But maybe this human did have healing magic, as he claimed. If he was the baron’s man, he would want to heal Glisena; a dead female wasn’t worth stealing. And it was important that Glisena remain alive. Naneth had promised the satyrs much wealth, in return for watching over the female for a few days. As to why Naneth had asked them to hide the baron’s daughter, Theyron didn’t know—and didn’t care. When Naneth returned to claim the female, his clan would reap its reward.
As for the human, well, as soon as the baron’s man completed the healing, Theyron would kill him. One note from the pipes, and the human would slumber. And his throat could be slit.
Unsettled by the callousness of the satyr’s thoughts, Arvin disengaged from his mind; he doubted he was going to learn much more, and his manifestation would end soon. He turned his attention to the third source of thoughts within the hut: the unborn child. He focused on them, letting the thoughts of Glisena and the satyr fade to the background….
Rage. Boiling, inarticulate, all-consuming rage.
The thoughts of the child pounded into Arvin’s mind like a hammer smashing against his skull. Out! snarled a voice as deep and hollow and devoid of humanity as a bottomless chasm. Release me!The thing inside the womb began kicking, fists, and feet pounding against Glisena’s flesh, jolting Arvin’s hand up and down. Let … me . OUT!
Shocked, Arvin jerked his hand away and ended the manifestation. He stared at Glisena in horror. Whatever was inside her wasn’t human.
It wasn’t yuan-ti, either.
Naneth had changed the unborn child in Glisena’s womb into something… else.
The thought sickened Arvin to the point where he felt physically ill. This was even more monstrous than what Zelia had done to him. This time, the victim had been an innocent babe. But it was an innocent babe no longer.
“Something’s… wrong, isn’t it?” Glisena asked in a trembling voice.
Belatedly, Arvin composed his expression. “I don’t know yet,” he said. Then, acting on a hunch, he added, “I’ll need to take a look.”
Easing Glisena’s hands aside, he unfastened the lacings of her dress nearest her stomach. Even without opening her dress, he could feel the heat radiating from her belly. He lifted the fabric to glance at her stomach and saw something that disturbed him: a series of crisscrossing lines. They looked like the faint whitish scratches fingernails would leave on skin. Remembering his glimpse of Naneth casting her spell on Glisena, Arvin was certain that the midwife had drawn them. That certainty solidified when he recognized the symbol the lines formed. It was the same one he’d spotted on the egg that one of Naneth’s pet serpents had been sitting on.
Arvin had no idea what the symbol signified. But he was certain it wasn’t good.
He refastened the lacings of Glisena’s dress and took her hand. “Something is wrong,” he told her. “But I’m here to help.”
Theyron tapped a hoof impatiently. “Well? Can you heal her?”
Still squatting beside Glisena, holding her hand, Arvin brought his gloved hand up to scratch his head—a gesture a man would make when thinking. “The fever has held her in its grip for many days,” he said. “It won’t be easy to break its hold.” As he spoke, the power he was manifesting filled the air with a low droning noise: its secondary display. Theyron didn’t notice it, however; he had already turned to stare at the distraction Arvin had just manifested. His eyebrows pulled into an even tighter V as he frowned, trying to figure out what had just caught his attention.
With a whisper, Arvin summoned the dagger from within his glove. It appeared in his hand as he had been holding it when he’d vanished it: point between his fingers, ready to throw. His hand whipped forward. At the last instant, Theyron turned his head back and tried to blow into his pipes, but before he could exhale, the dagger buried itself in his throat.
Arvin leaped to his feet, manifesting a second power. A glowing line of silver energy shot out of his forehead, wrapped itself around the pan pipes, and yanked. The pipes flew out of Theyron’s hands. Arvin caught them in his gloved hand and vanished them into his glove. He spoke the word that sent the magical dagger back to his other hand then rushed forward, plunging the weapon to the hilt in the satyr’s chest. Slowly, with a faint gurgling noise, Theyron slumped to the floor, pulling free of the dagger.
