The Ring of Winter (26 page)

Kaverin’s voice trailed off and his head dropped to his chest. He started awake instantly and turned his attention back to Rayburton. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever been dead,” he said. “I have, thanks to Cimber and that bloated mage Pontifax. They murdered me about three years ago. The authorities in Tantras even called it murder.” He covered another yawn with one jet-black hand. “I don’t begrudge them that. We’d been destroying little parts of each other for years—I’d send an assassin after Cimber, he’d gather evidence of wrongdoings and have all my associates arrested. My killing Pontifax’s wife sent them both over the edge. Looking back, it was bad judgment on my part. Still, you can’t undo the past. Cimber and Pontifax swore a vendetta against me, caught me in a tavern without my bodyguards, then blew me into a hundred pieces.”

Kaverin studied Rayburton’s face, watched contentedly as horror mixed with the pain. “So down to Hades I went, to the Realm of the Dead. When you were in Cormyr, the Lord of the Dead was Myrkul. Not any longer. That’s Cyric’s domain now.” He snorted. “It’s a good thing that homicidal maniac killed Myrkul and took his godhood, because he was willing to cut a deal with me: I get to live out the rest of my life, just as if Cimber hadn’t caught me in Tantras, but only so long as I sow chaos and destruction in the North. That’s why I’m after the Ring of Winter. No other artifact in the history of the world has such potential for destruction.”

“I never found the ring,” Rayburton snarled. “You won’t find it here.”

“But there had to be a reason you were in Chult looking for it,” Kaverin said. He held up his hand. “But that’s something we can discuss later. Where were we? Ah, yes. My deal with Cyric.” Lashing out with one stone hand, he shattered a skull resting atop the couch. “The price for all this was a bit steep, I’ve come to find out. When I do die, I go straight back to Cyric for an eternity of torture.”

Rayburton saw a glimmer of some weird emotion flash in Kaverin’s dark, lifeless eyes. It was gone as soon as it had appeared, though.

“That’s another reason for me to possess the ring—eternal life. But even that would be a torture of sorts, thanks to Cyric….” Kaverin smiled mirthlessly, then fell into a drowsy reverie. From the frown on his face, Rayburton assumed it was far from pleasant.

After a few moments, Kaverin’s breathing became regular and deep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He did not wake this time, though Rayburton soon wished he had.

The first indication of the horror that was to come was the smell of sulphur. The stench grew so strong it seared Rayburton’s lungs and made his eyes tear. Next came the sound of wailing. The murmur never became very loud, just audible enough for some of the individual shrieks and cries for mercy to rise above the hellish nimble. The chorus of the damned made the hair stand up on the back of Rayburton’s neck. Panic swelled in his chest, muffling his heartbeat, threatening to choke the air from his lungs.

Finally they came. On either side of the sleeping Kaverin, two huge figures appeared out of the air. Their heads were lupine, with slavering jaws and glowing red eyes. Coarse hair bristled in a mane from between their pointed ears down their backs, but the rest of their bodies were plated with armorlike scales. Each had a pair of human arms ending in clawed hands. These they rubbed together like a miser considering his hoard. Four other limbs, more akin to a spider’s legs than anything human, waved and clutched the air. When the beasts moved toward the sleeping man, it was on a snake’s writhing body. They pulsed forward and, gripping the couch, leaned over Kaverin.

Rayburton tried to close his eyes, but the ghastly sight had burned into his thoughts. The two creatures, monstrous denizens of the Realm of the Dead, moved closer to the sleeping Kaverin. Yet they didn’t so much as lay a taloned hand on him. No, they did something far more terrible.

As Kaverin slept, the denizens whispered in his ears, describing the horrors of the Realm of the Dead and the awful fate that awaited him when he died. The sleeping man twitched and groaned, but stayed lost in slumber. Such was the part of their deal that Cyric didn’t reveal to Kaverin on the day he made his pact; so long as he lived, these creatures would visit him every time he slept. Even if he found a way to prolong his life, the stone-handed man would be given a bitter taste of his eventual fate each time he drifted off to sleep.

All that afternoon Lord Rayburton shared in the nightmares those creatures conjured in Kaverin’s mind. The sweet voices spoke of tortures and promised terrors beyond belief. They whispered of a world of agony without end, an eternal fife filled with misery and suffering, all at the hands of the dark god Cyric.

No matter how loud Lord Dhalmass Rayburton screamed, the voices of the denizens came to him clearly, as if their words were meant for him, too.

Since leaving Ras T’fima’s hut an hour past, Artus, Sanda, and Kwalu had moved toward the goblin camp at a steady pace. The jungle had thinned, the tangles of trees and vines giving way now and then to clearings filled with saw-edged grasses, squat palms, and strange creatures. Docile dinosaurs lumbered about, tearing up huge mouthfuls of greenery. Kwalu showed no fear of these gigantic lizards, and they in turn watched unafraid as the trio passed.

Only when he spotted a quartet of dinosaurs running through a clearing did the negus order the party to take cover. These beasts stood twice as tall as Artus and ran on two legs. Their tails stuck out straight behind them like rudders, allowing them to balance as they charged across the field. The most frightening thing about them was the scythelike claw hooking up from each foot. It was clear to Artus that they used these in combat, probably hopping up and tearing at each other like giant birds.

The respect Kwalu showed these monsters surprised Artus, for the negus seemed truly fearless. He had warmed to the explorer considerably after hearing of his escape from the Batiri camp, even offering cryptic hints as to some of his own fantastic adventures. Few predatory beasts had escaped his spear and club, few places in Chult had remained closed to his wandering. He was never specific about his feats, though. His modesty simply wouldn’t allow him to stoop to anything even close to bragging.

Though Kwalu appeared tight-lipped to Artus, Sanda was amazed at how talkative the negus had proved to be with the explorer. For her part, she never seemed at a loss for a comment or question. Her mood never darkened for long; she’d even recovered from her worry about her father, convincing herself and the others that they would certainly rescue him in time. Artus found her self-assuredness a welcome beacon, warning him away from the shoals of despair. At least, he welcomed it most of the time. At other moments, Sanda’s breezy dismissal of problems seemed frivolous, her mocking tone rather mean-spirited.

“I make you uncomfortable, don’t I, Artus?” Sanda asked bluntly as they tore through a particularly thick curtain of vines. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I would have thought you too worldly to be intimidated by an older woman.”

The comment flew straight and true, dead on target to the heart of the matter. Artus could only wince at the sting, though, for Sanda had seen right through him. To deny the truth would be pointless. “You should understand my discomfort,” he said. “I mean, I find myself wondering how you see me—like a child or a fool. Don’t you ever wonder how we mortals see you? Doesn’t that make it hard for you to live with us?”

“Of course,” Kwalu said. The negus looked up from the trail marker he was leaving for the Tabaxi troops that King Osaw was sending after them. “That’s the reason you’ve met so many barae in such a short time. We tend to stay together. Why choose a hunting partner who can only keep up with you for twenty years or so?”

“How lonely,” Artus said.

“Oh, any isolation is self-imposed,” Sanda offered cheerfully. “The king doesn’t have a problem becoming close to ‘mortals,’ as you call them. Most of the barae have, at one time or another.”

“Not me,” Kwalu said proudly.

Sanda bowed. “Except Negus Kwalu,” she corrected. “The rest of us have had friends, lovers, and children pass away, all while we remain untouched by the scouring winds of time.” A cloud passed over her bright features as she looked at Artus. In reply to his unvoiced question, she added, “Two sons and a daughter. Actually, grandchildren, too, and great-grandchildren. I stopped keeping track. It made me too sad to see them as infants and watch them die of old age, all without much noticing the passage of the years myself.”

In silence they came to the edge of a wide field. Above the general cacophony, a chorus of high-pitched cries rang out. Desperation gave an edge to the shrieks, a panic that grew as the cries were repeated. The source of the calls remained hidden, though, for the grass in this particular clearing stood taller than Artus’s waist.

Cautiously Kwalu started out from the cover of the trees, Sanda and Artus close behind. They had stumbled across creatures hidden in tall grass before: rabbits or deer or even an occasional huge snake or hunting cat. These the negus frightened away by slapping the flat of his spear against his dinosaur-hide shield. The resulting boom sent most animals scurrying for cover.

Kwalu expected the same ploy to work this time. As the grass began to part a little farther ahead of the trio, he slammed his spear to his shield. But instead of running, the unseen animals darted forward. The wake they left in the grass gave Artus no doubt they were heavy creatures, and their cries sounded uncomfortably similar to the yelps of the altispinax that had attacked his expedition in the swamp. The explorer nocked an arrow to his bow and braced himself to fire.

The creature that galloped out of the grass was only frightening in its enthusiasm at finding someone else in the field. It was a dinosaur, but not like the other monsters Artus had encountered in Chult. It stood two feet tall at the shoulder, and twice that from the tip of its tail to the small horn on the end of its beaklike snout. A bony frill protected its neck, and two larger horns jutted. from its head. These horns were blunt, not yet grown into the awesome weapons they’d one day become, but Artus still jumped back when the dinosaur took another galloping step toward him.

“Quickly,” Kwalu cried. “Get away from them!”

The bellow that erupted from the jungle made Artus’s heart skip a beat. The crack and clatter of trees falling before some charging giant followed, along with a low tremor that shook the entire field. Immediately the four dinosaurs answered the call with sharp cries of greeting.

Artus turned and saw Kwalu standing, shoulders back, chin out. As the negus faced the tree line and the source of the awful, ear-splitting roar, the four little dinosaurs raced past him. “Gods,” Artus murmured. “They’re babies.”

The guardian of the four young creatures breached the tree line. It shared the basic shape and features of its young, but it was ten times as large. Its horns were fully developed—as long as Artus was tall and tapered to deadly points. Opening its beaklike snout, it roared a challenge. The teeth in that cavernous mouth were not the jagged knives of a carnivore, but the dinosaur didn’t need such weapons. If it wanted to kill the humans, it merely had to trample them beneath one of its four huge feet.

Trees crashed to the ground, shoved out of the way as the dinosaur charged. The young creatures wisely scattered out of the way, but evidently Kwalu did not share that wisdom.

“Run!” Artus shouted.

Calmly the negus lifted his broad-bladed spear and threw it with all his considerable strength. The weapon flew, lodging just below one of the monster’s eyes. The wound didn’t even slow the beast down. It rampaged forward, closing half the distance between itself and the doomed men with three steps. Kwalu didn’t retreat an inch, instead reaching for a small leather box that hung at his belt.

Artus saw then how futile it would be to run. Unless he’d started to move long before the dinosaur broke through the tree line, it could catch him in a half-dozen thunderous steps. The explorer glanced over his shoulder, hoping Sanda had possessed the sense to bolt at the first rumbling footstep. At the same time, he reached back for an arrow from his quiver. Kwalu was right in that much—better to fight until the end.

He never got to fire that arrow. The sight of Sanda, stretched out in peaceful repose before the charging dinosaur, made him fumble the shaft back into the quiver. She hadn’t moved a single step. Neither had she drawn her weapon for a final, hopeless stand. No, Sanda had lain back in the grass and fallen asleep.

Certain that bizarre sight would be his last, Artus braced himself for the crushing weight of the dinosaur’s foot. Yet the roars of the guardian and the thunder of its charge had stopped. Only the calls of the young, pleading and submissive, rang out over the clearing.

When Artus turned around again, the dinosaur stood close enough for him to reach out and touch the leathery hide of one leg. Nearby, Kwalu leaned against another thick leg, idly adjusting his grip on his shield. “It is a triceratops, I think,” the negus noted. “The young must have got separated from the herd. They usually travel in large groups.”

“What?” Artus sputtered. He looked up at the dinosaur. It had taken another step toward him, blocking out the sun with its massive frill and horns.

“Sanda has control of the beast,” Kwalu offered calmly, gesturing toward the woman with his club. “That is the power Ubtao granted her. She can possess any warmblooded creature, bend its will to hers.”

“But this is a lizard!”

“It is a dinosaur,” Kwalu replied. “A child of Ubtao. It is like a lizard, but its massive heart pumps blood as hot as yours or mine.”

The negus turned to his fellow bara. “We should move her,” he said, shooing away one of the baby triceratops that had begun to rabble at the fringe around his calf. “She cannot control this brute for long.”

Artus slung his bow over his shoulder and picked up Sanda. As he draped her limp arms over his shoulders, lifting her on his back, he stared up at the full-grown triceratops. The creature nodded and turned one huge eye toward him. As Artus watched, the black orbs filled with color—the same green as Sanda’s eyes. Shaken, he looked away.