He smiled.
The smile vanished as something sharp pricked through the fabric of his cloak and shirt, jabbing his back. A hand on his shoulder turned him toward a doorway.
"Inside," gritted the man behind him.
Arvin risked turning his head slightly. The tall rogue from last night had the hood of his cloak pulled up, but Arvin recognized him by his gaunt, stubbled-cheeks. "My pouch is in my boot," Arvin told him, gesturing at his coin pouch; as soon as the fellow bent for it, Arvin would draw his dagger and stab backhanded through his cloak, giving the rogue a nasty surprise. He put a quaver in his voice. "Please don't hurt me. Just take my coin and go."
The rogue pressed the sharp object-most likely a dagger-into Arvin's back. The blade was icy cold; the flesh around the wound immediately began to ache.
"One thrust, and it will freeze your flesh," the man promised in a grim voice. "I don't think you'd survive long with your entrails turned to ice." He gave Arvin a slight shove. "Now… inside."
"Listen, friend," Arvin began, raising his hands so the rogue could see them. He'd use silent speech to show the fellow that he, too, was Guild, albeit from Hlondeth, then hit him with a charm. "I'm one of-"
The dagger pricked harder, drawing a gasp of pain from Arvin. It felt as though a needle of ice were being driven into his back.
"No tricks," the rogue gritted. "There's others watching-others with weapons who will take you down if I fall. One suspicious move, mind mage, and you're a dead man."
Arvin blinked. How did the rogue know he was a psion? Arvin knew better than to look around. The threat would be genuine; rogues almost never worked alone. "What do you want?" he asked.
"To talk," the rogue answered.
"All right," Arvin said. "Let's talk." He reached for the handle of the door and opened it.
As he stepped inside what turned out to be cooper's workshop, he braced himself for what was to come. Someone in the local rogues' guild must have heard that a member of the Hlondeth Guild was in Sespech. The locals probably wanted to learn what Arvin was doing here-to make sure he wasn't planning on thieving on their turf. Arvin balled his left hand into a fist and felt the familiar ache of his missing fingertip. He didn't intend to lose another.
The rogue removed the dagger from Arvin's back and stepped quickly away from him, closing the door. The weapon was an odd-looking one, made of metal as white as frost and with a spike-shaped blade that tapered to a point, like an icicle. The rogue sheathed it-a bad sign. It meant that the room held other, more potent threats.
Arvin glanced around. The workshop looked ordinary enough; half-finished barrels stood on the floor, next to loose piles of metal hoops. The smell of fresh-sawn wood lingered in the air, suggesting the workshop had been used recently. Chisels, saws, and mallets were scattered about; Arvin could have turned any one of them into a surprise weapon using the power that allowed him to move objects at a distance. He refrained, however, realizing that the tall man probably wasn't the only rogue in the room. His guess was confirmed a moment later when some sawdust on the floor shifted slightly; a second person, cloaked by invisibility, was also present. The tall man confirmed this a moment later, with two words in the silent speech, directed at his invisible companion: None followed.
Arvin shifted his eyes away from the spot where the invisible person stood, looking at the tall man instead. "What do you want to talk about?"
"We know the baron's daughter is missing and that you've come from Hlondeth to find her," the rogue said.
Only through years of practice did Arvin manage to prevent his eyes from widening. This wasn't what he'd expected.
"We want to make you an offer," the rogue continued.
Arvin raised an eyebrow. "One that's just too good to refuse?"
The rogue nodded. He pointed at one of the finished barrels; a small leather pouch sat on top of it. "Look inside."
Arvin stepped over to the pouch and loosened its ties. Something glittered inside: gems-dozens of them. Seeing the way they sparkled, even in the dim light of the shop, Arvin realized what they were: diamonds. Small, easily portable and immensely valuable, they were a currency that could be spent anywhere in Faerun that Arvin might care to go.
Assuming they weren't just an illusion, which gave him an idea. "How do I know they're real?" he asked.
"Inspect them as closely as you like," the rogue offered.
"May I use magic to evaluate their worth?"
The rogue hesitated. "No tricks," he warned. "Or-" "I know, I know. Or I'm a dead man," Arvin continued.
"Don't worry. There will be no tricks."
He bent over the pouch and stirred the gems with a finger. They seemed real enough. Then he braced himself; it was now or never. He picked up the pouch and manifested the power that would allow him to listen to the thoughts of those in the room. Silver sparkles erupted from his third eye and streamed toward his hand, dissipating as they hit the gems; if his bluff held, the rogue would think the spell was targeting them. Out of the corner of his eye, Arvin saw the rogue frowning, as if listening to a distant, half-heard sound. Arvin wondered if the invisible person was doing the same thing.
An instant later, his question was answered. Two separate voices whispered into his mind: the thoughts of the rogue and the invisible person. Ignoring the former-he would be an expendable member of the guild, one who'd been told as little as possible-Arvin concentrated on the latter. The thoughts were those of a man who stood with his finger on the trigger of a crossbow, loaded with a bolt whose head was smeared with a poison more lethal than yuan-ti venom. Worse yet, the trigger was a dead man's switch: if the invisible man relaxed his finger, even a little, the crossbow would shoot.
Arvin hid his shudder and gestured at the gems. "What do I have to do to earn this?"
"The girl," the rogue answered. "When you find her, give her to us."
Arvin nodded, concentrating on the thoughts of the second man. The fellow was worried about the diamonds, which were real enough. If he killed the psion, they'd scatter on the floor, and some might be lost in the cracks. If even one went missing, someone named Haskar would have his head.
"What will you do with Glisena?" Arvin asked.
"Ransom her," the rogue answered. He gestured at the pouch. "For a lot of coin. What we're going to demand from the baron will make that look like the contents of a beggar's cup."
Arvin nodded, still listening to the thoughts of the second man. The guild wasn't going to ransom Glisena to the baron. No, that would be too dangerous. They'd sell her, instead. Lord Wianar would pay well for the girl-and there would be no need for dangerous exchanges or worrying about those damn clerics.
Arvin nodded to himself. Alarmed though he was at the thought that the local rogues' guild knew who he was-they must have a spy in the baron's court-he was relieved to find that their plan was so simplistic. He let his manifestation end, satisfied he'd learned everything he could.
Somewhere outside, a horn sounded three times: the morning call to prayer for Helm's faithful. The rogue ignored it.
"How do I contact you?" Arvin asked.
"Enter any tavern and make this sign," the rogue instructed. With a finger, he rubbed first the inside corner of his right eye, then the outside corner.
Arvin smiled to himself. It was one of the first words in silent speech the Guild had taught him.
"When you see someone make this sign," the rogue continued, making a V with the first two fingers of his right hand and drawing them along his left forearm from elbow to wrist, "you'll know you've found us." He paused. "Do we have an agreement?"
Arvin nodded. "It's certainly a tempting offer," he said. "I'll let you know." He set the pouch back on the barrel-carefully, so none of the diamonds spilled.