"Vanity's Brood," House of Serpents Book III: Welcome to the Jungle
The final book in Lisa Smedman's "House of Serpents" trilogy, "Vanity's Brood" shakes up the familiar formula a bit, but does it make for a satisfying conclusion?
Earlier this year I started reflecting back on the time I spent revisiting some of my favorite contemporary pulp novels, Lisa Smedman’s “House of Serpents” trilogy. Written for what is arguably the most expansive setting in Dungeons & Dragons, the Forgotten Realms, the “House of Serpents” trilogy was released at a time that couldn’t have been more ideal for hooking me as a reader: my last year in high school, into my early college days. Indeed, when it comes to a series packed with action and intrigue, complete with an underdog story at the heart of it, you’d be hard pressed to find a better time in the life of a young, fantasy obsessed nerd to catch his eye.
We started by revisiting the first book, Venom’s Taste, back in January; then followed that up with Viper’s Kiss just last month. Now it’s time to round out this series of reviews and take a look at the final book in the trilogy, Vanity’s Brood. Now it should be needless for me to say this, but given I attempted to be as spoiler free as possible in my last two reviews, I want to make sure I stress this here and now: there will be some spoilers ahead. Vanity’s Brood involves some shakeups to the formula Smedman established with the prior two books in this series, and unfortunately that’s something I can’t effectively talk about without going into some of the details in the story which spurred those changes. Bear that in mind going forward.
As with the prior two books in this trilogy, Vanity’s Brood introduces us once again to the good hearted but desperate rogue, Arvin. Our man’s been through a great deal at this point. From nearly losing himself to Zelia’s mind seed in the first book, to undermining the plans of the Pox death cult, to unraveling the machinations of the monstrous Sybil, to the victories and great losses he suffered while working under Baron Foehammer in Sespech, the thief turned mind-mage has been put through the wringer and it shows in this book. When we first see Arvin, we learn he’s returned to the one place he had no desire to go back to - his old home, the yuan-ti city of Hlondeth. As a quick reminder for those who may not recall, humans like Arvin are second class citizens in Hlondeth and its surrounding lands. Those who aren’t slaves to the serpentine yuan-ti must still show respectful subservience at all times, lest they risk a deadly envenomed bite from the cold blooded race of snake men.
One of Arvin’s primary goals, his driving background motivator across the first and second books, has always been to get out of Hlondeth and never return. He wants to be able to live his life free, not just from the threat of the yuan-ti, but of the yoke of the city’s thieves’ guild, who forced him into their service when he was still just a boy. In fact, both books clearly show that while Arvin may have people in the city he cares about and while he may not wish its citizens any real harm, he has no love for Hlondeth itself or its culture. Almost nothing would’ve convinced him to stay, much less return, once he got his shot at freedom. What changed? Why did he not simply remain in Sespech or flee to a different region once his service to Baron Foesmasher ended?
To explain that, we have to take a look at the primary way Smedman shook up her formula with Vanity’s Brood, and that means we’re going to have to get into those spoilers. If you don’t want the ending of the second book spoiled, then skip past the next two paragraphs.
As was discussed in the previous review, one of the new elements introduced in the second book is the character of Karrell, a priestess who comes to Sespech from the untamed southern jungles of the Chultan Peninsula in order to meet with one of the sons from Hlondeth’s ruling family, House Extaminos. Her reasons for wanting to meet with Dmetrio differ from Arvin’s purposes and her insistence he help her grates at first, but as the story of the second book presses on, the relationship between Karrell and Arvin deepens until a genuine affection is formed between them. Unfortunately for everyone involved in the recovery of Foesmasher’s daughter, the success of Arvin’s mission and the fate of this new love he’s found both seem to be doomed. A dark rite conducted in secret on Foesmasher’s daughter reaches its fruition, and the bastard child of Dmetrio that she bore is sacrificed in her womb to birth a monstrous, six-armed snake demon called a marilith.
A battle ensues against the demon in the Baron’s estate. The Baron himself, as well as a trusted retinue of priests of Helm the Vigilant Watcher, join Arvin and Karrell as they attempt to do battle with the demon, but it easily overpowers them. The priests decide the best course of action would be to banish the monster back to the chaotic realm of the Abyss. They succeed, but it’s a pyrrhic victory. Not only did many of Foesmasher’s people die in the fight, his daughter was killed when she birthed the demon. It’s a grievous state of affairs, but Arvin’s mind is occupied by what the demon took from him, for when the rift to the Abyss was opened and the fiend was pulled into it, Karrell’s fate was bound to it by a power Arvin manifested. That is to say, in his mind, Arvin as good as murdered the woman he’d come to love.
For those of you who read the above two paragraphs, you can see more clearly why I stated in the previous review that the second book hits on the trilogy’s darkest moments. For those who didn’t, go read the books. You’ll learn what I mean.
In any case, the changes to Smedman’s formula in Vanity’s Brood are the direct result of the events that take place in Viper’s Kiss, and we see that change from the very first page. Recall that in the prior reviews, I mentioned how the story follows Arvin. That’s still the case here, Vanity’s Brood is chiefly Arvin’s story. However, it’s no longer solely Arvin’s story.
For a bit of context, since the Forgotten Realms books area all written under the umbrella of, well, the Forgotten Realms, the authors who write stories within it are made to follow certain guidelines within the franchise. Some of those guidelines come in the form of formatting and layout rules. In this case, I’m referring to how the books handle their chapters. While there’s no set chapter count that must be reached for each book - Venom’s Taste has a total of 20 chapters, Viper’s Kiss has 17 chapters, and Vanity’s Brood has 14 chapters, for example - they all must include a prologue and an epilogue within that total. While I don’t know if that remains the case, that’s how it was for Forgotten Realms books from the 90’s through the mid 2010’s.
In the previous books, Arvin was the character we followed throughout the story. In Vanity’s Brood, that changes right from page one, where we’re given a prologue that opens from Karrell’s point of view. This change to Smedman’s prior formula, small though it is in practice, has massive implications on the story. It immediately answers questions that were left over from the second book, sets up high personal stakes for both Arvin and Karrell through the story, and sets up one of the two primary goals Arvin has throughout the book - take vengeance on Sybil for everything she’s done, and find a way to reunite with Karrell.
As one would expect based on the past two books, these aims lead Arvin on a daring and dangerous adventure that often sees him out of his depth. It’s already been well established that Arvin isn’t a great fighter. He’s not a Conan or a Fafhrd or a Solomon Kane. Hell, he’s not even really a Gray Mouser, who may not be strong but makes up for it with talented swordsmanship and clever use of magic. No, Arvin and the Gray Mouser only really align in that latter portion, thanks to Arvin’s talents in psionics or, as the books call them, mind magic. (A moniker I personally prefer.) He’s a middling fighter at best, which means he needs to rely instead on his wits, his charisma, his mind magic, and his rope and net making skills.
Yes, much to Smedman’s credit, she takes care to remind us that not only is Arvin a talented maker of ropes and nets, he knows how to work with magicked materials to make all sorts of unique magical tools with them. We saw this in the first book with the troll gut rope he made, which could grow from a cutting of a few inches to a full sized coil by magically utilizing the extreme regenerative properties of the trolls in this setting. This time, we see it come in the form of a downright sinister weapon he’s created to kill Sybil, the shadowy mastermind behind the mysteries Arvin unraveled in the prior books - a net fashioned of yellow musk creeper, a plant that pacifies living creatures its tendrils adhere to with its pollen while it constricts their bodies and attempts to find its way to their brains. Where fantastical carnivorous plants are concerned, it’s a particularly gruesome one.
Arvin’s plan is pretty simple - get close enough to Sybil to use the net on her and ensure her death. Beyond that, he doesn’t really care until he gets confirmation that Karrell’s disappearance didn’t result in her death. From then on, his goals change from “kill Sybil no matter what,” to “do everything in my power to get Karrell back, then kill Sybil.” Thus the adventure begins, with Arvin searching for any means he can find of reuniting with Karrell.
I mentioned earlier that Arvin has two primary goals in this book. I must admit, that’s only half true. While his aims of reuniting with Karrell and killing Sybil are foremost in his mind, he does develop a third major drive along the way. After all, there’s someone else out there who’s proven to be a major threat not only to Arvin, but anyone else who crosses her path. That’s right, Zelia returns in this story as well. She doesn’t play as major a role as she does in Venom’s Taste, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy having Zelia back as a secondary antagonist, particularly since the direness of the situation at hand forces Arvin to work with her again.
And that really hits on what this third book does best - it takes the elements from the first two books that were the most enjoyable, and it puts them front and center together. Arvin’s dealings with Zelia and the far flung adventure he finds himself on, one which takes him from the streets and sewers of Hlondeth out to the sweltering and wildly dangerous jungles of Chult, make for compelling reading because the stakes are so high. When I originally read the first two books in 2004 and 2005 respectively, I’d come to care about Arvin quite a bit by the time the third book came out in 2006. I’m happy to say my investment was still just as high when I revisited the series last year. Arvin is a compelling and likable character, and Smedman does a great job at making us want to root for him across his trials and tribulations.
The same is true of Karrell. We don’t see as much of her as Arvin, but the time we spend with her is much more meaningful than it was in Viper’s Kiss. Note that I’m not saying that Karrell lacked for impact or characterization in the second book. I don’t think that’s the case at all. Rather, the characterization we get of Karrell in Vanity’s Brood carries even greater weight because we get to see what she’s enduring through her own eyes. The thoughts and experiences we get in the segments dedicated to Karrell are her own, rather than Arvin’s interpretation of them. Taken alongside the weighty stakes of the situation they find themselves in, a situation which expertly links both their personal stakes with this book’s greater global stakes, and you end up with a highly compelling core thrust to the story that largely keeps you wanting to read more.
Mostly.
Yes, sad though I am to say it, this does mean we have some flaws that need to be covered. For as much as I praise the way the stories of Arvin and Karrell are handled in this book, and the involvement of Zelia as well, I can’t pretend it’s all good. Sybil, unfortunately, is not an interesting villain. In fact, I’d go so far as to say she’s less of a villain and more of a plot device, a looming threat that’s dangled over the heads of the characters. Compare this to the immediate threat that Karrell faces in her portions of the story, one that’s carried over from the second book. The creature that threatens her safety is hardly a deep character with rich motivations. Quite the contrary, it’s motivations are quite simple and the creature spends most of its time exuding malice and evil.
The difference maker here is the sense of presence within the story. The creature that Karrell is forced to deal with is an ever present threat for her. We know what it wants, we know why it keeps her around, and we know exactly what’s going to happen to her if the secrets she’s keeping from it are ever revealed. Sybil is meant to hold a similar role for Arvin’s side of the story. It was her plans that resulted in the many things he lost and the massive upheaval he experienced across the story’s couple years of time. He wants to stop her only partly because its right; mostly, it’s a simple a desire for/promise to dole out vengeance. Yet, Sybil doesn’t hold that same ever present feeling that Karrell’s adversary does. Part of this is to be expected since Arvin’s the one who has to go on the quest. He’s the one who needs to travel to Chult, to find the MacGuffin the various antagonists are looking for, and to unravel the plans not just of Sybil, but Zelia now, too.
The problem lies in that final detail. Sybil’s been set up in the background as the big bad for this trilogy, the Emperor Palpatine, if you will. Unfortunately, when it comes time that we finally get our chances to see and interact with Sybil, her character comes off as generically evil. She’s a yuan-ti supremacist with high ambitions that include a desire for more power to take the right to rule for herself, just like most of the other yuan-ti villains we encounter in the story. Apart from having the power to attain that goal, she’s not shown as being that different from most of the crueler yuan-ti we see in the trilogy. Instead it’s Zelia who’s the exception, and so it’s Zelia, not Sybil, who’s present in the story’s closing chapter.
On the whole, I don’t actually mind this all that much. I’ve said from the outset that Zelia is a wildly enjoyable character for me, so to have her come back to scheme and manipulate the story’s events again was great fun and, ultimately, a positive choice for the story. It’s just unfortunate that this choice also comes at the cost of relegating Sybil to being less of a villain, and more of a plot device.
Pacing is another area in which this book suffered compared to the other two. As I noted earlier, this book has the fewest chapters of the three, totaling in at 14 when we include the prologue and epilogue. However, all three books are similar in their length, with only a couple thousand words separating each of them. This means that, on average, chapters in Vanity’s Brood are a decent bit longer than in the past two books.
For the most part this doesn’t result in any notable negative impact, but there are passages where it becomes a problem and the story starts to drag its feet. Most of these came once Arvin made his journey into the jungles of Chult, the first portion of which involves a lot of him getting lost, trying to find his way, and encountering dangerous local flora and fauna, including local yuan-ti. It’s not bad by any means, the writing is still vivid and descriptive and Smedman does a great job setting up the confusion and danger of being lost in a sweltering jungle full of dinosaur riding snake men. (No, you didn’t misread that.) However, it does begin to feel superfluous after a short while, and I feel the story would’ve been better served by trimming some of the jungle encounters in favor of fleshing out Sybil more.
Thus we come to the question posed at the start - does Vanity’s Brood provide a satisfying conclusion for the “House of Serpents” trilogy?
Yes, I think it does. While it’s certainly not perfect and does drag in the middle, the conclusion we get wraps up the trilogy in a way that’s both enjoyable and pretty complete. While they’re not always the neatest ties, Smedman takes care to ensure that all of the major plot threads she’s established are given a resolution that’s in line with the story she’s presented. Appropriately, part of that comes down to ensuring the final conflict we see isn’t one that’s fought in a traditional battle of blades and magic, but one of subterfuge and wit. Arvin continues to present as a quick thinking and clever protagonist, while the new insights we get into Karrell help to deepen the bond a reader might feel with her and serve to keep the personal stakes for Arvin high, thus driving him ever forward. The story isn’t quite as tight as Viper’s Kiss and the broader cast not quite as engaging as Venom’s Taste, but that does little to detract from the journey we go on in Vanity’s Brood. It might not be the smoothest road, but it’s a damn satisfying one to travel down.
My recommendation for this book is:
Avoid It | Discount Bin | Tough Sell | Flawed Fun | Great Read | Must Own