Karrell grimly nodded, her wet hair plastered to her face. Like Arvin, she appeared to be unhurt, aside from a few scrapes and bruises. Her dark eyes mirrored Arvin’s concern. “And you?” she asked, staring at the blood on his face.
Arvin took stock. He ached all over, but nothing seemed broken. “Fine.” He touched the crystal at his neck, silently thanking Tymora for her mercy. “Nine lives,” he whispered to himself.
The lookout floated facedown a short distance away. Arvin swam over to him and tried to flip him over then saw that the young crewmember’s neck was broken.
The riverboat was turned completely over, its splintered keel pointing skyward. A tangle of lines surrounded it like a bed of kelp. Four people treaded water within this tangle: the gray-haired guard and the three passengers. The merchant was closest to the boat: he clambered onto the overturned hull, water streaming from his hair and sodden cloak, then clung to the broken keel, dazedly shaking his head. The gray-haired guard immediately followed, dragging a hand crossbow behind him, then turned to help the husband and wife out of the water. The wife was sobbing but seemed unhurt; the husband grunted with the effort of trying Lo kick his way out of the water with an injured leg.
There was no sign of the rest of the crew, save for the hook-nosed guard. He was swimming determinedly toward the tiny island without a backward glance.
Arvin heard a third thump as the naga struck the bottom of the overturned boat; it rocked violently, prompting a whimper from the merchant. Arvin turned to stare at the hook-nosed guard—the fellow had already reached the island, which was no more than a hundred paces away—then caught Karrell’s eye. “Let’s go,” he told her.
She stared at the overturned boat. “But the passengers—”
“There’s no room for us on the hull,” Arvin said. “And we can do more on solid ground.”
At last Karrell nodded. They swam.
Karrell reached the island first. Arvin was still dragging his pack; it slowed him down, but he couldn’t afford to lose the dorje inside it. He nearly let it go when he heard a splashing noise behind him, but when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw it was the husband. The fellow had slipped back into the water and was trying to scramble out again.
Arvin reached the rocky shore and climbed out, gratefully accepting Karrell’s hand. He’d only been in the river a short time but was shivering violently. Noticing this, Karrell chanted softly in her own language then touched his hand. Warmth flooded through Arvin, banishing the cold from his body. He nodded gratefully, understanding now why she hadn’t needed the blanket during yesterday’s wagon ride. Though a chill wind had started to blow, he felt as comfortable as if he were in a fire-warmed room. His abbreviated little finger didn’t even ache. A useful spell, Arvin thought, wondering if there was a psionic power that might do the same.
“Hey,” the hook-nosed guard protested, his teeth chattering. “What about me?”
Karrell was turning toward him when the wife’s scream made her whirl toward the river instead. The naga had burst out of the water next to the boat, no more than a pace or two away from the battered hull. Its slit eyes ranged over the four humans who had taken refuge on top of the overturned boat: the merchant, cowering with a horrified expression on his face; the wife, trying to pull her husband out of the water; and the gray-haired guard, loudly cursing as he fumbled one-handed with his crossbow. The guard was injured, Arvin saw; the fingers of his other hand stuck out at odd angles and his face was drawn and pale.
The naga’s eyes settled on the merchant. Its tongue flickered out of its mouth, tasting the man’s fear. Then it opened its mouth, baring its fangs.
The merchant screamed.
The naga lashed forward. Its teeth sank into the merchant’s shoulder, injecting a deadly dose of venom. Then it reared up. The merchant, hanging from its jaws, gave one feeble kick then slumped. The naga dropped his lifeless body. It splashed into the river then bobbed back to the surface facedown.
Arvin tossed down his pack and summoned his dagger into his glove. Before he could throw it, however, the gray-haired guard raised his crossbow and shot. The bolt struck the naga in the neck. The naga jerked and lashed its head from side to side, trying to shake the bolt loose. Then it glared at the guard. It opened its mouth and flicked its tongue four times in rapid succession. Four glowing darts of energy streaked toward the guard, striking him in the chest. He grunted, slumped down onto the deck, and slid into the river.
“Tymora help us,” Arvin whispered. He’d heard tales of nagas. They were said to be as cunning as dragons and as slippery as snakes, with a bite as venomous as that of a yuan-ti. He hadn’t realized they also were capable of magic.
