“Perhaps I could help. When my first child was born, I assisted the midwife. I know some healing spells—I used them to help my wife.” He paused, pretending to think of something. “Of course, my wife is human…”
Might he help? the satyr wondered. He may have a spell that will banish fewer from human folk.
Arvin felt his heart quicken. The satyr was talking about Glisena. He was certain of it.
The satyr considered, for the briefest of moments, accepting Arvin’s offer—then decided against it. “The midwife would be more suited,” he said. “Do you know where she might be?”
“I wish I did,” Arvin answered truthfully. He paused. “If I do see Naneth, where should I send her? Where is the woman who needs help?”
A brief thought flickered through the satyr’s mind—a mental picture of a but made from a mud-plastered lattice of woven branches, its bark-slab roof draped with brambles. It stood at the base of a tree in a snow-dappled forest.
“Is your forest far from here?” Arvin prompted.
“Why ask you this?” the satyr asked suspiciously.
“That is, I’m assuming you live in a forest,” Arvin added hurriedly, realizing he’d almost given himself away. “For all I know you have a house here in Ormpetarr. If your woman was ill with a fever, you would naturally seek out the closest midwife who could—”
The satyr’s eyes narrowed. I never told him the female had a fewer.
Arvin had only the briefest flicker of a warning before the satyr leaped forward and up just enough to let Arvin twist aside as horns slammed into his forehead. Hot sparks of pain exploded across Arvin’s vision as he was knocked backward. Stunned, barely conscious, he dimly heard the satyr running away. He rolled over onto his stomach and pressed his face into the snow. The cold revived him a little, took away some of the sting. But when he sat up, the alley spun dizzily around him. By the time he was able to stagger to his feet, the satyr was long gone. Arvin stood, one hand against a wall, the other holding his pounding head. For the second time in a single evening, he’d seriously misjudged someone.
The monkey’s fist lay in the snow near his feet. He picked it up, brushed it clean, and shoved it back into his pocket. His finger brushed against a small, hard object: the lapis lazuli, tucked safely inside a hidden seam. He considered using it to ask Tanju for advice, but he knew what the psion would say. He’d tell Arvin to use the dorje to track the satyr—and Arvin would be forced to admit that the magical item had broken. Hearing this, Tanju might insist on coming to Sespech and conducting the search for the baron’s daughter himself. And Arvin would be out of a job.
There was, however, still a chance that the situation could be salvaged. If the satyr could be found and questioned, Arvin might yet learn where Glisena was.
Touching the stone to his forehead, he formed a mental image of Baron Foesmasher. It took only a moment for the baron to become solid in his mind’s eye; he was leaning over a table, barking orders and gesturing at something that was spread out on the table before him. He started as Arvin interrupted whatever it was he’d just been saying.
The sending allowed Arvin only a few words. He chose them carefully. “A satyr knows where Glisena is. He just fled from Naneth’s house. He’s wearing a green hooded cloak. We need to find him.”
The baron regained his composure instantly. “Return to the palace,” he ordered. “At once.”
Arvin nodded his acknowledgement then tucked the lapis lazuli back in his pocket. Now that he knew that Sibyl’s minions were involved, he felt a newfound resolution. He would find Glisena. He wouldn’t allow Sibyl to claim another victim.
Rubbing his aching forehead—a lump was already starting to rise over his right eye—he turned and trudged back to the palace.
Arvin lay on the floor of the practice hall with his arms extended and upper torso bent back like that of a rearing snake. His palms, hips, and feet pressed against the floor as he craned his neck back to stare with unfocused eyes at the ceiling. He wore only his breeches, despite the chill in the hall. Snow fell outside the narrow leaded-glass windows that reached from floor to ceiling, muffling the sounds from the city.
His breathing was slow and deep, his mind focused entirely on his meditations. With each breath in through his nose, he drew in strength, courage, and confidence. With each breath out through his mouth, he blew away weakness, uncertainty, and doubt.
