Venom’s Taste

Nicco stared at one of the walls, his green eyes ablaze with rekindled fury. “That night I prayed. I begged Hoar to give me the means to avenge Varga’s death. I swore I would devote my life to Hoar’s service, if only he would give me a sign. The next morning, the Lord of the Three Thunders answered. The padlock on my chain clicked shut as the new overseer closed it-then fell open a moment later, just as thunder rumbled overhead. Then there came a second thunderclap, and a third-the sound of Hoar calling me to his service.”

Arvin wet his lips. “And you answered?”

Nicco nodded. “I did the unthinkable. I broke my vow of servitude and ran away. Hoar guided my steps to Archendale, to a temple in the Arch Wood.”

Arvin nodded his encouragement. “You didn’t run away. You ran to something.” As he spoke, jealousy stirred. If only he’d had something to run to, after escaping the orphanage. How different his life might have been. Instead he’d run straight into the clutches of the Guild-from the fat into the fire.

“That’s true,” Nicco agreed. “It helps to think of it like that.” He paused then continued his tale. “I spent the next two years in prayer. During that time, Hoar provided me with a vision of vengeance. The idea came to me during a thunderstorm, when I was caught in a torrential rain. I created a magical item-a blown-glass decanter that I crafted myself, exquisitely shaped and colored. I returned to Chessenta, disguised by magic, and spread the rumor that I had something rare and wonderful for sale-a decanter of unknown but extremely powerful magical properties. I made sure my former master heard of it. The price he offered was ridiculously low, but after putting up a show of haggling, I accepted it. I delivered the decanter to his home. As I left him in his study-a windowless room-I used a spell to lock the door behind me. When he removed the stopper, expecting a jinni to emerge and grant his every wish, all that came out was water.”

Arvin leaned forward, caught up in the story. “What happened then?”

Nicco gave a grim smile. “Once removed, the stopper could not be replaced. The water filled the room. He drowned. Blood for blood-or in this case, a drowning for a drowning. Justice.”

Arvin found himself nodding in agreement, which surprised him. He wasn’t the sort of man to dwell on the past, to let it fester as Nicco had. The thought of devoting two years of his life to a scheme of revenge was utterly foreign to him. Despite his treatment at the orphanage, he’d never once had thoughts of exacting revenge upon the clerics who had humiliated him-not serious thoughts, anyway. Instead he’d avoided that part of the city. Best to let sleeping snakes lie. But now he found himself caught up in Nicco’s tale, wetting his lips as he savored the taste of revenge secondhand…

… which scared him. Arvin didn’t want to answer the call of such a grim and vengeful god. Part of him, however, enjoyed the cruel, poetic justice Hoar meted out.

The part that was thinking like Zelia. But it gave him an idea.

“Nicco,” he asked slowly, pretending to be thinking out loud, “does your god ever forgive?”

The cleric folded his arms across his chest. “Never.”

“So… if I sit here and do nothing to rescue Naulg-a friend since my days at the orphanage-a friend who was as grievously wronged by the Pox as I was-” He paused and wet his lips nervously. “I can expect Hoar’s retribution?”

Nicco was smart enough to see exactly where Arvin was going. “I can’t let you leave.”

“I won’t betray the Secession,” Arvin said. “I give you my solemn oath on that-my personal word of honor. You can trust me. I won’t break my ‘thread.’ All I want to do is save my friend.” And myself, he added silently.

Seeing a flicker of indecision in Nicco’s eyes, Arvin pressed his emotional thrust to the hilt. “Chorl doesn’t trust me-he wants me dead. He’s just looking for an excuse to punish me for a crime I haven’t even committed-and nothing either you or Gonthril will say will persuade him that I’m innocent.”

Nicco held up an admonishing finger. “Don’t you think Gonthril knows that?” he asked. “Why do you think Mortin was assigned to guard you? Unfortunately, you awakened early. You weren’t supposed to ‘escape’ until Middark.”

“I get it,” Arvin said slowly. “I was to be a distraction, to draw the militia away from… wherever it is Gonthril and the others have gone.” He thought a moment. “I take it you’re abandoning this hiding place?”

Nicco smiled. “We already have. You and I are the last ones here.”

“So what happens now?” Arvin asked. “Do we sit and wait for Middark?”

Nicco nodded.

“Why not let me go early? I won’t betray the Secession-their interests are my interests. Like them, I want the Pox stopped.”

Nicco sat in silence for a long moment before answering. “Will you agree to let me place a geas on you that will magically seal your oath?”

Arvin hesitated, uncomfortable with the thought of a compulsion spell being placed on him. A geas was dangerous-if you broke its conditions, it could kill you. Was it worth it, just to be on his way a little sooner? Middark wasn’t all that far away. But what if Gonthril changed his mind about Arvin’s usefulness in the meantime, or if Chorl returned?

“Do it,” he said.

Smiling, Nicco rose to his feet. He placed three fingers on Arvin’s mouth and whispered a quick prayer. Arvin felt magic tingle against his lips where Nicco’s fingertips touched them.

Nicco stared into Arvin’s eyes. “You will not reveal any information about the Secession.”

So far, so good. This was what Arvin had expected.

“You will not reveal the names of any members of the Secession,” Nicco continued. “Or provide any description of their appearance, or…”

The terms of the geas were surprisingly thorough-too thorough. Arvin winced as he heard the final part of the oath.

“… or speak the name Osran Extaminos.”

How in the Nine Hells was Arvin going to make his report to Zelia?

24 Kythorn, Evening

The Terrace was busy this time of night. After a hot, humid summer day, Hlondeth’s wealthier citizens were at last relaxing and enjoying themselves in the more bearable temperatures that evening brought. Seated at tables under softly glowing lights, they had a view across the city, with its towers and arches shimmering a faint green, down to the harbor below, where ships crowded together so closely their masts looked like a forest. Beyond them was the Churning Bay.

Arvin, flush with energy after having performed the asana he’d learned from Zelia, watched the slaves who bustled between the tables, trays balanced on one hand above their heads, serving tea and sweets. At last he spotted the slave he wanted to speak to-a young woman with a slight limp. He slipped into a seat at one of the tables she was serving. When she approached, she showed no sign of recognizing him, even though he’d ordered two of Drin’s “special teas” from her just yesterday. She set a small glass on the table in front of him. Inside it was a chunk of honeycomb. Then she asked which of the teas he’d like her to pour.

Arvin glanced over the collection of teapots on her tray and shook his head. “None of those,” he said. “I want a special blend.” He pretended to wave the tray away, but as he did, his fingers added a word, in silent speech: magic.

The slave was good; her expression never changed. “What flavor, sir?”

Arvin dropped his hand to the table, drumming it with his fingers to call her attention to his hand. “Let’s see,” he mused. Need-“Perhaps some mint”-speak-“and chamomile”-Drin-“and a peel of cinnamon.”-now.

“That’s an expensive blend,” the slave countered. “And it will take time to fetch the ingredients.”

“I’m prepared to pay,” Arvin said, tossing a silver piece onto her tray. “And I’m happy to wait. Give me some black tea to sip in the meantime. And I’ll take two of those poppy seed cakes. I’m famished.”

The slave set a teapot and two cakes down on his table and limped away. Arvin sat, sipping the honey-sweet tea. Despite his hunger, he found himself doing little more than nibbling at the cakes. Their taste was every bit as good as always, but somehow they seemed flat and lifeless in his mouth. He had to wash each mouthful down with a hefty gulp of tea.

Waiting in the warm night air was making Arvin lethargic. He closed his eyes, listening to the hum of