Venom in Her Veins

Chapter Six

Along table had been brought in from somewhere-or possibly constructed rapidly by the carpenters and wheelwrights who traveled with the caravan-and covered with a rich pale blue cloth. Actual glass and porcelain dishes had been set out, in place of the usual wood and stoneware, and there was even a cut-glass vase filled with fresh jungle flowers in the table’s center. Only the seating betrayed the essential roughness of the enterprise, being a motley assortment of folding stools and camp chairs. When Zaltys arrived, having changed out of her hunting leathers into something less formal than her city garb but, at least, not actually blood- and sap-stained, Alaia sat at the head of the table dressed in mist-colored robes with a jeweled diadem on her brow, with Julen at her left. He wore a black formal dining suit that Zaltys couldn’t believe he’d bothered to pack. Quelamia sat farther down the table, and wore robes that seemed woven from waterfalls and sunlight and green leaves. Glory sat slouched across from her.

“Glory,” Zaltys said, taking the empty chair at her mother’s right hand. “I didn’t know you even owned a dress!”

Glory sniffed. Her gown was equal parts shadow and spiderweb, clinging to her slim and shapely form, and her jewelry was the silver of moonlight. “I found it at the bottom of a trunk somewhere.”

“Who’s talking?” Julen looked around, frowning.

“Glory,” Alaia said sternly. “Uncloud the boy’s mind. He’s seventh in line to succeed the head of the Guardians-I daresay he has the standing to know you exist, at least for the duration of our meal.”

“Sorry. It’s habit.” Glory waved her hand in a gesture that, Zaltys knew, was entirely unnecessary, and Julen gasped.

“A tiefling! Where’d you come from?”

“Glory is our resident psion,” Alaia said, patting Julen’s knee.

“Most people stare at my horns,” Glory said, and Julen looked away, blushing. Glory preferred to go unnoticed, but Julen had quite obviously noticed the way her clinging gown showed off her bosom. Zaltys snickered, and her mother gave her a warning look.

“It’s so nice to have more family with us,” Alaia said. “I do not imagine we’ll be able to have a formal dinner every night, but I thought it would be a nice welcome for Julen, to help ease him into the reality of life in the caravan.”

“It’s walking, walking, and more walking,” Glory said. “Or, if you’re me, riding in a carriage. And then sitting, and waiting, and sitting some more, and then doing a little work at the end.”

“Some of us have work to do throughout,” Quelamia said. “But, yes, there are long stretches of simply traveling.”

“So … we’re not there yet?” Julen said. “I mean, this is the jungle, right?”

“This is the edge of the jungle,” Zaltys said. “We have to go a lot deeper to get to the terazul blossoms-under trees so dense the sun doesn’t really penetrate, among the wild things and ruins, along tracks that become so overgrown in the months between our visits that Quelamia and the road crews have to clear the paths all over again.”

“The overgrowth is something we encourage, magically,” Alaia said. “Though the jungle scarcely needs any help. But it helps hide the paths from those who would steal our trade secrets.” She gestured to a waiting servant-just a laborer pressed into service for the evening-who brought over a tureen of soup and ladled it out into the waiting green glass bowls before each person at the table.

“I don’t see why you need to traipse off into the jungles anyway,” Julen said, sniffing his soup dubiously before tasting a mouthful. “Huh. This isn’t bad.”

Zaltys took a spoonful of her own, and found it rather bland, but then, her favorite part of any caravan meal was the fresh-killed game, and that would come later. “How would we avoid coming into the jungle?” she said. “That’s where the flowers grow, and without the flowers, where would the family be? What are the Serrats without terazul?”

Julen shrugged. “Well, there are the betting parlors, and the ships-which transport more than just terazul products-and all the property we own and the rents we collect, and all the other enterprises the Traders set up.”

“All noble pursuits, and it’s certainly wise to diversify,” Alaia said, “but the backbone of our family is the terazul trade. Our profits in other endeavors rise and fall, but terazul income is dependable. Without it, we’d be … well, just merchants, instead of merchant princes. And if the founder of our family hadn’t stumbled across the flowers in his travels, and kept their location a secret for his use alone, he’d have remained a humble importer.”

“You can say ‘smuggler,’ ” Julen said. “It’s what he was.”

Alaia sighed. “Fine. But the fact remains, our more respectable businesses were built on the back of his discovery, and terazul remains central to the family’s prosperity.”

“All right, granted,” Julen said. “So dig up a few of the flowers, roots and all, and bring them back to the city. Let’s grow the crops there. I know the climate’s different, not so terribly damp, but surely Quelamia or someone else can do something about that with magic. What else is magic for, if not making life more convenient?” He slapped at an insect that buzzed around his neck. The tall torches burning around them kept most of the bugs away, but not all. “It just seems silly, spending all this effort, employing all these hirelings, to go out to the jungle twice a year to fetch a bunch of flowers.”

“The boy’s a genius,” Glory said. “Transporting the plants. Now why didn’t anybody ever think of that before?” She snapped her fingers at a hovering servant, who jumped, having clearly forgotten Glory was there since filling her soup bowl. “More wine here,” she said, then turned back to Julen. “It’s been tried. Doesn’t work.”

“The family’s founder himself tried,” Quelamia said. She hadn’t touched her soup, or her wine, and she gazed into her water glass as if seeing faraway places in its depths-and maybe she was-eladrin were strange, and never seemed entirely in this world. “The flowers will grow when transported. They will thrive, even. There were even some growing in the gardens of the family villas, until the Guardians became concerned that visitors might notice them, discover they were terazul, and leave with the knowledge of what the flowers look like, making it possible for scouts to scour the jungle and find them. Those blossoms are all gone now, of course.” She lapsed into silence.

“So what’s the problem?” Julen said. “If we had a captive crop back home, we could protect it year-round, and destroy all the wild flowers. Then my father wouldn’t have to worry so much about keeping people from finding out where they grow.”

“The flowers will grow in other places,” Alaia said, “but they lose their special properties. They become, simply, pretty blossoms.”

“She means they can’t be made into potions that give you superficially revelatory but actually nonsensical visions,” Glory said. “Or dried and ground up into powder that lets you stay awake for three days straight without losing your ability to concentrate intensely-though you might lose a few teeth and get nosebleeds if you sniff too much of it.” She glugged the last of her wine and gestured for more.

“Oh,” Julen said. “Huh. Anybody know why the flowers only work when they grow wild? I thought plants were plants.”

“As far as we can tell, it’s magical,” Quelamia said. “Something about the soil in the deep jungle is imbued with magic, perhaps as a result of the great cataclysm that tore the land asunder and created the Gulf of Luiren. The roots of the terazul vines tap into some reservoir of magic, and give the flowers their useful, if morally questionable, qualities.”

“Morally questionable?” Alaia said, rather sharply. And Zaltys thought, Here we go. “No one forces anyone to use terazul potions or powders, Quelamia. Our vendors advise customers of the potency of the potions, and let them know the products are best used in moderation.”

“Terazul flowers are addictive,” Quelamia said. “It is difficult for addicts to practice moderation.”

“Terazul is no more addictive than sweet wine or the vile crumbleweed that Glory smokes in her pipe every day. Some people are weak, and will become dependent on anything,” Alaia said. “The family can’t be responsible for every choice our customers make.”

“Too true,” Quelamia said. “We are, all of us, only responsible for our own actions and our own lives.” She rose. “If you’ll excuse me, Alaia, and Zaltys, and Julen, and Glory. I have much work ahead of me.”

“Oh, don’t go,” Alaia said, calming down. “I didn’t mean to get us started on that old argument. You’re always welcome at my table.”

“I know,” Quelamia said. “And you should know I take no offense. Eternity is long, and all these concerns are trivial when considered in light of deep time. But, speaking of smaller timescales, if you’d like me to finish that … special project … by the date you requested, I had best return to my work.”

“Ah, of course. Well, please yourself.”

Quelamia drifted away, and when she was gone, Glory belched. “It’s easy to be self-righteous when you’ve been around for 200 years. Thinks she knows better than everybody. I’ve got no problem with the moral-what would you call it-component of our business.”

Alaia sighed. “I’m so pleased to hear our enterprise causes no moral qualms for the member of our party who routinely erases the memories of other sentient creatures. That’s most comforting. Of course I know the arguments against terazul. They’re not wholly without merit. But the terazul trade gives us wealth, and in turn, we employ countless citizens of Delzimmer and the cities of our trading partners. We pay fair wages, do good civic works, and offer countless advantages to our community. One might argue that the roots of our business are a trifle poisonous, but the fruits, at least, are sweet.”

“I don’t think right and wrong really enter into it,” Zaltys said slowly. “What matters is family. You support your family, and they support you. That’s the foundation of all our success. You live for your family, and serve for your family, and die for your family.”

“Without that, we’re nothing,” Julen said, raising his glass of watered wine to Zaltys. “The wizard doesn’t understand. She’s not family. A family retainer, yes, and I’m sure a valuable adviser, but …”

“Yes,” Alaia said. “It’s different, when you’re part of the family.” She reached out and took the hands of her daughter and her nephew.

“If you’re all going to start hugging each other,” Glory said, “I’d like to be excused.”

Julen chose to sleep out with Zaltys in the middle of camp, under the stars, where, as he said, “I can at least dream about the hope of a breeze.” After they laid out their bedrolls and stretched out, it wasn’t long before Julen said, “How can you sleep with all that racket?”

Zaltys frowned. The hammering of the carpenters had stopped, the shouting and clang of the guards practicing their weapons was over, and the camp was as quiet as it ever got. “What do you mean?”

“The birds, the growls, the hoots, the bugs-this jungle is louder than the streets of Delzimmer during the Midsummer Festival!”

Now that he mentioned it, Zaltys could discern those sounds he mentioned-the howls of monkeys, the buzzing music of bugs, the deep croak of a million frogs singing, the occasional growl of a predator and squeal of dying prey, all mingling into the wall of noise that was The Jungle. “I like it,” she said. “I find it peaceful. Restful. The truth is, I have trouble sleeping back home in the city without it.”

Julen groaned. “It’s true what they say. The Travelers are mad. I won’t be able to sleep a moment because of all this din.”

Ten minutes later, listening to her cousin snore on the other side of their campfire, Zaltys stared up at the pinpoint stars and hoped no dreams would come. They weren’t in the jungle yet, after all, not really, and sometimes the dreams didn’t come until she was deeper into the wild. But when she finally succumbed to sleep, she did dream, though it was more real than the dreams she had in the city, more akin to the visions terazul users were said to experience: visions beyond reality, revealing a deeper strata of the true universe.

Zaltys walked through the stone plaza of a ruined city, the old structures lit by flickering torches. Fragments of torn clothing and smears of blood were the only signs of some recent violence, and her ranger’s eye revealed to her what had happened: a group, taken by surprise by overwhelming force, and dragged away.

She’d had this dream before, and knew how it would go, but she was powerless to stop its progress. She left the plaza, walking along a rutted path through the trees, until she finally reached a curious circular bit of stonework set in the ground. There were fist-sized holes in the stone at regular intervals, and a closed trapdoor in the center, and Zaltys knew it was the lid of a pit, or dungeon.

As always, Zaltys lifted the trapdoor, and looked down.

What she saw in the pit varied, though it was never pleasant. Sometimes she saw a writhing mass of snakes somehow forming a vaguely humanoid shape, with hissing hands reaching up to grasp her. Sometimes she saw a man with the hood of a cobra, dressed in a flowing black robe, with fingers that ended not in nails or even claws but in fangs dripping venom. Sometimes she saw a naked baby, crying out in the darkness at the bottom of a deep chasm.

This time, she saw the shadow serpent, and it wafted up toward the trapdoor like smoke on an updraft, its body coiling and spiraling as it came. We are family, the serpent whispered in her mind. And nothing is more important than family. The serpent opened its vast jaws, tongue flickering out to touch her face, and-

Zaltys jerked awake. The night was cool, though not cold-it was never cold so close to the jungle, which was nice, actually. No matter how many blankets she piled on herself during Delzimmer winters, she could never get warm, and so she spent months at a time feeling sluggish and torpid. Only time next to a roaring fire helped restore her during city winters. Her mother said she was more susceptible to cold than most because her people came from the jungle.

She rolled over, and found herself face-to-face with a snake. Its eyes gazed into hers, and its tongue flickered, not quite touching her, before it slithered off into the night.

It took a long time for Zaltys to sleep again, but when she did, there were no dreams.

“Wake up, lazyhead.” Zaltys nudged Julen in the ribs with her foot. He groaned and turned over, trying to pull his bedroll over his head. “Come on, unless you want a cart to crush you.”

He sat up, blinking, and looked around at the bustle of camp. Tents had been struck and carts loaded before dawn’s light fully overtook the sky, animals hitched and ready to start pulling, scouts sent in advance and behind and out to the sides to make sure no spies from rival families were trying to track the caravan’s progress. There were a few spies every year. They were invariably captured, given false memories by Glory to send their employers in the wrong direction, and set free to return home to sow disinformation.

Julen stared at her for a long moment. Then said: “Breakfast.”

“Ha. If you want breakfast, you have to get up with the rest of the camp. We’re moving out now. I’ll show you which dangling fruit is safe to eat on the way.”

He groaned and stood up, running a hand through his hair, which didn’t improve its disarray. “Where are we going?”

“Onward into the jungle, Cousin.”

“This is the jungle.” He pointed in the direction of some trees, as if illustrating his point.

“This is the edge of the jungle, the end of the rocky soil. Today we go into the jungle proper.”

“Fine. Where do I sit?”

Zaltys shook her head. “Mother says I’m to show you how things work here. That means you’re coming with me and some of the scouts to make sure there are no nasty surprises waiting for us up ahead.”

He stretched his arms overhead and worked the kinks out of his neck. “I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

“I suppose you could defy mother, one of the three heads of the family,” Zaltys said thoughtfully. “It would be interesting to see what the consequences would be.”

“Show me to my horse,” he said.

Zaltys laughed. “Go into the jungle ahead of the caravan on horseback? It would be interesting to see the consequences of that too, except a dead horse isn’t all that interesting.” She smacked him on the back. “I hope you brought your good boots. We go on foot, ahead of the trailbreakers, to make sure there’s nothing unpleasant waiting for them.”

“Like more shadow snakes?”

Zaltys tried not to let her face betray any emotion. “Those are very rare,” she said. “But there are other things. Giant insects and spiders. Jungle cats. Carnivorous plants. Farther to the south-deeper than we ever go-there are supposed to be yuan-ti, but I’ve never met any. They say there used to be a small tribe of them near our route once, but they’ve been gone for ages.”

“No people?” Julen said. “None of your, ah, original family?”

Zaltys shrugged. “There are tribes of halflings, but I’m a bit tall to pass for one of those.” She grinned. “Quelamia thinks my people were either a very small, unknown tribe, or maybe just refugees who fled the upheavals and ended up living in the jungle for a while. They didn’t last long, I guess. Certainly they didn’t leave much of a mark.”

“Who, or what, do you think …?” He looked away.

“Killed my family?” She kept her voice light. “Hard to say. Could be any number of things. Krailash found me crying among the trees, the only one left alive, so I don’t know who killed the others. I don’t guess it matters. Dead is dead.”

“Huh,” Julen said.

Zaltys knew she was somewhat notorious in the family, so it was understandable that he was curious about her origins. At least he’d become more polite-when they’d been young children playing together he’d once stared at her intently and blurted out, “Why come you’re so brown?” Adoptees weren’t unheard of, and were even considered to strengthen the family by bringing in fresh blood-for one thing, they could marry their cousins without a greater-than-usual risk of bearing idiot children-but hers was certainly the most unusual adoption in recent memory. The only other truly colorful adoptee still living was her great-uncle Gustavus, a lycanthrope that the Guardians had adopted in hopes of using him to frighten rivals; everyone was surprised when he showed an aptitude for bookkeeping instead, and they’d sent him to the Traders in exchange for a pair of sociopathic twins boys with no affinity for retail who’d later perished in a trade war with the Longspear cartel in Chavyondat. “Sorry,” Julen said. “I don’t mean to stir up bad memories, or …”

“I was an infant when they found me, Cousin. I don’t have any memories from that time. As far as memories go, I’ve been in the family as long as you have, and I’ve never known another life. I’m curious about my people, of course, but … they’re all gone. I’m just lucky I have a new family to call my own.”

“We’re happy to have you, Cousin,” Julen said, a little awkwardly. Then he sighed. “Even if you do have a bizarre fondness for sleeping without a roof overhead.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Zaltys said.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Julen replied.

The caravan proceeded. Julen was in no danger of surpassing Zaltys’s skill as a ranger, but she had to admit that, interbranch family rivalry aside, the Guardians knew how to train their operatives. He pinned a platter-sized spider to a tree with a throwing knife-smirking at Zaltys and saying, “See, I have ranged weapons too,”-and helped her and the other forward scouts slash down a carnivorous vine that had grown across the barely-visible caravan path, showing no hesitation even when the bloodlike sap sprayed everywhere. He was clearly better suited to creeping through alleys, but he was adapting fairly well to the jungle environment.

“It’s not so different from the city in terms of sight-lines,” he mused as they ranged off to one side of the path to make sure there were no lurking hazards waiting to ambush the caravan. The trees there weren’t as big as elsewhere in the jungle, but that meant more sunlight could filter down, and as a result the jungle’s fecundity was explosive, with smaller trees and plants growing so close together Zaltys sometimes had to turn sideways to slip between the trunks. “Down in the oldest part of the city especially, the houses are built so close together the alleyways are too tiny for grown humans to pass through at all, and the streets curve and twist, limiting your sight-lines. There are places where the roofs overlap, blocking out the sun.” He glanced up at the green canopy above. “Of course, in the alleys, the worst you have to worry about is a mugger, not-I don’t know-giant flesh-devouring beetles.”

“The beetles aren’t so bad,” Zaltys said, pushing aside a low hanging branch and its freight of poisonous white flowers.

“Oh? So what’s the worst thing you’ve ever had to face out here, then?” Julen said.

Zaltys considered. “It’s hard to say. Deeper in the jungle you’ll want to keep an eye on the trees above you as well as the ground below. There are apes who’ll drop down from above and start pummeling you-we’ve even seen a few wearing fragments of old armor, guards of some abandoned ruin or another, I guess. They killed four of our scouts a few years ago. Krailash says there used to be yuan-ti near the prime terazul harvesting location, but he hasn’t seen any of them in years, and I’ve never seen one, myself. Lots of snakes, but no snake people. I’m sure there are worse things farther from the caravan path-chokers, drakes, trolls and goblins, who knows, maybe even a dragon-but most thinking creatures learned to avoid this route long before I was born. Between mother, Krailash, Quelamia, and Glory, we’re a lot more formidable than just about anything we’re likely to encounter among the trees. All we get are the mindless creatures, blood-sucking vines and giant spiders and the like. It’s a shame. It would be nice to have a challenge.”

“Really?” he said, hacking at a thorn-encrusted vine. “And I was just thinking it would be nice to have a hot bath.” He paused. “Who’s Glory?”

The next tenday proceeded well, with Julen’s presence the only notable difference from the previous year’s excursion. Zaltys did her best to ignore the guards that followed her whenever she went into the woods, and rotated through the various scout groups, paying close attention to what the more experienced rangers and huntsmen and reconnaissance experts did, picking up a few fine points of tracking and teaching the basics to Julen, who continued to complain in a relatively good-natured way. One night after dinner-eaten with the guards, fortunately, as mother had given up her attempts at formal dining after that first night-Julen confided to her that learning naturecraft was no more boring than learning the list of approved poisons, and that struck Zaltys as high praise, coming from him.

They had lessons too, which Julen found annoying at first-“I thought out in the wilderness I could avoid tutors”-but he obviously enjoyed the weapons training with Krailash, though he sometimes fell asleep during Quelamia’s monotone recitations of ancient historical fact. Glory, who’d long ago declared Zaltys hopeless at psionics, pronounced the same verdict on Julen, and settled down to teaching them what she could: which was mostly how to get your way by sweet-talking and manipulation, and how to subtly steer people toward a desirable course of action, and how to make people do what you wanted while making them think a given course was their own idea. After one such lesson-an especially bawdy one, complete with illustrative anecdotes about an emperor brought low by the machinations of one of his own councilors combined with his fondness for lovers of an inappropriate social class-Julen said, “They should bring her in to lecture to the Guardians!”

“They do,” Zaltys said, amused. “Every year. You just don’t remember her, though you remember the lessons, I’m sure.”

“Don’t remember who?” he said.

The caravan did not move swiftly, because it was a large operation, and took time to break camp in the morning and set up in the late afternoon. They couldn’t streamline things much, because the deeper they got into the jungle, the more important it was to have proper defenses set up before nightfall, when the jungle came alive with menacing noises and the things making those noises. They also took a somewhat meandering route, and sent trailbreakers to hack false paths through the jungle (ideally leading to profoundly dangerous dead ends), and spent time covering their own tracks, all in order to frustrate the spies and followers they assumed were tracing their trail.

After two tendays, though, they’d reached the main terazul harvesting site, and set up the more-or-less permanent camp that would be their home for the next month.

And that meant it was almost time for Zaltys’s initiation day. Her mother, in consultation with the other elders of the family, had decided Zaltys was old enough to become a full member of the family-no longer a dependent, but an adult in her own right, with attendant rights and responsibilities. It was a significant coming-of-age in the Serrat family, usually celebrated with lavish parties, but Zaltys wanted to celebrate in the jungle, where she felt most at home, and where most of her work for the family would take place.

The camp as a whole didn’t take any notice of that particular milestone-the caravan was a working operation, with scouts and sentries keeping watch, laborers plucking the blossoms from the terazul vines and filling their baskets, which in turn filled the enclosed carts that had once held food, gradually emptying to make room for more precious cargo as the caravan moved forward. Indeed, the special day was like any other until that evening, when her mother’s spirit boar came and sniffed at her legs and led her back to the center of camp.

Krailash, Quelamia, Glory, Julen, and her mother were all waiting by the same long dining table they’d used for their formal dinner, though, fortunately, without the crystal and porcelain used that time. Her mother embraced her and kissed her cheek. “My daughter,” she said. “Seventeen years ago, Krailash brought you to me from the jungle, and changed my life.”

“Mine too,” Zaltys said, to general laughter.

“You have served the family well,” Alaia said solemnly. “You have worked tirelessly for our prosperity, and proven yourself an asset to the Serrats as a whole, and the Travelers in particular. It is with great pleasure that I formally induct you into the highest circle of the family, as an adult in your own right, with all the rights and privileges that status entails.” Eyes shining with tears, Alaia kissed Zaltys on one cheek, then the other, and embraced her. Zaltys very nearly wept herself.

“I’d say you’re old enough to take your wine unwatered,” Alaia said, and poured straw-colored wine into a wooden cup, handing it over to Zaltys. “Though not too much. Krailash wants you on patrol tomorrow. For now, though: let’s raise our glasses to Zaltys, trade princess, heir to the Travelers, and ranger of the wild places.”

They all recited her name and took the ritual drink, and then Alaia said, “I think that’s all, unless there’s something I’m forgetting.”

Zaltys didn’t say anything. It was traditional to give gifts to a family member being raised to adult status, and she was fairly sure her mother was just teasing.

“Oh, yes,” Alaia said after a long moment, giving a small smile. “You probably expect a gift or two. I think we may have a few small things.”

Glory presented her with a small carved box, which held a ring of delicate blue crystal that glowed with inner light.

“It’s beautiful,” Zaltys said, lifting the ring from the box and looking at its gently pulsing glow. “This is too nice, Glory, I can’t-”

“It’s a psychic ring,” she said. “Well, the ring isn’t psychic, but it can grant a tiny bit of power to even a hopeless psionic case like you. You know how I can speak directly to your mind, sending my thoughts into your head?” She nodded to the ring. “With this, you can do the same thing. It continually gathers your mental energy, but sending thoughts isn’t easy, so it will take a day or so to recharge after each use. And it won’t help you receive thoughts, but, well-if you ever need to whisper a secret or get a message to someone without being overheard, this can help.” She closed Zaltys’s hand over the ring. “Happy initiation. Welcome to the horror of having real responsibilities.”

Next Krailash approached, holding a long bow case, pale wood inlaid with sigils in some reflective black substance like the night-made glass, with hinges of gold. “I have carried this for decades,” the dragonborn rumbled. “It was an inheritance from an elven archer I campaigned with, long before I began working for the Serrat family. Before he died, that elf told me to keep this until I found an archer who deserved to wield such a fine weapon.” He opened the case, revealing a delicate recurve bow made of carefully bent bone and wood and horn. “The bow, I’m told, is made of wood from a tree that grows only in places where the Shadowfell touches the mortal plane, and the bones of a phase beast, and exotic sinews, and other things. It is imbued with old magics. I saw it loosed often in battle, Zaltys, and the arrows that flew from this bow seemed to take no notice of obstacles, flickering to pass through walls and pillars and the trunks of trees, and though the arrows did not always strike their targets, they did strike targets that no other arrow could have reached. Indeed, in one pitched battle when the archer ran out of arrows, I saw him shoot a spear, a short sword, and a fireplace poker from this bow, and they all flew as straight as arrows would. It’s an extraordinary weapon, and wasted in my clumsy hands. But you are worthy of this bow, and I give this to you.” He inclined his head, closed the bow case, and handed it over.

Zaltys stared at the case. She had very fine weapons, made by master craftsmen, but a magic bow …

“My gift is a good match for that weapon,” Quelamia said. “Though you may thank yourself, to some extent, Zaltys.” She lifted up a pannier from the ground by her chair and opened it, drawing out a set of deep gray-black leather armor.

“Is that made from the skin of the shadow snake?” Julen blurted.

“It is,” Quelamia said. “I had thought, at first, to make you armor enchanted with the magic of the Feywild, but when I was given this skin, and told you had slain it yourself, it seemed appropriate. I am not knowledgeable about Shadow Magic, but I know this armor will fit you beautifully, and should enable you to slip through shadows as the serpent itself once did, and to vanish from sight in the shade, and blows that strike this armor may sometimes fail to land on you at all, passing harmlessly through shadow.”

Zaltys had been wearing her newest set of supple hunting leathers for over a year, and they had come to seem almost like a second skin, but she would give them up in an instant for something as beautiful as this shadow armor-though she felt some twinge at the thought of wearing the flesh of a serpent that had once spoken in her mind. But wasn’t it almost a way of honoring the snake, of making its death meaningful? “Quelamia … I am honored.”

“Yes,” Quelamia said serenely, and then departed, apparently finished with the party once her part was done.

“I want to give you this knife,” Julen said, offering her one of his throwing daggers, hilt-first. It was a beautiful weapon, impeccably balanced, with a jewel at the base of the hilt and a blade that was treated so that it didn’t reflect even a glimmer of light, and would fly through the night invisibly. “It’s not magical or anything. If I had a magical dagger, no offense, I’d keep it for myself.”

Zaltys laughed and gave him a hug, then looked at Alaia. Her mother raised one eyebrow. “Are you wondering about my gift? Well, it is both a gift, and a burden. You are no longer a child, and so, I have an adult responsibility for you: I am making you head of the rangers and the scouts for the Travelers. You will organize their schedules and direct their actions.”

Zaltys stared, then practically leaped into her mother’s arms, squeezing her tightly. “Does this mean no more guards shadowing me everywhere?”

“Not unless you assign them yourself,” Krailash said. “Your mother talked it over with me, and I have no objection. You know this terrain as well as the best scouts we have-better than I do myself, truthfully. Technically you will report to me, as I remain head of security, but in practice, I will let you run things to your liking. Come by my trailer in the morning and I’ll show you how the rotation has been set up, and I can answer any questions you might have.”

Alaia patted Zaltys’s back and stepped out of the embrace. She’d never been terribly comfortable with physical affection. “Do well with this position, Zaltys, and you will go a long way toward proving yourself worthy of leading the Travelers and sitting in on the family’s high councils.”

“Lucky you,” Glory said. “Your mother’s gift is more work, and that makes you happy. I’ll never understand your family.”

Zaltys stuck out her tongue at the tiefling, then took her mother’s hand in her own. “I will not disappoint you, Alaia Serrat,” she said formally.

Her mother kissed her cheek. “I know, darling. Now, run along with your cousin-I’m sure you’d like to try out your new weapons and make him jealous.”

“It’s all right,” Julen said. “I’ve been promised father’s third-best sword when I come of age.” He sighed. “You’re lucky to be an only child, Zaltys.” He walked out of the circle of torchlight, talking to Glory in a low voice.

Before Zaltys could leave, Alaia touched her arm, and drew in close. “Celebrate tonight, my daughter. But tomorrow, come and sit with me. There are some things you should know. Things it’s time you learned. That you deserve to know.”

“Family secrets?” Zaltys said, smiling.

“Something like that,” Alaia said.

After dressing in her new armor and slipping on her new ring-its blue glow was hidden by some properties of the shadowy armor-Zaltys strung her new bow by the archery butts Krailash had set up to keep the troops in practice. In truth, despite her boasting to Julen, the jungle was rough going for archers, since the trees were so dense and provided so many obstacles to a clear shot. But Zaltys had always turned that to her advantage, firing from concealment and from high in the branches of trees, excelling as a sniper and secret hunter. With her new armor and the bow, it almost felt unfair for her to have such advantages.

But she knew temple guardian apes and shambling mounds wouldn’t hesitate to use any advantage they could get over her, so why should she feel guilty?

Julen watched her try out her new bow, clapping and making appreciative noises as she tested its capabilities on the straw targets. Night was falling, though, and archery was less enjoyable by torchlight, especially for spectators, so she acceded to Julen’s suggestion that they sit and talk awhile.

They walked to the far northern edge of camp, just outside the perimeter of carts but well inside the shifting protective fence of guards out in the woods. They sat on a couple of mossy boulders, and Julen grinned. “Look what I have.” He drew a small bottle of wine from a bag, along with a pair of wooden cups.

“Did you steal that?” He was doubtless trained in a dozen forms of larceny, and it was a nice gesture, but pillaging caravan supplies was a bad idea.

“No, it was a gift from, ah …” he frowned. “Someone. She said a woman with all your responsibilities should be able to drink all the unwatered wine she wants, and that we should celebrate your new position. I wish I could remember who it was.”

“It’s okay, I think I know.” Zaltys took the bottle, uncorked it, and sniffed, flickering out her tongue as she did so. The liquid inside had a hint of spiciness, and she knew, even in the dimness, that it would be bright red, some of Glory’s tiefling fire-wine. Something best drunk in moderation, no doubt, but a nice gesture nonetheless. And Glory was right-Zaltys should celebrate. The work began tomorrow, but until then, it was the pure pleasure of achieving one of her dreams.

Zaltys poured her cousin a cup and then one for herself, and after their initial gasps at the strength of the wine, they sipped in eye-watering silence for a while. Finally Julen said, “I’m sorry my gift wasn’t as good as the others.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t be silly, Cousin. It was very generous and thoughtful of you, and it’s appreciated. I’ll be sure to send you something when you come of age in a couple of years.” He leaned back on a log. “So. Heir to the Travelers. The backbone of the family fortune, at least, according to the Travelers, though it’s funny, the Guardians say the same thing, and I bet the Traders do too. Still, that’s got to be a weight on your shoulders.”

“It’s what I’ve been training for my entire life,” she said seriously. “I learned how to supply a caravan before I learned to read. I was taught how to scout the jungle and lay false trails before I was taught multiplication. It will be an honor to serve my family.”

“Easy for the heir apparent to say.” Julen took a sip of wine and coughed, eyes watering, then grinned. “I’m so far down in the pecking order sometimes I think my father’s forgotten my name. Oh, they’ve taught me all sorts of things-lockpicking, poisoning, how to tell if someone’s lying, how to creep around. But no one’s grooming me for leadership.”

“I’m sure they’ll find a place for you,” Zaltys said. It was hard to think of Julen as an adult, though he was very nearly. They’d played together as children, and in part of her mind, he was still the laughing boy with jam smudged on his face, racing through the gardens.

Julen shrugged. “Probably. Everyone in the family has to pull their weight, and being a Guardian is a proud and noble thing, and so forth. There’s talk of apprenticing me to my eldest brother. He does business with dwarves and even drow sometimes. He’s always going down into caves and mines and tunnels.” He made a face. “Sounds even worse than living in the jungle, honestly. I was hoping for a posting to one of our trading partners across the gulf, some city where I can enjoy myself, out from under father’s thumb. But he keeps giving me scrolls and books to read about the Underdark lately, so I think they’re serious about apprenticing me. Sending me out here to the jungle is supposed to help me toughen up or get practical experience or something.” He belched.

“Practical experience in getting drunk, maybe,” Zaltys said with a laugh.

“I’m counting on you to be my teacher in this as in all things,” he said with a grin.