Venom’s Taste

this potion would be dead long before the transformation occurred. One of its components is a highly toxic venom.” He looked up from the chalice to stare at Gonthril. “Yuan-ti venom.”

Gonthril pointed at Arvin. “This man drank an identical potion-and lived.”

Hazzan turned to Arvin. “Are you a cleric?”

“No,” Arvin answered. “I’m not.”

“Did a cleric lay healing hands on you?”

Arvin wet his lips. He was glad he wasn’t wearing Gonthril’s truth ring anymore-though perhaps he could have avoided giving the game away, since Zelia was a psion, rather than a cleric. “No.”

“Are you wearing any device that would neutralize poison?”

Arvin thought of Kayla-of the periapt she wore around her neck. He touched the cat’s-eye bead that hung at his throat for reassurance.

Hazzan noticed the gesture immediately. “The bead is magical?”

Arvin shrugged.

Hazzan cast a quick spell and pointed a finger at the bead. Then he shook his head. “It’s ordinary clay. A worthless trinket.” He lowered his hand. “It is possible that the potion you were forced to drink was different from the rest. Perhaps it lacked the venom.”

“The flask was identical to this one,” Arvin said. “The potion smelled like this one, too. And it certainly felt like I’d been poisoned. The pain was excruciating. It felt as though I’d swallowed broken glass.”

“Yet your body fought off the venom,” Hazzan mused. “Interesting.” He turned to Gonthril. “He could be yuan-ti. They’re naturally resistant to their own venom.”

“I knew it,” Chorl growled. He shifted his staff.

Arvin hissed in alarm.

“Chorl, wait,” Gonthril said. He placed a hand on Chorl’s staff. “It’s possible, sometimes, for humans to survive yuan-ti venom. And to all appearances, this man is human-despite his strange mannerisms.”

Chorl glared at Arvin. “So what? He’s still a danger to us. He knows where we-”

“He’s an innocent caught up in all of this,” Gonthril countered. “The ring confirmed his story.”

Chorl’s eyes narrowed. “Why does he hiss like that, then, and lick his lips? He even moves like a yuan- ti.”

Arvin glared at the man. Chorl’s constant hectoring was starting to annoy him. “I am human,” he spat back. “As human as you.”

Chorl’s lip curled. “I doubt it.”

Hazzan suddenly snapped his fingers. “The potion,” he exclaimed. “So that’s what it does-it transforms humans into yuan-ti.”

Arvin felt his eyes widen. “No,” he whispered. He started to wet his lips nervously then realized what he was doing and gulped back his tongue. Then a thought occurred to him. Maybe Zelia had been bluffing. Maybe there was no mind seed. She might have guessed what the potion did, realized it would work this transformation on Arvin, and tried to claim credit for it. If it was the potion that was causing the hissing and the lip licking, what would be next? Would Arvin’s spittle suddenly turn poisonous, like that of the old sailor he’d found dying in the tunnel?

Realizing he was starting to panic, he forced himself to calm down. Would it really be so bad to turn into a yuan-ti? They were the rulers and nobles of Hlondeth; Arvin would certainly move up the social ladder if he became one. And in addition to their venom-handy, in a close-quarters fight-yuan-ti could assume serpent form at will. And they had magical abilities. They could enshroud themselves in darkness, use their unblinking stares to terrify others into fleeing, and compel others to do their bidding-a more powerful version of the simple charm that Arvin liked to use. They could entrance both animals and plants, causing the former to lose themselves in a swaying trance and the latter to tangle themselves about creatures or objects. And, as Zelia had demonstrated, they could neutralize poison with a simple laying-on of hands.

That thought led him to a realization. If the potion was intended to turn humans into yuan-ti, it would be useless if everyone who drank it died from the venom it contained. Which they didn’t. The old sailor had survived. Had Naulg?

Maybe.

And if Naulg was still alive and slowly transforming into a yuan-ti, would he wind up embracing Talona’s faith, as the old sailor had? Or… had the sailor really become a convert? Thinking back to the old man’s final words, Arvin concluded that was not the case. The sailor had invoked Silvanus’s name as he lay dying-hardly something someone who had embraced Talona would do. No, the old man had probably been magically compelled by the cultist-for some time, probably, since the cultist no longer felt the need to keep him bound hand and foot.

A thought suddenly occurred to Arvin-one that sent a shiver through him. He caught the wizard’s eye. “You called the potion something else, a ‘compulsive enchantment,’ ” he said. “What does that mean?”

“A compulsive enchantment allows a wizard to dominate his victim,” Hazzan answered.

Gonthril was quickest to catch on. “That bastard,” he gritted. “He doesn’t just want to turn us into serpent folk. He wants to turn us into his slaves.”

Chorl’s grip on his staff tightened. “This man might already be in Osran’s power,” he said, gesturing at Arvin. “All the more reason to-”

Gonthril silenced him with an angry glare. As Chorl flushed suddenly, Arvin realized what had just happened. In his anger, Chorl had let slip something he shouldn’t have-the name of the yuan-ti who had been seen meeting with the Pox.

Osran Extaminos, youngest brother of Lady Dediana.

Arvin pretended not to have noticed the slip. “Can you dispel the potion’s magic?” he asked Hazzan. He curled the fingers of his gloved hand, readying it for his dagger, as he waited for the wizard’s reply. If the answer was no, he’d have to fight his way out.

Hazzan stroked his beard. “Possibly.”

Gonthril took a deep breath. “For the sake of Hlondeth’s true people, Talona grant it be so,” he whispered. Then, to the wizard, he said, “Try.”

Hazzan rolled up his sleeves then extended his right hand toward Arvin, pointing. Staring intently into Arvin’s eyes, he began casting a spell. The incantation took only a moment; the final word was a shout. As it erupted from his wizard’s lips Hazzan flicked his forefinger and Arvin felt a wave of magical energy punch into his chest. It coursed through his body like an electric shock, making his fingers and toes tingle and the hair rise on the back of his neck. Then it was gone.

Gonthril peered at Arvin. “Did it work?”

“Let’s find out.” Hazzan picked up the chalice and tipped the potion out of it, pouring it into the mortar. Then he pulled a scrap of cloth out of a pocket and wiped the inside of the chalice clean. He then held out a hand. “Give me your hand,” he told Arvin, picking up the scissors.

Arvin drew back, unpleasant memories of the Guild filling his thoughts. “What are you going to do?”

“He needs a sample of your blood,” Gonthril told Arvin. “To see if the potion is still in it.”

“All right.” Arvin answered reluctantly, placing his hand in Hazzan’s. “As long as it doesn’t cost me another fingertip.”

Gonthril chuckled.

“A small incision should do,” Hazzan reassured him. “I just need a few drops of blood, enough to cover the bottom of the chalice.”

He winced as Hazzan sliced into his finger with the blade of the scissors-deliberate cuts always hurt more, it seemed, than those inflicted in a fight-but kept his hand steady over the chalice. A few drops of blood leaked into it, splattering against the clear glass.

“That’s enough,” Hazzan said.

Arvin pressed against the cut in his finger, staunching the blood. He sat back down and stared at the bowl of the chalice. Strangely, though the blood had been red as it had dripped into the bowl, now it looked clear as water- so clear that for a moment he thought the blood had disappeared. He leaned forward, peering down into the mouth of the chalice again, and saw that it was indeed drizzled with bright red blood. Surprised, he started to let out an involuntary hiss-and saw Chorl’s frown deepen.