrell.
Her lips formed silent words: “Thank you.”
Arvin gave her a grim smile. Just a few moments more, and Marasa would surely appear and banish the demon. He stared back at it through the whirling blades that still surrounded the dais. “No,” he told the demon. “You will remain bound.”
The demon flicked a hand, and the blades disappeared. It cocked its head to the side and considered Arvin. “Mortal,” it hissed. “Surely you can be persuaded.” Its hand opened, revealing a glitter of gems. The demon tipped its hand, letting them spill from its palm onto the floor. “The yuan-ti means nothing to me; she may go. Unbind me from her, and these are yours.”
Arvin smiled grimly. “A rogue tried to entice me with a similar offer a few days ago,” he said. “He’s dead now.”
The demon clenched its fist—causing the swords to reappear—and pointed one of them at Arvin. “Unbind me!” it roared.
Arvin gripped the gauntlet with sweaty hands. “No.”
“We seem to have reached an impasse,” the demon hissed.
Outside the chapel, just beyond the spot where one of the soldier’s bodies lay, Arvin saw a flash of silver: light, glinting off a polished breastplate. Marasa stepped into view in the doorway, her lips moving as she whispered a spell, her left hand—clad in a silver gauntlet whose palm was set with an enormous, glittering sapphire—extended toward the demon.
“Yes,” Arvin answered. “It seems we have.” He shrugged, a gesture that removed his hands for no more than a fraction of a heartbeat from the gauntlet. It had the desired effect; the demon lashed out with a sword, but before the blade connected, Arvin’s hands were back on the gauntlet.
The demon glared at him, oblivious to Karrell, who had risen to her hands and knees and was crawling away, her wounded hand leaving a smear of blood on the floor, and to Marasa, who was casting her spell. Marasa swept her hand down toward the demon, the sapphire in her gauntlet glinting. “By Helm’s all-seeing might, I order you, demon, back to the place from whence you came!” she shouted.
The demon rose from the floor, roaring, slashing wildly with its swords. A rent appeared in the air next to it; an angry boil that burst open, emitting a sulfurous stench. Dark shapes writhed inside the tear in the fabric of the planes, howling and thrashing. The demon tumbled toward them.
Karrell fell onto her side—had she slipped on her own blood? As she rose again, blood from her wounded hand streamed toward the hole in a thin red ribbon—a ribbon the demon grabbed in one clawed hand.
Arvin reeled, realizing he’d seen this once before: in the vision at Naneth’s home.
Still roaring, the demon disappeared through the gap between the planes. Karrell was yanked after it, screaming.
The gap closed.
For a heartbeat, Arvin stood rooted to the spot, Karrell’s scream echoing in his mind. Then he hurled himself across the chapel toward the spot where she’d disappeared. “Karrell!” he cried desperately. Tears streaming down his face, he clutched at empty air. He sagged to the ground and beat his fists against the floor. A fate link wasn’t supposed to work that way; it transferred pain, wounds, even fatal injury from one individual to the next, but that was all.
What had gone wrong?
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Marasa staring down at him. Her face was deeply lined and streaked with tears; her hair seemed even grayer than it had been before. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t realize….”
Arvin looked up at her through tear-blurred eyes. “Karrell was still alive when she went into the Abyss. Is there any way she could still be—”
Marasa shook her head grimly. “No. She would never survive.”
Arvin’s shoulders slumped.
“She was pregnant,” he whispered, “with my child.” He shook his head and corrected himself. “With my children. They’re all….” His throat caught, preventing him from speaking further.
Marasa nodded but seemed too weary to offer any further comfort. Her hand fell away from his shoulder.
Outside, the skies darkened and a wet snow began to fall. A chill wind blew flakes of white in through the shattered window. A shard of blue—all that remained of Helm’s eye—fell to the floor like a tear and broke, tinkling.
Arvin spotted Karrell’s ring, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Two severed fingers lay next to it. He picked the ring up and wiped it clean on his shirt, then stared for a long moment at the turquoise stone. Then he pressed the ring to his lips. “Forgive me,” he whispered.
He slipped the ring onto the little finger of his left hand then clenched his hand shut, savoring the pain of his abbreviated little finger.
Karrell was dead.
So was Glisena.
Arvin had failed them both.
But Sibyl was still alive. And if she managed to get her hands on the second half of the Circled Serpent, many more would die.
He stared down at the ring on his finger. “I’ll do it,” he vowed. “Finish what you started. See to it that Sibyl never gets a chance to use the Circled Serpent.”
In the darkening skies outside, thunder rumbled.
Epilogue
Arvin stood near the stern of the ship, watching the shoreline of Sespech fall away behind. Already the square buildings of Mimph were no more than tiny squares on the horizon, their lights slowly fading. The waters of the Vilhon Reach were as dark as the overcast evening sky above, a perfect counterpoint to his grim mood.
Seven days had passed since Karrell had disappeared into the Abyss. His eyes still teared whenever he thought of her. Her life had entwined with his only briefly, yet he still felt frayed by her loss. He thought back to what she’d told him on the day he’d discovered she was a yuan-ti. After they’d made love, she’d told him more about the beliefs of her religion. Every person’s life was a maze, hedged with pain, disappointment, suffering, and self-doubt, she’d said. To find one’s way through this jungle, one had to keep one’s eyes on the “true path”—the course the gods had cleared for one through the thorny undergrowth.