Picturing his mind as a net, he sent his consciousness down the strand that twined around his spine and located the muladhara that lay at the base of it. When he was ready, he activated his power points one by one, following this line. The “third eye” in his forehead emitted a flash of silver sparkles; a vibration deep in his throat filled the hall with a low droning noise; the base of his scalp prickled, causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise; his chest filled with crackling energy, which he exhaled in a breath scented with ginger and saffron; and a spiral of energy uncoiled from his navel, dewing the floor around him with a fine sheen of ectoplasm.
The energies coiled around his muladhara. The spiral grew tighter and stronger as Arvin wove strand after mental strand into it, replenishing it.
Arvin let out one last slow exhalation, ending his meditation. But he wasn’t finished yet. Rising gracefully to his feet, he completed his morning routine, flowing through the motions that Tanju had taught him. The five combat and five defensive modes each had a pose associated with them, designed to focus the mind of the novice. Arvin had learned how to manifest just seven of them, but he ran through all ten poses, flowing from one to the next in what looked like one long, continuous motion.
When he was done, he yawned. He’d had very little sleep this past night; upon his return to the palace, Foesmasher had demanded a full report of what had transpired with the satyr. Arvin had been forced to admit that he could lift private thoughts from the minds of those around him, but the baron hadn’t seemed alarmed by this revelation. Instead he’d been overjoyed to at last have some indication as to where his daughter had gone.
“So that’s where she is,” he said, “the Chondalwood.’ One heavy hand clapped Arvin’s shoulder. “Well done. Now we just need to find that satyr and learn where his camp is.” He paused. “You said the satyr was worried about Glisena’s health. What was it, exactly, that he said?”
Arvin met the baron’s eye. “That she was ill. He was worried she would lose her child.”
“There is no child,’ the baron said with a catch in his voice. “Naneth saw to that, may Helm forgive me. You said that the satyr didn’t actually use Glisena’s name?”
“No, but—”
“Then it must have been someone else who needed the midwife’s ministrations. Some other girl. Glisena is no longer with child.”
“Yes, she is, Lord Foesmasher,” Arvin said quietly. “Naneth didn’t do as you ordered. She tricked you.” Choosing his words carefully, he summed up what the visions had shown him—both in Glisena’s chamber and at Naneth’s house. He omitted any mention of the warning he’d given the midwife.
“When you charged into Naneth’s home, she must have realized you’d learned of her treachery,” Arvin concluded. “She teleported away.”
“Gods willing, she’ll have gone to wherever Glisena is,” the baron said. His forehead puckered with worry. “I shudder to think of my daughter alone in the forest, giving birth in some dirt-floored shack with only satyrs to aid her. At least some good has come of my actions: I sped the midwife on her way.”
“That… would not be a good thing,” Arvin said.
“What do you mean?” the baron asked sharply.
Arvin took a deep breath then gave the baron the bad news. Naneth wasn’t just a midwife. She served one of Lady Dediana’s enemies—Sibyl. The yuan-ti abomination must be hoping to use Glisena’s child as a playing piece in her bid for Hlondeth’s throne. Once she had the child in hand….
The baron’s eyes widened. “After the child has been born, Glisena is no longer of any value to them,” he said in a strained voice. “She will be… disposed of.”
“There may still be hope,” Arvin said. “The satyr said the child hadn’t been born yet. Until Glisena gives birth, Naneth won’t harm her. Sibyl wants this baby. And once the baby is born, they will need Glisena to nurse the child.” He paused. “Have your clerics found any trace of Naneth yet?”
The baron shook his head. “She has shielded herself, it seems, with the same magic that is preventing us from finding my daughter.” He sighed. “It all hinges, now, on finding the satyr.”
That was when things had become awkward. Foesmasher had demanded that Arvin use his psionics to find the satyr, and Arvin had been forced to do some quick talking. He’d drained his energies, he told the baron. He needed to sleep, then to meditate, before he could manifest any more powers. Like a wizard consulting his spellbook, or a cleric praying to her god, he needed to restore his magic.
Grudgingly, the baron had agreed to the delay. Marasa and her clerics would search for the satyr while Arvin rested.
