'Will you be staying on in Sespech once our business is concluded?' Naneth asked.
Zelia smiled. 'Only for a few days,' she said. 'Then we really must leave.'
'Who is 'we'?' Naneth asked.
Zelia smiled. 'You'll find out-seven days from now.' A soft, satisfied hiss of laughter followed.
Arvin's eyes widened as he realized what he'd just witnessed. Naneth hadn't been wiping sweat from her brow. She'd been wiping away a sheen of ectoplasm. Zelia had just seeded her. The earring-a power stone-must have contained a copy of the mind seed power.
The power that Arvin thought he had stripped from her for good, six months ago.
Arvin closed his eyes, blocking out both sight and sound. Bile rose in his throat; he swallowed it down. He could guess what must have happened. He'd relayed his warnings about Naneth being one of Sibyl's minions to Tanju, who in turn had conveyed them to Lady Dediana. And she, in turn, had passed the information along to Zelia, her agent in Sespech. Together, no doubt, with an order: that Zelia try, once again, to plant a spy within Sibyl's ranks.
Thunder grumbled from a clear sky: the laughter of Hoar. Naneth had placed a demon in Glisena's womb, and Zelia had just planted a mind seed in the midwife. The god of poetic justice was, beyond a doubt, pleased.
Arvin shuddered.
He watched as the two women in the room exchanged good-byes. Zelia promised to use another sending to contact Naneth the instant Glisena was out of the palace. Naneth nodded then teleported away.
Zelia turned and stared out the window, her eyes flashing silver as she manifested a power. Fearful that she would detect him, Arvin immediately ended his power. For several terrible moments he held his breath, bracing himself for her attack. Then he saw Zelia shiver.
An annoyed look on her face, she swayed to the window and yanked the curtains shut.
Slowly, Arvin let out his breath. Then he scrambled to the far side of the building and climbed back down to the street. He hurried up the road, casting several glances behind him, but saw no signs of pursuit. Relieved, he turned his steps toward the Fairwinds Inn.
As he walked, he pondered what he'd just seen and heard. He didn't believe for a moment that Zelia would attempt to remove Glisena from the palace-she'd just wanted to distract Naneth while she seeded her. That seed, however, would take seven days to blossom. And long before those seven days ended, Naneth would face Sibyl's wrath for having failed to deliver the pregnant Glisena to Hlondeth. What good would Zelia's mind seed be then?
He reached the inn and-after one more careful glance around-let himself in through the back door. He climbed the three flights of stairs that led to the attic room that Karrell had rented. As he reached the landing, he heard sounds of movement behind her door. Karrell had at last returned, it seemed. He prayed she'd been unsuccessful in finding Zelia. As he started to reach for the latch, he heard a wooden clatter that sounded like a chair falling over inside the room. It was immediately followed by a whispered oath, spoken by a male voice.
Arvin summoned his dagger into his glove and flattened himself against the wall beside the door. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket for the monkey's fist he'd used to waylay the satyr. A heartbeat later, the latch turned. The door eased open and a man started to back through it. Arvin recognized the fellow at once: the gaunt-faced rogue with the ice dagger who had waylaid him four days ago. The rogue was bent over, carrying something: an unconscious woman. A second man, still inside the room, held her feet. Even though both the room and hallway were in darkness, Arvin recognized their victim at once by her long hair and hugely pregnant belly.
Glisena. What in the Nine Hells was she doing here?
Arvin sprang forward, simultaneously slamming the hilt of his dagger into the temple of the rogue while hurling the monkey's fist in through the door at the second man. The intricate knot unraveled as it flew through the air, strands of it lashing the second man's arms against his sides. The skinny rogue, meanwhile, staggered sideways down the hall under the force of Arvin's blow. Both men dropped their burden at once; Glisena fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
There was no time to check if she was hurt. Arvin's blow had stunned the rogue instead of rendering him unconscious, and the second man-a beefy-looking fellow with a wind-reddened face and greasy hair-managed, despite his bonds, to twist up the loaded crossbow that hung from his belt. Arvin heard the trigger click and leaped aside from the doorway. The bolt snagged his cloak. The first rogue recovered and rushed down the hall, thrusting with his ice dagger. Arvin parried, and the point of the weapon scratched his left forearm. A shock of cold swept through his arm from his elbow to the tip of his abbreviated little finger. His hand went numb, and he dropped his dagger.
Greasy Hair was out of commission inside the room; the monkey's fist had wound its strands around his legs as well, and he'd fallen to the floor. But the first rogue had recovered enough to press home his attack. He feinted with his ice dagger, driving Arvin away from the weapon he'd just dropped. Arvin backed down the short hallway until the wall was at his back then put a deliberately worried look on his face.
The rogue lunged.
“Redditio!' Arvin cried, and his magical dagger flew up from the floor toward his ungloved hand. He caught it as the rogue completed his lunge; the ice dagger scored a line across Arvin's side as he twisted, tearing his shirt. Gasping from the sudden cold-it felt as though an ice- cold hand had clenched his guts-Arvin completed his twist and slammed his own weapon home. It sank to the hilt in the rogue's back.
The rogue went down. He fell to the floor, gurgling like a man whose lungs were filled with fever-fluid. Then he coughed a spray of blood. He wouldn't live long.
Arvin stood on the rogue's wrist and plucked the ice dagger out of his hand then glanced through the doorway at the second man. The fellow had strained against his magical bindings until the cords cut deep grooves into the flesh of his arms and legs, but the ensorcelled twine was holding.
Transferring both daggers to his gloved hand, Arvin touched his side. Crumbles of frozen blood came away from the wound, causing it to bleed slightly. Like the cut on his arm, it was no more than a scratch. 'Nine lives,' he whispered.
Inside the room, on the table, was a mug of ale. Arvin was tempted to take a hefty swallow but decided against it. He didn't want the rogues thinking his bravery needed a crutch. He glared down at the trussed man.
'It wasn't my idea,' the fellow whined. He jerked his head at the rogue who lay dying in the hall. 'Lewinn was the one who wanted to cut you out of the deal. He said we could keep the diamonds for ourselves. I said, `No, Lewinn, we should deal fairly with the mind mage,' but he wouldn't listen. He-'
'Shut up,' Arvin said.
Greasy Hair did.
The wounded rogue exhaled one last, gurgling breath then was still. Arvin grabbed his ankles and dragged him inside the room. He eased the door shut-so far, the other occupants of the inn hadn't reacted to the sounds of the fight, and he wanted to keep it that way-then knelt beside Glisena. Her eyes were closed, but her chest rose and fell evenly. Arvin lightly patted her cheek and called her name, but she didn't wake up.
'What have you done to her?' Arvin asked.
'She's drugged,' Greasy Hair answered. His voice matched the mental voice Arvin had listened in on earlier, when the skinny rogue had forced him into the cooper's workshop.
Arvin frowned down at Glisena. 'How did-'
'It was Lewinn's idea,' Greasy Hair interrupted. 'He posed as the innkeeper and brought her the ale, and-'
'How did you know she was here?' Arvin asked, glad he'd resisted the urge to drink.
'Lewinn spotted her, looking out the window. That's how we knew you had her.' Greasy Hair paused. A too- innocent expression appeared on his face. 'Listen, mind mage, the diamonds are in my pocket. Untie me, and I'll give them to you. The diamonds for the girl, just like we agreed, and our dealings will be over. All right?'
Arvin ignored him. He stood, thinking. Doubtless it had happened just the way Greasy Hair described. But how had Glisena wound up in Karrell's room?
It was possible-though it bordered on the miraculous-that Zelia had found a way to spirit Glisena out of the palace in the time it had taken Arvin to walk back to the inn. Could she have found a way past the wards and plucked Glisena out from under the very eyes of nine powerful clerics-ten, counting Marasa-and a watchful baron?
Possible, but hardly likely.
