Only after he’d slipped and staggered through the snow and put a hundred paces between himself and the inn did Arvin slow to a walk. Panting, he looked nervously around. That had been close. “Nine lives,” he whispered, touching the crystal that hung at his throat. The power stone, a gift from his mother, was long since used up. He wore it on a thong about his throat for sentimental reasons only. But old habits died hard.
Listening in on Zelia’s thoughts had nearly alerted her to his presence. It had been worth it, though. It seemed that Zelia’s presence here was a coincidence. She wasn’t looking for him. Not yet, anyway.
Unfortunately, Arvin had gleaned neither a name nor a description of the fellow Zelia was waiting for. Now he had to watch out not only for Zelia, but for her ally, as well. But at least it sounded as if the fellow wouldn’t be here tonight. Arvin could take a room at an inn, wait until just before dawn, then slip aboard a riverboat and be out of here, leaving Zelia behind.
Of course, that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t drop whatever she was doing and come slithering after Arvin, once she learned that he wasn’t dead, after all. Which she would quickly realize, if Karrell mentioned the name “Vin” and “rope” within earshot of Zelia.
If only Arvin knew which room Karrell was staying in, he might be able to prevent her from giving him away. One charm—let’s see how she liked being on the receiving end—would see to that. Trouble was she didn’t seem to be in the Eelgrass Inn. And he couldn’t very well go around using his psionics to search for her. That would be certain to attract Zelia’s attention. It would be like dangling a live mouse in front of a snake. No, it would be better to save his psionic energies in case he needed to mount a defense against Zelia—futile though that defense would be.
If Zelia did discover him, Arvin was a dead man. He knew Zelia nearly as well as she knew herself. The mind seed that had been lodged in his head for six days had seen to that. If there was one thing Zelia savored, it was vengeance. Exacting it upon a human who had thwarted her would be especially sweet. She’d stop at nothing to obtain it. Not to mention the fact that he knew more about her—and her secret dealings—than anyone else in Hlondeth, save perhaps, for Lady Dediana. Arvin knew a number of details that Zelia would kill to keep secret: the identities of several of the mind seeds that served as her spies, for example.
He toyed, for a brief moment, with the thought of sneaking into Zelia’s room. He could lay in wait for her, attack her when and where she least expected it. But he quickly rejected that idea. The last time he’d tried to get the drop on Zelia, he’d failed miserably, even after springing several magical surprises on her—surprises he didn’t have at his disposal, this time. No, he’d do better to sneak away, instead, and pray—pray hard—that Zelia would finish her business at Riverboat Landing and depart without ever knowing that their paths had crossed.
At least, Arvin thought, he had one thing in his favor if Zelia did find him: the power that Tanju had taught him, shortly before Arvin had departed for Sespech. Using it, Arvin could link the fates of any two individuals. While it was active, if one was injured, the other would be, too. If one died, so would the other. Or, at the very least—in the case of extremely powerful spellcasters or magical creatures—the other would be seriously reduced in power.
Knowing that Zelia would be severely debilitated or even die if she killed him was cold comfort, but it was the best he could do. Her powers were vastly superior to his; the defenses he’d learned would only hold her off for so long. But if he could link their fates, it would at least give him some bargaining time.
Keeping a wary eye on the Eelgrass Inn, Arvin made his way to the inn farthest from it to book a room for the night. He’d have to rise just before dawn in order to sneak aboard the riverboat, but he didn’t think he was going to have any problem with that.
He doubted he was going to get much sleep.
With a lurch that caused the hard, lumpy ingots of iron Arvin had been lying on to shift, the riverboat got under way. The cargo hold was nearly full; the deck was a mere palm’s width above Arvin’s face. Footsteps thudded across it, loud above the constant rush of water past the hull. Arvin, lying in darkness, shivered and tried to flex numbed fingers and toes. The temperature had hovered around the freezing point even after the sun came up, and he was chilled to the bone.
He lay just below one of the smaller hatches, its edges outlined with thin morning sunlight. As footsteps passed over him once more, making the deck creak, he awakened the energy that lay coiled at the base of his scalp and manifested the power he’d used the night before.
