The Ring of Winter (25 page)

As Kaverin got closer to Rayburton, Artus found his eyes drawn to the head resting atop the chair. It was a recent kill, missing only some of its skin. Still, the long, stringy hair and round glasses were all Artus needed to see. Phyrra al-Quim had met the treacherous end reserved for Kaverin’s closest allies. He wasn’t pleased by the sight, but he did feel some vague sense of justice.

Kaverin began to look around the room in a seemingly random pattern, almost as if he were dazed. Artus spotted Byrt, crammed into a wooden cage in one corner; Skuld stood over the imprisoned wombat. The silver giant’s eyes were closed, and both sets of arms were folded over his chest. Suddenly Skuld looked up, directly at Kaverin. He wove an intricate pattern in the air before him, his mouth moving in a chant Artus and the others could not hear.

The image disappeared, and the smell of charred flesh filled the hut. The two pieces of quartz flared brightly, burning deep into the monkey’s head. In one quick move, the sorcerer picked up the corpse and emptied the stones onto the dirt floor. Then he tossed the dead monkey out the door. An instant later, Neyobu flew outside and descended upon his prize.

“This fellow is clever,” T’fima admitted. He picked up the two smoking stones. They crumbled to ash in his hands. “He figured out we were spying on him and had that silver brute dispel my magic. You will have trouble rescuing Rayburton, I think.”

“As a bara, it is your responsibility to aid the city and the other paladins who serve it,” Kwalu noted stiffly. “King Osaw has sent me to ask your help in the name of Ubtao. Bring down a storm upon the goblins, just as you did to facilitate my rescue.”

T’fima lowered himself onto a squat chunk of basalt. He pondered the plea for a time, muttering to himself. Finally he looked up at Kwalu. “No.”

Both Sanda and the negus took a step forward. “What?” they shouted in unison.

“The wall still stands around the city, doesn’t it?” T’fima said. “I agreed to help rescue Kwalu because the king and Lord Rayburton told me the wall would come down.”

“King Osaw offered to bring the matter up before the citizens of Mezro,” Sanda corrected. “Which he did. The people voted to keep the wall up.”

“That doesn’t change things,” the sorcerer said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I left Mezro five hundred years ago and swore not to help again until the wall came down. I won’t be fooled into going back on that vow again.”

Kwalu grabbed the front of the sorcerer’s tobe. “You are a bara,” he said. “If the city asks, you must aid us. That is why Ubtao gave you power over the weather.”

For a tense moment, the two stood nose to nose. It surprised Artus to see Kwalu back down, but it was the warrior who released T’fima and took a step back. “Old arguments should not cloud the debate now,” he said, keeping his anger in check. “All that matters is that you follow Ubtao’s law.”

Straightening his grimy tobe, T’fima said, “I abandoned Ubtao’s law when I left the city. It means nothing to me—just as the power he granted me means nothing. I use only the magic I can draw from gems now.” He turned to Sanda, and his eyes took on an almost pleading look. “I want to help you, but I can’t, not while the wall stands. By keeping the city isolated, you are cheating the Tabaxi who live in the jungles out of their heritage.”

“You can debate that later, T’fima,” Artus said. “Lord Rayburton is in danger right now, and he needs your help.”

A tense silence followed, during which T’fima refused to meet anyone’s eyes. At last Kwalu said, “We are through here.” He gathered up his shield and his weapons, then looked back at the sorcerer. “It would not be a bad thing for you to end your life, Ras T’fima. Then Ubtao could choose a new paladin to replace you, one who would do his duty to Mezro.”

Sanda paused before the ras. “Father trusted you. He said you were an honorable man.”

“I am,” the sorcerer said softly. This time his voice quivered with sadness, not rage. “Lord Rayburton would understand why it has to be this way.”

“Well, I don’t,” Artus said. He took Sanda’s arm, and they started toward the door. When he saw Neyobu sitting in the center of the floor, the explorer backed away, bumping into the wooden tabletop. The cat watched him pass, his fangs crimson with the monkey’s blood.

Before Artus could leave, T’fima grabbed him. “It’s not your place to understand,” he hissed. “Just like it’s not my place to condemn you for bringing all this down on the city because of some damned ring.” He shoved the explorer out the door, slamming it closed behind him.

Kwalu was already at the edge of the clearing when Artus and Sanda got outside. “My father said he would organize a brigade and send them here, but we cannot wait, Sanda. I will leave trail markers, so they can follow us.”

The young woman nodded and drew the knife Kwalu had given her. “If we reach the goblin camp while it’s still daylight, they’ll be sleeping. We can spy on them until the other warriors arrive … unless, of course, an opportunity to rescue Father presents itself.”

Both Sanda and Kwalu turned to Artus, as if they expected him to hedge at the prospect. He strolled to the edge of the trail that led deeper into the jungle, “I fought my way out of the camp once. Going to spy on them with you two should be as easy as finding a crooked tax collector in Sembia.” At their blank looks, he said, “A hungry dinosaur in a swamp?”

For the first time, Artus saw Kwalu smile. The warrior thumped his spear against his shield. “A dead Batiri near Mezro,” he corrected. “So you fought your way out of the goblin camp, eh?”

“It was hardly the stuff of bardic songs,” Artus said. “But if you’re interested, I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

Twelve

Skuld pressed both sets of palms together and bowed deeply. “The wards are complete, master. No one else may look into this room with magic.”

“Fine,” Kaverin said. He resumed his pacing, clacking the knuckles of his jet-black hands together with every third step. At last he turned to Lord Rayburton. “You know, milord, I’m beginning to believe you about the ring.”

His hands bound firmly behind his back, his legs lashed securely to the chair, Rayburton didn’t bother trying to see his captor’s face. Kaverin always paced behind the chair, where he remained hidden. Even in Rayburton’s time in Cormyr this had been an old interrogation trick; without being able to read body language or expression, the prisoner could use only his ears to judge anything told to him.

“Then you can let me go,” the nobleman said. “Byrt, too.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Your gray-furred friend is going to be a present to the goblin queen, since the winged spy your fellows killed was technically hers,” Kaverin said. He clucked his tongue. “Besides, the goblins are having a victory celebration tonight, and you can’t leave before that’s over with. They might even serve the talking pig-bear, knowing them. I wonder what he tastes like?”

“Pig-bear!” Byrt exclaimed. “Hardly, sir. I am a wombat. W-O-“

Skuld’s silver foot descended onto the top of the cramped wooden cage. “Silence, little one. The goblins can eat you whether I pull your teeth out or not.”

Byrt opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. Sulking, the little gray wombat huddled against the bars and waited.

“Look,” Rayburton said, “you believe me when I say I don’t have the Ring of Winter. My daughter and the others know I’m here, that I’m alive. They’ll come for me. You can count on that. Why not just let me go and avoid a needless battle?”

Kaverin stopped pacing—Rayburton could tell because the clacking of his knuckles stopped, too. “Oh, I have no doubt they’ll charge right into the Batiri camp, horns blaring. Cimber is with them, and he is the least subtle person I know.”

Finally Kaverin came around to the front of the chair. For the first time, Rayburton saw how exhausted his captor looked. His eyes were ringed by dark circles, his hands trembled from fatigue. Kaverin’s voice was a sigh as he said, “Your would-be rescuers may even have the gem-sorcerer with them. They could have the whole population of Mezro with them, and I still wouldn’t let you go.”

Gingerly Kaverin lifted Phyrra’s skull from the back of the chair. He adjusted the glasses and said, “The key phrase, milord, is immortality. Whether you have the ring or not, you’ve lived for more than twelve hundred years, by my count.” He looked into the skull’s empty eye sockets; the glasses reflected his own lifeless eyes back at him. “I want to know how you’ve managed it.”

“Never,” Rayburton said firmly.

Kaverin yawned and rubbed his tired eyes, then placed the head in Rayburton’s lap. “Whatever the secret is, it’s something you share with T’fima, since he says he’s quite old, too—at least that’s what Feg heard before that fanged thing ate him.” He scowled at the memory of the image he’d seen through the winged monkey’s eyes just before it died—a blur of black fur and razor-sharp claws.

Stoutly, Rayburton fought the urge to flinch from the grisly head or turn away in disgust. “If you want to know, go ask T’fima then,” he said. “You’ll get the same answer from him, I daresay.”

Reaching down slowly, Kaverin took one of Rayburton’s fingers in his cold, stony grip. He pulled it backward, just to the point where it strained, but didn’t break. “Won’t change your mind, will you, milord?”

Rayburton gritted his teeth against the pain and shook his head.

“Quite certain?” Kaverin asked flatly.

Again Rayburton shook his head.

Kaverin didn’t ask a third time. He pulled the finger until it touched the back of the prisoner’s hand. Rayburton stifled a scream, refusing to give his torturer the pleasure of hearing him cry out.

“Bravo,” Kaverin cooed. “Just the sort of control I would expect from a man of your breeding, milord.” He gripped another finger. “This will be a challenge, I think.”

“You monster,” Rayburton hissed through clenched teeth.

Kaverin smiled a predatory smile. “You don’t know the half of it.” He broke another finger, then grabbed a third. “If it comes to it, Lord Rayburton, I will kill you. Then I’ll find your daughter—Oh, don’t look surprised. The lovely young woman mentioned her relation to you in T’fima’s hut, before my spy was so rudely slaughtered,” Twisting the finger sideways, he added, “Maybe she’ll be more cooperative.”

“Why don’t you just ask me?” Byrt chimed from his cage. “I’m a regular font of knowledge. License to lecture granted by the College of Bards on Orlil, order of fabulists. No literary masterpiece too obscure for our attention. Rules of grammar enforced with spirit—root words are a wombat’s specialty, don’t you know.”

“Take that idiotic thing outside,” Kaverin said coldly. “Give it to the queen’s guards.”

As Skuld hefted the cage, Byrt pressed against the bars. His blue eyes were locked on Rayburton. “You’ll need to keep him alive if you want to cash in on his fountain of youth, Kaverin.” When the stone-handed man ignored him, the wombat added, “Ask him what it takes to become a bara of Ubtao. The benefits are quite good, from what his daughter told me.”

“No!” Rayburton lurched forward, making the chair scrape ahead a foot or two. Phyrra’s head rolled from his lap and bounced off Kaverin’s leg before coming to rest under a table. “Don’t tell him,” the bara cried.

Kaverin held up a hand, and Skuld paused at the door. “Why would Rayburton’s dear daughter tell you anything important?”

Glancing up at Skuld, Byrt said. “This will take a while, so you might as well put me down.” When the silver giant didn’t move, the wombat shrugged. “Suit yourself, but don’t blame me if one arm is longer than the other three from holding me up so long.”

“Do not try my patience,” Kaverin said. “I do not brook fools easily.”

“Why would you ever—” Byrt swallowed the rest of the retort. “Sanda told me because she likes animals, has a gift for dealing with them, you might say.” He looked at Rayburton apologetically. “Like her dad, she’s a bara of Ubtao—a sort of mystical guardian of Mezro on behalf of the god. In return for serving the public good, they are granted eternal life.”

“Don’t tell him anything else!” Rayburton shouted.

“Quiet, old man,” Kaverin said. He backhanded Rayburton without so much as looking at him, then strolled to Byrt’s cage. “So why do I have to keep him alive, now that I know the secret?”

Byrt cleared his throat. “When a bara dies, Ubtao chooses his successor from everyone who presents himself at the temple in the city’s center—” he leaned close to Kaverin and lowered his voice conspiratorially “—but you’ve got to go to the temple to be considered. You see the obvious problem, of course?”

“Of course,” Kaverin admitted. “If I kill him before I’m in the temple, ready to undergo the ceremony to become a bara, the good people of Mezro would be sure another candidate got there before me.” He paced a few steps, then looked back to the wombat. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where the city is or how it’s hidden?”

Byrt’s blue eyes took on a haze of vagueness. “Sorry, I’m just a tourist in these parts. If you let me go right now, I would be utterly lost.”

“Then how did you find the city in the first place?” Kaverin asked.

“Couldn’t tell you,” Byrt said merrily. “It was all Artus’s doing. Lugg and I were in a daze, but he found us shelter from the storm and put a thatched roof over our heads. Frightfully bright fellow, Artus. I hear you two go way back.”

Kaverin gestured to Skuld. “Give him to the queen.”

“I protest!” Byrt cried as he was carried from the room.

“You might show some gratitude. After all, I saved you the trouble of breaking any more fingers—”

The slam of the door cut off any further pleading. Kaverin strolled to a long couch that faced his prisoner. “I guess I’ll have to keep you alive, at least until we get into the city and test out the pig-bear’s claim.” He clacked his knuckles together. “And as far as finding Mezro is concerned, we’ll just wait for your daughter and that idiot Cimber to try to rescue you. Then we’ll simply follow them back to the city.”

“Why are you doing this?” “Rayburton rasped.

“I told you before, milord. The key is immortality.” Kaverin stretched out on the couch. “Since I know your secret, I’ll share one of mine—not anything that would give you a weapon against me, of course. Just some information that’ll let you know how serious I am about solving this little mystery… .”