Instead of cells with iron bars, the Hark’akuy prison had a dirt floor. That was all they needed. The path through the prison was smooth, but the rest of the floor was sculpted into a mat of earthen snakes. The snakes already held ten other prisoners by their legs. Their eyes followed as the Hark’akuy brought in Calvin’s crew, but they otherwise held still.

  The cultists spat on the ground, and the snakes came to life, slithering and writhing around each other. The cultists shoved their captives into the snakes, and they slithered around feet and up legs. Their scales scraped against Calvin’s calves with the gritty texture of hardened clay, then squeezed, holding him in place. The cultists spat their paralyzing venom at their captives for good measure. Calvin’s muscles tightened. He could still roll his eyes, and his stomach twisted in discomfort, but the rest of him was frozen in place. The venom didn’t affect Arg or Edwin, so the snakes pulled them to their backs and bound their arms as well. Bob had slipped back among his former cultmates. The rest of the crew was completely immobilized by the venom. Arg shouted threats, and Julius grunted in his throat, but the prison held.

  Satisfied that their prisoners were secure, the cultists split off. A few went back toward the main complex. Most went the other way, going to the audience chamber to await the contact ritual. Bob went with them. Two cultists remained in the prison to watch their captives, taking seats by a crystalline globe that glowed with orange light.

  The paralyzation saved Calvin from the need to suppress a smile. All according to plan. His stomach churned, generating a soothing heat that slowly sent feeling back to his limbs. In the same way he’d resisted the Unichi hypnosis, the blessing of Talkus worked against the Hark’akuy’s infernal venom. The process was slower this time, though. It was a good minute before the warmth spread to his shoulders, and another before it reached his elbows and knees.

  But he was willing to be patient. They won’t need us for hours. We’ve got time. As soon as he had feeling in his fingers, he would take a vial of antivenom, break out of the dirt snakes, and help the rest of his crew do the same. Then they’d be free to go straight to the contact chamber and wait to ambush Waska.

  Creaks echoed from the direction of the contact chamber, and a large table rolled in, pushed by two cultists. It was six feet wide and ten feet long, and its surface was made entirely of earthen snakes.

  Calvin watched, confused, as they secured the table in the center of the room. One of them took out a mallet and chisel, and the other grabbed Edwin. They broke him out of his serpentine bonds and forced him onto the table. The snakes came alive. They seized his wrists and ankles and pulled, stretching him out across the table.

  Calvin tried to protest, but all he could get out was a grunt. The cultists only cast brief glances his way, but his stomach clenched. If he gave himself away, the mission would be ruined. But they'll torture him, maybe kill him. I've got to do something. He couldn't move his fingers, but his wrists were getting close. He caught Pelias’s eye and twitched his arms. Pelias bobbed his own. Good. We'll break out of here and save him. He'll be fine.

  One cultist pulled a knife from his belt. “I hadn't expected an attack from Unichi. Did you think you could take our territory with only a few thralls?”

  “No, I’m not—” Edwin twisted, groaning. “Yes, that's it. We want Birchdale back.” He relaxed, lying back on the table.

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  The cultist cocked his head. “That was easy. I thought— ”

  “He’s lying,” another cultist said.

  “What? No, I’m not.”

  “What are you really after?” The second cultist pulled out his own knife and moved toward Edwin. Edwin spat in his face, then twisted again, groaning in pain.

  The second cultist wiped the spit off, then froze. The first watched him warily for a moment, then asked, “You good?”

  The second furrowed his brow. “Yes. That’s weird. Let me make sure.” He pricked Edwin’s palm with his knife, then dragged the point all the way to Edwin’s elbow, leaving a gash that welled up with blood. Edwin yelled. “What?” the cultist asked. “Did you run out of venom, hypnotizing all these people?”

  Edwin nodded vigorously, teeth clenched. “Yeah. That’s what happened. It took a lot to get this many.” As he spoke, he relaxed, as if telling the lie eased some of his pain.

  The cultists’ eyes widened, and Calvin panicked. They’d recognized the lie. He tried to flex his fingers and found the paralyzation gone. He snatched a vial of antivenom from his pouch and downed it. Pelias took one, too. They had to save Edwin before—

  The second cultist pulled his knife back and positioned it carefully over Edwin’s stomach, aiming. “I think there’s a different reason your venom isn’t working.” Edwin squirmed, but the first cultist seized him and held him in place. The second plunged his knife into Edwin’s belly and sliced it open.

  Instead of blood, snakes poured out of the wound. They were red, black, and white, the length of Edwin’s arm, and as big around as his little finger. Twenty of them launched themselves at the two cultists there, but more kept coming from the wound. The cultists slashed at them, but the nimble snakes only used the swinging arms as pathways. They wrapped around them and slithered toward the cultists’ heads. The two guards rushed to help, but the rest of the snakes attacked them.

  When the flow of snakes from the wound stopped, Edwin shook his head, and a dark cloud of anger covered his face. He pulled up, as if to get off the table, but his bonds held. “Murzurud curse you, Hark’akuy! And you, Tikray! Murzurud curse you all!”

  Calvin pounded desperately against the snakes binding his legs, striking them with the butt of his knife. Edwin kept shouting blasphemous curses, but if Calvin could just get free, he could fix everything. There’s still time to save him. As long as—

  The snakes crawled down the cultists’ throats. The cultists doubled over, coughing, then stiffened. One by one, they straightened, holding their stomachs, faces contorted in pain. Calvin redoubled his efforts, finally getting one of his legs free. He could still save Edwin if he got to him before—

  Edwin cut off in the middle of a curse, freezing as if paralyzed again. Three of the cultists started freeing Calvin and his crew, pausing only to clutch at pains in their stomachs. The other one went right up to Edwin and stabbed him to the heart. The corpse fell back against the table, and Calvin fell to his knees. His stomach writhed, protesting his weakness. He ignored it. He’d failed Edwin. His death was entirely Calvin’s fault. I should have known they’d single him out. I shouldn’t have let him come. I should have—

  “Sir?”

  Calvin looked up. One of the cultists stood there, his hand out to help Calvin to his feet. The rest of the crew were free of the snakes, and Pelias was giving out the antivenom. He’d already gotten the mercenaries, who worked at freeing the other prisoners.

  “You have orders?” the cultist asked.

  Calvin nodded, took his hand, and pulled himself up. His stomach relaxed. “We need to kill Waska. You four will take us to the contact chamber. Act as if we’re meant to be used for the ritual.”

  The cultist scowled, then doubled over, grabbing his stomach. “Very well,” he said.

  “It’ll get easier,” Calvin said, patting the man’s shoulder. “Just give it time.” He tried to give a comforting smile, but it felt fake. He’d lost Edwin.