conveyed to her mistress at once, but how?
He thought quickly. Slumber-and dream-were important parts of Sseth's worshlp. In midwinter, a select few of the serpent god's priests underwent the Sagacious Slumber, a month-long hibernation during which they communed with their god, gaining new spells, but that didn't seem to be what was going on here. It sounded as thought Sibyl was looking for something in the dreams of her worshipers.
Arvin had an idea what it might be: a clue to the whereabouts of the Circled Serpent, an artifact Dmetrio Extaminos had found during his restoration of the Scaled Tower one year ago. Sibyl's minions had managed to get their hands on half of the Circled Serpent, but the other half was still in Dmetrio's possession. He'd hidden it so well, even Karrell hadn't been able to find it.
If Arvin's guess was right, he would be conveyed directly to Sibyl, welcoming ceremony or not. If not
He decided he'd take the risk. He stared up at the ceiling as if lost in thought. 'There was more,' he told the scribe, 'a second part to my dream.'
'Yes?' she said, dipping her quill in the pot of ink that sat on the bench next to her. She gave a soft, hissing sigh. Her thoughts-which Arvin was still reading-held a note of bored indulgence. He was attracted to her-most males were-and he wanted to keep talking. He was probably making the second part up, she decided.
'There was a serpent,' Arvin continued. 'A silver serpent. Its body was coiled back upon itself in a circle.' He sketched a circle in the air with his hands. 'It was swallowing its own tail.'
Arvin fought to contain his smile as he listened to the scribe's thoughts race. She scribbled furiously. It was exactly what she'd been waiting to hear. Mistress Sibyl had instructed her-personally instructed her! — to pay close attention to any mention of circled serpents.
'Go on,' she prompted.
'A man was holding the silver serpent-a yuanti,' Arvin continued, 'a man with a high forehead, narrow nose, and dark, swept-back hair.'
The scribe frowned as she wrote that down. Arvin had neglected to mention scale color and pattern, the first thing a yuan-ti typically mentioned, when describing another of his race.
'Oh yes,' Arvin said, as if suddenly remembering. 'There was something odd about him. He didn't have any scales. His skin was almost… human.'
He managed to inject a shudder of disgust into the word that satisfied the scribe. 'Did you recognize him?' she asked.
'I think it was Dmetrio Extaminos,' Arvin answered.
While she recognized the name, it didn't trigger the sudden rush of excitement Arvin had expected. The scribe, he decided, had been told only so much.
'Where was he?' she asked. 'In your dream.'
'He was in…' Arvin said that much then deliberately halted.
He didn't know where the royal prince was. Nobody else in the city did either-at least, nobody the guild had been able to question. After being recalled from Sespech six months ago, Hlondeth's former ambassador had made a brief appearance at the palace then simply disappeared. Arvin had tried to contact Dmetrio with a sending, but it had met with the same lack of success as his attempts to contact Karrell. Dmetrio was either dead or shielded by powerful magic.
'Yes?' the scribe prompted.
Arvin drew himself up in a stiff pose and looked down his nose at her. 'That, I think, is something for the ears of our mistress alone, hatchling.' He used the diminutive term, despite the fact that he had assumed an appearance that wasn't much older than the scribe.
She hissed softly at the verbal bite. How dare he, she thought. She, a ssethssar of the temple, and he a mere lay worshiper! She started to bare her fangs then remembered the task she had been charged with. The mistress would be displeased, indeed, if this impertinent male died before his dream was recorded.
'Mistress Sibyl is too busy to meet with you,' she began. 'Tell me your dream. I will ensure-'
'Yes, yes, I know,' Arvin said, waving a hand. It was tingling fiercely, the scales on it starting to shrink. Already the belt around his waist felt tighter. 'The welcoming ceremony. I was supposed to be part of it but chose to dream instead. Take me to Sibyl-immediately.'
That made her blink. He dared address the mistress by name alone? Perhaps she'd misjudged him. A few of the high serphidians had attended Dreamings in the past, but he wasn't one she recognized. She took careful note of his face-then blinked as she noticed it was changing. The black-and-gray scales were melting away into human flesh…
A spy! her mind shrieked. I mustThe scribe raised her hands to cast a spell. As she began reciting her prayer, Arvin manifested a power. He was already inside her mind, which made it easier, but in order for his deception to work he needed to manifest two powers at once.
He peeled back her layers of memory, starting with the sound she was currently hearing: the tinkling noise that was his power's secondary manifestation. Working backward from there, he erased the moment of realization that he was a not yuan-ti, but human-a spy-and the memory of his scales disappearing and human features emerging. At the same time, he remanifested his metamorphosis, restoring his body to serpent form.
In the middle of his mental labors. the scribe's spell went off and a snakelike whip of glowing red energy lashed out from her hand. It slapped across his shoulder, burning through the fabric of his shirt and sending a hot wave of pain through the flesh below. Arvin gasped, fighting to maintain his concentration. For a moment, it almost slipped away-scales stopped blossoming on his body, and the scribe managed to lay down another layer of memory: an image of Arvin as he shuddered under her mystic lash.
Then he regained control. He stripped this memory away, together with several others, peeling her memories down to the point just before his metamorphosis had ended, leaving her with the memory of him ordering her to take him to Sibyl. At the same time, he completed his transformation, forcing his body back into yuan-ti form.
When it was over, he was no longer listening to
her thoughts, but he could guess what they were. She would wonder why he was suddenly panting and sweaty, why he was turning his shoulder away from her, as if hiding something.
'You're… unwell?' she asked, her voice uncertain.
'Uneasy,' he corrected. 'The dream left me… uneasy. It is sure to unsettle Si-Mistress Sibyl-as well. The sooner I describe it to her, the better.' He waved a hand, as if dismissing her. 'Take me to her now. I will follow.'
'Yes, High Serphidian,' she said.
Laying down her quill and parchment, she slid off the bench and slithered up the hallway. Arvin followed, shifting the strap of his backpack to cover the bright red stripe of burned flesh on his shoulder.
She led him for some distance through the catacombs along a route so convoluted Arvin became lost. He doubted he'd be able to find the dreaming chamber again, then laughed grimly as he realized that it probably wouldn't matter. He'd accepted the fact that killing Sibyl would probably be the last thing he ever did. With Karrell gone, his own life no longer mattered. What he needed to focus on was making sure the attack was successful.
After a while, the bone decorations were replaced by bare stone walls that had been carved in a pattern that resembled scales. Arvin's heart quickened as he realized they were approaching Sibyl's lair. Villim's text had described Varae's temple as having walls like these. Several times the scribe led Arvin through arches that had arcane symbols graven into their stonework. Arvin's skin tingled as he passed through their magical fields. Though his heart raced each time he felt the wash of magical energy, no alarm sounded. Karrell's ring protected him, shielding his thoughts and suppressing any
auras that might have given him away as an enemy of Sibyl.
The ancient temple, a veritable stronghold, was crowded with yuan-ti. The scribe led Arvin past an egg-filled brood chamber that was warmed by crackling braziers and a great hall in which dozens of yuan-ti feasted on an enormous millipede whose head and tail had been staked to either end of a long dining table. The diners tore out chunks of the still-wriggling insect, and washed it down with blood-tinged wine.
Along the way, they passed several guards: grotesque, hulking blends of human and reptile that bore an unsettling resemblance to the hideous creature Arvin's best friend Naulg had become, after being forced to drink the Pox's transformative poison. Arvin gave a mental shudder as he passed them and had to work hard to keep his expression neutral.
