The second cleric strode over to where the young rogue knelt and took hold of the boy’s cloak, dragging him to his feet. “Did you steal from this….” The cleric hesitated, then glanced at the yuan-ti as if uncertain what to call him. “From this gentleman?” he concluded.
The rogue shook his head, but the cleric raised his left hand, turning the eye on the palm of his gauntlet toward the boy. The boy nodded. “Yes,” he said in a broken voice. “I stole from him. But I gave back what I took. And he blinded me.”
The crowd, recovered from its earlier panic, drifted back into the plaza. The yuan-ti drew himself up, imperiously wrapping his cloak around himself. “Take the human away,” he ordered, pointing at the rogue. “Throw him in the pit.” He began to slither back to the ship.
“Not so fast,” the first cleric said, stepping between the yuan-ti and the stairs. He turned to the woman the yuan-ti had been menacing. “Did he harm you, miss?”
Before the young woman could speak, the yuan-ti gave an irritated hiss. “Step aside,” he told the cleric. “Step aside, human, or it will go badly for you. I am an important person. I will not be trifled with. Step… aside.”
Arvin felt the hairs on his arms raise, as if he’d just shivered. Once again, the yuan-ti was using his innate magic—this time, in an attempt to bend the cleric to his will. In another moment the cleric would either step obediently aside—or would feel the sharp sting of the yuan-ti’s bite.
Ignoring the yuan-ti’s order, the cleric raised his gauntlet and turned its eye toward the woman. He stood, waiting for her answer.
“He bit me,” she replied. “By Helm’s grace, my cloak stopped his fangs. If it hadn’t, I’d be….” She shuddered, unable to say the word.
The spectators crowded forward, calling out to the two clerics.
“I saw the whole thing….”
“The boy did give the jewelry case back….”
“The yuan-ti spat in his eyes….”
“It was a silver case. It’s in the serpent man’s pocket….”
The yuan-ti’s eyes darted right then left. Slowly he raised his hand. Acid trickled down his palm; he was about to use the same trick he’d used to blind the rogue. Arvin opened his mouth to call out a warning—
No need. The cleric neatly sidestepped the flick of acid. A weapon appeared in his fist—a translucent mace that glowed with an intense white light. He used it to knock the yuan-ti’s hand aside. The blow was no more than a light tap, but as soon as the mace touched the yuan-ti, his body became rigid. He stood, paralyzed, his eyes wide, the tips of his forked tongue protruding from his mouth, so still and silent that Arvin wondered if he was still breathing.
The cleric’s glowing mace disappeared.
“That’ll teach him,” the man beside Arvin said—the fellow who had grabbed his arm earlier.
“What will they do with him?” Arvin asked him. “Throw him in prison.”
Arvin’s eyebrows rose. “But he’s a yuan-ti.”
The other man shrugged. “So?”
“But….” At last it sank in. In Sespech, the yuan-ti were afforded no special status. Arvin had heard this—but witnessing it firsthand made his mind reel. It was as if sky and earth had switched places, leaving him dizzy. With the realization came a rush of satisfaction that bent his lips into a smile.
“Intention to kill,” the stout man continued. “That’s what they’ll charge the yuan-ti with. If he pleads guilty and shows repentance, the Eyes of Helm may allow him to make atonement. If not, he’ll be branded with a mark of justice. If he tries to bite or blind anyone again, he’ll suffer a curse—as foul a curse as Helm can bestow.”
Arvin whistled softly, glad the clerics hadn’t seen his raised dagger. He watched as the second cleric placed a gauntleted hand on the rogue’s head and chanted a prayer.
“And the boy?” Arvin asked.
The cleric’s prayer ended. The rogue blinked, looked around with eyes that had been fully restored, and fell to his knees, weeping. His right hand raised above his head, he broke into fervent prayer.
Once again, the man beside him shrugged. “He’ll probably be released, since he seems to have genuinely repented.”
Arvin shook his head, incredulous. “But he’s—” Then he thought better of what he’d been about to say. The young rogue could no more cast off his guild—and its obligations—than he could shed his own skin. But if Arvin said this aloud, the fellow next to him might think back to Arvin’s earlier actions and draw some conclusions that could bode ill for Arvin. It was bad enough that Arvin had drawn his dagger. He should have been more careful and stuck to his psionics. “—a thief,” he concluded.
“Yes,” the man said. As he spoke, he scratched his left elbow with the first two fingers of his right hand—probably the local sign for guild.
