The Ring of Winter (23 page)

“What a wonderful idea. Lord Rayburton,” the little wombat said. “I think Artus should spend a little recreation time with members of his own species before we three trek back to the coast together.”

“I never said I was going back—”

“Good evening, Sanda,” Byrt said, doing his best imitation of a courtly bow. He turned his vacant blue eyes on her. “Your charm and discretion are truly the centerpiece of Mezroan society.” With that he hurried after Rayburton. Lugg hefted himself sleepily from the ground and trundled after them, shaking his head.

Sanda watched her father and the wombats cross the plaza, then disappear into a crowd that was beginning to gather around the huge amphitheater. “Shall I show you the rest of the city?” she asked.

“Actually,” Artus said. “I think I need to find someplace to sit down and rest.” He slumped against the side of the temple, careful not to look too closely at the myriad crystal triangles.

Sanda hooked her arm under Artus’s. “I know just the spot. There’s a park near the schools—did I tell you I teach history at the schools? No?” She tugged the explorer off the wall and guided him into the plaza. “We can go to the park and talk. In fact… I might be able to lay my hands on some Tabaxi primers, if any of the children left them in the classroom.”

She has to think I’m a complete boob, Artus decided. Not surprising since she’s more than ten times my age. He looked over at the young woman—at least she appeared young. Twenty-five, perhaps. Thirty at the oldest. Sanda caught him studying her and smiled warmly.

“After you’ve got the rudiments of Tabaxi down,” she said, “maybe you can tell me a bit about the Heartlands—you’re from Cormyr, right? I only have Father’s word to go on for what the North is like, and I think you’ve already caught on to how cranky and unyielding he can be.”

Artus had been caught up in finding some pretext for extricating his arm from hers. But the feeling he had—that he was being led along like a wayward orphan—disappeared in the face of her guileless chatter. “It’s a deal,” he said, settling his arm against hers. “You give me Tabaxi lessons, and I’ll teach you about Cormyr.”

Eleven

The dinosaur towered over Artus, its bulk blocking out the sun. It was obviously a carnivore, and a hungry one at that.

On a pair of strong, muscular legs, the monster raised its body to its full height—five times as tall as Artus. The dinosaur’s forelimbs were small, more like a pair of bird’s claws, and they clutched at the air continuously. Its long tail swished back and forth, stirring up the dust on the barren plain. These details of anatomy fled the explorer’s mind when the thing opened its mouth. At their base, its teeth were as wide around as a man’s fist, but they tapered to needle points. That’s all Artus saw for a moment, those teeth.

“Zara n’tomo, karth?” the dinosaur said in a soft, high voice. It reached down with one of its bird-hands and shook the explorer gently by the shoulder.

Artus started awake and yelped in surprise. The five small children standing around him echoed that shout and leaped back a few steps. They were dressed in white tobes, their schoolbooks in one hand, their sandals in the other. All had their hair shaved close to the scalp, though the girls had cut intricate patterns in the curls they had left.

The oldest child—a girl of ten or so—took a tentative step forward and repeated her question. “Zara n’tomo, karth?”

“Oh, Ka … neb—no, uh—nez …,” Artus mumbled, trying his best to remember the Tabaxi phrase for “I don’t speak the language.” It simply wouldn’t come to mind. He shrugged and smiled stupidly.

That seemed to be answer enough to whatever the girl had asked, for the children returned the smile and went their way. Their laughter gave voice to the early afternoon sunshine as they ran across the grass. Soon the children had vanished behind the high shrubs bordering the park.

Alone once more, Artus sat back on the stone bench. He and Sanda had spent most of the night there, talking about Cormyr, Mezro, and any other topic they happened upon. They hadn’t given over enough time to common Tabaxi phrases, though Artus had discovered why Sanda found his ignorance of Tabaxi surprising. Lord Rayburton had taught her the basics of a dozen languages; his power as a bara was the ability to comprehend and converse in any tongue, human or inhuman. Over the years, she had come to expect everyone to be able to speak whatever language necessary.

Tabaxi had proved more difficult than the explorer had suspected. In addition to the trade tongue known as Common, Artus spoke four languages. Not even one of them was vaguely related to Tabaxi, however, so he was at a loss to find cognates or any other similarities that would make conversing easier. He remained as he had been on his first day in Mezro—at a loss without an interpreter.

Artus craned his neck and scanned the paths snaking around the small park, through the flowing shrubs and dwarf palm trees. No sign of Sanda. At dawn, she had hurried off to ready herself for her job at the school, promising to return by highsun. She was now almost an hour late.

The explorer was considering a short walk through the Scholars’ Quarter surrounding the park when three burly Tabaxi, all carrying shields and clubs, appeared on the path. Their leader, a lanky fellow with a pug nose and custard-colored eyes, pointed at Artus.

Perhaps the children had warned the city watch about the scruffy, white-skinned derelict in the park, Artus decided. He tried to remember the words Sanda had taught him in case of just such an emergency. “Ka Alisanda Rayburton wa’la!” he said to the leader of the trio.

The warriors were unimpressed. The pug-nosed one jabbered at Artus for a moment, his words spilling out so fast most Tabaxi would have had trouble sorting out his meaning. The explorer could only shrug and repeat the phrase, which was supposed to alert any curious locals he was a guest of Sanda’s. If it meant anything to the three men, they didn’t show it.

Finally the pug-nosed warrior stepped forward and grabbed Artus by the arm. He wasn’t rough about it, but when he pulled the explorer from the bench, there was no question of resisting. Even if the men hadn’t been armed, Artus wouldn’t have argued. The clubs only provided that much more incentive for him to go along quietly.

“I hope you have a nice prison,” he said as they hustled him out of the park. “I suppose I’ll be spending a lot of time there, at least until Sanda and Rayburton figure out where I am.” Even if they couldn’t understand a word he said, Artus hoped the warriors would pick up on his genial tone—however forced it was—and decide he wasn’t much of a threat.

They hurried through the cramped streets in the Scholars’ Quarter, past the massive library and the dozens of specialized schools and laboratories that filled that part of Mezro. Clusters of students, both young and old, milled in many places. Some talked and joked, while others buried their heads in books or just ate their lunches, basking in the sunshine before returning to a dark classroom. Artus and his escort drew the attention of most of those they passed; somehow, though, the explorer got the impression the students were reacting to the warriors’ weapons, not his appearance.

At last they reached the central plaza and the oddly beautiful Temple of Ubtao. Growing up in Suzail, Artus had learned to navigate the cityscape using buildings as guides. Now a strange directional vertigo washed over him; as Rayburton had warned, the temple’s facade appeared exactly as it had when he’d approached from the opposite side last evening.

“Artus!” someone shouted from the crowd gathered at the temple’s entry arch. Sanda pushed through the circle of twenty or so warriors and rushed across the cobblestones. “I’m sorry the soldiers had to bring you this way, but Lugg said he would only talk to you. He stumbled into the plaza a little while ago, an arrow in his side.”

“Lugg? Who shot him?”

Sanda started to speak, but choked on the reply. It was then that Artus noticed she’d been crying. Her green eyes were glassy with tears and rimmed with red. “Oh, Lugg will be all right,” she managed after a moment. “It’s my father and Byrt….”

Holding back a sob, she took Artus by the arm and led him to the circle of warriors. At their center, Lugg lay on his back, his stubby legs in the air. Two of the Tabaxi held a canvas square to shade the wombat. Blood matted the brown fur along his left flank and colored the silver triangle that hung from one rounded ear. The arrow that had wounded him lay nearby. The wombat’s muzzle was battered and bruised. As Sanda knelt at his side and stroked his cheek, Lugg flinched. “Oi,” he murmured. “Let me die in peace, will you?”

“Artus is here,” Sanda whispered. “Please, tell him what happened.”

Struggling to hold his head up, Lugg turned to Artus. “You’ve got to ‘elp ‘im,” he said frantically. “The bloody Batiri took Byrt. I tell you ‘e’s no good on ‘is own, not without me to look out for ‘im.”

Artus got to his knees beside the wombat. “The Batiri took Byrt? How did they get inside the city?”

“They didn’t,” Lugg answered curtly. “The Batiri grabbed ‘im and Rayburton when we went outside the wall to see the witch doctor. I thought it was a bad idea, but no. They—”

“Lord Rayburton, too!” Artus exclaimed. “Lugg, where did this happen? How many of them were there? Which way did the goblins take them?”

The wombat closed his eyes and rested his head on the ground. “I’ll tell you, but only if you promise to get Byrt away from those rotten twisters,” he hissed through clenched teeth. A spasm of pain shivered along his side.

“Of course,” Artus answered quickly.

“Please,” Sanda said. Tears had begun to stream down her round cheeks again. “If the hunting hasn’t been good lately, the Batiri may—may …”

Lugg sighed. “Yeah. I ‘eard what the goblins do to people they capture. They tried to grab Byrt and me before. Wanted to make us part of a festival dinner, they did.” He rolled onto his side. Wincing, he began his description of the ambush.

Rayburton, Lugg, and Byrt bad left Mezro just before sundown, heading for the camp of Ras T’fima. Just why Rayburton needed to visit T’fima was unclear to the wombat, but he did know the matter was urgent.

After a short trek along a jungle path, they smelled the aromatic smoke from a cookfire. They were that close to the sorcerer’s camp when the Batiri raiding party attacked. The battle was short, with thirty of the bloodthirsty goblins overpowering both Rayburton and Byrt. Lugg managed to escape. An arrow in his side, the wombat spent the night hiding from the goblins. Only at dawn was it safe for him to leave his hiding place and struggle back to Mezro.

“If the Batiri have had them all night, they could be miles from here,” Artus said. “We’d better get after them right away.”

Sanda leaned close to Lugg. “Are you certain you were near T’fima’s camp? The goblins are never bold enough to go so close to his home. They’re terrified of him.”

“Yeah, your father was pretty surprised, too,” Lugg said. “Maybe they was spurred on by the ‘uman with them, or the silver bloke with four arms.”

Artus cursed and said, “Kaverin, and he has Skuld now, too.” Scowling fiercely, he rubbed his chin. “That might be a blessing, Sanda. Kaverin will keep your father alive for a while, until he’s learned what he can from him.”

“You know these men who bring the Batiri so close to our city?”

The voice was high and thin, the words spoken in halting Common. Artus looked up at the old man standing over him. Though he was hunched with the weight of many years, his inner strength and wisdom seemed to radiate from him like warmth from the sun. A crown rested upon his wrinkled brow, the platinum blending with his close-cropped hair. His eyes were almost lost in folds of deep wrinkles, but were piercing and intense nonetheless. His clothes were simple—a tobe much like those worn by everyone in Mezro—but a dozen platinum bands encircled his arms.

Artus bowed his head, for this could only be King Osaw. “Your Highness ” he said. “I do know of the man who allied himself with the goblins. He commands a spirit with four arms and silver skin.”

When Artus looked up, he saw that Negus Kwalu now stood at his father’s side. He no longer wore his purple tobe, but a simple breechcloth. A small, square breastplate of dinosaur hide covered his chest, with the tails of six exotic hunting cats cascading down his back. Manes cut from other wild beasts made up the long, stringy cuffs that hung from his calves to his ankles. Black and white feathers jutted out from his helmet at all angles. The prince studied Artus with an unnervingly steady gaze, not a hint of expression on his rugged features.

“If this man allies with the Batiri, he is the same as the things that stalk the dark corners of Ubtao’s jungle at night,” King Osaw began softly. He studied Artus’s face for a moment, then added, “Will you help us to rescue the bara?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Artus replied. “I will tell you anything I can about Kaverin and the silver spirit.”

King Osaw nodded, then turned to Sanda and Kwalu, issuing orders in a low tone. When the king was done speaking, he left the circle of warriors and made his way back into the temple. The men who had been using the canvas to shield Lugg from the sun now made it a stretcher for the wounded wombat.

“Don’t forget,” Lugg said to Artus as he was hefted off the ground. “You promised to save ‘im.”

“I won’t forget,” Artus murmured, though he had his doubts there would be anything left of Byrt if they found the Batiri. Kaverin would keep Rayburton alive—at least until he learned what he could about Mezro and the Ring of Winter—but the little gray wombat could only offer cheerful, but inane comments. Kaverin’s probably killed him already, Artus decided sadly.

Sanda gestured toward the Residential Quarter. “Kwalu went to get your bow and knife,” she said.

“Wait,” Artus said, “where are we going?”

“To talk to Ras T’fima,” Sanda said. “The Batiri captured Kwalu a few weeks ago, when he was on a hunt far from the city. My father and I raided their camp. Anyway, T’fima was the one who provided the blizzard that gave us cover.” She looked away, nervously plucking at one of her braids. “I hope he’ll help us again.”