the spell that has to be cast on the middle third of the rope, to hide the sticky residue…”
“Do you want to know what the inscription on the key said, or not?” Lorin asked.
Arvin sighed. “You’ll get your discount. But with my warehouse currently being… cleansed I’m not sure when I’ll be back in business.”
Lorin waved the protest aside. “You’ll manage.” Left unspoken was an implied threat. If Arvin didn’t supply a thief catcher in a reasonable amount of time, something unpleasant would happen. The Guild took a dim view of tardy deliveries.
Lorin turned and picked up a wooden tray that was slotted into several compartments, each holding a key. He pulled out the key Arvin had found in the cultist’s pocket and laid it on the workbench then wiped soot from his fingers. “What’s interesting is that you found this in the pocket of someone who died of plague,” he began. “The inscription on it reads ‘Keepers of the Flame.’ That’s a religious order-one that was active during the plague of ’17.”
“What god did they worship?” Arvin asked, certain the answer would be Talona.
Lorin laughed. “What god didn’t they worship? They were clerics of Chauntea, of Ilmater, of Helm, even of Talos-”
“So the key would have belonged to one of those clerics?”
Lorin nodded. “One of the duties the Keepers of the Flame were charged with was collecting and disposing of the corpses of those who died in the plague. They set up crematoriums all over the Reach.”
Arvin smiled grimly. It all fit. The cultists were attracted to places associated with disease-their use of the slaughterhouse and sewers were prime examples. Naulg had said he was in a building with burning walls, and the cultist had bragged about Talona’s faithful “rising from the ashes”-a boast he’d meant literally. No wonder he’d been smug. A crematorium, intended to put a stop to one plague, would serve as the starting point for another.
“Was one of those crematoriums in Hlondeth?” Arvin asked.
“Yes-and anyone who was living in the city in ’17 can tell you where it is. But that key is probably for a crematorium in another city. The one in Hlondeth had walls of solid stone, without a door or window anywhere in them.”
“Why would they build it like that?”
Lorin shook his head. “Nobody knows for sure, but the loremaster I consulted heard that the building contained a gate that opened onto the Plane of Fire. I suppose the clerics didn’t want anyone messing with that.”
“How did the clerics get inside?”
“They teleported-together with the corpses they were going to burn.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. It eliminated the problem of having to haul bodies through the city in carts-and spreading the disease.”
Arvin frowned at the key. The Hlondeth crematorium must have had a door-possibly one cloaked in illusion. That no one had sought this door in fifty-six years was no surprise. Only a madman would want to break into a building in which plague victims had been housed, however briefly.
A madman-or someone with a mind seed in his head.
Lorin nodded at the key. “If I were you, I wouldn’t use it.”
Arvin picked up the key and slipped it into his pocket. “Don’t worry,” he told Lorin. “If I do enter the crematorium, I’ll be sure to take a cleric along.”
26 Kythorn, Sunset
The Plaza of Justice was a wide, cobblestoned expanse, large enough to accommodate several thousand people and encircled by a viaduct supported by serpent-shaped columns. From his vantage point on a rooftop just above the viaduct, Arvin could see down into the execution pits-two circular holes, each as wide as a large building. Inside each pit was an enormous serpent, its body so thick that a man would barely be able to encircle it with his arms. One was an adder, its venomous fangs capable of imparting a swift death. To this serpent were thrown the condemned deemed worthy of “mercy.” The other was a yellowish green constrictor, which squeezed the life out of its victims slowly. On rare occasions, it would skip this step and swallow its victims while they were still alive and thrashing.
Arching over each of the pits was a short stone ramp. Up these, the condemned were forced to march. Their final step was off the end of the ramp and into the pit below.
Both of the snakes had eaten recently. Arvin counted one bulge inside the adder, three inside the constrictor. He shuddered, wondering which of the rebels they were. Only one of the rebels had been shown “mercy,” which made Arvin’s choice easier. Nicco would show no mercy, either. He’d choose the punishment the majority of the Secession’s raiders had suffered.
Slaves were still sweeping up the litter dropped by the crowd who had come to watch this morning’s executions. The yuan-ti spectators were long gone from the viaduct that encircled the plaza, but a couple of dozen humans still lingered below-those who had been mesmerized by the serpents. They stood, staring into the pits and swaying slightly, as mindless as grass blown by a malodorous wind. The slaves swept around them.
One man stood, alone and rigid as an oak, at the western edge of the plaza. Nicco. He stared at the pits, scowling, arms folded across his chest. His shadow was a long column of black that slowly crept toward the pits as the sun sank. So unmoving and determined did he appear that Arvin wondered for a moment if Nicco had stood there since morning, plotting divine vengeance against the executioners.
And against Arvin.
Arvin waited, watching the cleric. Nicco finally turned and glanced at the setting sun, as if gauging the time of day, then stared out toward the Reach and the clouds that were building there. While he was thus occupied, Arvin rose to his knees and whirled the monkey’s fist in a tight circle over his head. He spoke its command word as he let it fly-and hissed in satisfaction as it landed inside the constrictor’s pit. The enormous snake didn’t react to the sudden movement. Eating three condemned people in a single day must have sated it.
As Nicco returned his attention to the pits, Arvin climbed down onto the viaduct. He strode around it to the spot where Nicco stood. Only when he was directly above the cleric did Nicco look up. Nicco squinted and raised a gloved hand to shield his eyes from the sun; Arvin had the sun behind his back and would be no more than a silhouette. Then Nicco pointed an accusing finger. “Four people died this morning,” he rumbled in a voice as low and threatening as thunder. “Their blood is on your lips. You betrayed them.”
Arvin shook his head in protest. “I didn’t say anything that-”
“You must have! How else do you explain the yuan-ti who surprised them just outside Osran’s door-a yuan-ti with powers far beyond those normally manifested by her race-a psion. Deny that you serve her, if you dare!”
“I don’t serve her. Not willingly. She-”
Nicco jerked his hand. A bolt of lightning erupted from his fingertip. It blasted into the viaduct at Arvin’s feet, sending splinters of stone flying into the air. Several of them stung Arvin’s legs. The edge of the viaduct abruptly crumbled and Arvin found himself falling. He managed to land on his feet and immediately let his knees buckle to turn the landing into a roll, but scraped his ungloved hand badly in the process. Blood began to seep from it as he stood, and from the numerous nicks in his legs that had been caused by the flying stone.
As the startled slaves fled the plaza-together with those spectators whose trances had been broken by the thunderclap-Arvin turned to face Nicco. Arvin was careful not to make any threatening moves. The cleric was angry enough already.
But at least he was still talking. All Arvin had to do was get him to listen-and to believe him.
“I didn’t tell the yuan-ti psion anything,” Arvin protested. “If I had, your geas would have killed me. She reached into my mind-she
“You gave it to her willingly,” Nicco accused. “That’s why you fled the city. You feared Hoar’s wrath.”
“Then why would I have come back? Why would I seek you out? I needed help-I left the city to find it. But the person who tried to negate what Zelia had done to me wasn’t able to-”
“Zelia.” Nicco’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s the name of your master.”
Arvin opened his mouth to explain further, but in that same moment Nicco barked out a quick prayer. “Walk,” he commanded, the lightning bolts in his earring tinkling as he thrust out a hand, pointing at the execution pits.
Arvin felt the compulsion of the prayer grip him-and found himself turning smartly on his heel. Like a puppet, he marched toward the pits, guided by Nicco’s pointing finger as the cleric strode along behind him. Arvin had an
